hrough he
urf moke
Through the Turf Smoke
Through
the Turf Smoke
THE LOVE, LORE, AND LAUGHTER,
OF OLD IRELAND
BY
SEUMAS MAC MANUS
("MAC")
AUTHOR or " 'TWAS IN DHROLL DONEGAL,"
" THE LEADIN' ROAD TO DONEGAL," ETC.
NEW YORK
DOUBLEDAY & McCLURE CO.
1899
COPYRIGHT, 1899, BY
DOUBLEDAY & McCLURE CO.
To
ETHNA CARBERY
Your fond heart throbbed for our country s
story,
Your great heart glowed for our
country's glory :
Because it -was so, O Banbha's
daughter,
My tribute take o'er the
far, far, water.
2060577
To My American Readers:
TRAGEDY and pathos go leor there are in
our lives, toilsome struggle and patient suf-
fering; but when we gather around the turf
fire old and young, boys and girls Care
slips like a cloak from our shoulders, the
oldest is for the hour a child, gaiety crowds
the cabin, and merriment fills all hearts.
The wand of wit is laid upon us: the joke,
the banter, and the merry story, pass; and
the folk-tale, old as the babble of our
streams, and still as fresh and sweet, is lis-
tened to by ears that hearken for the hun-
dredth time as fondly as they did for the
first. Alike, grey old pows and yellow little
curly locks shake in sympathy for the sor-
rows of the hero, and wag with delight for
his devilment and drollery. The same hearts
that rang out a little peal of childish laugh-
ter beneath a smoke-blacked Irish roof-tree,
have, afterwards, on red fields, often raised
x Introduction
a rann that fluttered the folds of the defiant
and triumphant flag.
In my remote and mountain-barred Done-
gal, the people, for a niggard living, strive
with a surly sea and wrestle with a stubborn
soil; they are poor as paupers and hospitable
as millionaires. But the wit, the imagina-
tion, the poetry, the virtues, the soul, of the
most miserable amongst them the wealth of
Cro3sus couldn't purchase. Civilization (with
its good and its ills) has not yet quite felt
itself at home amongst us; books are few;
so, there, the shanachy, the teller of tales
and the singer of songs, still gathers in his
old time glory; on long winter nights the
world comes and seats itself, spell-bound, at
his feet. From early childhood I, with my
little tribute of admiration, sat by his feet.
The glory of him dazzled me, and I dreamt
of one day faring forth and conquering
worlds for myself.
I was a child, I said, and dreamt dreams.
MAC.
NEW YORK, OicMhe Brighde, 1899.
Contents
THE LEADIN' ROAD TO DONEGAL i
THE BOYNE WATER 21
THE QUAD-DHROOP-EDS ..... 45
THE PRINCE OF WALES' OWN DONEGAL MILITIA Co
BARNEY KODDY'S PENANCE . . 89
DINNY MONAGHAN'S LAST KEG . . . .113
BILLY BAXTER ....... 141
THE COUNSELLOR 167
THE MASTHER AND THE BOCCA FADH . . 189
FATHER DAN AND FIDDLERS FOUR . . .211
JACK WHO WAS THE ASHYPET .... 231
JACK AND THE LORD HIGH MAYOR , 251
The Leadin' Road to Donegal
The Leadin' Road to Donegal*
'TWAS this was the way
Thady Eooney was a tailyer be trade, and
Molly Maguire was as purty a hand at the
spinnin' wheel as ye'd meet in the five par-
ishes. Thady was a clane, stout, sthrappin',
fine, ecktive fellow, and as daicent as his
father afore him and that's sayin' a dale
for him. Molly was a brave, sonsy, likely
lassy, that knew how to get the blind side of
the boys, and as clane-stepped a gissach as
thripped to Mass on a Sunday. Now, Thady
was on the lookout for a bit of a naybour's
daughter that would be shootable to take
care of him; and Molly well, throgs, Molly
had no sort of objections to takin' care of
a naybour's son, purvided she got one to her
likin'. So, as might be expected, Thady
* The skeleton of this tale is traditional, and to be
met with in many parts of the North of Ireland,
applied to various towns.
4 Through the Turf Smoke
yocked,* and he put his comether on Molly,
and Molly, she blarneyed Thady to his
heart's content, till the end of it was as was
nath'ral they both marrid an' settled down,
to stick to one another for betther or worse,
through fair an' through foul. An' Thady,
who was as industhrus a man as ivir laid
down his two hands, set to work, an' he built
as tight an' snug a bit of a cabin as ye'd may-
be ax to see, jist on a bit of waste ground
at a cross-roads where five roads met, and
himself and Molly moved intil it; an' Thady
went on with his tailyerin', and Molly with
her spinnin', and him whistlin' and her sing-
in' with wee inthervals of love-makin' as
merry as the larks and as happy as the day
was long. And for nearly twelve months
that pair was held up as a moral for the
counthry for miles about, and it was a de-
light to pass by their door and listen to their
light-heartedness. In all that time an awk-
'ard word nivir crossed the lips of the one or
the other of them. But, as ill-luck would
have it, the divil for it was no other
tempted them to agree one night that they
* Began.
The Leadin' Road to Donegal 5
could do worse nor buy a slip of a pig.
Which of them was so misfortunate as to in-
therduce the subject I can't tell, but anyhow
the bit of a sucker pig was bought and
fetched home, an' a snug wee bed of nice,
clane, oat sthraw Molly spread for it in the
one corner in the tother end of the house
from their own bed. And that night Thady
had a bad dhraim. He dhraimt that the
goose an' the lap-boord, afther doin' a couple
of very lively hornpipes an' a single reel on
the floor, sat down on the bed to make love,
plantin' themselves right atop of his stom-
ach. And with that he wakened up, and be
the powdhers of war, what does he find lyin'
across him on the bed but the sucker pig!
"Husthee! husthee!" says Thady, givin'
the pig a couple of smart slaps that sent it
skurryin' an' gruntin' away to its own corner
again.
" Molly," says Thady, " I seen pigs in me
day with more modesty than that wee pig of
ours."
"Arrah, Thady," says Molly, says she,
" sure what great wit could ye be afther ex-
pectin' of the lakes of it, the crathur? Sure,
6 Through the Turf Smoke
it's what it felt lonely, jist lake a Christian
would, an' hearin' you snorin' as ye know
ye do, Thady, in yer sleep, the crathur come
up to ye, thinkin' it was maybe its mother
was in it."
"Well, I'm sure, Molly," says Thady,
"that I feel ondher a mighty great favour
to it intirely for the compliment it done me;
but all the same, mother or no mother, I'd
thank it to keep its distance, and know its
place for the time to come."
Well, that fared well till the nixt night
wore round, an' Thady had the very self-
same oncommon, wondherful dhraim about
the lap-boord and the goose; and wakenin'
up lake the night afore, there was me brave
sucker pig settlin' himself for a sleep atop
of Thady, as much at home as an alderman
in an aisy-chair!
"Husthee! husthee! Molly Maguire, I'm
sorry to say that sucker pig of yours has
very small manners."
"Arrah, Thady Eooney," says Molly,
" can't ye not be reflectin' on the bit of an
orphan pig, that isn't come to the time of
day to have sinse? Maybe, Thady avour-
The Leadin' Road to Donegal 7
neen, whin ye were lake it yerself, ye might
put yer manners in yer weskit pocket, and
no one miss them much."
" No odds for that, Molly Maguire," says
Thady. "Ye mind the ould copy-book
headline that said, ' Too much familiarity
breeds contimpt,' and I considher that
sucker pig is pushin' his familiarity on me
rather farther than I wish for. I put cor-
rackshin on him on'y last night for the same
dhirty action, and I thought it was a lesson
to him, but it saims he can't take a hint
onless ye impress it on him, with a stout
stick; an' throth, Molly, an' I'm tellin'
it to ye now, if I have to dhraw me
hand over him again, he'll know what it's
for."
" Faith, Thady Kooney," says Molly, " it's
well it becomes ye to talk that way of the
poor baste that didn't know, no more than
that bed-post there, what ye were layin' the
corrackshin on it for. If the crathur only
gets time it'll gather sense yet."
" That's all very good, Molly," says Thady,
"but if I don't corrackt it I'm sure you'll
not, and a nice pig we'll make of it then,
8 Through the Turf Smoke
won't we, without breedin' or daicency; it'll
scandalise us over the parish, that's what it'll
do. If it has a mind to pick up sense it had
betther be quick about it, or my patience 'ill
wear out, and I'll be tempted to do somethin*
that 'ill make it regret it didn't pick itself
up in time."
Well, as they say in the stories, that fared
well that night again, and it didn't fare ill,
and the nixt night wore round. And me
bould Thady dhraimt the very same dhraim
that third night again, and he bounced
up in the bed, tumblin' the pig off ontil
the floor, and it run away gruntin' to its
corner.
" Great Goghendies! but it's me's the suf-
f erin' man," says Thady. " Molly Maguire,"
says he, " get up and put breedin' on yer
pig!"
" Nobbut, Thady Kooney," says Molly,
"get you up and put breedin' on your own
Pig!"
"Ye lie!" says Thady.
"Thanky, Misther Eooney," says Molly,
"it's only a well-wisher would tell me my
faults."
The Leadin' Road to Donegal 9
" The pig's none of mine, or he'd know
betther," says Thady.
"The pig is yours, andjeo signs on him,
he's as conthrairy as his masther," says
Molly.
" Throth, then, if I'm conthrairy," says
Thady, " I could blow me breath on them
smit me."
" Maybe, then, that same wouldn't be cov-
eted, for it was the ill day for some people
when yer onlucky breath come about them
first."
" I wish to the Lord them people had
thought that twelve months ago! If they
had, I could have been a happy man this
night, an' own for a wife the pick of the
parish, instead of bein' the miserable divil
I am, with the ugly, good-for-nothin'
cross-grained spitfire of a woman that the
priest makes me call me own now," says
Thady.
" Well, Thady Rooney, I wisli to the Lord
the same! " says Molly. " An' as regards
yer bein' a miserable divil, I agree with ye
there, too. No one ivir accused Thady
Rooney, or one belonging to him, of bein'
io Through the Turf Smoke
anything else all their lives but miserable
divils an' miserable, lazy divils, too. About
the pick of the parish ye got that ivery
one give in ye got that and sure it was the
nine days' wondher how such a miserable,
spavined, ill-formed, yallow rickle of skin
and bone, with a countenance as forbiddin'
as ould Nick's himself, with a hump on his
back and a halt in his step, and his two eyes
watchin' each other like murdher across his
snub nose, for fear one of them would be
af ther takin' the advantage of the other
sure I say it was the nine days' wondher what
the dickens she could see in ye that made her
take ye, barrin' it was bekase she knew ye
would be so safe on her hands that no one
but the divil would think of runnin' away
with ye, and even him atself would be only
too glad to fetch ye back as not worth yer
room. And throth, I may tell ye, that that
eame nine days' wondher to them has been
a nine months' wondher to me, an' if the
divil curses me with ye much longer, I'm
misdoubtin' me but the wondher 'ill wear
me out me life."
"Ay, there she goes now," says Thady,
The Leadin' Road to Donegal 11
" there she goes. Jist set her tongue agoing
and Boneyparty himself, at the head of all
his rajiments, couldn't stop it."
" Faix, and it's no wondher, for it's sorely
fetched out of me, when I have a skin-flint
such as you to dale with," says Molly. " But
at the same time, maybe I could hould me
tongue with you, Thady Kooney."
" I doubt it, Molly Maguire," says Thady,
says he.
" Do ye, throgs? " says Molly.
" I do, medam," says Thady.
" Well and good then," says Molly. " I'll
thry ye out for it; and let it be that the first
spaiks a word, bad, good, or ondifferent, 'ill
have to mind the pig."
" Done," says Thady, and he slaps his
knee.
Well, be the hokey, that was the quan-
dharry. The conthrariness begun to work
Molly, an' up she bounces, though it wasn't
more nor the middle of the night, and put-
tin' on a good rousin, blazin' fire, and boilin'
as sthrong a dhrap of tay as iver come out
of the black pandy, to rise her heart, she sits
herself down to her spinnin' wheel and starts
12 Through the Turf Smoke
spinning at the same time humming " The
Geese in the Bog/' this way*
at such a rate that Thady, poor man, might
as well think of sleeping in a beeskep. But
TEady wasn't going to allow himself to be
aggerivated into spaiking so aisy as that. So
up me brave Thady jumps, and afther a pit-
cher of tay that was enough to lift a man's
heart up through the riggin', he crosses his
legs on the table, and dhrawin' a pair of half-
finished trousers that he was doin' for Father
Luke to him, he stharts sewing the trousers
and whistlih' " The Black Joke," lake this
m ^ *^ *
1 Phew-ew-ew-ew-ew ew-w - ew-evr-w . ev-ew-ew
ew-ew-ew.ew-cw.eiT . ew-rw-ew-ew-ew-ew - w.w.w.w"
And there the two of them pegged away,
and lilted and whistled away like a pair of
thrushes; and, if ye'd believe their purtend-
* To be as effective as intended, parts of this story
must be acted rather than read.
The Leadin' Road to Donegal 13
in', ye wouldn't know which of them had the
lightest heart. And whin Molly, the cra-
thur, got tired of " The Geese in the Bog,"
she started on " Larry O'Gaff," and Thady,
poor man, whistled up " Go to the divil and
shake yerself " with a vingince that was
enough to loosen any woman's tongue. But
Molly was good grit, and she only spun
harder and put more life into the lilt. And
things went on this way till in the coorse of
a little time a pony and thrap dhruv up till
the door with a jintleman and his sarvint in
it. The jintleman was makin' the best of
his way for the town of Dinnygal, and bein*
a stranger in them parts, and not knowin*
the right road when he came to the cross,
and seein' the light in the wee cabin, he pulls
up his pony, and says he to his sarvint, says
he,- '
" Go intil that house and ax them if they'd
kindly diract ye the leadin' road to Dinny-
gal."
So the sarvint lifts the latch of the door,
and ye'll be afther believin' he opened his
eyes purty wide when he seen Molly spinnin*
and liltin', and Thady sewin' and whistlin*
14 Through the Turf Smoke
with as much unconsarn as if it was twelve
o'clock in the day with them.
" God save all here," says he. " Isn't this
the purty night entirely? "
Molly lifted her head and looked at him,
and then went on with her spinnin' and
hummin/ and Thady lifted his head and
looked at him, and then went on with his
sewin' and whistlin' again, but naither of
them said dliirum or dliarum.
The sarvint was a trifle mismoved at this,
but he walked up closer to Thady, who was
now whistlin' " The girl I left behind me,"
and he says, says he,
"It's benighted we are, meself and the
masther without, and we'd feel obligated to
ye if ye'd kindly put us on the leadin' road
to Dinnygal."
Thady wint on with his work unconsarned,
and says,
^- r [ ,- PJ- J j | J j j j | j j fi fcrhHl
" Phew-ew-ew-ew-ew-ew - ew - ew cw-ew - ew-ew - evt-tw-ew-ew -ev-ea"
says Thady, says he, comin* down hard on
the last bar or so, an* without ivir movin'
his eyes off his work timin' it with three
The Leadin' Road to Donegal 15
or four shakes of the head in the dirackshin
of Molly, as much as to say, "Ax her, and
sEe'll tell ye."
Then the sarvint turned to Molly, and
says he,
" Prosper the work, good woman, and
could ye oblige meself and the man without
he puttin' us on the leadin' road to Dinny-
gal?"
Me hrave Molly was spinnin' away and
hummin' away at " There's nae gude luck
about the house," and she wint on with her
work, but makes answer,
"Him* ira im 1m tiu - im Ira im t'm . <nt . fan . <ra iro - <ra "
says Molly, says she, hummin' away, an*
without liftin' lier eyes off her work, only
jist like Thady comin' down hard on the
last bar or two, and timin' it with three or
four shakes of her head in the dirackshin of
Thady, as much as to say, " Jist let his lord-
ship himself tell ye."
Faix, at this the poor man made for the
door, as if there was a rajiment at his heels,
and goin' up to his masther says,
16 Through the Turf Smoke
" We'd betther be takin' the first road
come handiest to get out of this, for it's a
branch office of the asylum for oncurable
lunatics, is that cabin there."
" Get out, ye omadhaun," says the jintle-
man. " Did ye not make out the leadin'
road to Dinnygal ? " says he.
" No, I made out the leadin' road to the
door," says the sarvint, "thanks be to Pro-
vidince for his marcy; and it was the speed
of me heels carried me out of it. I seen
mad men and mad weemen," says he, " in
me time, but the lake of what's goin' on in
thondher I nivir rested me eyes on afore and
trust I nivir may again."
" Confound ye for a numskull," says the
jintleman, jumpin' down and throwin' the
sarvint the reins. " Hould them things till
I find out the road."
" God bliss ye and send ye safe back," says
the sarvint, as the jintleman wint in of the
door.
The jintleman marched up to Thady, who
was sewin' away and whistlin' away without
ivir liftin' his head, and, says he,
"Could ye tell me, good man," says he,
The Leadin' Road to Donegal 17
" or give me the dirackshins of the leadin*
road to Dinnygal ? "
Thady went on with his work, and re-
plied,
Phe w- w . *W4W ew-e w . w - e w w - ew -
says Thady, says he, indycatin' him for to
ax Molly as afore.
Then the jintleman wint up to Molly, who
was as busy at her work as what Thady was
at his.
" Prosper the work, good woman/' says
he, " and could ye dirackt me on the leadin*
road to Dinnygal?"
Molly nivir lifted her head, but answers
him,
"Ilim . im.tan-fan.fan im.bn.im.to -< -<m- <m-to - <""
says Molly, says she, sendin* him back the
same way to Thady for information.
And there he was in the quandharry.
" Ah, be this and be that," says he to him-
self at last, " Til bait the biggest button on
18 Through the Turf Smoke
my coat that I make ye spake, ye ould hay-
thin', ye," says he to himself, refarrin' to
Thady.
So with that he thurns to Molly again,
and says,
"Well, in throth, me good woman, ye
mightn't be ashamed to open that purty
little mouth o' yours to reply to a sthranger,
for though it's afore yer face I say it I'd
thravel far afore I'd see another mouth as
coaxin'," says he.
*=
"Him . im -lin- Ipi-im lm-lm-lm.fcn.<m-<m.<m-<m-<m~
says Molly, says she, hack to him, but this
time she did look up from her work, throwin'
the most sootherin', deludhrin', coaxin', sly
look at him sideways, an' noddin' her head
to him on the last notes, mainin', " Throth,
ye spake thrue there, good man, but how do
ye lake me now? "
"I think, good man," says he, then,
thurning to Thady "I think, good man,"
says he, " ye would hardly refuse a sthranger
jist the laste little taste of a kiss from that
purty little wife o' yours," says he.
The Leadin' Road to Donegal 19
lew-w^w-ew^w-ew-ew-w.ew.ew.ew.*w-a.n---e"
says Thady, says he, gettin' as black in the
countenance as a thurf, an* shakin' his fist
three times on the last notes, right in the
sthranger's face.
" Now, what do ye say to that yerself, me
purty little woman? " says the jintleman,
thurnin' to Molly.
J | J- J W- J I rf- J I
' Him 1m - Im-lm - to - la tm-lra <m ta^iat tm-in in"
says Molly, says she, givin' him another of
her sootherin' looks, an' waggin' him on with
three wags of her forefinger an' her head,
as she come out with the last notes.
" Oh, ye natarnal hussy, ye, I knew it was
in ye," says Thady, jumpin' off the boord
in a thimdherin' rage.
"All right, Thady," says Molly, says she,
jumpin' up and clappin' her hands with de-
light. " All right, Thady," says she, " You
MIND THE Pio! "
The Boyne Water
The Boyne Water
WILLIAM SCOTT and Liz'anne were not ac-
counted exemplary citizens in our little re-
public of Knockagar. Very far from it.
Independent of the civil feuds which dis-
turbed the Scott household, they were hard-
ened sinners against society at large in that
they never visited either church or chapel
the unpardonable sin with us. Though the
young people, the waggish, and the less seri-
ous-minded, enjoyed William and Liz'anne,
their irreligious conduct continually kept all
the gray pows in the parish shaking.
William's own father and mother had been
of different religious persuasions, and they
had spent their life squabbling over whether
William should be a Catholic or a Protestant,
with the result that, though William earned
his father's grudge and his mother's good-
will by lustily professing himself "a thrue
Roman," he practised no religion.
24 Through the Turf Smoke
It might well have been thought that, with
the unhappy results of a mixed marriage so
vividly before his eyes, William would steer
clear of the danger. But, as Donal a-Thoor-
isk said, mixed marriages, like wooden legs,
ran in the blood. William, noisy Catholic
as he always was, began early to show a par-
tiality for the daughters of the Heretic, and,
to nobody's surprise, wound up by a run-
away marriage with Liz'anne, whose own
people immediately cut her off.
But all things considered, William made a
promising start. He had succeeded in in-
ducing Liz'anne to submit to a Roman Cath-
olic marriage. At this there were many
optimists among us, willing to suspend judg-
ment till we'd see further. But again many
others would not take a roseate view of mat-
ters. They prophetically said, " You'll see
what you'll see! " then closed their mouths
hard, and shook their heads. And, I regret
to say, events justified this prophecy.
For six months William and Liz'anne got
on agreeably as well as comfortably. Wil-
liam was a weaver, and famed for good
workmanship. And Liz'anne was as good,
The Boyne Water 25
as tidy, and as clean a housekeeper as any
of the most religious women at the Bocht.
When she had her house trigged up for the
day, and she had sat down in the front win-
dow to her sprigging, while "William worked
the loom close by the back window, and two
spotlessly white cats for Liz'anne was fond
of cats and always kept two big ones sitting
on their haunches on either side of the swept
hearth dreamily dropped their eyelids, and
purred at each other across the fire, it was a
pleasure to go into William's and have a
chair, and be soothed with the comfort
that filled the cabin. For six months, Wil-
liam and Liz'anne kept their religious opin-
ions under due restraint, and their happy
content was uninterrupted. There was no
danger of dispute about going to church or
chapel, for neither of the pair had any de-
cided penchant for visiting either.
Now William was not a drinking man in
the usual acceptation of the term; he had no
craving for drink, but he seemed to feel that
he owed himself and society the duty of get-
ting gloriously drunk two or three times a
year. And when William got drunk, his
26 Through the Turf Smoke
religious enthusiasm came uppermost, all the
religious sentiment that had accumulated in
his soul since he was previously on the spree
suddenly began to boil, and William, quite
indifferent to the religious susceptibilities of
neighbours of a different way of thinking,
threw open the safety-valve, when any who
didn't choose to get out of the way were wel-
come to their scalding. William was now
rampantly and aggressively Catholic, eager
to let his blood colour the sod in the cause
of his beloved Faith. His antithesis was
Orange Watty a weaver likewise who
lived under Dhrimanerry hill, not far dis-
tant. And hither, when the religious out-
burst seized him, was William wont to betake
himself, creating a hostile demonstration in
front of poor Watty Farrell's: "Whoop!
Hurroo! To *** with King William, an'
God bliss the Pope! "
Watty Farrell was spare and small of
frame; he had a short temper, and was an
ardent, fiery Orangeman, who gloried in
being standard-bearer on " the Great
Twelfth," and defiantly flaunted the flag in
the face of the exasperated enemy al-
The Boyne Water 27
though, "the Twelfth" being past and no
other burning religious feeling being in the
air, his Catholic neighbours had not a more
cordial or a more esteemed friend than
Orange "Watty. Let Watty, though, be in
what frame of mind he might, the instant
he heard William Scott's defiant voice raised
without, blaspheming his idol, and invoking
a blessing on Anti-Christ, he bounded from
his loom, all the Orange valour within him
surging through his blood, and insignificant
as he was in size, it always gave his big burly
sister, Bella, enough ado to hold in her clasp
his squirming form, until by some means or
other she had got the door barred and bolted,
and the danger of little Watty going out to
commit homicide thus considerably lessened.
And when William, waxing yet more inso-
lent, sang loudly,
Wor ye iver in Glenties fair ?
Says the Shan Van Vocht.
Wor ye iver in Glenties fair ?
Says the Shan Van Vocht.
Wor ye iver in Glenties fair,
Where (HuRROo!) they clip the Orange mare,
And make stockin's of her hair ?
Says the Shan Van Vocht,
28 Through the Turf Smoke
Watty, like a caged tiger, screamed and
raged within and felt anything but soothed
when William added him of a good stomach-
ful of personal abuse, ere he left.
About six months after his marriage with
Liz'anne, William let himself out on one of
these royal sprees, and went through his
usual programme, including the customary
visit to Watty's and outpouring of bile there-
at. But, as the fates would have it, big Bella
being from home, and so no restraint upon
Watty, the little fellow had come out, and
for William was too drunk for defence
" hammered the papish sowl-case out of
him " so Watty eloquently described it,
after and chased him for his life!
When William came home after his igno-
minious defeat at the hands of such a miser-
able little droich as Orange Watty, he was
not in the sweetest temper and the animus
he bore King William was much intensified.
He tried to steady himself in the middle
of the floor, and to look the haughty
papist to perfection. He fixed his gaze on
Liz'anne, who, in the window-seat, sprigged
away industriously " To (hie) *** with
The Boyne Water 29
him, I say! To (hie) *** with him! To
(hie hie) *** with King Bi(hic)-Bil-hil-
ly! " That was too much for Liz'anne's
militant Protestantism to tolerate. She got
up instantly, and to the utter consternation
of the already well-abused William, seized a
creepy-stool and whacked him out of his own
house. " ISTow, to *** with yerself, an' the
Pope, an' with every dhirty papish from
Connaught to Guinealand! an' a necklace o'
red-hot mill-stones roun' yer necks to keep
yez there when yez are down!" and the justly
inHignant Liz'anne, casting a last contempt-
uous look at her poor amazed husband
where he sat on the street vaguely feeling for
his sores, slammed out, and bolted, the door.
And when at length William felt collected
enough to gather himself together, he stood
a good while gazing at the inhospitable door,
which coldly stared him back; then he shook
his head with grievous meaning, and turning
away felt it very hard that, owning a house,
and a comfortable one, he was compelled to
go and petition the Bummadier (the village
pensioner) for the favour of a night's
lodging.
30 Through the Turf Smoke
It took ten days probably for William and
Liz'anne to consent to forget this, their first
little disagreement. But it remembered
them that they had each a faith to defend,
and henceforward they were slow to let pass
without doing their duty any opportunity
offered. Of course I do not mean that they
attended to the outward observances their
religions required of them they were not
guilty of going to church and chapel, nor
did they commit themselves to prayer, any
more than formerly, but they were hence-
forth staunch advocates of their respective
faiths, and waxed great in polemics.
" Well, for the life o' me," on a day when
polemics raged, William would say from his
seat at the loom, "I can't tell for what did
they curse me with the name they did! Wil-
liam! Och, to *** with it! Hard feedin*
to them, an* my left-handed blissin' be on
them done it! "
" Ha! ha! " Liz'anne would sarcastically
laugh, throwing back her head. " No more
do I know why they give such a name to
the lakes (like) o' ye. Hard feedin' to them,
say I, an' conshumin' to them! an' my left-
The Boyne Water 31
handed blissin' be on them lakewise! " Liz'-
anne was very bitter, and in debate had that
sort of a triumphant crow with her, which
exasperates.
"It's a name for a jackass," William would
angrily retort.
"If that's so, they fitted ye well. But I
say it's Pathrick you should have been called
that's the proper name for a jackass."
" HouF yer tongue, ye barge ye! " and
William would stamp his foot. " Ye varago
ye, houl' yer tongue! If ye can," he would
add, tauntingly.
" Yis, Pathrick it should 'a' been," and
Liz'anne would calmly move about her work,
" for any jackass called other than Pathrick
is miscalled."
" Sent Pathrick was a jintleman, ye targer
ye! What you, or wan belongin' to ye, nivir
was, nor niver 'ill be. Don't dar* for to even
a word again' Sent Pathrick! "
" Make yer min' aisy I wouldn't soil me
spoon on him if I met him in the stirabout
pot."
" Ha-ha-ha! Yez haven't got the lakes of
him any how among yer baratics."
32 Through the Turf Smoke
" Ha! ha! In throth an' if I thought they
suffered the lakes of him among them, I'd
turn Turk the morra."
"Ho, ye natarnal vag ye! Ye would,
would ye? Faith an' the Thurks, if they
knew ye as well as I do, would prefer yer
room to yer company. An' didn't I tell ye
hundhreds o' times not for to go for to abuse
Sent Pathrick don't do it! "
"Then don't you be throwin* the dhirty
spalpeen in my face."
"Oh Lord! Oh Lord!" poor William
would exclaim in agony.
" The dhirty spalpeen, indeed! " Liz'anne
would repeat, seeing the sore spot.
"Ye will dhrive me mad, woman! Oh,
Lord! "
" Hagh! ye've put that out o' me power
for it's long since ye went mad. I niver met
that papish yet hadn't the mad touch in him.
What did they disgrace the good an' holy
name of King William puttin' it on you for,
anyhow? "
" It's me was disgraced by gettin' it."
" Get out, ye papish beggar! Don't say
it!"
The Boyne Water 33
"Hagh! ye Orange tar-maj-ent ye, I'm
disgraced."
" Ha! ha! disgraced! The divil himself
couldn't disgrace you no more nor soot
might disgrace a chimbley-sweep."
" Ma'am, ye're goin' too far. Ye'd temp'
the Pope."
"The Pope, moryali! To the divil with
you an' the Pope. The Pope! Och, short
daith to Mm! If I owned a pig I had any
respect for I wouldn't let him carry ~broc (re-
fuse) to it."
" Oh Lord! Lord! Will ye let the Holy
Pope alone atself that's not intherfairin'
with ye! "
" An' didn't I tell ye afore to keep yer ill
company to yerself? If ye don't want him
abused don't go for to he throwin' the vaga-
bone in my face."
"Vagabone! The Holy Pope o' Rome!
Marcy look down on us! Are ye not afeerd,
woman? Are ye not thrimblin'? "
" Och then the divil a thrimble's ailin'
me, I thank you."
"Vagabone! Vagabone! I'll tell ye what
it is, me good woman, if, be hook or be
3
34 Through the Turf Smoke
crook, them words o' yours reached him,
there'd be an ass's head on ye in five minutes
time! "
" Ha, ha, ha, ha! An ass's head, indeed!
An' throth I'm afeerd there's too few of his
own sort could spare the wan he'd give me.
An ass's head! Ha, ha, ha! "
Poor William wasn't nimble-witted
enough for the sarcastic Liz'anne. He
never entered into argument with her that
he, somehow or other, didn't come out sec-
ond best, for she could, metaphorically, twist
him around her finger, and cast him over her
shoulder with an ease that was gall to Wil-
liam's soul. To William's credit, be it said,
no matter how much she enraged him, he
never dreamt of physical force as a good
argumentative agent.
Of course these theological disputes were
not perpetual. Very fax from that. A day
or two of each month might be set apart for
them; during the remainder of the month,
Liz'anne was a dutiful wife and William a
loving husband, and to all appearance, whilst
they consented to forget their religions both
enjoyed more happiness and content than
The Boyne Water 35
could easily be expected of such unregener-
ate ones.
When a young generation of Scotts were
growing up, additional causes of disagree-
ment entered into the lives of William and
Liz'anne. There might, indeed, have arisen
serious difference of opinion over the bap-
tising of the children only that William,
who, when he saw a material advantage could
be thereby gained, was possessed of a share
of policy, and taking the easy way of Liz'-
anne the only way in which she could be
thwarted had them christened as he de-
sired. True, on the occasion of her first, the
Bocca Fadh* (with William's connivance)
gave it a hurried private baptism intending
thus to have the foreway of Liz'anne if with
returning strength of body should come
stubbornness of mind. But the moment he
had finished the snatch-ceremony in Wil-
liam's kitchen, it would be difficult to say
whether his pain or his amazement was the
greater at the stout blow that took him over
the head, and set a squadron of stars doing
intricate evolutions before his eyes, for Liz'-
* Long Beggarman.
36 Through the Turf Smoke
anne, in her bed in the room, suspected
something, and arriving on the scene robed
in a manner not quite appropriate to the
kitchen, and for which the exigency of the
occasion was her excuse, had seized hold of
Shan a-Phiopa's (who had come to the chris-
tening) stick, laid on the Bocca Fadh with
a precision and effectiveness of stroke very
creditable indeed for a woman whom the
conventionalities of society require to be
hovering between death and life. Anyhow,
on this occasion there was more of life than
death dealing with Mistress Scott's arm and
tongue, for she very quickly cleared the
Bocca Fadh out of the house, loaded with a
sore load of both physical and moral abuse
and the other trembling revellers who had
assembled to enjoy the christening had grat-
itude in their hearts when she let them es-
cape with a tongue-thrashing. The Bocca
Fadh paraded his wounds around the parish,
and made much capital from a humble com-
parison of himself with those good and re-
nowned men of the early church who were
martyred in the same cause in which he had
so sorely suffered.
The Boyne Water 37
But a time came, and the neighbours told
William it was a shame that he wasn't send-
ing the children out to chapel; and it forced
itself on William that it was part of his duty,
as a good Catholic, to do so. He wove for
them some of his best tweeds, and John
Burns carefully took the measure of the eld-
est, and, making necessary allowances for
variation in size, cut out the making of nice
suits for all of them after this standard.
Liz'anne found what was going on; she did-
n't say much, but began making little neces-
saries for them, also, resolved they should go
to church. As the day of the children's
debut approached relations became strained,
the tension gradually increased, and, on the
eventful morning both William and Liz'anne
joined in dressing the children, vieing which
should do most, and heartily abusing each
other's religion all the time. But, alas! Wil-
liam was faultlessly dressed himself and
sporting his Sunday shoes on which Liz'anne
had, the night before, bestowed a magnifi-
cent polish and so prepared to go with the
children. Here he had poor Liz'anne, whose
wardrobe neat and clean and plentiful
38 Through the Turf Smoke
enough for housewear boasted no holiday
garments. Eventually, when she had with
infinite pains fitted the children up in their
neatest, and saw that William stood by the
door waiting to guard the flock into the
proper fold, she lost at once her resolve and
her temper; she huddled the children out of
the door, pitched poor William out on top of
them, " Here, an' away to *** now, you an'
them! " she said, and slammed the door.
But, of their five children, Liz'anne won
to her church the allegiance of four. The
fifth and eldest hoisted William's colours,
and was very proud to proclaim himself "a
jiggered papish." Keligious disagreements
were now no less rife. But William had
long since tired of the monotony of being
beaten, and had given up trying on such oc-
casions to return Liz'anne word for word,
and he schooled the son who had shown him-
self worthy of him, to express his feelings
rather by looks than words though he him-
self still employed words. When, occasion-
ally, a religious difference would now arise,
William without any delay laid down what
he styled the Boyne Wather, a shaft of alder-
The Boyne Water 39
wood about twenty feet long, which from the
hearth passed down the centre of the floor,
dividing the house equally. "When the
Boyne Wather was laid down it was a mutu-
ally understood and respected rule that Liz'-
anne and her following were to keep to the
front half of the kitchen, while "William and
his small but staunch support kept the other
half. Insulting words and looks flung across
the Boyne Wather were of course quite with-
in the rules of war, but on none but the most
urgent account could either party trespass on
hostile territory whereby this Boyne Wather
surpassed its original. The waggish ones of
the Bocht, who took a sinful delight in the
religious controversies which troubled the
lives of William and Liz'anne, were fond of
quizzing the former when they got him at
wake or other gathering where fun was the
order.
"Well, William, is the Boyne Wather
down or up, this weather?" and the inter-
rogator, with a twinkling eye, appealed to
the humour of the house.
" Och it's down, down," with a mournful
shake of the head. " I had to fetch it from
4-O Through the Turf Smoke
behind the house" (the customary resting
place of the Boyne Wather when peace
reigned) "yistherday evenin', an* glory be
to Goodness! " with a sigh, " it's down yet,
an' small signs of thon woman lettin' me
take it up."
When William had got the Boyne Water
safely laid, and got to his loom again amid
a hail of abuse from Liz'anne, he wrought
harder than was his wont, and he made the
shuttle fly to an unending accompaniment
of " No wondher! No wondher! No won-
dher! No wondher! " his sole, and very ex-
asperating reply, now, to Liz'anne's abusive
arguments. As long as Liz'anne continued
bestowing hurtful epithets on William and
William's church, so long would William, in
a doleful voice, continue the Jeremiad "No
wondher! No wondher! No wondher! "
thus stinging Liz'anne into protracting her
unedifying discourse, which, by reaction,
lengthened in turn William's mournful
chant. And let happen what domestic
events might, or let who would come in or
go out, whilst the Boyne Wather was down,
and the fit on William, he went on with his
The Boyne Water 41
loom and his plaint, the shuttle swinging to
and fro, his head nodding to it in a mourn-
ful manner, and he proclaiming " No wond-
her! No wondher! No wondher! No wond-
her! No wondher! "
On a Twelfth of July William's second
son, who had been honouring the occasion
not wisely but too well, came swaggering up
through the Bocht, eliciting from the echoes
lusty cheers for the pious, glorious, and im-
mortal King William, and right heartily and
boisterously abusing all the enemies of the
said William and of his church. The Wil-
liam who had fallen away from the traditions
of his name, to wit, the enthusiast's own
father, heard him with deep mortification,
and slunk in a convenient door till the son
who shamed him had passed. He felt called
upon to apologize for the conduct of his un-
worthy offspring; he shook his head deject-
edly " I don't know how that is," poor Wil-
liam said, " for that boy comes of wan of the
d d best Catholic stocks in Dinnygal! "
The children of William and Liz'anne dis-
appointed us all pleasingly disappointed us
by the good turn-out they made, for we
42 Through the Turf Smoke
had ever had our forebodings about their
future. They went to America one by one,
prospered, and never forgot the old couple.
When the children had disappeared the
Boyne Wather began to be requisitioned less
often. Very probably it had got to be laid
down on Patrick's Day and the Twelfth of
July but William and Liz'anne would be
more than human if this wasn't so. During
the remainder of the year it lay behind the
house in merited neglect. It was not that
either had got any less zealous in their re-
ligion. William remained, what always he
had been, one of the staunchest Catholics
that never attended chapel and Liz'anne,
in like manner, and to the like extent ten-
dered unabated loyalty to her church. But
old Time had softened the asperities of both
tongue and temper, and strengthened that
regard for each other, which, despite their
disputes, William and Liz'anne had ever
maintained. For years it had been a stand-
ing joke for the countryside, how, Watty
Farrell having once happened into William's
when the Boyne Wather was down and the
wordy artillery in full play across it, and
The Boyne Water 43
having had the temerity to join Liz'anne in
her abuse of William, Saint Patrick, and the
Pope, Liz'anne had without more ado emp-
tied a bucket of water over the audacious
little weaver, and then emptied him, drip-
ping, out of the house.
And when William got "the sthroke"*
and every one thought him dying, Liz'anne,
despite the bitter, sleety, awful night it was,
dashed out, unshawled and unhooded, and
off to Father Dan's at the top of her speed,
and, not finding Father Dan at home, ran
again, breathless, four sore Irish miles to
Corameenlusky where he was attending
Hughy Shan's old mother, and carried him
off with her, to give to William the consola-
tions of his religion. And William received
these as hopefully as many a more regular
Catholic.
William lingered for several weeks, and
Liz'anne's concern and attentions were
touching. For all of that morning upon
which he died, William kept repeating one
word " Liz'anne, Liz'anne, Liz'anne, Liz'-
anne," as unceasingly and persistently as he
* Paralysis.
44 Through the Turf Smoke
had ever chanted "No wondher! No worl-
dlier! No wondher! " over his loom. It was
the ravin' of death, they said, was on him.
Despite the heart-whole prayers of the good
old women of the Bocht, assembled in his
room beseeching God to give him a happy
and sudden release, William's dying moments
were protracted. It was at length agreed
that the presence of a heretic was the cause.
The weeping Liz'anne, poor woman, agree-
ing with this opinion, quitted it, and, accord-
ing to expectation, William soon closed his
eyes in peace.
The Boyne Wather was laid down, for the
last time, at William's wake but this time
across the hearth, making several very warm
and cheery fires for the comfort of the wak-
ers. They all knew its history, yet the boys
who had so often made merry about it, joked
not on the occasion.
The Quad-dhroop-eds
The Quad-dhroop-eds
A TRUE TALE OF THE CRUCKAGAR DEATH
OR GLORY DEVOTED SONS OF WILLIAM
L.O.L. 19,019.
THE Cruckagar Death or Glory Devoted
Sons of William L.O.L., 19,019, had long
been a shining light amongst the Loyal
Orange Lodges of the North. The burning
eloquence of the rhetoric that from it flowed
and the dazzling brilliancy of the brave and
dauntless deeds the Death or Glory Boys
threatened to perform if only opportunity
offered, marked them and their lodge as the
worthiest inheritors to whom had descended
the glorious traditions of stubborn fights and
bloody fields, the heritage of Aughrim and
the Boyne.
The Cruckagar Death or Glory Devoted
Sons of William L.O.L., 19,019, had been,
we said, the shining light amongst its sister
48 Through the Turf Smoke
lodges. But alas and alas, that we have to
relate it! that light which shone so long, so
brightly, and so steadily, the Pole Star of all
who worshipped at the shrine of Civil and
Eeligious Freedom and Equality, and de-
tested Pope and Popery, Base Bigotry, Brass
Money and Wooden Shoes alas and alas!
that light was, to the extreme concern of all
true, peaceful, and law-abiding subjects
subjects whose excess of loyalty and burning
love of law and order prompted them to kick
even her Most Gracious Majesty's Crown
into the Boyne if she obeyed not their man-
dates that light, again we repeat, was
eventually dimmed and finally obscured for-
ever.
And in this way the lamentable catas-
trophe came about.
One of the fundamental rules of the
Cruckagar Death or Glory Devoted Sons of
William L.O.L., 19,019, was that the toast
of " The glorious pious and immortal mem-
ory " of William who freed us from the neck-
collar of Rome and the wooden shoes and
other impositions of France, might be
pledged as frequently as the members chose
The Quad-dhroop-eds 49
during the first half-dozen toasts, but for a
very good reason, gathered from experience,
was not to he attempted after the sixth
round. This wise ordinance was strictly and
piously observed till the cloak of Worshipful
Grand Master fell upon the shoulders of
Billy M'Carter, one of the most militant
members of a most militant lodge, and cer-
tainly one of the most sincerely devoted chil-
dren that ever worshipped the memory of his
illustrious namesake of the Boyne. Billy's
unmasterable, unrestrainable enthusiasm
prompted him to toast his regal namesake's
memory first of the toasts, and second of the
toasts, and then third of them, fourth of
them, fifth of them, sixth of them, and
seventh of them; the eighth toast was to
the memory of William, as were likewise the
ninth and tenth. The intelligent reader has,
of course, foreseen the result, and the reason
why the children of William, as children of
many other parents, disputed, disagreed, sep-
arated, and the lustre of family records was
dimmed. Yes, about, or after, the sixth
toast, Mister M'Carter's voice lost its dis-
tinctness of utterance, with the alarming re-
4
50 Through the Turf Smoke
suit that henceforward he was toasting " The
glorious pies (hie), and immor'al mem'ry " of
King William! And finding the martial-
spirited Billy unamenable to reason, Murray
M'Clure led the revolt. The adhesion to his
side of the Eev. Simon M'Whan, too, inten-
sified matters, and swelled the numbers of
the rebels. The more ardent spirits among
them stood fast and firm by their Worship-
ful Grand Master and the lodge. The ex-
citement was great. Informal meetings of
both parties took place nightly, the Eev.
Simon M'Whan harbouring the insurgents.
Active hostilities were quickly instituted,
and the great guns of both parties were
wrought to bursting, hurling deadly dis-
charges of rhetoric across the way at the en-
campment of the enemy, and evoking as
thundering, as death-dealing, volleys in re-
turn. Both sides had submitted their case
to the higher authorities with the least pos-
sible delay, each claiming for itself to be the
True Devoted Sons of William. The higher
authorities found themselves unable to de-
cide the delicate and complicated question,
and referred it back to the claimants for mu-
The Quad-dhroop-eds 51
tual settlement. But the breach was now too
wide, and their respective principles had, ere
this, burned themselves into the breasts of
either party. Billy hurled Anathema at
Murray and Simon. Murray and Simon,
hurled deepest and direst Anathema at Billy.
And lo, the excitement in Cruckagar got
a new impetus! On a morning Billy M'Car-
ter astonished Cruckagar by producing a
sympathetic letter from no less famous,
no less renowned a brother of the most zeal-
ous and prominent brethren of the North,
than the great William Aughrim Koarin'-
Meg Walker, Governor of the Apprentice
Boys, Worshipful Grand Master of the Lon-
donderry Glorious Memories of Bloody
Fields L.O.L., 99,942, stating his opinion
that Mister M'Cart-er was a worthy sufferer
in the good cause, that he and his faithful
followers were undoubtedly the True and the
only True, Sons of William; that they re-
flected honour upon their Order, glory upon
the Cause, and renown upon Ireland, and
that furthermore, he, William Aughrim
Eoarin'-Meg Walker, Governor of the Ap-
prentice Boys, and Worshipful Grand Master
52 Through the Turf Smoke
of the Londonderry Glorious Memories of
Bloody Fields L.O.L., 99,942, should take
an early opportunity of going down to
Cruckagar to strengthen the hands of Mister
M'Carter, and make his unworthy enemies
humble them in the dust before him!
There was joy in Israel! In Gath was
wailing and weeping and gnashing of teeth!
II.
Paddy Monaghan's " Bush " was richly de-
serving of its intended title of Omnibus. Its
uses were, indeed, varied and manifold.
There was a happy appropriateness in Mas-
ther Whorisky's expressed opinion that
Paddy's Bush was "a versatile arrange-
ment." The Bush had been superannuated
at the Major's, when Paddy got it for the
taking away. Then in the summer time
Paddy had it brushed up and ornamented,
when it answered alike to drive a child to be
christened, or a pair to be married, or an
" impromptu hearse " the Masther put it a
corpse to the grave. One day it drove out a
party of merry pleasure seekers, next day
a group of wailing mourners. On Sunday it
drove the Major to church, and on Monday
it took " a crathur in the faiver (God save us
all!) " to the hospital; on Tuesday it took
the sheriff to the courthouse, and on Wed-
54 Through the Turf Smoke
nesday it took poteen to Donegal; on Thurs-
day the magistrate sat in it; on Friday it had
a load of eggs and butter, and it finished up
the week by going to the town for drunken
Mat, trundling him home and dropping him
at his own door. Then, in the winter time,
when trade was dull, Paddy's Bush made a
most admirable combination dog kennel and
fowl house; for, whilst Mrs. Monaghan's
roosters and three turkeys perched on the
rack above, and the ducks, with one grey
goose the others were stole from Shusie,
good woman, at Hallowday by the card
players, bad luck to them squatted under
the seats, the terrier and the brown colley
slept comfortably on the cushions. Yes, it
was a versatile arrangement.
On a certain day Paddy's Bush trundled
to Londonderry with a (very) general cargo.
It was fair day in Londonderry. When
Paddy had discharged the cargo he took a
stroll through the fair. There were on view,
in addition to the other animals common at
fairs, horses, mules, jennets, and quad-
dhroop-eds a quad-dhroop-ed being Pad-
dy's nomenclature for what the practical
man who now reads these pages would simply
and straightforwardly call a jackass.
Now Paddy bethought him that as the
Ware-day was on him he required, as in pre-
vious years, a quad-dhroop-ed for the pur-
pose of back-loading manure up to the
broken ground in the nor*-aist park, and con-
sequently, prices being suitable, a quad-
dhroop-ed he bought. Then the question
arose how was he to get it home. He
searched the fair, but didn't find a man from
the neighbourhood of Cruckagar who might
lead the quad-dhroop-ed home for him.
What was he to do? He consulted with
Aaron M'Clay, for Aaron, now a Derry mer-
chant, hailed from Cruckagar, and still took
a lively interest in his native place, and a
friendly interest in any person therefrom.
Paddy Monaghan was a particular favourite
with him, for Paddy carried him the weekly
budget of doings and sayings at Cruckagar.
Paddy, we say, in his perplexity, consulted
with his friend Aaron; and his friend Aaron
suggested why not take it home in the coach?
The idea was a good one. Paddy had neither
parcel nor passenger to take back, barrin* a
56 Through the Turf Smoke
new skillet for Nancy, Father Dan's house-
keeper, to boil Father Dan's spuds in, and
a new Dolly Varden hat for Kitty Shinag-
han, of Sheskin, that was trying to catch Pat
the Widower, that intended takin' another
wife, they were sayin', afore Lent; and easily
he could carry these items on top of the
coach, lodging the quad-dhroop-ed inside,
and pulling down the blinds, so that man or
mortial wouldn't know whether it was the
Sheriff of the county or the Lord Lieutenant
himself, was within. A bright idea it was.
So with Aaron's help, in Aaron's yard,
quietly and quickly, the quad-dhroop-ed was
coerced into the Bush, the blinds drawn, and
the door fastened; and Paddy Monaghan
started on his return journey. No sooner
did Aaron see him safely off than he went to
the Post Office, and for he was a wag, and
moreover owed one to Billy M'Carter tele-
gramed to Seshaballymore office, the tele-
gram office nearest Cruckagar, that William
Aughrim Eoarin'-Meg Walker, Governor of
the Apprentice Boys, and Worshipful Master
of the Londonderry Glorious Memories of
Bloody Fields L.O.L., 99,942, had taken his
The Quad-dhroop-eds 57
departure from Londonderry en route to
Cruckagar, and that he would arrive at his
destination at or after 11 p.m. in Mr. Patrick
Monaghan's coach, and it was to be hoped
that Mr. M'Carter and Mr. M'Carter's friends
would give him a royal Donegal wel-
come!
The Postmaster at Seshaballymore was a
loyal Orangeman, was a warm friend and
partisan of Billy M'Carter's, moreover. So,
an equestrian messenger he despatched
Jimmy the Post on the Dapple, with the
good news to Billy. Then was the furor in
Cruckagar, and the rush and the push, and
the scouting and scurrying, till the great
news was dispersed to the extremities of the
parish, and the copy of the telegram itself
went round, the fiery cross to bid Billy
M'Carter's legions in. And by half-past ten
o'clock that night there wasn't a true
Orangeman within the bounds of the parish
who still owned allegiance to Billy and his
cause, that didn't stand on the street of
Cruckagar with colours displayed awaiting
the bold Billy's behest. Band and banner
were quickly paraded to head the procession,
58 Through the Turf Smoke
and torches being lighted and music struck
up, a gallant body of not less than three hun-
dred brave and dauntless brethren of the
Cruckagar Death or Glory Devoted Sons of
William, L.O.L., 19,019, marched gallantly
forward on the Deny road.
Three miles out, Paddy Monaghan's Bush
was sighted, trundling along the moonlit
road. A wild cheer rent the air, the band
quickly struck up "See! the Conquering Hero
Comes," and rapidly they advanced. Paddy
was looking behind him, surmising to him-
self who might be coming after, that they
were going out to meet, when he found the
Bush surrounded by the hoarsely howling
excited multitude, his mare unloosed from
the vehicle, himself unceremoniously hauled
from his seat and hustled aside. He en-
deavoured to ask two or three, by shouting
into their ears at the top of his voice, what it
all meant; but even if he could shout loud
enough to make himself intelligible in the
midst of the deafening cheers that continu-
ously rolled up, no one had time to listen to
him, much less answer his questions. In an-
other minute, six Death or Glory Devoted
The Quad-dhroop-eds 59
Sons of William, getting within the shafts,
had started the Bush, and the triumphal pro-
cession, leaving Paddy and his old mare a
dumbfounded, not to say ill-used, pair.
Though from thence to Cruckagar the drum-
mer drummed, and the fif ers fifed for all they
were worth, they drummed and fifed in vain,
for volley on volley of cheering unintermit-
tent, drowned their drumming and their fif-
ing as completely as though they had only
made a pretence to drum and fife. Into
Cruckagar the procession rolled, gathering
volume as it went, and through Cruckagar
and up to the door of their lodge, which
stood right opposite the Eectory, in which
they were quickly made aware the Eev.
Simon with Murray M'Clure, and their par-
tisans, had assembled to sympathise with
each other, and to watch the proceedings op-
posite. Eight in front of the Eeetory par-
lour window, where the base ones and the
deserters could, to their gall, get a full view
of the proceedings, the six Death or Glory
Devoted Sons of William within the shafts
of the Bush rested from their labours by
command of Billy, and three ringing, defiant
6o Through the Turf Smoke
cheers were given which, like daggers,
pierced the very souls of the M'Clurites
within the Kectory. William Aughrim
Boarin'-Meg Walker, who had not hitherto
as indeed became one so illustrious among
his people chosen to acknowledge the ova-
tion in his honour, nor yet even drawn the
blinds, would now, on opening the door of
the Bush, and ere yet he had stepped down
from it, be asked to stand full front towards
the shrinking foe (in the Eectory), and there
with scathing tongue lash the treacherous
ones till they writhed again! Joy of joys to
Billy, the moment of sweet retribution
long looked forward to, was now at hand!
But there was still a slight, unaccountable
delay. The blinds were still undrawn, the
door of the Bush unopened. Surely the oc-
cupant had not, could not, have fallen asleep,
nor yet remained asleep during the proceed-
ings of the past half -hour, proceedings which
might have called the dead out of the grave-
yard? Billy knocked a respectful knock at
the door of the Bush. A painful pause.
" Three cheers for Misther Walker an' King
William." With all the power of their lungs
The Quad-dhroop-eds 61
this was responded to. Billy knocked again.
Another painful pause. " Three cheers for
Darry walls." This demand, too, was well
and loudly honoured. Billy gave a third
knock a bold one this time. During the
pause, now, a batch of eager faces were dis-
cerned pressed against the panes of the Rec-
tory parlour window. " Three more cheers,
boys, for Simon an* his sarpints." Re-
sponded to with enthusiastic venom. There
was nothing for it now but to open the door
of the Bush and find what was the matter.
Open Billy had it in a jiffey. Yes, there was
a noise inside as if of some one gathering
himself together for the purpose of emerg-
ing. Billy and the crowd fell back a pace
at this to give him room, and at a signal from
Billy, to greet William Aughrim Roarin'-
Meg Walker, Worshipful Grand Master of
the Londonderry Glorious Memories of
Bloody Fields L.O.L., 99,942, on his emer-
gence, the crowd as one man set up " The
Battle of the Boyne " :
"July the First, in Oldbridge town
There was a grievous battle,
Where many a man lay on the ground
By cannons that did rattle :
King James he pitched his tents between "
62 Through the Turf Smoke
And at this instant the inmate of the Bush,
from the door projected a head adorned with
two enormous lugs, and, jealous that they
should have all the music to themselves,
forthwith lifted up his voice in one long,
loud, and most harrowingly unmelodious
bray! Those people who write fiction, find-
ing their imaginations unable to cope with
a crisis they have created, have a shallow
trick of slinking from their duty by saying,
" Here we drop the curtain." Now, willy
nilly, I am constrained to make use of the
shabby subterfuge of these fellows.
Here I drop the curtain!
III.
Eaise it again, and behold it is Sunday
morning. And we are in Church Cruck-
agar Church, too; for there you see many of
our old friends. Billy M'Carter, with mel-
ancholy mien is below; Murray M'Clure, with
something akin to a gleam of malignant tri-
umph on his face, sits well to the front; the
Eev. Simon M'Whan, with a meek expression
on his face, is just entering the pulpit.
" Dearly beloved," the good man said, ad-
justing his glasses and taking up the large
Bible, " for my text this day you will turn
to Numbers, twenty-second chapter, twenty-
eighth and twenty-ninth verses there we
read
" * And the Lord opened the mouth of the
ass, and she said: "What have I done to
thee? Why strikest thou me, lo, this third
time?"
"' Balaam answered: "Because thou hast
64 Through the Turf Smoke
deserved it, and hast served me ill: I would
I had a sword that I might kill thee." ' "
On the Sunday following, a little flock,
with Billy M'Carter as pastor, met for Divine
worship in one of Billy's barns, and from
that time forward constituted an indepen-
dent congregation in themselves. As they
assumed no name, a name was sought for
them, and one for their pastor. Balaam, his
enemies gave to Billy, and the Quad-dhroop-
eds to his congregation. Their first collec-
tion, be it noted, was lifted to compensate
Paddy Monaghan for a slaughtered animal.
The Prince of Wales' Own
Donegal Militia
The Prince of Wales' Own
Donegal Militia
THE P. W. 0., or Prince of Wales' Own
Donegal Militia, was, in the year of our tale
(some fifty years since), one of the finest bod-
ies of men that ever outflanked a beefsteak,
or stormed a breakfast-table; whilst the cool
and dauntless audacity with which half a
dozen of the heroic fellows would attack a
solid square of porter bottles, and carry a
magazine of beers at the point of the cork-
screw, has ever been alike the envy and the
admiration of every other body of military
in the Green Isle the famous North Corks
not even excepted. True, their enemies
urged that in point of discipline they were
not quite what would have been expected of
a martial body sporting the proud colours of
Britain, and that their courage in time of
trial would not be of the mould to reflect
68 Through the Turf Smoke
eternal honour on the proud flag, under
whose glorious shadow it was their envious,
unpurchasable, etc., privilege to march. But
very evidently the malicious grumblers, who
would so slander the Prince of Wales' Own,
never saw those gallant troops marching to
dinner hay foot, straw foot, right foot, left
or each struggling manfully in the last
ditch with his seventeenth bottle, else the
lips of the vile slanderers had on those points
been sealed et in secula seculorum. It must
indeed be admitted that in the Prince of
Wales' Own Donegal Militia the undue famil-
iarity which, we are told in the proverb, is
apt to breed contempt, obtained rather much
between the non-commissioned officers and
the privates for the three-quarters of the
year during which they were gentle and
peaceable civilians, waxing their ends, knot-
ting their threads, philosophising at street
corners, pedestrianising for for health, I
suppose, and profit; collecting bric-a-brac
and antiques in exchange for pins and
needles; bird-fancying a pleasant and
gentle vocation which they usually followed
by the silvery light of the horned moon; and
Prince of Wales' Donegal Militia 69
the other multifarious pursuits in which the
soldier-civilian during his long vacation
takes a part. As a consequence of the fa-
miliarity so begotten, when they donned the
uniform they unfortunately did not sink the
civilian in the soldier, and the respect paid
by the private to his sergeant was in many
instances just not such as was due to a mili-
tary superior. Indeed, if the truth must be
told, perhaps the sergeant or the corporal did
not always preserve that dignity and .hauteur
towards his subordinates which is usually of
necessity affected by men of rank to inspire
those beneath them with respect and awe.
As pray listen:
" Number Twinty-wan, will ye hould yer
gun erackt don't think it's a hatchet ye
have in yer hand goin' to knock down a pig.
Do ye hear me, Dolan? "
" Troth, I do hear ye, Sarjint; it isn't hard
to hear ye this wee while; ye make more
noise lately than ye used to do leapin' off the
table."
A hearty subdued laugh ripples along the
line.
" Number Twinty-wan, I'll make it
70 Through the Turf Smoke
hot for ye afore ye go home to Susy
again."
" No need, Sarjint, avic, makin' it hot for
me it's not a goose ye have in it. I'm not
frettin' about gettin' back to Susy, aither; I
know she can live rightly, for I left plinty of
callage behind for her."
"Ye're a deep scoundhril, Dolan."
"Not as deep as a taityer's thimble, Sar-
jint."
"I'll thrash the eowl out of ye some
day."
" Baste it out of me, ye mane? "
"Yer onsobordinate, sir."
"Say that one again, Sarjint; it's a
thumper, wherever ye come by it."
Then elsewhere
" Stand at aise, Three-an'-thirty."
" I am at aise."
"Thurn out yer right toe," curtly.
" That's not yer right toe, ye omadhaun ye;
do ye know the toe ye bliss yerself with
the hand, I mane. Thurn out the toe of
that hand the toe of that fut."
"But I don't bliss meself with me fut,
Corplar."
Prince of Wales' Donegal Militia 71
" Number Three-an'-thirty, thurn out the
right toe of yer right fut immaijetly."
" Have a bit of raison with ye, Corplar
Muldoon; sure, haven't I five toes on me
right fut, an' I'm blowed if I know which of
the five ye want me to thurn out."
" Thurn out yer right fut immaijetly,
M'Guiggan, or I'll have ye drum-headed, ye
scoundhril."
" There's me right foot out now. I didn't
like for you to go an' reflict on me foot by
evenin' to me that I had only the one toe on
it."
" Hould yer tongue, sir."
" I'll have to let go the gun if I do."
"I'll take the uniform off ye, M'Guig-
gan."
" Ye couldn't."
"Couldn't I?"
"No, for ye haven't got yer pins* about
ye."
" I'll take the uniform off ye, sir, an' I'll
give ye "
" Twelve rows of pins, at laist; divil a toe
* Rag-pickers give rows of pins in exchange for the
wares they receive.
J2 Through the Turf Smoke
it 'ill go into yer bag this day for less, Cor-
plar."
" Ye're a low-lif ed scrub, M'Guiggan."
" Thankee, Misther Muldoon; ye can keep
that yerself."
Also
'" Shouldher arms! "
" Shouldher arms, Three-score! "
" Sure I am shoulderin' them as fast as I
can/'
" It takes ye the divil of a long time to
do it, then; an* yer as awkward-lookin' at it
as a monkey playin' the piano. Numbers
Two-score-an'-nineteen, an' Three-score-an'-
wan, plaise shouldher arms to show Three-
score how to do it with grace. Do ye ob-
sarve that, Three-score? "
" Och, I obsarve it; but do you obsarve
that I don't thank aither of them boys to do
it with grace. Two-score-an'-nineteen is
used at shouldhering his budget; an' Three-
score-an'-wan is a butcher, an' sure ye nivir
yit knew a butcher that wasn't graise from
the sole of his head to the crown of his
foot from the crown of his sole, I mane,
to the head of I mane from the foot of
Prince of Wales' Donegal Militia 73
his crown to to Ye know what I
mane."
"Faix, it would be afther takin' a purty
smart man to know what you mane barrin'
when yer hungry; ye make people undher-
stan' that quick enough."
" Ay, Sarjint, avic, it's ' like masther like
man/ ye know."
" Shouldher yer arms, sir, and keep that
extinsive mouth of yours closed, or I'll be
able to see nothing behind it."
" Closed it is, sir; an' I'd always oblige ye
by keeping it out of yer light if I could only
know when ye're lookin' this way but that
same isn't aisy, troth, from the deuced con-
thrairy way them purty pair of eyes of yours
has of lookin' across aich other."
" I'll have ye removed out of yer ranks,
sir, and put undher guard."
" Well, I'll thank Providence an* you for
the happy relaise."
It happened on one sunny day in a sunny
June of the time heretofore hinted at, that
Colonel Bloodanfire, having distinguished
guests, resolved to entertain them by a field
day and general review of his gallant Done-
74 Through the Turf Smoke
gals. In his cups, on the previous night, he
had committed himself to several compre-
hensive and sweeping statements regarding
the discipline and courage of his beloved
regiment statements which, viewed in the
cold and searching light of day, rather aston-
ished the gallant colonel himself, presenting
as they did a somewhat different aspect from
that which they bore when only the red
glamour of the wine fell upon them. But
Bloodanfire was a man of his word; with him
there was no retrospection when once he had
put his hand to the plough, or even to the
bow the long one. His character and the
character of his regiment were at stake, and
he was resolved all should put their best foot
foremost be the same either the foot dec-
orated with the hay-band, or the one orna-
mented with the straw; for so were his intel-
ligent and courageous fellows ingeniously
aided in distinguishing respectively the right
foot and the left. Accordingly, a council of
war, alike of the commissioned and the non-
commissioned officers, was called on the
morning of the great, the eventful day, at
which the Colonel laid before his subordi-
Prince of Wales' Donegal Militia 75
nates the state of affairs, and urged upon
them the pressing need of making on that
day a special effort to far excel all their
brightest records of the past, and with
united will, by a long pull, a strong pull,
and a pull all together, at once pull the
regiment through the ordeal satisfactorily,
and pull him out of his dilemma. By a
judicious use of corkscrews, he screwed
their courage to the sticking point, and each
man became loud, in fact very loud, not to
say noisy, in his protestations and declara-
tions of using his every endeavour to make
that a red-letter day in the annals of the
Prince of Wales' Own Donegal Militia. And
they kept their word, only too well.
It was well advanced in the forenoon, al-
most bordering on the afternoon, when the
regiment, which had been under arms all
morning, was marched out to an extensive
plain a short distance from the Barracks.
The Colonel's guests, both ladies and gentle-
men, were there to witness the celerity and
the extraordinary military talents, of which
they had heard so much, of the boasted
regiment. The Colonel, informing his
' 76 Through the Turf Smoke
friends that this was his strong point, kept
his men for some hours marching and coun-
termarching, forming and wheeling; and
going through again and again the element-
ary drill, which they did with fclat. At
least the Colonel said it was with eclat; an
enemy to the Colonel, and to the fair fame
of this gallant body of men, who happened
to be on the ground, however, said that eclat
must in that case be French for noise. The
Colonel had, so far, been nervously endeav-
ouring to stave off, as far as possible, the
event of the day, a sham battle between two
sections of his men, the probable result of
which he could only anticipate with fear and
trembling; and he thought if he could only
keep it back, the sky might fall, or the earth
open, or fire and brimstone come down and
consume the whole dodgasted concern, any-
thing, anything he was careless and reck-
less as to their mode of final and complete
extinction only let them be annihilated
somehow, and his credit saved. But, unfor-
tunately, after he had kept off the critical
action till his guests had begun to upbraid
him with delay, and his stomach to reproach
Prince of Wales' Donegal Militia 77
him with neglect, and his men to grumble
audibly, asking to have even a bit of dinner
carried out to them in a red handkerchief,
for that their bellies were bidding their
backs "good-morrow" after he had thus
earned ill-will on all hands, and the fates
and elements had successfully failed to
perform a diversion on his account, such as
he piously prayed for, and both earth and
sky still doggedly remained unmoved, he was
at length compelled to give the dreaded
order for the division of the regiment into
two sections, for the purpose of engaging in
the bloodless encounter, one section standing
motionless to receive and repel the charge
of the other. The brave fellows on each
side, goaded by the cravings of their stom-
achs, feeling far more deadly enmity towards
the Colonel than towards each other, al-
though about to engage in mortal conflict,
now raised their voices in noisy protest
against the inhumanity of making them fight
on empty stomachs. The battle must go on
though. The Colonel determined to meet
his fate like a man. A hurried whispering
might have been observed going on amongst
78 Through the Turf Smoke
the Colonel's friends. One of them, a young
fellow, with a humorous twinkle in his eye,
slipped away, unobserved by the Colonel, and
left the field. The two divisions, not indeed
very blood-thirsty looking, but porter-and-
beer-thirsty enough, faced each other at a
respectful distance. The order, so long
withheld, was at length given to the attack-
ing party; forward they moved, first at the
quick, then at the double quick. Things be-
gan to get exciting. The attitude of the
approaching columns did now certainly be-
gin to look threatening to those who awaited
their attack, with growing trepidation and
indecision, in front. Very evidently the on-
coming party, being in a bad humour, were
resolved to make some one pay the piper;
the motionless party saw this and quailed.
The space between them was short, and rap-
idly diminishing; another minute, and the
crash would come, and
Ding ! Dong ! Ding !
The party to a man came to an instantaneous
halt! It was the great dinner-gong whose
surprising tones rang out so suddenly and
unexpectedly! Now! what
Prince of Wales' Donegal Militia 79
DING!! DONG!! DING!!
Both parties glanced instinctively towards
the Barracks, and then towards each other,
and
DING!!! DONG!!! DING!!!
The imperative tones of that last overcame
any little scruples that might have existed
in their minds. The order of the dinner-
gong was the first order that the Prince of
Wales' Own Donegal Militia had learnt to
obey with alacrity. However dilatory they
may have been in performing other, as
simple, manoeuvres, that consequent upon
the sound of the mid-day gong was picked
up and gone through with a readiness and
tact which verily astounded the drill-ser-
geants. Never had the sound of the gong
been so welcome to their ears. Would they
disobey? Decidedly not! With a " Hip! "
"Whoop!" and "Hurroo!" they fled and
they sped, helter-skelter, quick and quicker,
over ditch and dyke, hedge and fence, with-
out stay or pause, till pell-mell they tumbled
into the Barrack-yard, panting and gasping
and struggling for breath.
Poor Bloodanfire had to affect joining in
80 Through the Turf Smoke
the hearty and rapturous peal of laughter
that burst from his friends, and accompanied
them to dinner, having nothing else for it.
When dinner was over his guests lost no time
in urging upon him the necessity of getting
out his flying squadron (at whose atrocious
breach of discipline he determined to merely
wink) once more for the promised encounter.
So after they had ravenously devoured their
meal, the Prince of Wales' Own Donegal
Militia were again marched out for the dread
encounter. The Colonel and his friends
took up a commanding position on the field,
the offensive and defensive ranks faced each
other, word was passed along the lines that
Colonel Bloodanfire expected every man that
day to do his duty. The command was at
length given, and the attacking party now
started at the double quick. The effects of
a hearty dinner and a bottle of porter had
produced a reaction, exalting their spirits;
so they soon increased their pace to the
treble quick, every man of them itching for
the chance of lathering the sowl out of an
opponent. But their opponents, having to
stand cold-bloodedly awaiting the attack, had
Prince of Wales' Donegal Militia 81
not that stimulant to courage which a hot
race at an enemy ever begets; on the con-
trary, they fidgeted and murmured, and what
courage they had been possessed of, began to
ooze out, like Bob Acres'. The other party
neared them; misgivings, many and serious,
took hold of them; they looked behind them,
looked at the Colonel, finally once more at
the oncoming whirlwind, and with one im-
pulse, as one man, they executed a right-
about-face movement with a promptitude
and expedition that they had seldom exhib-
ited on the parade ground, and fled! Yes,
they fled, with even a swifter pace than what
they had shown in obedience to the dinner-
gong. They fled far, far away, over the
field, over a crowd of loungers who had come
to see the day's sport, over hedge and over
ditch, till they had got well out of the battle-
field. The Colonel, seeing this, boiled over,
his friends got hysterical with laughter; then
the Colonel got scarlet, and white, and
purple, and black. He swore loudly, and the
officers of the retreating division swore
loudly in sympathy, and halloed and shouted
after their fast retreating forces, who, how-
6
82 Through the Turf Smoke
ever, had neither time nor inclination to lis-
ten to orders. I intimated that the whole
division fled, which was not exactly correct;
for one valiant private, Donal M'Glanaghy,
Number Two-score-and-five, held his ground
dauntlessly like a man and a soldier, and by
repelling (with the sole aid of his soldierly
bearing) the attacking force, which retreated
from the attack in high good humour, thus
earned for himself the glory which other-
wise had been distributed over half a regi-
ment.
When the flying squadron had been over-
taken by their officers, and by the Colonel,
who pursued them hotly also, and sur-
rounded and brought back to the field for
the Colonel was determined now to have the
manoeuvre out, at any cost and hotly and
roundly rated, and their deep disgrace, and
the disgrace they had brought upon their
regiment and their Colonel, and even their
country, in the eyes of the satirical strangers,
had been painted to them in very glowing, or
I might plainly say in red hot, words, by
their naturally enraged Colonel, they were
told that now, under pain of the severest
Prince of Wales' Donegal Militia 83
penalties court-martial could inflict on them
severally, they must receive and repel the
attack. The two divisions were again
formed, the order given, and the attackers
came on a third time.
" Holy Moses! " said one of the defensive
party, as the others swiftly approached, " do
ye ohsarve the look of mischief in Condy
M'Garry's eye?" referring to one of the
attacking party.
" Throth an' I do," said a neighbour of the
speaker's. " I see a look of murder in his
eye; an' the same lad isn't to be thrusted. Be
the same token he has the ould spite into
you since the night of the shindy down at
Monaghan's, when ye gave him the nate
little bit of a dinge on the skull. Look at
the eye he has in his head now; as sure as
there's powder in Darry he manes to give ye
a knock look out for yourself! "
" Be the powdhers, then, he'll not have it
all for nothing! he'll get the same sauce that
he gives, with, maybe, more spices in it.
Here's at ye, M'Garry, ye sowl ye! Whir-
roo! " And he hereupon sprang forward
from the ranks to meet the attack, and with
84 Through the Turf Smoke
clubbed musket levelled the wholly-innocent
Condy.
"A-hoo!" "Hip!" "Hurroo!" "Fag-a-
ballagh! " That, and not the officers' orders,
was the real signal for the attack. There
was now some motive to fight for, and some
real tangible benefit to accrue from thus
fighting, far better than a mock affair in
which poor fellows playing at acting on the
defensive could only experience dread and
uncertainty at the formidable and armed
host hurled against them, and who might
mean sham or reality just as circumstances
would, on the spur of the moment, prompt.
Besides, here was an opportunity, a grand
opportunity, for them to cover their late dis-
grace. Providentially, the means of vindi-
cating their fame is thrown in their way, and
they must take advantage of it. They hesi-
tated not, but threw themselves at once, with
their muskets clubbed, on their opponents,
who in their turn entered as warmly and
heartily into the spirit of the thing as could
be desired. It was utterly useless for the
Colonel to go about raging and stamping and
swearing, with the officers bawling, and haul-
Prince of Wales' Donegal Militia 85
ing, and pulling, and striking right, left, and
centre all was quite useless. Both sides
pitched into each other with a spirit that
left not the strangers in a moment's doubt
as to whether or not there was courage in
the Prince of Wales' Own Donegal Militia.
They slashed and smashed, struck, prodded,
parried, and crashed, yelled, and shrieked,
bellowed, cheered, and halloed, giving every
evidence of being engaged in one of the fierc-
est encounters witnessed on a European
battlefield since memorable "Waterloo. And
after a long and stiff struggle the " defen-
sive" party drove their attackers clear out
of the field, and in a deep ditch beyond they
pommelled, till they were tired and wearied,
at all who could not succeed in escaping.
On the following morning there was as-
sembled on parade a highly picturesque,
motley, and vagrant-looking crew, with the
value of a little fortune in sticking-plaster
ornamenting their broken features, listening
to a severe harangue from a highly-enraged
Colonel.
" And now, Number Forty-five," said the
Colonel, when he had used up all the threat-
86 Through the Turf Smoke
ening, as well as vituperative, language the
English tongue vouchsafed; "and now, Num-
ber Forty-five, Donal M'Glanaghy," said the
Colonel, " kindly step forward."
Donal the hero who had valiantly held
his ground on the previous day at the second
attack, when the remainder of his comrades
had so disgracefully fled Donal now stepped
forward with one arm in a sling, one eye
closed and black, and a ridge of sticking-
plaster extending from his nose to his right
ear. He raised his sound arm in salute.
"Private Donal M'Glanaghy," said the
Colonel, " when your unworthy comrades on
yesterday disgraced themselves, their regi-
ment, and me, you alone held your ground
in a manner of which I was proud, in a man-
ner which reflected the greatest credit upon
your training and upon yourself, and which"
and here the Colonel stamped and threw
a fierce look at the dilapidated ranks before
him " and which can not be permitted to
go unrewarded. Say what would you wish
as a recognition of your sterling manliness."
Donal blushed, touched his cap, and
said,
Prince of Wales' Donegal Militia 87
"Well, yer honour, Colonel, I'm thinkin'
maybe ye'd be afther givin' me the Victhory
Crass. I b'lieve it's given in reward for such
actions."
"What! the Victoria Cross!" said the
Colonel, taken aback. " The Victoria Cross!
Oh, but you know, my good man, that is an
honour only given as the very highest and
greatest reward for the most daring and
valiant action a British soldier could per-
form. The Victoria Cross! Oh, no, no, my
good man, that is far beyond my power.
You will have to ask something else, some-
thing more moderate, something more in
reason."
"Well, then, Colonel, yer honour," said
Donal, touching his cap again and standing
erect, " if ye couldn't give me the Victhory
Cross, maybe, Colonel, yer honour, YE COULD
GIVE ME AN" OULD HALF-WORN PAIR O'
THRO USERS YE'D HAVE NO MORE USE FOR ! "
Barney Roddy's Penance
Barney Roddy's Penance
BABNEY was not naturally bad. Take him
in the round, and, I daresay, he had full as
many virtues as the average Irishman. But
the fact is, he was inveterately addicted to
fibbing. Still, his stories were invented with
the very laudable object of entertaining his
listeners. If Barney could not invite you to
his own home, there to help him partake of
a good dinner or a warm supper simply be-
cause he had no home he did the next best
thing in his power, and strung a good thump-
ing lie into a rather enjoyable yarn, and
then and there treated you to it. I cannot
say I never could find out whether Bar-
ney expected you, in return for his kindness,
to put any degree of faith in these yarns.
Some held that he did. But, be Barney's
wishes what they might on that subject, I
am certain that no one ever did believe one
92 Through the Turf Smoke
of his stories unless, indeed, it was some
innocent stranger whom Barney got into his
hands. "It's as thrue as one of Barney
Roddy's yarns," passed into a proverb in that
part of Donegal which Barney honoured with
his residence, and signified that the state-
ment in question was a forty o. p. lie.
"Barney," said I, one evening in harvest
as I took my seat on the whin ditch beside
which he was digging potatoes for Mickey
Roarty " Barney, it's a great wonder to me
you never married."
" Is it, faix? " And Barney dug on with
seemingly increased energy for the space of
five minutes, during which time I was care-
ful not to disturb him.
" Is it, faix? " he queried again, as he
crossed his arms on the spade and looked me
equarely in the face. "Maybe it's me that
was married! an' well married, too! Hagh!
Ay, it wasn't to one I was married at all,
but to a dozen of them! To a dozen divils,
an' ivery one of them worse nor the other! "
saying which he plunged his spade viciously
into the ridge, and resumed his digging in
a fierce manner.
Barney Roddy's Penance 93
"What do you mean, Barney ?" said I,
for I saw that he now only wanted the invi-
tation to commence spinning a yarn; " sure,
if you married a dozen you would be trans-
ported for polygamy."
" I nivir had anything to say to the girl,
thanks be to Providence! "
"Never had anything to say to what
girl?"
"Polly Gammer/'
" Oh! Barney, you mistake me. Poly-
gamy means the marrying of a great number
of wives. How do you mean to say that
you could marry a dozen?"
"I don't know if there was a dozen. There
was eight of them anyhow, I daresay; but
I nivir counted them."
" And what tempted you to marry eight
wives?"
" It was pinance for my sins."
"I should say that was a severe penance.
I have known men who had only one wife,
and they allowed their life was a burthen to
them."
" Throth, then, them men's life was a
Garden of Aiden compared to mine for the
94 Through the Turf Smoke
ten days I was in the blissed state of
matthermony. I married my wife out of
purgathory St. Pathrick's purgathory*
and I had to take all her sisthers an' aunts,
for sivin jinnyrations back into the bargain,
an* be me socks I got me fill of them. It
was a sevair pinance! "
" Tell me all about it, Barney."
" Give us a shough of that pipe. Thanky.
Keep yer eye about ye for fear ye'd find
Micky Koarty comin', an' give me warnin';
for he's a dhirty bear, an' thinks if he gives
a man a shillin' a day with praties an' point,
he thinks you should make a black neygar
of yerself an' work the very sowl out through
yer body for him; if he sees ye liftin' yer
head to say l God save ye ' to a naybour
passin' the way, ye'd think he'd jump down
yer throat." Here Barney seated himself
comfortably on a head of cabbage, and puff-
ing the pipe like a steam engine, he com-
menced.
" Well, to yock at the beginning ye see it
was the time I lived in Tyrone, afore I come
into this counthry, a party of us, naybours,
* Lough Derg.
Barney Roddy's Penance 95
was comin' back from the fair of Dhrimore,
an' be the same token, there wasn't a man
in the party that wasn't rather gay; an when
we come as far as Nancy Hannigan's my
throat was as dhry as a lime-burner's hat,
an' I said we wouldn't pass it till we'd know
what sort of stuff Nancy had in the wee keg.
No sooner said nor done. We knocked up
Nancy in a gintale way be puttin' in the door
with a rock, an' afther Nancy thrated us for
our kind attintions, we got into a wee bit of
verrins (variance) as regards which of us was
the best man. There was a weeny bit of a
tailyer, the size of two good thurf an' a clod,
an' he got up on the table, whin the argy-
mint was at its highest, an' he commenced
abusin' ivery man of the party with langidge
a dog wouldn't take off his hands, an' he
said if he had only his own lapboord he'd
clear the house of ivery mother's sowl of us,
while he'd be sayin' Jack Eobinson. Troth,
the impidence of the wee rascal put us to a
stan' for a minute, an' when I got me breath
agane, I took the wee brat by the scroof of
the neck an' threw him out of the door, an'
as he was flyin' out I give him just a nate
96 Through the Turf Smoke
little nap with me stick that happened to
crack his skull. But we did what we could
for him ordhered a nice coffin, an' ex-
pended tuppence-ha'penny to have it painted
black; give him a rousin' wake; an' then the
funeral was somethin' to open yer eyes! We
got six other tailyers to carry him on lap-
boords, an' berred him with a goose at his
head. It was more than the wee divil de-
earved; but seein' that he met with the wee
mistake in our company, we thought we
would do things square by him, an' we knew
the display would be a consolation to his
widda. "Well, of coorse, I thought it was all
over an' past; but what would ye have iv it,
but Father Luke kicked up such a shindy
over the affair, that he'd almost laive ye
ondher the impression there was nivir a
man's skull cracked in the North of Irelan'
for a hundred years afore. An' it would be
enough, too, if it was a man's skull that was
cracked, and not sich a dawny wee sickly
droich of a thing. Howan'ivir, the upshot
of the whole thing was that Father Luke
ordhered me to Lough Dharrig (Derg) to do
pinance.
Barney Roddy's Penance 97
" Well, when the time come round, I spit
on me stick, an' made for the Lough. An'
maybe I hadn't a high ould time of it there.
Finance! Throgs ye'd niver know what
pinance is till ye'd go to Lough Dharrig.
The Lord forgive me, it's often when I
should be sayin' a mouthful of prayers for
the sowl of the wee tailyer, it's often I'm
afeard it was inventin' new curses for him
I was. Sweet good luck to him if I didn't
suffer in Lough Dharrig that tarm for him!
Thundher and thumps, I had a corn on my
feet fornenst ivery day of the week, an' it's
as careful I was about them corns, as I would
be about my own mother; but the usage
they met in Lough Dharrig, throttin' thim
Stations on me bare feet, was enough to
dhraw tears from a stone. Ye'd think ivery
pebble on the path was spayshally sharpened
agane my arrival, an' whin wan of me corns
would come down atop of a pebble that had
a corner on it as sharp as a fish-hook, I
would give a yell, an' jump the height of
meself, jist landin' down with another corn
atop of the next stone! Between the yellin'
and the skippin' I'm thinkin' that ye might
98 Through the Turf Smoke
put my prayers in yer weskit pocket without
much throuble to ye. There was one ould
voteen, an' he had a skin to the sole of his
own foot that was as tough as a donkey's
hoof, an' when I jumped, an' yelled, an' come
down maybe atop of some of me naybours,
he would say the infarnal scoundhril!
that I was a disgrace to the place, an' that
I should be put out. Then, the night I had
to sit up in the chapel och, that was the
tarror intirely! Whin I was bobbin' over
me head, an' f oun' I couldn't houl' out any
longer, I said to meself I would jist close
me eye for three winks; but the words were
scarcely out of me mouth when, by Jimminy!
the same ould voteen gives me a rap over the
skull with a crosshin of a stick that I thought
he lifted the top of the head clane off me.
I thurned on him an' I gave him a look that
would split a stone wall. ' It's for the good
of yer sowl,' siz he. * Throth,' siz I, ' it may
be for the good of me sowl, but it's not for
the good of me crown. An' me good man/
siz I, 'if it was any other place but the
groun' ye're in, maybe ye wouldn't be so
handy with yer stick. For three fardins/
Barney Roddy's Penance 99
siz I, 'I would take it from ye an' give ye
tlie father an' mother of a good soun' blaich-
inV siz I, <ye snivelling ugly-lookin' scare-
crow ye! ' But all the norrations I could
praich to him wasn't a bit of use; he'd just
turn up his eyes lake a duck in thunder, an'
no surer would I thry to close an eye agane
but he lit on me with his crosshin; an' he
stuck to me all night, an' no matther what
part of the chapel I moved to, to get out of
his way, he was at me shouldher agane in a
jiffey, with the whites of his eyes thurned
on me, an' he waggin' the crosshin at me
iviry time he caught me eye. Be me socks,
my sowl seemed to be of far more consarn
to him than his own. Well, in the mornin',
glory be to Providence, I had nallions on me
head the size of yer two fists, an' I swore that
if ivir I'd meet the natarnal vagabond out-
side of the island, I would give the poorhouse
carpenther a job on his coffin. The sarra
saize me, but I had murdher in me heart!
an' little wondher for me head wasn't
sound for three-quarthers of a year afth'er.
"Howan'ivir, I soon got into betther
humour, an' forgot all about me head, be-
10O
kase I got an intherduction to Nelly Mori-
arty, a widdy woman, with a snug sittin'
down not far from me own townlan' at home.
Nelly, as I thought poor deludhered fool
that I was! Nelly was purty good to look
at. She had cheeks as red as fresh-painted
cart-wheels, an' ivery other accomplishment
accordin' to that. But there's no denyin' it,
the three cows' grass that I knew her to have
made her look a long sight purtier in my
eyes, an' the short an' the long of it was,
that afore I left the island I put me cometlier
on Nelly, an' afther blarneyin' her up, I puts
the word to her, an' faix we settled it all up
square.
"Holy St. Pathrick! but I was the on-
common great ass! I thought we'd be as
happy as the days were long; an* I said to
meself, 'Barney, me boy,' siz I, 'yer jist
settled for life; and it's nivir a hand's thurn
ye'll have to work more, but jist put yer two
hands in yer pockets and go about like a
gintleman. Nelly, be coorse/ siz I, 'with
her three cows' grass 'ill support ye lake a
Prence o' Wales, an' the longest day in sum-
mer ye can throw yerself on the back of the
Barney Roddy's Penance 101
hill on the three cows' grass an' lie there
in the sun, whistlin' jigs agane the larks, an'
snappin' yer fingers at the worl' an' the
divil.' But och, it's little I knew what was
' in store for me. An' Nelly Moriarty, it's
mistaken I was in you intirely! An' I soon
foun' that out when I married into the fam-
ily. When she fetched me home afther the
weddin', the sarra saize me if I could a'most
make my way in of the door, for it was
crammed from the hearth to the threshel
(threshold) with sisthers, an' aunts, an*
mothers, an' gran'mothers, an' the divil him-
self only knows how many other faymale re-
lations, all subsistin' on the three cows'
grass! 'Be the hokey,' thinks I to meself,
when I seen the congregation c be the
hokey, I'll soon make a scattherment on the
nest.' But it was all the other way roun'.
For the first week I couldn't complain much,
barrin' that I had too many masters; but I
didn't grumble much at that yet, for I flat-
thered meself that I would thurn the tables,
as soon as I'd get me footin' made, an' I'd
make them go packin' in detachmints. In
another week, I sayed to meself, if they did-
1O2 Through the Turf Smoke
n't stop their jaw, I would show them the
hole the mason made which is the door.
But movrone, what would ye have of it but
poor Barney's plans went ashaughrin. Ye
see, just to oblige the wife, I used to get
up first in the mornin' an' put on the fire
for them, an' make the wee drap of tay; an'
throth if there had been a bit of rat-poison
any way handy I would have sweetened a
good many of the bowls with it. But in the
coorse of a week, I thought I would com-
mence to show I was masther of the house
an' the three cows' grass. So, next mornin',
when Nelly hilloes in my ear,
" t Barney! ' siz she.
"'What? 'siz I.
"'Are ye awake?' siz she.
"'I'm not,' siz I.
? ' ' Ye're a liar,' siz she.
'" ' I'm as soun' asleep as a bull-frog,' siz I.
" ' Come,' siz she, ' none of yer nadiums,
but get up and put on the fire.'
"'I think I hear you, ma'am,' siz I.
"'What?' siz she, 'ye lazy, good-for-
nothin' scrub ye, do ye mane to say ye're
not goin' to do as ye're bid?'
Barney Roddy's Penance 103
" ' Throgs,' siz I, ' there'll be two moons
in the sky, an' one in the du'ghill, when ye
get me to put on a fire for ye.'
" Faix the word wasn't fairly out of me
mouth, when, without sayin' dhirum or
dharum, she ups with her fist an' the next
minnit there was more stars dancin' afore me
eyes than ivir I seen on a frosty night she
left me as purty a black eye as ye'd maybe
ax to look at. Well, I didn't argy the quis-
tion with Nelly, but got up an' put on the
fire.
" Nixt mornin' the praties was to be dug
for the brakwus.
" * Barney,' siz she, ' throw the spade over
your shouldher, an' go out an' dig a basket
of tatties.'
" ' Why,' siz I, that way f or I was just
what ye'd know afeared ' why,' siz I, ' whin
me mother was alive long ago (rest her
sowl!),' siz I, ' she used to go out an' dig the
brakwus for me herself. Seein' that I was
always a delicate sort of boy, she allowed the
mornin' air didn't agree with me goin' out
on the bare stomach.'
" ' An' she sayed that? ' siz Nelly, raichin'
104 Through the Turf Smoke
her han' for the beetle. 'Ye're a delicate
boy, throth except at male times and we
must harden ye a bit/ an* with that she let
fly the beetle at me head, as I was makin' for
the door; an' do ye see that mark?" said
Barney, exhibiting to me the track of a
wound over one eye, which, to my own
knowledge, he got in a drunken squabble
only a fortnight before.
" Yes," said I, " I see that. But I was of
opinion it was Harry Hudy gave you that
the night you had the little scrimmage below
at Inver."
" Oh, were ye of that opinion, faix? "
returned Barney, slightly nonplussed.
" There's many an opinion you have it's a
pity they're not worth much. Harry Hudy
did give me a blow there, but then it was the
ould wound he opened."
" Oh, that explains it/' said I.
" Well, Nelly hadn't to ax me the second
time to dig the tatties. I went out an' done
it as soon as I got meself gathered up again,
an' I went afterwards to Dr. M'Clintock an'
got thirteen stitches in the split she made in
me head. Throth, the doctor could tell ye,
ye could ram yer two fists into the hole was
in it! Howan'ivir, I seen there was two
sides to the quistion, an* that Nelly was
detarmined to be master in her own
house.
" The very nixt day there was to be a
caman match between two townlan's, an' I
was axed to be one of the players. I tould
Nelly so the night afore. She tould her
aunts an' the rest of the congregation that
they would all go early to see the match.
* But plaise Providence,' siz she to me, ' it's
no place for the lake of you, that should be
doin' for yer sowl, instead of makin' a tom-
fool of yerself with a crooked kippeen; an'
ye'll lie in yer bed all day the morra! ' I
was wise enough to keep me tongue in me
jaw, an' say nothin'; but in the mornin', sure
enough, she packed one of her gran'-aunts
away with me breeches, to hide them in a
naybour's, and tould me lie in bed all day
and say me baids. Hirsilf an' the thribe of
divils she had about her, thricked themselves
out with ribbands, an' they stharted away
for the day's sport, for all the world lake a
dhraper's shop goin' out for an airin'. I lay
106 Through the Turf Smoke
up in bed with no betther amusement than
countin' the rafthers above me; an' when I'd
have them all counted, I'd sthart them agane
in the new, jist to keep me mind occupied;
but I'm blissed if I didn't soon get tired of
the same amusement, an' I sayed to meself
that it was scarcely as good as caman playin';
an' I begun to get a trifle restless an' to
yawn lake as if I wanted to swally the bed-
posts; an' I sayed, come what might, come
what may, I would get up an' make meself
a dhrop of tay. So I jumped out of bed, an'
for want of betther I hauled myself into a red
flannel petticoat of Nelly's och! the sorra
take me if I'm tellin' ye a word of a lie
an' but that was the dear petticoat to me.
I dhrew on me coat an' waistcoat, an' puttin'
on me brogues an' socks, I thought to meself
that I could manage to cuffufle about
through the house rightly for half an hour,
in case no one come in. But the red petti-
coat didn't more nor reach me knees, an' I
laughed hearty at meself, the purty figure I
cut, but at the same time I was thrimblin'
for 'fraid any of the good boys would catch
me in the John Heelan'-man kilts; so I de-
Barney Roddy's Penance 107
tannined to make for the room if I foun'
anyone comin'. An', be the holy poker, it's
not long I had to wait till I heard the thramp
marchin' up to the dure. In the hoppin'
of a sparrow I was in the room, with the
dure closed.
"'Barney Eoddy? Where are ye, Bar-
ney?' was shouted from the kitchen next
minnit, an* the heart jumped into me mouth,
for I foun' that it was a party of the caman
players who come to see what was keepin*
me. I nivir let on I heard them.
" * It's in his bed asleep the lazy blaguard
must be yet, when he should be in his place
in the fiel*. Come, to see if we could waken
him up/ says one of them. Och! sweet
seventy-nine! Here was I in a purty pickle
intirely! 'My blessin' on you, Nelly Mori-
arty, an* if the divil had his own/ siz I to
meself, 'it's not showing off yer foldherols
an* fineries ye'd be in a caman fiel' the
day/
"'Barney Eoddy!' agane one of them
shouts, givin' the room dure a rattle that I
thought I'd have it in a-top of me ' Barney
Eoddy, are ye there? or what's wrong with
108 Through the Turf Smoke
ye at all, at all, that ye're not out with yer
caman an hour ago? '
" I hauls a blanket off the bed, an' rowlin'
it about me for feard of the worst, I plants
me back to the room dure, an' thinkin' to
frighten them away, I shouts back,
" * Och, there's nothing much wrang with
me, barrin' that I'm in bed with a touch of a
bed fever I have cotched.'
" ' Come now/ siz they, f none of your
skeegwaggin', but open the dure an' get out
here to the caman, before we burst the ould
consarn in on ye/
"Ah, the sweat begun to come down me
face in dhrops the size of a pigeon's egg.
" ' Can't yez go away like Christians/ siz
I, ' an' let a poor man die in paice.'
"But it was no airthly use. They were
detarmined to have me, an' have me they
would. So then ivery man put their
shouldhers to the dure, an' the next minnit
they were in a-top of me. An' there I stood
thrimblin' in the middle of the flure, pullin'
the blanket closer about me. But as me ill
fortune would have it, doesn't one of the
lads there was a whole half-a-dozen of them
Barney Roddy's Penance 109
in it doesn't one of them eye my brogues
peepin' out from undher the blanket!
" ' Ah/ siz he, ' here's a go! Does Barney
Koddy go to bed in his brogues! Ha, ha!
he was thryin' to play us a thrick; but we
know one worth two of that.'
" * Ay/ an' siz another blaguard, ' does he
usually go to bed with his waistcoat an' coat-
hamore on him?' pullin' open the blanket
at the breast.
"'It must be a new midicine for faver
patients/ siz another.
" * No, but Barney wants to die an' be
berrid in his brogues, sooner nor let any
other lucky dog step into his shoes, an* get
the widow/ siz another.
" ' Ay, an' her twinty-nine aunts/ siz an-
other.
" Then they got a hoult of the blanket to
pull it off me, but I held on to it like grim
death.
" ' Niver mind/ siz the ringleader of the
gang, Archy Magee, 'when he's so fond of
the blanket we'll laive it with him. Up with
him on yer shouldhers, boys, just as he is,
an' give him the frog's march to the caman
no Through the Turf Smoke
fiel'; then let him pride out of the good
colour of his blankets there, if he likes he'll
have a repreciative audience/
"An' before they give me time to open
me mouth they had me on their shouldhers,
wrapped up like a corp in the blanket, an'
away to the caman fiel' hot foot. They
joulted the sowl out of me so, that purshuant
to the one of me could get a word out of me
mouth till we got to the fiel', with them
hilloain' an' the crowd cheerin', an' all the
worl' in commotion to see what they had
rowled up in the blanket. Down they
planked me with a hearty cheer in the middle
of all the spectathors; an' when they pulled
the blanket off me by main force, och, holy
Moses, but that was the consthernation! It
would be hard to tell whether it was them
or me or the crowd was the most thundher-
struck, to see Barney Eoddy come out to play
caman in a red flannen petticoat that come
down to his knees!
" I took to me scrapers, an' the crowd just
only then got their tongues loosed, an' they
sent up a roar that would make the dead
play hop-scotch in their coffins, an* they
Barney Roddy's Penance ill
stharted afther poor Barney, hilloain' an*
shoutin' an* laughin'; but, be me boots, I
soon distanced them, an' when I got out of
their sight I made for the nearest house,
scarin' all the childer was in it clane out of
the townlan'. I helped meself to the long
loan of the best pair of throwsers I could
screenge up in the house; an* shakin' the dust
of that counthry off me feet, I thurned an*
bequaithed my left-handed blessin' to Nelly
Moriarty an' her breed, seed, and jinnyra-
tion, and left for iver a counthry where I
could niver more hould up me head to look
a man sthraight in the face.
" An' be all that's good there comes that
misardly scandaverous villain, Mickey
Eoarty, an' the neygar 'ill be afther makin*
me hop for losin' me day sittin' here spinnin*
lies I mane to say tellin' histhory passages
of me life to you. I wish all the crows in
Connaught would pick that rascally eye out
of his head, an* the dickens fly away with the
remaindher of him, for it's him is the bla-
guard has the bad tongue. God save ye,
Misther Eoarty, but this is the purty evenin'
intirely, isn't it? "
Dinny Monaghan's Last Keg
Dinny Monaghan's Last Keg
" DINNY MONAGHAN'S, of Keelogs, that's
where we're bound for; and Hazelton, my
boy, if you only mind your points it's maybe
a sergeant you'll be made for this night's
work. The ould spite between himself an'
Brannigan, you see, is at work still more
power to it an' we're goin' to reap the
fruits. Brannigan come in the whole way
to tell me that they brewed last night, an'
a mighty big brewin' it was, too but un-
knownst to him: but he says they have one
of the kegs still in the house, an' they're
goin' to have a jorum with some invited nay-
bours to-night; so we'll just give them a bit
of a pleasant surprise, an' deil's good cure to
Monaghan, he's the biggest rascal ever was
born to stretch hemp. The fox runs long,
Hazel, my boy you mind the ould sayin'.
Many's the thramp he give us for nothin',
ii6 Through the Turf Smoke
but we'll nip his career, the villain, to-night,
an' pay him back with compound inthrust.
Come, Murphy, Short, Hazelton are ye all
ready? Mount your big coats, for it's an
ugly raw night as ivir fell from the heavens.
Thramp! "
It was Sergeant M'Golrick, better known
as " the Black Sergeant," that addressed his
subs, in the Ballynapooka police station, situ-
ated among the Donegal hills, upon what
the sergeant very aptly described as "an
ugly raw night" in March, 185 . And
now, as the four cloaked and armed figures
disappear from the station in the thick dark-
ness of the night, I will take the story-teller's
convenient privilege of whisking my readers
direct to Dinny Monaghan's cottage in Kee-
logs, whence, as we come up to the door,
shouts of mirth and hilarity are heard to
ring out, as the inmates, all unconscious of
the impending danger, are commemorating
the successful brewing of the last " run " of
mountain dew. As we glide in, and close
the door upon the chill, foggy night-air with-
out, a scene meets our view that charmingly
contrasts with the rank unpleasantness that
Dinny Monaghan's Last Keg 117
reigns outdoors. The peat and fir piled high
upon the hearth shoot upwards merry, play-
ful, dancing tongues of flame, that send fan-
ciful shadows wavering over the soot-stained
rafters aloft, and appear like some blithe,
shadowy beings looking down upon the revels
below, with restless delight. There is no
other light in the cottage, nor is any other
needed; the remotest corners of the big
kitchen are sufficiently enlightened by the
blazing fir, and the merry faces of those who
form a wide circle round the big, open
hearth are lit up by the red blaze in a pict-
uresque manner. You see that short, black-
whiskered man, with the merry twinkle in
his eye, who is seated at the upper corner,
and is now looking side-wise at the half-filled
glass (with the stem broken off) which he
holds betwixt his eye and the fire-light that
is no other than the redoubtable Dinny him-
self, the renowned distiller of forbidden liq-
uors, the "marked man" of innumerable
generations of peelers, and the inveterate and
unflinching denouncer and renouncer of Ex-
cise, Excisemen, magistrates, peelers, and
police courts, with all their pomps and vani-
ii8 Through the Turf Smoke
ties. But I daresay you know Dinny and
all his characteristics without my descrip-
tion. Who does not? And you must know,
too, most all the " old, familiar faces " that
circle around Paddy Teague and Charley
the Kooshian, and Billy M'Cahill a lad who
could run a dhrop of the rale stuff as well
as the next Murty Meehan, Mickey Ruadh,
and the rest of them, not forgetting Mrs.
Monaghan Dinny's plump little wife who
is making herself so busy drawing from the
"ten-gallon" (that is in the corner above
her, just behind an unoccupied cradle), and
replenishing the glasses as they are emptied.
So we'll just turn our attention to what they
are saying.
"Why, Jimmy M'Groarty, did ye get the
parrylitics in yer arm, or what's the matther
with ye? You same to have forgot the r'yal
road to yer mouth; an' throgs if ye have it's
a bit change come over yer mother's son.
Tip that dhrop over, avic, and don't be mak-
in' mouths at it; ye're nursin' it for the last
half-hour like a sick doll that had caught
the maisles. Sure ye're not afeard of it?
It can't be that it's so ill-tasted; I think I
Dinny Monaghan's Last Keg 119
made worse dhrops in my career. Over with
it, man, an' give us a song."
" Faix, Dinny, you're right there here's
may we niver dhrink worse! Hem! Dinny,
ye did make worse. With due respects I say
it. At the same time the worst iver you
made would earn a repitition (reputation)
for any honest distiller. But it's seldom ye
were able to coax anything out of the worm
to aiqual that. It's for all the worl' like me
fren' there beyant, Paddy Teague's blarney
ha! ha! it goes down aisy."
" Throth, Jimmy," replies Paddy, " little
wondher it goes down aisy with ye ye're
payin' nothin' for it."
This repartee is received with a chorus of
laughter.
" By the boots, Paddy, an' it differs from
your blarney, then."
" How is that?"
" Why, Paddy Teague nivir blarneyed a
man yet no matther it was his own mother
but that man had to pay through the nose
for it."
"Ha! ha! ha! ha!"
" Boys, Jimmy's gettin' witty, wherever
12O
he lamed it. It wasn't at school, anyhow;
I know that, for ye mind, Jimmy, the
masther turnin' ye out be the lug, an*
warnin' ye niver to let him see yer purty
face again."
" Ha! ha! What was he thurned out for,
Paddy? "
" Och, the ould complaint."
"What was that?"
" Why, atin' too much! I'm sorry,
Jimmy, avic, to fetch the flush to yer face,
but"
" Paddy, dhaisge, ye don't see any flush
on my face."
" Throth, Jimmy, I know we don't see it
on yer face, but if it was washed we would.
Ye see, boys, it was the time the relief stir-
about was givin' out in the bad times, an*
Jimmy's father, poor man, sent him to school
to gradyate; but Jimmy, the villain, not
content with the stirabout, took to atin' the
numbers off the noggins.* So the masther
give him siveral public riprimands, but it
was all no use; he had to turn him out in
the rear. Indade, it went again the mas-
* Noggin, a wooden vessel used instead of a bowl.
Dinny Monaghan's Last Keg 121
ther's grain to do it, as he said; an' so long
as Jimmy confined himself to lickin' the nog-
gins it was of coorse right enough, he said,
an' saved the expinses of washin' them; but
he had to be responsible to the Gover'ment
for the noggins, an' that bein' the case, he
said he couldn't permit a cannyball to re-
main in his school you'll excuse me,
Jimmy, for rememb'rin' this. Keep an eye
to Billy M'Cahill there, boys, for I'm afeard
he'll go into fits, he's laughin' that hearty
at Jimmy."
" No, Paddy asthore, I know what Billy
is laughin' at; he's thinkin' of the day your
gran'uncle got invested with the hemp collar
the day he danced the double shuffle with-
out a door anondher his feet, ye mind, an'
all bekase some of the naybour's sheep took
a likin' to go to the fair with his own, and
to get sould among them be mistake. That's
what Billy's laughin' at. He's thinkin', too,
how his own gran'father was refused the
honour of pullin' the cord an' earnin' a
couple of pounds in the mornin'."
"Thrue as gospel, Jimmy," Billy inter-
poses; "but your gran'father was too able
122 Through the Turf Smoke
for mine that mornin'. He offered the
shariff to take the job at half-price, an'
got it."
"Ha! ha! ha!" laughs Dinny, with the
tears actually streaming down his cheeks in
thorough enjoyment of the fun he had un-
consciously started. "Ha! ha! ha! Jimmy,
I'm afeard they'd get too many for ye, ha!
ha! ha! Yez 'ill ha^e to give over the
sconsin'* till we have a song. Jimmy, clear
yer throat, like a man, an' rattle us up a
song."
" Jimmy M'Groarty's song! Jimmy
M'Groarty's song! " now resounds from all
sides.
" Hould on yez! " interjects Dinny.
"Mrs. Monaghan, would ye be so kind as
to replinish our empty glasses with a little
more goat's milk? We'll relish Jimmy's song
the betther of it. That's you, thank ye!
Now, boys, here's Jimmy's health, an' long
life an' an aisy death to him! "
" An' may I nivir die in the air, ha! ha! "
with a significant look at Paddy Teague.
" An' may he nivir pull the rope at half
* Chaffing.
Dinny Monaghan's Last Keg 123
price, though it is in the blood! " retorts
Paddy.
This is received with another good-
humoured laugh all round, in which
Jimmy, of course, takes part. The glasses
are emptied with a delightful rapidity, lips
are smacked, throats cleared, and Jimmy in-
forms them that he is going to give them
" Paddy Shinaghan's Cow."
" Bully for ye, Jimmy! "
Jimmy immediately proceeds to assume
the regular orthodox singing attitude. A
man attempting to sing without having a
voice would scarcely be less unfavourably
received than a man singing without the
proper attitude. So, in order to acquire
this attitude let us attentively observe
Jimmy. He first crosses the legs, then in-
sinuates his thumbs into his waistcoat at
the armpits, leans well back on his chair,
prospects in the roof for a proper rafter
at which to pitch his voice this rafter
likewise serves for reflectively swaying the
head, and making appropriate gestures at,
as well as (apparently) reading the words
off and having found a fitting rafter,
124 Through the Turf Smoke
Jimmy commences amid an all but breath-
less silence:
" There's a man in Ardaghey both proper an' tall;
Och, he's wan Paddy Shinaghan, we do him call,
For he brews the cordial that does exceed all
Sure he bates all the docthers aroun' Dinnygal.
" For if ye were gaspin' and ready to die,
The smell of it fastin' would lift yer heart high ;
So hoist it up farther, quite near to your nose
Sure an Inver man loves it wheriver he goes !
" We can't have a christ'nin' without it at all,
We dhrink an' sing chorus, shake hands an' sing all.
Your health now, dear gossip, as I may you call
Sure if this be's a ghost, that it may meet us all I
" Now, Paddy, the rascal of late it has been
With steam an' hot wather he brewed his poteen ;
He left it in barrels, as I hear them say,
But his cow took a notion of dhrinkin' that day I
" Wirrasthrue ! when the cow, sure, the notion did
take,
She first broke the boroch* and then pulled the
stake,
Then she dhrunk at the barrels till she dhrunk
her fill-
Holy Nelly! she didn't leave much of the still I"
" The sarra take her, but she was fond of
the sperrits."
* The rope by which a cow is secured to the stake.
Dinny Monaghan's Last Keg 125
"Whisht! whisht! BedhaJiosth! Go on,
Jimmy, ma l)ouchal!"
" But when she got dhrunk she began to feel shame,
An' she says, ' Paddy Shinaghan ' call'n' him by
name
' I'm as dhrunk as a beggar, with juice of the malt,
But Paddy, avourneen, it isn't my fault.'
" Then she hiccoughed and staggered an' axed Pat
to fight,
An' she threatened that through him she'd let in
the daylight ;
That his breed was all cowards she tould him to
note,
An' dared him to tramp on the tail of her coat.
" Next day she woke up with a bad broken horn,
And begun for to curse the day she was born ;
She cursed barley, an' kilty, an' poteen likewise,
An' cursed all the still-tinkers anondher the skies.
" She warned all good cows to mind their fair name,
An' to niver taste dhrink that would fetch them
to shame,
An' she whispered to Paddy, an' said in his ear,
' Sure ye will not tell Oonah I went on the beer ?
" ' An' Paddy, ahaisge, if mercy you'll have,
I'll bring ye each year a fine heifer calf,
For I am right honest, though found of a spree,
An' sure, Paddy, ma touched, ye're as fond of 't
as me ! '
" An' Paddy had marcy (we give him renown);
But when Oonah did milk her, her milk it was
brown.
' Poor cow, then,' says Oonah, ' it's yer heart's
blood ye give,
For ye won't see us wantin' milk while you do live.'
" Now, we'll dhrink an' be merry, an' forgiye the
cow ;
Here's a health to bould Shinaghan, whither or
how ;
Let us pray may he never lose head, worm, or still
On that sanctified place they call Keelog's Hill.
" Here's a health to myself, an' God save Ireland's
King!
Sure it's me makes the valleys of Keelogs to ring,
It's me makes the valleys an' taverns to roar
Without a dhrop of whisky I can sing no more ! "
"Bravo! bravo! Bully, ye are! Hurroo!"
is echoed from all quarters.
"Mrs. Monaghan Biddy fill his glass,
for he deserves it, in throgs. Fill all our
glasses when ye're at it, an' we'll dhrink
Paddy Shinaghan's health. Here's to him,
boys good fortune."
" Throth, an' it's no mane song," says
Charley the Eooshian, up-ending his glass to
see that he has drunk it clean.
" Throth no, Charley; nor he was no mane
man made it either. It's as purty a rhyme
as I came acrass for a considherable time,"
says Paddy Teague.
Dinny Monaghan's Last Keg 127
" Thrue for ye, Paddy," adds Jimmy; " he
knew how to make rhymes, that man did."
" Oh, he was a shupayrior poet."
" Shupayrior? "
" It's very few of yer * come all ye's ' ye'd
get to touch up to it."
" Thry that for a thrick."
" Ay, an' the cow, the poor baste, she acts
so nathural like, just for all the worl' like a
daicent Christian, axin' Paddy to thramp on
the tail of her coat, an' all that, an' then
repintin' next mornin'."
"Ay; but," interposed Dinny, "meself
wouldn't like to be a barrel of poteen in her
way the nixt night again. Ha! ha! "
" Och, jist like the Christian again,
Dinny, avourneen."
" Ha! ha! ha! "
" Dinny, aliaisge, take you warnin' from
that song, an' rair up yer cows in the way
daicent cows should be raired. Don't lay
timptation, in the shape of a barrel of
poteen, in their way. There's a brinley cow
ye have, wid no eyes only one, an' that one
lookin' crossways with pure divilment, an' I
wouldn't thrust but she'd go on the spree
128 Through the Turf Smoke
in a minnit. She has a rascally bad look
about her."
" Nivir fear ye, Mickey, agrah, when I hide
me poteen he'll be cleverer than a brinley
cow that 'ill fin' it."
" Throth, then, the Black Sargint, they
say, has swore that he'll make ye pay the
piper yet." ,
" Well, maybe it wouldn't be the first false
oath he swore, if we'd believe all people say.
Ha! ha! "
" He's a born divil. There's no being up
to his thricks. Dark an' dhirty as the night
is, I woudn't at all be very much surprised
to see him openin' the door an* marchin' in."
" Is it him? He's measlin' his purty shins
at the barrack fire, plottin' some new mis-
chief with the divil. He'd think twicet be-
fore he'd come out such a night as that.
Biddy, fill us the glasses again; I have one
other toast to give before I let yez go, boys
a toast that I'm sure yez'll all do honour
to. I'm goin' to toast thank ye, Biddy!
to toast a man whose kindness or whose mor-
tial great cliverness, or whose love for all
poteen-makers, I don't know which yez'll
Dinny Monaghan's Last Keg 129
most admire. Now, boys, yez'll have to take
off yer glasses cliverly to it here's 'The
Black Sargint.' "
" Here's the Black Sargint! " was shouted
it almost seemed echoed from the door,
which was suddenly burst open, and a breath-
less youngster leaped into the house.
At the sudden ejaculation from the door,
every man present experienced a shock that
fetched him instantaneously to his feet, and
the mouths that had just opened to laugh at
the first mention of the epithet were still
held open in consternation at the second un-
looked-for, astounding shout of it.
" Here's the Black Sargint! " the lad re-
peated. " He's on the top of yez. When I
seen him an' his men passin' our door, takin*
the short cut for here, I got out the back
way, an' off to warn ye; but, bad luck to him,
he cotched sight of me, an' he didn't let me
gain much groun' on him. Holy Moses!
that's the thramp comin' roun' the house."
" No way of consailin' the keg! " muttered
Dinny, now as pale as a ghost. " Caught
at long last, boys! the jewel are ye, Biddy!
there's a chance for Dinny, yet, boys!
130 Through the Turf Smoke
There he is, may the dickens take him, the
black rascal! Off, hoys, with every dhrop! "
During the utterance of the last few
sentences, the door is repeatedly and loudly
battered at, and a gruff voice without is
angrily demanding admittance. It is no
other than the dreaded "Black Sargint."
Mrs. Monaghan, you may observe, is, with
great coolness, wrapping up and paying
much attention to what appears to be a
child in the cradle; though hitherto, we feel
assured, there did not seem to be any child
in it, nor did she pay the slightest attention
to the cradle throughout the night. As
Dinny proceeds to the door, the men, having
emptied their glasses, cast an anxious look
in the direction of the keg, but are amazed
to see no keg in it. Then, observing Mrs.
Monaghan's motions, their faces brighten
somewhat.
" Arrah, be aisy would ye at the door,
whoiver ye are," says Dinny, as he applies
his hand to undo the bolt. " Why, sargint,
avic, ye don't mane to say its yerself's in it?
Why, I didn't know what sort of a
moroder (marauder) was batin' the divil's
Dinny Monaghan's Last Keg 131
own tindherary on the door wantin' to pull
down an honest man's house. Why, it's
yerself's heartily welcome an' yer fren's,
too one, two, three of them. Gintlemen,
this is an unexpected plisure. Now, who'd
have thought yez would take it into yer head
to come out for a moonlight sthroll sich a
night! Mrs. Monaghan, agrah, would ye
lave the Eooshian in charge of the wean for
a minnit, an' look if ye'd have ever another
dhrop in the cubbard for the daicent gintle-
men? You haven't a dhrop? Wirrastlirue,
I'm sorry for that. If yez had had just hon-
oured us by dhroppin' in five minnits sooner,
gintlemen, I would have give yez a dhrop
would warmed yez down to the exthraym-
ities of yer big toes. Movrone! but I'm un-
lucky! "
" Come, Monaghan, none of yer pala-
verin'; stan' aside, an' I'll sarch the cubbard,
an' a few other places for meself. You've
had things purty near long enough yer own
way; but Dinny, ould boy, it's my turn now
time about, ye know, is fair play."
" Why, sargint, darlin', sure it's welcome
ye are to take a peep into the cubbard, an'
132 Through the Turf Smoke
pick an' choose for yerself. It's a kindly
heart ye have. It's few would lave their
warm fire sich a night, and plod four mile,
through cowld an' wet, mud and muck, to
their fren's. Poor divils! yez are stharved
an* drownded, that's what yez are. Push
forrid to the fire; don't feel backward. That
glass, sargint, jewel, is emp'y, as ye observe.
Och, it's no good in ye thryin' any of them
they're all emp'y as yer own skull."
" They are emp'y, I see, but"
" Och, no ' buts ' at all about it, sargint,
avic. I'll jus' sen' the youngsther over to
Paddy Neddy's, of the back of the hill he's
makin' a runnin' the night (may he have
luck with it!), and I'll jist get ye a dhrop of
the first shot."
" Come, come, Monaghan," says the ser-
geant, whose ( dandher ' is commencing to
rise at Dinny's jokes, "give us no more of
your blarney, but tell me where's the poteen
you run last night? "
"Where's the poteen I run last night?"
"Yes, where's the poteen you run last
night? You have a keg of it in the house
you know you have; an* you'd betther not
Dinny Monaghan's Last Keg 133
get yer house pulled upside down, but hand
it out at oncet, for I'll have it with me,
should I pull down yer house to get at
it."
"Well, sargint, avic, I daresay the aisiest
way is the best, so, if ye promise not to sthir
anything else lookin' for more bekase
there's no more in it I'll tell ye where that
dhrop is."
" That's right, Dinny; I see you have some
sense afther all. Where is it?"
" Why, sargint, it's av coorse ye promise
what I axed ye?"
" Of coorse, of coorse, man."
" Honour bright."
" Honour bright, Dinny."
"Why thin, sargint, yer a daicent fellow
as iver stepped in shoe-leather, so I'll tell ye.
It's if s in the Jceg ! "
" The divil take ye! I'll overhaul yer
whole house."
" Och, sargint, yer promise! Honour
bright, ye know."
" Go to the deuce! When ye won't tell
me where the keg is, I'm goin' to find it.
Come on, men! "
134 Through the Turf Smoke
" Aisy, sargint, aisy, ye didn't ax me where
the keg was."
" Stan' aside."
" So you'll pull down a man's house."
" Tell me, then, where is the keg? "
" I will, if you give me that promise."
"I'll give ye the promise; an' more than
that, I'll stick to it, if ye tell me the very
place the keg is."
" The very place I'll tell ye it."
" All right, then, ye have my promise."
" Well, the keg, sargint the very place the
keg is, is about the poteen!"
This is greeted by a loud roar from all
sides of the house, while Mrs. Monaghan,
who has been industriously rocking the
cradle all the time, protests,
" Billy M'Cahill, I would thank ye to not
thramp over the wean. Yez have it awake,
yez have, with yer jokin' an' laughin'. I'll
thurn yez out, ivery mother's sowl, if yez
can't have behaviour," and she stoops over
the cradle to soothe her charge, whilst the
sergeant and his men proceed at once, in
mighty wrath, to search for the keg.
" Bad scran to yez, I say again, an' will yez
Dinny Monaghan's Last Keg 135
not fall over the cradle an' smother the chile!
Paddy Teague, isn't it near time ye wor
thinkin' of goin' home to Norah? I think
it's purty near time yez were all thrampin',
an' leave a weeny bit of room for the gintle-
men to get sarchin' the house," says Mrs.
Monaghan.
" Now, Hazelton, try you the room there
below, an' meself an' Murphy 'ill thry this
other room. Short, throw you your eye
about the kitchen here don't leave a mouse-
hole you won't sarch. Hazelton, my boy,
ye were long lookin' for the sthripes now's
yer chance."
" Is it Misther Hazelton get the sthripes?"
from one in the crowd, who are now com-
mencing to enjoy the thing. " Throth, he
will get them but, I'm afeard, it 'ill be on
the wrong place, ha! ha! "
"Ha! ha! ha! Now, Misther Short, ye
boy ye, 'arn you the sthripes."
" Och, be the holy poker, he'll rise in the
worl' yet, the same man will."
"How high?"
"Och, meself can't tell that it all de-
pends on the taste of the hangman."
136 Through the Turf Smoke
" Why then, Charley, I dar'say it'll be the
short dhrop they'll thrate him to, no matther
who gets the privilege of pullin' the cord."
" I'm thinkin' for the Lord's sake, Mis-
ther Short, take care of yer prayshus self, ye
were a'most down, there I'm thinkin', boys,
it'll be a very short drop he'll get to-night,
anyhow."
" Throth, then, it'd be a shame to thrate
the daicent man so, afther him comin' so far
to see yez."
" Ay, an' on such a divil's own wet, dhirty
night, too."
"Ay, an' see there's a river of wather
runnin' from him, poor man, that would
nearly wash a policeman's conscience."
"Ay, if he had it about him. But they
say that when they go on duty they have
got spayshill ordhers from Dublin Castle to
leave their conscience at home behin' them,
for fear they would get injured."
" Or maybe lost I heerd tell of a peeler
losin' his conscience when on duty."
" The Lord help the poor man f oun' it. I
wouldn't like to be in his shoes."
" Why, eargint, avic, is it out of the room
Dinny Monaghan's Last Keg 137
ye are, an' widout the keg? Ye must have
been crassed by a red-haired man to-night
ye have no luck."
" Faix, sargint, darlin', it's cowld an' wet
an' I dar'say hungry an' thirsty ye are. Pull
up to the fire dhaisge, an' take a shin-heat."
" The poor man is too fond of his counthry
an' it's workin' himself to death he is. Look,
he's disappearin' inside his clothes, for all
the worl' like a haporth of tibbacky in a
sack."
" An' there's poor Hazelton, too, has given
up the lower room; an' he's desarvin' of his
counthry, if iver a man was he's shiverin'
like a dhrownded cat, an' the teeth in his
head's rattlin' like a workhouse cart. Cheer
up, oul' fellow, the sthripes is before ye yet."
" Oh, they are before him maybe now, but
they'll be behind him, plaise the Lord, some
day."
" Now, Mickey Eoe, don't be hard on the
poor man; maybe it's enough he's sufferin'
this minnit in his own heart, bein' disap-
pointed of the warm dhrop of the crathur
he was expectin'."
"In his own heart! It's the first time I
138 Through the Turf Smoke
iver heerd him accused of havin' one. Where
might he carry the article? "
" In his stomach."
" Or in his heels? It was in his heels he
had it the day that Peggy M'Glanaghan
ducked him in the du'ghill pit, an' then
chased him for his life."
Whilst this running commentary was kept
up amid peals of laughter hy the crowd
around the fire, the poor peelers were ran-
sacking and rummaging the house in all
directions, and receiving the chaff with a
very bad grace indeed; which fact, of course,
made it still the more enjoyable to the jest-
ers, and held out the stronger incentive for
them to pepper the four unfortunate poor
fellows still more unmercifully. Mrs. Mon-
aghan, all the time, was industriously at-
tending to the slumbers of "the crathur"
in the cradle, hushing its restless spirit to
repose, and crooning a lullaby to aid the
good object. Occasionally, too, she would
stoop down, say a few soothing words, bestow
a kiss apparently on its little brow, and cover
it up snugly. This she would sometimes
vary, by addressing a pettish remonstrance
Dinny Monaghan's Last Keg 139
to the men to keep their tongues at rest, and
not disturb " the crathur's " slumbers. She
sat between the cradle and the fire, with her
deep shadow cast upon it. The police are
now getting thoroughly tired of their search,
the evidence of their own eyes, coupled with
the coolness and fearless tone of Dinny and
his party, inducing them to believe that
there cannot possibly be a keg in the house
whatever little they had within, they must
have just finished as they (the invaders) en-
tered. Of course they could not sustain a
prosecution upon the strength of the smell
(or the smell of the strength) of the glasses.
They are about to depart, but Hazelton
the stripes still floating in his mind's eye
must search the top of the dresser. For this
purpose, he leans upon the shoulder of the
sergeant, and stepping on the rim of a tub
of dirty water which had been used for wash-
ing roots in, he succeeds in satisfying him-
self that there is no contraband material on
it, when, unluckily, his weight on the one
side of the tub upsets it, and tumbles him
flat just in time to receive its contents. In
the act of falling he has fetched down his
140 Through the Turf Smoke
worthy sergeant beneath him, who acts as a
buffer between Hazelton and the floor, and
comes in for half the contents of the tub. A
shout of laughter that seems almost to shake
the old roof greets this ludicrous denouement,
and the sergeant and Hazelton get up, glare
at each other for a moment, shake themselves
like spaniels, and then take their solemn
departure in rather a crestfallen manner, and
are slowly followed by their two companions
with arms unconsciously reversed, all fol-
lowed by the jeers and hilarious merriment
of the inmates. We will not undertake to
describe the scene that followed inside the
praises loudly lavished on Mrs. Monaghan,
the fondling " the crathur " got, the mutual
congratulations and exultations, the drink-
ing of Mrs. Monaghan's health, the drink-
ing of Dinny's health, the drinking of the
company's health, the drinking of every-
body's health not neglecting the Black
Sergeant's and the drinking of the dock an
dorrish, and the final dispersion of the com-
pany, which ended the eventful night. It
was a night to be remembered.
Billy Baxter
Billy Baxter
Now, Billy wasn't a religious man. That's
certain. He was, I fear, a wicked, worldly-
minded sinner; too frequently the cause of
distress and of much spiritual anxiety to the
righteous among his Cruckagar neighbours.
He had a sinful habit of weighing all actions,
even the most edifying religious ones, in a
worldly scale of his own that was the cause
of much scandal and many heart-burnings
to those good ones around him whose
thoughts ran upon the world which has its
hither boundary in the silent churchyard.
Within the memory of our dogmatic Oldest
Inhabitant, Billy had only been twice to his
church one of which occasions was at his
marriage to Jane. Whenever the 0. I. had
occasion to bear sorrowful testimony to
Billy's laxity, he invariably shook his head,
and, in half an hour after, there were not
144 Through the Turf Smoke
three heads unshaken in all Cruckagar for
"Billy Baxther, the Lord forgive him! no
better nor the black haithen! " When re-
monstrated with on the point Billy was un-
consciously quite innocently satirical:
" Sure where anondher the sun is the good
of me goin' to prayer or meetin', that never,
since I was no bigger nor me knee, was mas-
ther of a shoot of clothes that me naybour
'ud turn on his heel to look at? " Billy, in
short, looked upon church as a luxury and
a frivolity intended for the idle and the vain,
and altogether out of the sphere of a hard-
working poor man, who, willy nilly, must
take life seriously. "By right/' as we put
it, Billy should be a Presbyterian; which is
to say that his parents were understood to
have belonged to that Church.
The Eev. Ezekiel M'Cart was the Presby-
terian pastor of Cruckagar. He was a typi-
cal minister of the Gospel pious as a saint,
learned as a doctor, simple as a babe, humble,
and, withal, poor as the poorest of his small
and miserably poor congregation. Mr.
M^Cart, notwithstanding an innate esthetic
dread of his free-thinking parishioner, con-
Billy Baxter 145
sidered that it would be a shirking of his
duty if he didn't remonstrate with Billy. He
did so, asking him to quit the ways of the
unrighteous and come back to his church
and his spiritual duties. For Mr. M'Cart
alone, of all the clergymen he knew, Billy
had a huge esteem the humility and simple-
mindedness and unobtrusive goodness of the
man had secretly won him. So, with pro-
foundest respect, he lent a most attentive
ear to the good man's exhortations, and when
he had finished, Billy said:
" Now, yer reverence, out of regards to ye,
I'll put me foot in the fire if ye bid me do
it, but I'll not go to Meetin'. I have been
there afore, expectin' to hear somethin*
might do me good for God knows I'm in
black need of 'mendment! but I heerd noth-
in' only scouldin' the divil. I heerd Misther
Mahon praich wanst, an' he did nothin' only
scould the divil. I listened for two hours
to the Methodist praicher, an' it was bally-
raggin' the divil from commencement to end.
Twicet I went to hear Father Dan, an' it was
pitchin' in to the poor divil with him, too,
as hot as he could pepper him. That gave
10
146 Through the Turf Smoke
me my fill of church, chapel, an' meetin*.
The divil may be bad an' I'm not denyin'
but he is but the poor fellow's not gettin'
half a chance. An' if he's as bad as yez
make him out, small blame to him, say I,
for if he had the spirit of a dog, he couldn't
take off yer hands all yez give him from June
to January, an' be otherwise nor bad, an' the
worst of bad."
After that conversation, the good Mr.
M'Cart, shocked beyond expression, let Billy
go his way in peace, for he saw well that
counsel was lost on him.
I said Mr. M'Cart was poor. Father Dan
was the lucky owner of a jaunting car and
a mare, Forgiveness, both of which, if neither
dashing nor handsome, were useful. Mr.
Mahon, the rector, richly dressed, invariably
drove an extremely smart turn-out. Even
the Methodist preacher had to confess to a
conveyance of a certain primitive and homely
character. Mr. M'Cart alone had to trot the
length and breadth of a tedious parish on
Shanks' mare, which is to say, his own two
feet, with the added luxury of a stout stick.
This was not as it should be. His little
Billy Baxter 147
flock, who loved the man dearly, saw this,
and said it shouldn't be. Nixon Beattie and
Andy Kitchie were appointed to take their
mites from their poor brethren that their
pastor might be lifted out of the mud, and
on horseback hold up his head with his fel-
lows. Should they, the collectors asked
themselves, call upon the black sheep?
They would though in all probability
they'd get small thanks and less money.
But grievously they mistook their man.
Billy was overjoyed at being enabled to con-
tribute towards the well-being and the ease
of him whom he so much admired. From
his hoard in the old stocking in the chimney
a hoard of silver and coppers amounting
probably to not less than five and twenty
shillings he drew forth a shining white
shilling, and ringing it on the table to them,
wished from his soul that it had been a sov-
ereign, " For," Billy said, " we must try to
buy him somethin' worthy of him, an' a
credit to us." He already felt the pride of
part ownership.
Ten days later a deputation, each member
of which was, in solemn conclave, elected on
148 Through the Turf Smoke
the strength of his knowledge of horseflesh,
proceeded to the great horse fair of The Moy,
and therefrom led back, and proudly pre-
sented to their worthy pastor, a comely and
very spirited young pony. The good man's
sincere protestations that he wished not to
accept their too handsome present that he
had not the slightest experience of riding
horseback, and that anyhow he thought he
should feel ever so much more at home
among them travelling to their doors with
only his stick were all of no avail. He was
compelled to accept the gift, by none more
warmly, more noisily, or more prominently
than by Billy Baxter, who, in his folded shirt
sleeves for he had left his spade standing
in the ridge arrived at the Manse just as
Adam Lindsay, who kept a grocery, and had
oratorical ambitions, was opening up the sub-
ject in a very rhetorical, carefully prepared
speech. For a few minutes Billy had list-
ened to Adam in a puzzled fashion; he then
asked a neighbour, rather audibly, " What
the divil is Adam bletherin' about? " and
without waiting for answer, stepped in front
of the orator and apologetically said:
Billy Baxter 149
"Adam, yer reverence, manes to say that
we've put our heads together an' bought a
bit of a baste for ye, an' there he is " here
Billy gave the pony a smart slap that caused
the beast to rear and prance to the imminent
danger of the frightened assembly "an*
may the Lord give ye good of him! That's
all."
Whilst the self-denying poor man was pro-
testing, the pony was led away and safely
stabled. Billy hadn't got time to view the
animal to his content and put his merits to
the test. He was impatient to satisfy him-
self. Ten days later, as he dug in his potato
field, he saw on the road, which was a few
fields distant, his minister ride by upon the
new pony; for Mr. M'Cart had with much
trouble, mental and physical, mastered the
feat of keeping a fairly good seat in the
saddle as the pony jogged.
"Hi! hi!" Billy hailed, motioning with
his finger that he wished the minister to
await him.
He drew rein, wondering what Billy
wanted with him. As Billy neared, he
found his eye was upon the beast scrutinis-
150 Through the Turf Smoke
ingly, not on himself. When Billy came on
the road he folded his arms and surveyed the
animal's points with the eye of a connoisseur,
his head poised on one side. He walked all
round the horse so, at a distance of a few
yards, breathing a subdued half whistle as
he did so. He came forward and lifted one
of the fore feet, saying sternly, "Hold up,
sir! Hold up sirrr! " and having satis-
fied himself that there wasn't a stone in it,
laid it down, and retrograded till he had the
animal at the proper angle of observation
again.
" Go ahead! " he said abruptly.
Mr. M'Cart said, " Good day, Billy! " and,
not without some wonder, went ahead.
" That'll do! " Billy said as abruptly, when
the pony had progressed about twenty
yards.
Still puzzled, the reverend rider obeyed
Billy's terse behest, and stopped short.
"Head him round an' come back. Off
you! off you! There don't jibe him!
don't jibe him! for the sake of the Lord
don't jibe the baste, yer reverence! Walk
him quicker. That's you. Very good very
Billy Baxter 151
good, by the powdhers," he remarked to him-
self.
Taking him by the head when the pony
came up, he asked
"How does he lead?"
But without waiting for an answer he had
started off, hauling the pony to a canter,
which caused the inexperienced rider to
hump himself for safety and tightly press
his knees against the beast's sides. He was
jolted and thrown about, sometimes on the
saddle, but oftener off it, altogether, alas!
forming a cruelly undignified picture. Sev-
eral times he essayed to request Billy to stop,
but the words were snapped in his mouth;
besides, he almost bit off his tongue in the
attempt. Billy, observing his fright, tried
to encourage him. As he ran he spoke over
his shoulder in a sympathetic voice. He said:
" Dammit, yer reverence, don't be narvous.
Don't be narvous, man alive. Grip like the
divil, an' houl' on like grim death. That's
you," he said, as Mr. M'Cart just narrowly
escaped coming down where the horse was
not, "ye'll soon be a thunderin' fine rider
a bully rider."
152 Through the Turf Smoke
Then when Billy had trotted the horse far
enough in that direction to satisfy himself,
he drew up, to the great relief of the breath-
less and frightened equestrian. Billy turned
the pony's head, with the intention of ex-
perimenting back again to their starting
point. But the pony evidently had a will
of his own, and he now chose to show it.
Instead of starting back with Billy, he threw
up his head and pulled in the other direc-
tion.
"Oh, ye would, would ye? ye divil ye!"
Billy said, as he gave him a sounding whack
on the ribs, the good minister's left leg com-
ing in for share of it.
When the pony had thrown up his head
and sprung backwards, Mr. M'Cart found
himself seated on the animal's neck, very
nearly; and when, in acknowledgment of
Billy's little remonstrance on his ribs, he
sprang forward, the worthy man found him-
self sitting in uncomfortable proximity to
the beast's tail. The third spring brought
the saddle under him; the horse had come
to a dead pause, and for the first time Mr.
M'Cart was enabled to speak.
Billy Baxter 153
"William, William, my dear friend," he
appealed, " do leave the animal to himself
and he'll go like a lamb/'
"Ho-o-o! Misther M'Cart," Billy said,
"ye're early beginnin' to spoil the baste.
' Spare the rod,' ye know. No, no," and
Billy gave the beast another vigorous blow
on the ribs; "no, no, we must taich him
breedin' or atween us we'll make a purty
baste of him." Another whack and another
spring, and Mr. M'Cart enclasped the ani-
mal's neck in a firm embrace. " No, no, we
must taich him who's masther, an* who's
man, we must. Houl' on, ye sowl ye houP
on, Misther M'Cart; I'll soon" (whack!
whack!) " take the tanthrums out of him! "
"William! William! I do appeal to
you "
" Damn it, yer reverence, ye have no grit
in ye. Aisy, ye divil ye! Ha-a-a, take that!
Lord, man, ye're as 'feered as fire! "
"William, let me dismount, I beseech
you! "
" Och, the divil a wan o* ye is goin* to
dismount the day, to plaise him. Take that,
ye conthrairy schoundril ye! I'm sure, that's
154 Through the Turf Smoke
what would spoil him out an' out. Take yer
time till (whack! whack!) till I'm finished
with him. I houl' ye for the biggest button
on yer frock, he hasn't as many (whack!
whack!) as many 'nadiums' in his head
when I'm done."
The animal was now prancing around and
around in a circle, Billy coolly holding on,
endeavouring to magnetise the animal by his
eye, but assisting the action with a plentiful
shower of blows, most of which fell on the
horse, but an occasional one upon Mr.
M'Cart, in which case Billy always begged
pardon. The hat had fallen forward over
the good man's eyes, and as he could not
on peril of his life spare a hand to adjust it,
he was struggling in the dark.
" Ha-a-a! ye brute ye! Ha-a-a! Take
that, ye baste! Ye have the 'stiadh'* in
ye, but I'll take it out of ye, or my name
isn't Billy. Houl' on, Misther M'Cart, an'
don't be freckened ye're as safe as if ye
were in yer arm-chair."
It might be so, still at that instant Mr.
M'Cart would have preferred the arm-chair.
* The spirit of contrariness.
Billy Baxter
At length Billy got the "nadiums" out
of the animal. He quieted down and went
along slowly and quietly with his victor, who
experienced not a little silent pride. Though
he still continued looking up at the animal
and saying " Ha-a-a! " through his teeth to
him, more surely to fasten the spell upon
him. When he had got him to the point
from which he had started, Billy let him go,
and said:
"Now, Mr. M'Cart, ye have ten poun* a
betther horse nor ye had twinty minutes ago.
Ye want to be firm ye want to be firm.
Throth I'm sore afeerd yer reverence would
V spoilt the baste in less nor no time spoilt
him! We'd never get no good o' him if ye'd
let him do his own biddin.' It was a
sthruggle to get the animal, yer reverence,
an' now we have him, we must take all the
care of him we can. I thrust yer reverence
sees he gets a warm mash every night; put
a thrifle o' bran through his corn, too
don't forget that; an* see he's properly
rubbed down, now, every time he comes in
off a journey. Throth, Misther M'Cart, I'm
afeerd ye have too many other matthers in
156 Through the Turf Smoke
yer head; an atween thinkin' of sinners an'
sarmons, ye'll let our little baste go to the
deuce. That'll not do that'll never do at all,
at all. I'll be keepin' my eye out, now, back
an' forrid, to see that he's properly looked
afther. Good mornin' good mornin', yer
reverence, an' good luck! An' don't neglect
our little animal, mind, whatsomiver ye do! "
Then Mr. M'Cart rode forward in per-
plexed meditation, whilst Billy crossed the
fields again to resume his work, often paus-
ing to cast an anxious glance after the ani-
mal, and thereupon invariably ohaking his
head, as doubtful of the care which should
be bestowed upon his property when he
wasn't there to see and direct.
Mrs. MTartlan was an extremely rich old
widow lady from Belfast, a pious Presby-
terian who had come down to Donegal with
the intention of finding out the state of her
poorer co-religionists there. Mr. M'Cart had
somewhere managed to borrow a phaeton
into which he received her off the mail coach
at Donegal. At first the pony had showed
too much mettle to suit her nerves, but he
soon quieted down, so that they got along
Billy Baxter 157
smoothly, till at length, nearing their desti-
nation, Mr. M'Cart was not a little unnerved
seeing Billy Baxter at work in the same field
from which he had before sallied down upon
him. But there was a chance of getting
past unnoticed. He prayed in his heart that
he might. Mrs. MTartlan, besides being
nervous, was cold and hungry, and was
(under these conditions) more or less irrit-
able. Billy did not seem to notice their ap-
proach. They had already got opposite to
him past him, and the good man was
warmly congratulating himself on the nar-
row escape: but
"Hi! Hi! Hi! there, I say!
There was no use pretending not to hear
him. Billy was bounding over ditches in his
eagerness to catch up to them, and, being
fleet of foot, he could accomplish this with-
out difficulty.
"Good morra, yer reverence! Ye're wel-
come, good woman! Why, ye were near past
anonst* to me," Billy said breathlessly as he
got up, and with the sleeve of his vest began
rubbing off a few flecks of froth that lay on
* Unknown.
158 Through the Turf Smoke
the animal's side. "Ye didn't see me? I
was levellin' broo's in the fiel' beyant. How
is the powny doin', yer reverence? Did ye
do as I was Dammit! man, what manes
this? " and Billy proceeded to unhook a curb
from the bit. " Tare-an'-ouns! man, don't
do that don't desthroy the little animal's
mouth. Or what the divil put it in yer
head anyhow. There ye are," and Billy
tossed the curb into the phaeton. "Now,
that's the height o' nonsense, yer reverence,
an' can only give our baste a bad name."
Here he got down on one knee in front of
the horse and narrowly examined his fore-
feet. " Upon me sowl," he said, " I do be-
lieve he forges. If he does, we're taken in.
Just start him along a bit at an aisy canther
till I see for meself, an* "
"But, William, my dear friend, this is a
lady friend, Mrs. MTartlan, and "
" Yis, yis; sure I spoke to her," Billy said,
raising his caubeen, however, to acknowledge
the introduction. "How are ye, Mrs.
MTartlan? I suppose you've come over to
see Irelan'? Ye'll sec plenty o' hardships
and hard work. This is the back o' God-
Billy Baxter 159
speed, ma'am. I'm plaised for the honour of
meetin' ye, ma'am. Now, yer reverence, ye
sowl ye," he continued in the tone of one
who had dutifully acquitted himself of a
task, "throt him out till I obsarve his
steps."
Mr. M'Cart resignedly did as he was
ordered.
When he had gone a hundred yards
" That'll do that'll do," Billy said. " He
just forges the slightest little taste imagin-
able. But with care we'll br'ak him off it
with care. Ye'll have to give him more
of his head, yer reverence ye'll have to give
him more of his head. If ye keep continu-
ally naggin' an' naggin', ye'll dhrive the
baste to the deuce. Lord, man, give him
rein give him rein, and don't be afeerd.
Let him go like blazes if he wants to. Now,
there's a great dale in turnin' a baste round.
I should like to see how yer reverence man-
ages in turnin' him. Just take him round
there, an' drive him back a score o' steps,
an' turn him again "
"But, William, my friencl Mrs. MTart-
160 Through the Turf Smoke
" Yis, yis," William said hastily; " ye made
the good woman known to me afore. I was
spaikin' to Mrs. MTartlan "
" She feels it so awfully cold "
"Yis, ma'am, that's Irelan' for ye. The
day we have it as cowl' as charity. Less nor
a month ago it was as hot as the hob of
the Bad-place, ma'am. Now, Misther
M'Cart "
"She feels both cold, William, and
hungry, and would like to get to the manse
with as little delay as possible. So, my good
friend, if you would "
" Oh! oh! Surely! surely! Why didn't ye
say that afore? Oh, to be sure, me good
woman to be sure! I'll be sayin' good day
to ye, Mrs. M'Partlan, an' take good care o*
yerself; but ye're in good hands, throth,
when ye're in Misther M'Cart's. Ye'll never
know how to be half thankful to him. Good
day to ye, ma'am. An' good day, Misther
M'Cart. Whip him up now, an' off like
blazes, both of ye. Good day, good day! "
Mr. M'Cart went off sorely vexed for his
peevish companion, who was in high ill
humour over the amazing scene.
Billy Baxter 161
She was very soon to see their friend again,
however. Next day in the little dining-room
of the humble manse there sat down to din-
ner with Mr. M'Cart, Mrs. MTartlan and
her favourite clergyman from Belfast, who
was then in the neighbourhood (a solemn
dignitary), and a Presbyterian Doctor of
Divinity from an adjoining parish. After
dinner had begun there was a knock at the
door, and without awaiting a response the
door was shoved open, and, hat in hand,
bowing familiarly to the company, Billy
Baxter walked in. Billy was not dressed
for dinner either; he wore a sleeved waist-
coat, and there was more hayseed and other
such material upon his soft hat than eti-
quette countenances in polite company. But
he was nothing abashed.
" Oh, don't don't, gentlemen, disturb
yerselves at all, at all fire away! an' more
power to yer elbows. I only just dhropped
in, Misther How do you do, ouP woman?
Excuse me for not seein' ye. But there's
such a sight of quality present, I didn't no-
tice ye "
Here Billy drew himself a chair, and seat-
11
162 Through the Turf Smoke
ing himself on it, he reached his hat to the
table and placed it there, not far from the
plate of the startled Mrs. MTartlan.
"I hope, ma'am, ye have the appetite
good? There's nothing like the appetite. I
have a roarin' one. I can ate like a horse,
I'll tell ye "
"William," said Mr. M'Cart, endeavour-
ing to be as conciliating as possible, whilst
he removed the offending hat and placed it
elsewhere. "William, you wanted to see
me?"
" Oh, just, yer riverence, I have only half
a word to say to ye. It's about our little
powny. I wasn't Is that what ye call wine
now, that the oul' woman's dhrinkin'? It's
a dhirty wash, ma'am, no better nor ditch-
water, an' tarnation bad for the stomach.
There's nothin' better to yer vittils nor a
dhrop of prime whiskey. But, sure, I need-
n't tell you ye didn't live in the same town
of Belfast for a centhury without knowin'
that. Misther M'Cart never tastes it him-
self, ma'am, so ye must excuse him for not
havin' it on the table. I'll tell ye, ma'am,
where "
Billy Baxter 163
"William, will you come with me,
till
"Oh, no, no, no, Misther M'Cart! Not
at all! Just keep yer sate, I only want half
a word, an' I'll be gone."
"Perhaps you'll have some wine, Wil-
liam?"
" No, yer reverence, none of yer slob- wash
for me no disparagement to yer reverence.
But, as I was sayin', havin' nothing much
else to do this evening I dhropped over to
have a peep at the powny. I stepped into
the stable, an' bad luck to the wan o' me
but was up to my knees in it. Yer reve-
rence should send that boy o j yours packin*
he has yon stable in a odious state there's
a ' ho-go ' in it would knock ye down. I
haven't got it out of my nose yet. Earn it,
yer reverence, it'll never do. Aither that
divil's kid of a boy ye've got 'ill be dismissed,
or else you an' I'll fall out. Then that
powny's not gettin' his mait I do believe
that. There wasn't as much hay as ye'd
wipe her nose with in the hay-rack, an' that
scoundhrill of a lad o' yours down pitchin'
buttons with all the blaguards of the conn-
164 Through the Turf Smoke
thry at the Cross Koads, when he should be
attendin' to the baste, an* givin' him some-
thin' to keep him from starvin'. An', more-
over Lord, ma'am, is there a bone in yer
throat? Clap her on the back, Misther
M'Cart! "
But the contortions of Mrs. MTartlan's
face were only the result of indignant amaze-
ment.
"An* besides, Misther M'Cart, I don't
b'leeve that little blaguard is mixin' bran
with the baste's corn as I allowed. Ye
should see to it yerself, man, that the little
powny gets a warm mash every night. Ye
should make it yer business to go down to the
kitchen an' Misther M'Cart, don't forget
yer company; here's a gintleman, an' his plate
wants renewin', I think go down, I say, to
the kitchen yerself, and see that the pratie
skins an' the other scran from the dinner is
mixed with it, an' rumble yer han' about
through it, too, to see that there's no fish
bones, nor the like, in it; an' to see that it's
the proper hait. Aisy, good man, or ye'll
flow over that tumbler an' spoil the table-
cloth, an' that'll fetch Shusan about yer lugs
Billy Baxter 165
faith, don't fetch Shusan down on ye, or
she'll let ye know how many bains make five.
That's all I've got to say, yer reverence.
Only, ye'd betther see that the off-hind shoe
is fastened or ye'll lose it. Send the young
fellow over to the forge early in the mornin'
to have it fastened, or if ye let him go an-
other day he'll lose it, an' ye'll fetch the
powny home limpin' like a cripple. An*
don't forget to give that youngsther his
walkin' papers, an' let him go to the divil to
look for a masther. Good day to yez, gintle-
men, an' much good may it do yez! Good
day to yerself, oul' woman! Ye can send
Shusan give her fourteen pence, an' send
her, an' she knows where to go, an' she'll
fetch ye as good a dhrop of the rale stuff,
I'll stake me voracity, as ye were accustomed
to in Belfast. Good day, ma'am; good day!
Good day to yerself, Misther M'Cart! an' I
hope I didn't put ye about. Don't forget
the mash! Eumble yer hand through it yer-
self, for fear of bones. Send the young bla-
guard packin' to the divil about his business.
Oh, don't be annoyed, ma'am, that's only
hayseeds is fallin' off me oul' hat an' that's
166 Through the Turf Smoke
a sthraw let me take that sthraw out o' yer
wine. There ye are! Good day all! Good
day! I'll call roun' soon again till we have
a chat about the baste, yer reverence. Good
day, an' good luck! "
But Mr. M'Cart feared too much another
interview with Billy. The poorer Presby-
terians in the parish of Cruckagar sowed
their land that spring with seed purchased
by the sale price of the Subscription Horse,
whilst with renewed vigour and cheerfulness
Mr. M'Cart again trudged his parish on foot,
more than ever the idol of good-hearted Billy
Baxter.
The Counsellor
The Counsellor
I WOTJLD not venture to say decidedly
whether the Bummadier or Owen a-Slaivin
was the better story-teller. I feel quite in-
capable of pronouncing a definite opinion.
Of course we had our men who laughed to
scorn the idea of Owen daring to aspire to
comparison at all; whilst, likewise, we had
those who swore by Owen. Of course, the
Bummadier, for the benefit of his worship-
pers, had placed on record his fixed convic-
tion that a lie never choked Owen; but, as a
set-off against this, I may mention that Owen
had confidently stated to his intimates there
was not a bigger liar nor the Bummadier
from * * * (a certain locality I hesitate to
mention) to Guinealand. I suppose, how-
ever, that in story-telling mere truth is only
a matter of detail.
The style of the Bummadier's narratives
170 Through the Turf Smoke
was bright, brisk, and lively, and the pleas-
ing shades they presented somehow with-
held you from examining too closely into
their texture.
In Owen's cabin you would need to sit
some time before you discovered the features
of your fellow-rakers: the cabin was low, and
small, and smoky: his fire, without fir, aimed
only at warmth hence a good part of the
indistinctness which clothed the details of
the interior. Taking its tinge from the sur-
roundings, then, Owen's style was sombre;
and the more comical the story, the more
solemn was his manner. An eavesdropper
who knew not the man, hearing only the
droning tone of Owen, and seeing (through
the keyhole) the dim cluster of faces in the
dark room, might easily conclude that a
flesh-creeping ghost story was in progress
but he wouldn ? t eavesdrop for long until he
would be surprised out of his conclusion.
We would, on the wildest night in winter,
travel far and fare ill to hear a story of Dan
the Great Dan from the most indifferent
shanachy. But, to hear it from the lips of
Owen !
The Counsellor 171
Och, the likes of Dan the heavens be his
bed! never was known afore, nor will his
likes ever be seen again as long as there's a
bill on a crow. He was the long-headedest
man glory be to God! ever stepped in
shoe-leather.
There was wanst and there was a poor boy
up for nrardher he fell foul of a friend in
a scrimmage, and he cracked his brain-box
for him without intendin' it, an' the poor
man died. An' the short an' the long of it
was this poor boy was taken up for the mur-
dher of his Men' with no chance whatsom-
iver for escape, bekase the evijence was
straight an' square that it was him, an' none
other, give him the dyin' blow. An' that
maint hangin', the poor boy knew well; for
in them days they'd sthring ye up for a
dickens sight smaller matther.
Well, lo and behould ye! it was the morn-
in* of the thrial, an' the poor boy, Heaven
knows, was down-hearted enough, an' his
friends all cryin' round him, thryin' to get
him to keep up his spirits, though they knew,
too, that it was a hopeless case. All at wanst,
it sthruck one of his friends, an' says he,
172 Through the Turf Smoke
" It's a bad case, no doubt, but what harm
to consult Counsellor O'Connell?"
Faith, the poor boy leaped at it.
" Consult the Counsellor," says he, " for
the Lord's sake! It's small's the chance;
but still-and-all, if there's a ghost of a chance
he'll see it."
No sooner sayed than done. They had
Dan on the spot in three hops of a sparrow,
an' explainin' the whole case to him. When
Dan heered the outs and ins of it, he shook
his head.
" It's a purty straight case," says Dan.
"Is there no chance at all, at all, Coun-
sellor? " says they.
" The Queen's son," says he, " couldn't be
saved on the evijence. In spite of all the
Counsellors in the counthry, an' if ye had
Sent Patrick himself to plead for ye, ye'd be
sentenced," says he.
This was the last blow for the poor pres'-
ner, an' ill he took it.
But all of a suddint, Dan looks him purty
hard in the face
" If I don't mistake me much," says Dan,
says he, "ye're a purty bould, fearsomless
fella?"
The Counsellor 173
*' Oc h," says the poor fella, says he, " the
day was an' I was all that, but I'm thinkin'
that day 'ill never come again."
"Well," says Dan, says he, "I have con-
sidhered the whole question over, an' if ye're
a right boul' fella, and act right bouP, out
of nine hundher and ninety-nine chances
you have just wan half chance for yer life."
" What is it? " says the poor fella, jumpin'
at it.
" It's this I'm goin' to tell ye," says Dan.
" When your case is heerd, the jury without
lavin' the box 'ill return a vardict of ' Guilty,
me Lord! ' an' his Lordship 'ill then mount
the black cap for the purpose of condemnin'
ye. You're at that instant to have all the
wee narve ye can about ye, an' bavin' yer
brogue loose upon yer foot, ye're to stoop
down an' get a good grip of it in yer fist, an'
the minnit ye see his Lordship open his
mouth to sentence ye, take good sudden aim,
an' with all the veins of yer heart give him
the brogue fair atween the two eyes then
laive the rest to Providence."
Thrue enough, it was a quare advice, an'
maybe the poor lad didn't think so but then
174 Through the Turf Smoke
it was Dan O'Connell's advice, an* that put
another face on matthers. When Dan sayed
it, it was worth thryin'; so he obsarved it to
the letther; an' when the jury was bringin'
in their verdict of " Guilty, me Lord! " he
was gettin' his brogue loose on his foot; an'
when the Judge got on the black cap, he got
a good grip of the brogue, and gathered all
his narves, an' the very next minnit, as the
Judge opened his mouth to give him sen-
tence, he ups with the brogue, an' with all
the powers of his arm an' the veins of his
heart, let him have the full weight of the
brogue fair atween the two eyes, an' knocks
him over flat. An' a stor! a stor! up was the
Judge agin in an instant, an' him purple in
the face, an' he guldhers out,
"My vardict is that the scoundhril be
burned, beheaded, and hung! "
" Aisy, aisy, I beg yer pardon, me Lord,"
says Dan O'Connell, jumpin' up in his place
in the coort. "I beg yer Lordship's par-
don," says he, " but I think ye have thrans-
gressed yer rights," and he handed up to
the Judge the book of the law that he might
see for himself. "Ye can't," says he, "ac-
The Counsellor 175
cordin* to English law as prented in that
book in black and white, sentence a man to
be both burned, beheaded, an' hung. Pres'-
ner," says Dan, then says he, turning to the
dock, " pres'ner, you're at liberty to go free."
An' the sorra his mouth could the dumb-
founded Judge open, as the pres'ner stepped
out of the dock a free man, for he saw Dan
had him squarely.
Well, there was again, an' there was a poor
man, who had got some ha'pence, an' he
speculated on a dhrove of cattle, an' started
up to Dublin with them to sell them, an*
make profit on them. As me brave man was
dhrivin' the cattle down Dublin sthreet,
out comes a man that kep' a tibbacky shop,
a cliver lad, an' he saw his chance, an' sez
he to the man who owned the cattle,
"How much," sez he, "will ye take for
the best an' worst of them cattle of yours? "
Well, the poor man looked at the best
baste in the dhrove, an' at the worst baste,
an' he prices the two o' them in his own
mind, an'
" I'll take so-much," sez he, mentionin' it.
" All right," sez the other, " I'll give ye
176 Through the Turf Smoke
yer axin'." An' into his yard he had the
whole dhrove dhriven. It was no use what-
somiver for the poor man to object, for the
other said he bought the best an' the worst
of the cattle, which was all of the cattle, an'
he had witnesses to prove it.
Away the poor man, in spite of himself,
had to go with the price of barely two bastes
in his pocket in payment for his whole
dhrove, an' away he went lamentin', an' not
knowing how he'd face back to his family
again, with their wee trifle of money as good
as gone. That night he put up in a public-
house, an' the woman of the house comin*
to larn the poor fella's lament axed him why
he didn't go to the Counsellor, an' have his
advice on it. If it did him no good, she
said, it couldn't anyhow do him no harm,
an' if there was wan way in a thousand out
of it Dan would soon find that way.
Right enough, the very next mornin' to
the Counsellor the poor man set out, an' laid
a full programme of his case afore Dan, an*
axed him could anything be done. No an-
swer Dan give him, till first he took three
turns up an' down the parlour; and then,
The Counsellor 177
" Yis," sez Dan, " somethin* can be done.
There's wan way you can get back yer cattle,
an' only wan."
" What's that? " sez the man.
"You'll," sez Dan, sez he, "have to cut
off the small toe off yer left foot, an' go an'
bury it on Spek Island,* an' when you've
done that come back to me."
As he was diracted he done with no loss
of time, an' back to Dan he comes for fur-
ther diractions.
l< Now," sez Dan, " come along with me."
An' off both of them started an' never
halted till they were in the tibbackinist's
shop. An' och, it was welcome Dan was
with the lad behind the counther, who was
bowin' an' scrapin' to him, an' thankin' him
for the honour he done him comin' into his
shop.
" Can ye sarve me," sez Dan, sez he, " with
a little piece of good tibbacky? "
" I can," sez the lad, " sarve yer honour
with as good tibbacky as ever ye put intil a
pipe-head."
" An* have ye much of it? " sez Dan.
* Spike Island, in Cork Harbour.
12
178 Through the Turf Smoke
"More nor you'd care to buy," sez the
lad.
" Now what," sez Dan, sez he, " would ye
be afther chargin' me for a sizable piece say
as much as would reach from me fren's nose
to the small toe of his left foot? "
The lad laughed at the quality of the
ordher, but he knew Dan's odd ways. So,
he sized the man up and sez he,
" I'll take so much," mentionin' some few
shillin's.
" It's a bargain," sez Dan.
But lo an' behould ye! when the lad went
to misure it he finds the toe gone.
" There's no toe here! " sez he.
" I know there isn't," sez Dan. " Me
frend buried it in Spek Island a few days
back. Ye'll have to carry on the tibbacky
till ye git there."
The lad laughed heartily at this, as bein*
wan of Dan's best jokes.
But Dan didn't laugh at all, at all.
But, " Troth, an'," sez he, " I hope ye'll
be laughin' when ye've finished misurin' me
out me bargain."
" Och, Counsellor, yer honour," sez the
The Counsellor 179
lad, sez he, "but sure ye don't railly mane
it? Isn't it jokin' ye are."
" I tell ye what it is, me good man," sez
Dan back to him, "you misure me out me
bargain, an' be very quick about it, too; or,
if ye don't," sez he, "be all the books in
Chrissendom, I won't laive a slate on yer
roof, or a stick or stave on yer primises I
won't sell out till I have paid meself the
sum of five thousan' poun' for braich of con-
thract," sez he, " an' here's me witness."
" It's ruinated I am entirely, out an' out,"
sez the lad.
" It's ruinated ye desarve to be," sez Dan.
" Ye thought little of ruinatin' this poor
sthranger here beside me, when he come up
to Dublin with his little grain of cattle,
sthrivin' to make a support for the wife an'
childre. It's ruinated ye ought to be, ye low-
lifed hang-dog ye! Turn the daicent man
out his cattle this instant, in as good condi-
tion as you got them, an' moreover nor that,
laive with him the price of the two baistes
which ye paid him, as a slight compinsation
for the mintal throuble you have caused the
poor fella. Then I'll forgive ye yer bargain,
180 Through the Turf Smoke
on condition that, as long as ye live in Dub-
lin, ye'll never again thry to take in the poor
an' the stranger, an' bring a bad name on the
town! "
An' with a light heart, an' a heavy pocket,
that poor man went home to his wife an'
childre afther all; an' all by raison of Dan's
cuteness.
But, I darsay, about the cliverest an' the
long-headest thrick ever poor Dan God be
good till him! wrought, it was on the land-
lord of the Head Inns in Dublin. An' it
was this way.
It seems there was a poor travellin' man,
a tinker be trade, goin' about, an' whatsom-
iver he had to do with the landlord of the
Dublin Head Inns, I don't rightly know, an'
can't tell for feerd to tell a lie; but anyhow
the landlord of the Head Inns both chaited
an' ill-thraited the poor man, an' kicked him
out of his house; an' howsomdiver it was the
landlord was within his rights be law for,
be the same token it's many's the wrong to
the poor, the forlorn, an' the friendless that
same law covers. And when the poor tinker,
bein' advised by the Dublin people, went an'
The Counsellor 181
give in his case to Dan, Dan toul' him so in
as many words.
" An' can nothing be done to the oul' cur-
mudgeon, at all, at all?" says the tinker.
" Yis," Dan says, " something can be done,
if ye put yerself in my hands."
So, off Dan takes the poor tinker, an* had
him shaved an' washed, an' dhressed up in
wan of his own best shoots of clothes, till he
looked the very picthur of a grand gintle-
man, an' then, givin' him his diractions, Dan
sent him off. Straight he made for the
Head Inns, an' walkin' up to the counther as
bouP as ye plaise, he took the landlord's
curtshy, an' give him back a betther.
" Can ye commedate me with lodgin's
here, landlord," says he " bed an' boord for
the next six months?" talkin' the very
grandest English.
" Sartinly, we can," sez the landlord.
" I've just landed from Jarminy," sez he,
" an' I called on me fren' Counsellor O'Con-
nell, an' he recommended me here, as the
best Inns in town. N"ow," sez he, " I want
to hire yer front parlour all for meself, an'
I want ye to name the tarms for the same,
182 Through the Turf Smoke
an' use of yer hall for me parcels an' be-
longin's."
" The front parlour all to yerself," sez the
landlord, "'ill cost ye a gay penny, throth,
ye can't have the front parlour of the
Head Inns in Dublin all to yerself for a song,
an' the use of my hall for yer belongings
it'll cost ye," sez he, "let me see I can't
make it ye less nor four-an-sixpence a week,
bed and boord to be exthra " for ye know
in Dublin they don't know when to stop
chargin'.
Well an' good, the tanns was accepted, an*
papers dhrawn up on the agreement imme-
diately, the Counsellor himself comin' in to
put his han' to the pen in witness of it. Me
brave man gets in his thraps without any
more delay, an' takes possession of the front
parlour.
Next mornin', a'most afore the birds had
begun to call, the landlord was 'wakened out
of his sleep by hearin' the divil's own tind-
herary goin' on in the front parlour, right
beneath him.
" Paddy! " he shouts to the sarvint,
" Paddy! get up an' go down an' see what
The Counsellor 183
the dickens is the matther with the chap in
the front parlour that he's risin' such a row
at this onraisonable hour of the mornin'l
Sweet sarra saize him for a vagabone! or what
the divil is he battherin' at, anyhow?"
Down Paddy went, an' he wasn't there till
he was back.
" Och, masther! " says he, " yon bates
crayation! "
"Why? why? what the norra's the mat-
ther? "
" Och, nobbut ax me what the norra isn't
the matther. It's open the door I did, an*
looked in, an' there I sees me brave lad that
hired yer front parlour, sittin' on the bare
floore in a shoot of clothes ye wouldn't
handle with a pair of tongs, a sotherin'* iron
one side of him, a kit of tools the other side,
as good as a barrow-load of ould sausspans
an' tin-cans scatthered all over yer parlour;
an' the buck himself with the anvil atween
his knees, an' he hammerin' away for the
bare life, puttin' a bottom in a kettle! Je-
roo-salem, such a sight, masther dear! Sez
I to him when I got my tongue with me, sez
* Soldering.
184 Through the Turf Smoke
I: 'Me masther sends his compliments an'
wants to know what are ye doin'?' 'An'/
sez the lad, raichin' for a skillet to begin
secondly on, an' without as much as lookin'
up, sez he, ' tell yer masther that I send my
compliments, an' I'm doin' what it would be
fitther he was doin' mindin* me own busi-
ness.' There's for ye, masther! "
But his masther didn't wait to hear the
end. of it till he was below himself, an'
bouncin' intil the middle of the skillets, he
lets a tearin'-ouns out of him an'
"What? What? What's this tarnation
tomfoolery about?" sez he, "in my front
parlour? or what do ye mane at all, at all? "
But the lad was whistlin' like a mavis on
May-day, an' timin' himself makin' a new
tin on the anvil, an' the sorra a answer he
made him, but went on as unconsarned as
iver.
"I say, ye scoundhril ye," sez the land-
lord, kickin' one of the skillets clean out
through the window, "get up out of that,
an' clear out o' this yerself an' yer thrumpery
in double quick time, afore I call in the polis,
an' make them do their duty."
The Counsellor 185
But the tinker got up, an' rowlin' up his
sleeves, sez he,
" Now, I'll tell ye what it is, ye oul' cur-
mudgeon ye, get away you out of here, in
double quick time, or I'll make these jintle-
men" referrin' to his fists "do their duty;
and that jintleman," sez he, plantin' his left
fist under the curmudgeon's nose, "that
jintleman," sez he, "is named Six-months-in-
hospital; and this wan here," plantin' his
right fist in the same position, "this jintle-
man is styled Sudden-daith. I was poor, an*
lone, an' fren'less the other day," sez he,
" an' ye oul' sinner ye, ye took me in, an' ye
had me abused an' ill-traited bekase ye knew
the law was on yer side. Now I have both
fren's an' law, an' I've writin's on this room
for six months to come, an' I'm detarmined
to make what'll pay me boord out of it, or
know the raison why. Out now, ye oul' im-
posther! Out o' my room, an' don't set yer
dhirty foot in it, nor show yer forbid-
din' countenance in it till this day six
months. Out now, ye oul' speciment ye!
Out! "
An' lo and behould! the next thing was,
l86 Through the Turf Smoke
there appears in the front parlour windy a
dhirty paper settin' off,
" To the enlightened Publick of Ireland,
England, Scotland, and the Isle of Man.
Old Pottes mended as good as ever, likewise
repaired. Likewise Eettals, including
Other Tin-cans and implements of a Like
nature. Alsoe Saucepans and Frinepans.
Not Forgettin' Skillets. P. S. You can
get In new bottammes while you wate.
P. S. You are requestioned to Leave All
instruments for repayr in the hall. P. S.
TJiis is the cheepest house in town for
gettin' in A new bottam."
An' that was the scene it bangs me to de-
scribe! But the notice wasn't half an hour
up, with the landlord goin' about through
his house, up an* down, ragin' and swearin'
and kicking every wan come in his way, till
half Dublin was round the house, readin' the
notice in the parlour windy, an' watchin'
the lad tinkerin' away an' whistlin' away in-
side, an' wondherin' what had come over the
landlord of the Dublin Head Inns to let his
front parlour to a tinker. An' then again,
The Counsellor 187
when the customers begun to come roun'
for the Head Inns was pathronized by the
Lord Mayor himself, an' all the first genthry
in Dublin when they begun to come round
for their mornin' wet an* beared a tinker
tinkerin' in the parlour, an' saw the hall
panged up with footless pots, an' bottomless
skillets, an oul' vithiran tin-cans "Why,"
they says, "it's a low-come-down day with
the Dublin Head Inns, when this is the
thrade's goin' on in it, an' it's betther for
us to push on an' find a daicent house to get
a dhrink in." An' afore night there wasn't
an oul' customer that hadn't disarted an'
taken up their quarters elsewhere, till the
landlord had to call in Counsellor O'Connell,
an' by his advice go on his two bare knees
to the tinker an' ax his pardon, an' his par-
don over again, an' promise to behave him-
self in future with daicency to the sthranger
an* the poor, an' give the tinker a good
round penny to give up the writin's he had
on the front parlour, an' clear out, himself
an' his kit, which he did the very next
mornin' with a fatter purse than when he
went in.
i88 Through the Turf Smoke
That was Dan for ye!
May the soft bed, an' the sweet wan, in
Paradise be his that nivir forsook the poor
an' the disthressed! God Almighty rest
him! an* Amen! Amen!
The Masther and the Bocca
Fadh
The Masther and the Bocca
Fadh*
HE was a specious villain, was the Bocca
Fadh, but resourceful, tactful clever, in the
narrowest sense of the word. Ignorant
though he was, a glib tongue and an auda-
cious almost brazen self-confidence made
him pass in the eyes of the neighbours for a
sage, a long-headed fellow, a knowledgable
man. He was a source of wonder some-
times of awe to the neighbours themselves,
and a source of terror to the neighbours'
childre, particularly to those of them who
were attending school. "Looking for his
share," as he was (though a stranger might
well be surprised to see such a fine fellow, in
the prime of life, looking for his living so),
he put up where he list, made himself at
home where he would, and by the fireside at
* Long Beggarman.
192 Through the Turf Smoke
night put the youngsters "through their
facin's," as he termed it that is, when he
had partaken heartily of the plentiful sup-
per placed before him, and carefully placed
his wallets and his staff in the chimney cor-
ner, and lit his pipe and crossed his legs, he
condescended to inquire,
" Well, Aillie, how is the childre advanc-
ing in their curriculum of secularity?"
"Well, musha, Jaimie" (the Bocca Fadh
was Jaimie), " the norra wan of meself well
knows how are they gettin' along at the larn-
in' for I know that's what you mane, only
you put it in a polite way the norra one of
me well knows how they do be gettin' on;
but wee Gracie and Johnnie they do have
the eyes sthrained out of their head o' nights,
lyin' down on the h'arthstone, and thryin'
to spell by the light of the grisiog* an' ques-
kinin' wan another on their books. It's often
I do be tellin' them that the first night you'd
be with us I'd get ye to try them to see what
speed are they comin'. Maybe ye'd be so
kind as to put a queskin or two on them,
just to satisfy yerself, an' to satisfy me."
* Smouldering peats.
The Masther and the Bocca Fadh 193
" Yes, Aillie, I'll do that/' and he looks in
the direction of Gracie and Johnnie, who
have now hid themselves behind their
mother's skirts in mortal terror of the ordeal.
" Come out, Gracie, a leanbJi; an' Johnnie,
a theasge,* come out, an' go over there with
yer Spellin' Book till Misther Haraghey puts
queskins on yez. That's the childre hould
up yer wee heads now an' show him how
much ye lamed since the last time he thried
yez. That's the good childre; raich him the
book now."
And the Bocca Fadh takes the book from
the trembling hand of little Gracie with the
cynical air of one who, having taken all
knowledge for his province, feels naught but
the utmost repugnance to the touch of an
elementary spelling-book. In one hand he
takes the candle which Aillie has lighted for
him, and drawing it close to the book, which
is held wrong side up in the other, he dips
into the book here and there, muttering
" Imph! " at each dipping, with an easy non-
chalance deftly turning the leaves by means
of a few disengaged fingers, as one who had
* (Pron. a haisge) Treasure.
194 Through the Turf Smoke
spent his life among books. In a short few
minutes he seems to have got the gist of it,
and flings the book from him with a bored
air.
" Well, boy, what class are you locationed
in?"
" He's axin' ye, Johnnie, dear, what class
ye're in," the mother says in a deferential
undertone to the dumbfounded Johnnie.
" Please, sir, in the class next the heap of
thurf," Johnnie tremblingly replies.
"Imph! imph! imph! " and the Bocca
Fadh stretches his legs and knocks the ashes
out of his pipe as if preparing for serious
work " Imph! and, my good man, can you
or can your sisther consther to me,
'In mudeelis, in clanonis;
Infirtaris, in oaknonis' 9"*
" Oh, Misther Haraghey," the mother
pleads, "but ye know they haven't raiched
the Jarmin or the Latin yet. The chile's
but young. If God'll spare him to us, I
thrust he'll know them yet. Thry him on
somethin' in the Spellin* Book."
* In mud eel is, in clay none is ;
In fir tar is, in oak none is.
The Masther and the Bocca Fadh 195"
" Haybrew, Aillie that was a thrifle of
Haybrew. If ye desire me to tackle him on
the Jarmin, or on any other of the dead
langidges, I'll be happy to obligate ye."
" Oh, no, no, Misther Haraghey, it's your-
self could do that same, but just thry him
on the Spellin' Book himself and wee
Gracie."
"Very well, Aillie, I'll start him a small
queskin in the Coney Sections at your re-
quist. As I was journeyin' to Sent Ives, I
met a man with seven wives, an' every wife
had seven sacks; in every sack there was
seven cats, an' every cat had seven kittens
now, kittens, cats, sacks, an' wives, how
many went to the fair of Sent Ives? That's
just a small thrifle, Aillie, to test the childre
in their Coney Sections."
" Now, Johnnie, a gradh"* the mother
whispered, encouragingly.
" Ah, mammy," Johnnie said grievingly,
"the Masther didn't put me on to Coney
Sections yet we're only at ' Stir the fire
and put on more coal.'"
" Imph! " said Misther Haraghey, as he
* (Pron. a gra) Lore.
196 Through the Turf Smoke
shook his snuff-box and helped himself lav-
ishly, without tendering a pinch to Aillie.
" Let me see, now, what ye know about Bo-
tan-nj me good little girl," but his man-
ner and tone implied, my very bad little girl.
" Me good little girl, can you tell me whether
was it Julius Csesar or Michael Augustinian
Angel-o that first discovered and explored
the Immortality of the Soul?"
Gracie tried her very best to be brave, but
the Bocca Fadh's ordnance was too heavy
for her. Her under lip quickly showed
signs of wavering it trembled perceptibly,
then two big tears dimmed the bright blue
of her eyes; they started out she gave way,
and beat a hasty retreat behind her mother.
"A mhilis, a mhilis!"* said the mother,
taking little Gracie in her arms and hugging
her. "Whisht! whisht! a stor: sure Misther
Haraghey wouldn't turn a hair on me own
darlin's yalla head. A learibh, a learibh mo
chroidhe!\ don't cry like that, or what are
you afeerd of at all, at all? "
" Oh, mammie, mammie, I'm afeerd of
* (Pron. a villish) My Sweet.
f (Pron. attaniv mo chree) Child of my heart.
The Masther and the Bocca Fadh 197
the Bocca Fadh. He doesn't give queskins
like the Masther. Mammie, keep me
here."
Johnnie, a better soldier, still firmly held
his ground.
The Bocca Fadh looked calmly, indiffer-
ently, into the fire, and remarked to it,
"I have only two other questions to de-
nounciate, an' if ye answer me I'll have the
shupreme sensation of awardin' yer mother's
son shupairior markifications. Both queskins
is in Divine-ity. Can you dimonsthrate
or tell to me, me fine young man, what
is the connection between the Bloody Wars
an' the Comics seen in the sky refaxred to
in Holy Writ, eighteenth and nineteenth of
Eevolutions, thirteenth chapture, nine-an'-
twintieth an' following varses? Ye cannot?
Well, now for the next, a simplified one.
Can you prove from the canine laws of the
Holy Eoman Church (one Faith an' one Bap-
tism) that the time an' times an' half a time
preydicted by Columbkille for the landin* of
the Spaniards at Dinnygal must occur in the
present reign of the thirteenth King an'
Queen of harasy in England Victoria bein'
198 Through the Turf Smoke
both Bang and Queen Queen of England
and Emperor of Indiay? "
Brave as Johnnie was, this last assault was
too much for him, he felt. So he, in turn,
struck his flag and retreated rapidly also to
the shelter of his mother's skirts. Johnnie
did not cry; that would have heen unmanly.
But he could not deny to himself that he felt
a curious sort of choking in the throat, which
was only relieved by the gentle stroking of
his white head by his mother's disengaged
hand.
"Misther Haraghey," the mother said,
"it's you's the long-headed man. But I'm
afeerd ye're too deep for wee Johnnie an*
Gracie, that hasn't got on far with their
larnin' yet."
" Oh, Missis Gallagher," the Bocca, feel-
ing disposed to be generous under the influ-
ence of Aillie's sincere compliment, said,
"they're two brave smart childre, God bliss
them to ye! Of course they were a wee bit
nonplushed, but on the whole they've done
fairly well fairly well. I have great hopes
of them, though, of course, they don't yet
figure up to my iday-al. But they're only
The Masther and the Bocca Fadh 199
young they're only young yet. An' to be
sure, too, any little short-comin's I have ex-
posed is more to be laid at their Masther's
door than at their own. Atween yerself an'
me, Missis Gallagher, my opinion of Masther
Whoriskey's tutorical abilities isn't just as
elevated as it might be. God knows the op-
portunities I got for the cultivation of my
intelligence was scanty enough; but thanks
be to Him for kind marcies, what little op-
portunities I got I made the most of, which
made me the scholart ye find me be that
good, bad, or ondifferent, it's not for me to
say."
" Well, / can say, what all the counthry-
side says, that one would walk long an' thra-
vel far an' not meet the bate of the Bocca
Fadh."
" Oh, now, ye make me blush, Missis Gal-
lagher. Ye do indeed. I'm afeerd I must
deny the allegation, it's too much entirely,
too much to say of a poor, neglected, forlorn,
orphan boy, that "
"An' more nor that, Misther Haraghey,
let me tell ye that the counthryside says it
was a blissin' from Providence ye didn't get
2oo Through the Turf Smoke
more opportunities, for they say that, like
every other great jaynis that come afore ye,
ye're brain would have turned with the fair
dint of the larnin' ye would have lamed on
afore ye, they say, till yer very head would
burst open with it. As it is, they say, they
don't know how ye stand all ye do know.
There's for ye, now, if ye must know the
truth of it! "
" Oh, Missis Gallagher, Missis Gallagher,
this is too much entirely too much entirely.
I'll not deny, indeed, that Father Pat of fche
Cross-roads an' Father Edward, the curate,
both give expression to themselves to the
same effect a night they had me in to argue
Divine-ity an' Asthronomy again' the two of
them. I'll not deny it, I say, but as Father
Pat said about the whiskey they told him
there was no wather in, it's a resarvation of
conscience with me whether I believe it or
no. But as I was goin' to say, Aillie, it's my
desire to come in confliction with Master
Whoriskey where an' when he pleases, in the
presence of witnesses, an' I won't begrudge
to him all he'll be able to crow over the
Bocca Fadh when he's done with him."
The Masther and the Bocca Fadh 201
The Bocca Fadh was sowing broadcast
these indirect challenges to the Masther.
Naturally, too, they were not without some
effect in the country. The neighbours en-
countered them so frequently that a deal of
fireside debating on the respective merits of
the Bocca Fadh and the Masther was the
natural result. The Masther himself, who
at first professed to treat with the most sub-
lime contempt " the lucubrations of that im-
pecunious vagrant," was at length compelled
to treat them seriously, and consented to
meet the Bocca Fadh in intellectual combat
on the Sunday night before Christmas in
the Bummadier's. Over the whole country-
side the news went like wildfire, causing
much commotion and excited debate.
Henceforward, till the great night arrived,
little else was spoken of, and though it was
generally believed that the Masther must
score a success, there was a large and grow-
ing section who championed the Beggarman,
and sturdily maintained "that the Masther
would have more nor a dish to wash" ere
he'd have done with his opponent. In the
meantime the Masther was in a very serious
202 Through the Turf Smoke
mood; the Bocca Fadh in his lightest, most
indifferent, most off-hand. The Masther had
everything to lose; the Bocca everything to
gain.
The eventful night came. The Bumma-
dier's was more than usually packed. The
Bocca Fadh, with his wallet and cudgel, oc-
cupied the corner. He was even more jaunty
than usual. He held deeper subjects in re-
serve; told his gayest stories, cracked his
driest jokes, and treated on any and every
subject save the intellectual one. The Bocca
had come to dinner; the Masther didn't ap-
pear till the arranged time of meeting after
night. Despite very apparent efforts to the
contrary, the Masther exhibited decided
tokens of nervousness in his look and man-
ner. When he entered, a subdued and re-
spectful murmur of salutation greeted him.
To the more prominent neighbours present
he nodded thanks, and took his seat in the
middle of the house. Then, his opportunity
being come, the Beggarman rose in his place
with a stiff grace, and making a low bow to
the Masther, said,
" Benediction with thee, Masther Whoris-
The Masther and the Bocca Fadh 203
key, and I bid you welcome. But af ther his
nocturanial paramulation " here he ad-
dressed the company " from his residential
habitation to Cornelius Higerty's abode,
won't my lamed friend deign to approach in
more contagious proximity with the confla-
gration here provided for him by the luxuri-
ant bounty of the inhabitant? "
This was the first gun from the enemy. It
hacl been, doubtless, long loaded and primed;
but with such promptitude and unexpected-
ness did it go off, and with such address was
it delivered, that it caused more than mo-
mentary embarrassment almost consterna-
tion in the opposite, unalert camp.
But in a few moments the Masther had
got to his feet and returned the Bocca's bow,
in an infinitely more graceful and stately
fashion. He said, as he approached to take
the vacant seat in the opposite chimney
corner,
" To accede to the requisition of my itin-
erant friend, the object of our eleemosynary
regards, vouchsafes me more rapturous de-
light than is within the circumscribed com-
prehension of any bifurcated individual be-
204 Through the Turf Smoke
neath the status of a lexicographer to
express."
The return fire, through delay, was not
quite as damaging as it should have been.
The audience mentally scored one for the
Beggarman.
The brazen rascal, too, seeing the Mas-
ther's nervousness, saw therein material for
unfair advantage. During the delivery of
his next fire he had the cool audacity to take
out his pipe, knock the ashes out of it
against the chimney-brace, suck it to see if
it drew well interrupting his discourse for
that purpose, and proceeded to refill it. He
said, with the most villainous nonchalance,
"Joe-ology, Al-jay-brsL, Thrigonomethry,
Fluxions, Joe-ography, Jurie's Prudence, the
Confluxion of the Systems, Di-sectation,
Magne-^s-im, Sequesthrations, Disquisitions,
Mathematicians, or the Influential Carcas-
ses* on which of all is it your requisition
and prefermentation that I should test your
eruditional accomplishments, sir?"
The Beggar scored again, the scoundrel!
* The Beggar had evidently heard mention of the
Differential Calculus.
The Masther and the Bocca Fadh 205
From the shaking of heads and whispering
with which this one was received around the
house, there was no mistaking it.
" Sir," the Masther replied with a magnifi-
cent scorn that regained him much of his
lost ground, " from my intellectual altitudes
I gaze down with the most inexpressible con-
tempt alloyed with disdainful commiseration
on the pitiable aggregation and accumulation
of unmitigated balderdash with which you
have the audacious temerity to address me.
Sir, of all subjects in the educational cur-
riculum of this or any other country in the
universe, from the Alpha to the Omega of
the same, select and indicate one, and I shall
instantaneously proceed to expose your unut-
terable ignorance to the gaze of a commiser-
ating public."
"Very well, then, on the Confluxions of
the Systems I'll take you."
" Avaunt, sirra! avaunt! " and the Masther
waived his hand disdainfully.
"Having maximum magnitudes granted,
how would you calculate for me the number
of jags in a cart of whins* in accordance
* Furze.
206 Through the Turf Smoke
with the fundamental principles of Joe-
ology?"
They were coming to close quarters.
" Sir, if I buy a horse at one farthing for
the first nail in his shoe, a halfpenny for the
second, one penny for the third, and hence
doubling till the thirty-second nail; how
much will defray the gross total cost of the
quadruped? "
But the Beggarman without a moment's
delay came along with his answer; and it was
this- wise,
"Adduce from Harry Stotle's* Common-
taries the proof regardin' who made Hiram's
breeches."
"My peregrinating itinerant, here's one to
stop your mouth:
' It's down in yon meadow I tethered my ass,
Where lie fruitful acres well stored with grass ;
How long must the cord be when ' "
" Maybe it's on the Influential Carcasses
ye'd soonest be taken. Here's at ye, then
Are you prepared to paragonically dimon-
sthrate to this company how many yards of
* Aristotle's.
The Masther and the Bocca Fadh 207
buttermilk would make a nightcap for Bin-
ban mountain?"
" 'How long must the, cord be when feeding all round,
He won't graze less or more than two acres of
ground t '
Elucidate me that, sirra! "
w Being given the sacrificial contain-
ments/' the Bocca said, by way of elucida-
tion, " can you arrogate for my information
how many faddoms of wind went through
the chancel windy of Dinnygal Abbey last
Janiary?"
("Faix," the breathless neighbours re-
marked, "the Bocca Fadh is givin' it hard
to the poor Masther.")
" Sirra," the Masther said, " can you en-
lighten us who wrote Caesar's Com-ment-
aries?"
" Now for a thrifle out of Asthronomy.
Taking our start from the paralysis of the
hypothenuse, can you calculate, enmerate,
an* dimonsthrate the number of bottles of
smoke in a cart of wet turf? "
(" Troth, the same Bocca has more in his
head nor a comb would take out. The poor
Masther's goin' to the back-han'.")
208 Through the Turf Smoke
" Sir, who or what was Cornelius Nepos?
and exemplify and illustrate for us the
Copernican System of the Universe, and like-
wise say who was the probable author of the
Odes of Horace (Smith's Translation)/*
"I shall now proceed to take you," said
the Beggarman calmly, as he wiped the stem
of the pipe upon his sleeve, and tendered it
across the fire to his opponent "I shall
now, I announce, proceed to take you upon
Biblical Commentation an' the elements of
Hydrophobia. Devolve the south an' cir-
cular sides of a three-year-old whinstone, an'
proove the same by the kibe an' square roots
of Joe-omethry an' Thrigonomethry."
" Sir, I hereby challenge and defy you to
Square the Circle, discover the Unknown
Quantity, and elucidate the theory of Per-
petual Motion."
("The Masther's queskins is wonderfully,
clivir, no doubts, but they haven't in them
the same grit's in the Bocca's.")
" Can ye say for a sartinty whom was
Jinisis's* eldermost uncle on the mother's
* The Bocca is in all probability referring to Gen-
esis.
The Masther and the Bocca Fadh 209
side, and prove the same by the totality of
Fluxions?"
" Ye can't do ' Good morrow to ye, naybour,
with yer twenty geese '"
"A small little queskin now to testify
your knowledge of horty-culture. How
many steps was in Jacob's laddher, calcu-
lated according to the mean solar distance
of the equinoctials? "
Yes, the Masther was no match for this
charlatan he was not possessed of enough
systematic ignorance blent with a good blend
of villainy.
He was somewhat tardy in coming on with
his reply.
"Do you adhere to the austere doctrines
promulgated by the learned Socrates, or the
more sensuous ones of Epicurus? Give your
reasons, and likewise state your opinion of
the respective merits of Sophocles and Da-
rius. From whom is the quotation ' a rara
avis in terra ' taken, and give a literal trans-
lation?"
" Another simple one out of Genufluxions.
Prove from the Scriptures, Ould an' New
Testymints, that Tobias's dog had a tail, an'
14
2io Through tae Turf Smoke
propound the paragorical projection of the
same."
But the Masther was wiping the perspira-
tion from his hrow the mental tension was
at its utmost. He replied not. The Bocca
Fadh seized the opportunity, and rising to
his feet delivered himself of his carefully
prepared coup de grace. He said, with his
grandest, most rascally assumptive air,
" Let no charlatanical fop dare dispute the
atrocious voracity of my achromatical quali-
fications, for I am a heterogeneous cosmopo-
lite, perambulating and differentiating intri-
cate problematics throughout the extension
of the different localities which I have mes-
merized into a conglomerated catastrophe! "
And the scoundrel sat down in the lap of
victory!
Father Dan and Fiddlers Four
Father Dan and Fiddlers Four
AFTER his love for God, and his love for
his flock, Father Dan loved music. Good
music, that is; for he confessed he never
could listen to a scoundrel murdering music,
but his hand would be itching to give him
a dressing with his blackthorn staff.
Anyhow, once, on an old Lammas Day,
there had been a wedding above in Cora-
meen-lusk, a son of Ned Baccagh's with
Winny Neil Mhor, and the father and mother
of a good spree it was. Nothing less than
four fiddlers. Three houses under the party.
Whiskey go leor, and meat and drink to all
comers. As was only to be expected, a spree
on such a liberal scale had been prolonged
into the next afternoon. Coming on even-
ing the four fiddlers found themselves at the
Knockagar Cross the parting of their ways.
As was also only to be expected of fiddlers
214 Through the Turf Smoke
coming from a feast, their manner was effu-
sive. It was distressing to part. They al-
ternately cuffed and kissed each other, sang
and scolded. Finally, I regret to say, they
were surrounded by two peelers, who in the
Queen's name arrested them as disturbers of
the peace of the realm, and marched them
straight or at least as straight as the pecu-
liar circumstances would permit to Mr.
McClane's. This they accomplished by
means of their clever tactical skill. For
they seized upon the fiddles, not the men;
and where their fiddles went there would
the fiddlers follow. Arrived at Mr. Mc-
Clane's, and inveigled into his office, they
were arraigned and solemnly charged that
they, Michael Scanlan, of Meenauish-beg,
in the parish of Killymard; Thaddeus Mc-
Dermott, of Meenauish-more, in the parish
aforesaid, and Nail O'Byrne and Peter
Throwers, both of Throwerstbwn, in the
parish of Drimholm, and County of Done-
gal, were found drunk and behaving in a
riotous and disorderly manner at the cross
roads of Knockagar, in the parish of Inver,
to the great alarm, annoyance, and distress
Father Dan and Fiddlers Four 215
of Her Gracious Majesty's most well-beloved
and dutiful subjects in the townland and
parish aforementioned or words to that
effect. Though the cold fact apart from
its legal aspect was that not a lone one of
the aforesaid dutiful and well-beloved sub-
jects was alarmed, annoyed, and distressed,
or would be alarmed, annoyed, and dis-
tressed, or anything but highly entertained,
had the four devoted disciples of Orpheus
prolonged their orgie till Christmas Day
dawned on them. But law is law, and, of
course, fact has got no raison d'etre within
its province.
Just then Father Dan jogged up to the
magistrate's door, on Forgiveness. The
name of Father Dan's old gray mare, his
faithful servant, day out, day in, in fair
and in foul weather, midday and midnight
for close upon thirty years was Forgiveness
whereby hangeth a tale not strictly within the
scope of this history. Father Dan jogged eas-
ily up on Forgiveness, and letting himself off,
he entered, while Forgiveness went to graze
soberly by the wayside. Going in and find-
ing four men there arraigned, and hearing
216 Through the Turf Smoke
the charge, he said, " Oh! these scoundrels
from Killymard and Drimholm coming into
my parish to disgrace it and to bring a bad
name on it with their drinking and their
squabbling like a parcel of thravelling tink-
ers ye must make an example of them, Mr.
McClane make an example of them! A
month in jail with a hammer in their fist
from cock-crow till bedtime will be a big
help to their manners, and to the manners
of every other villain of them coming into
my parish for the time to come. A month
in jail with hard labour and half rations
nothing less will be of any use, Mr.
McClane! "
Then the spoils of war, the four fiddles,
caught Father Dan's eye.
"What? Fiddles! Fiddlers? Ye but-
cher music, hey, do ye? Yer villainies
wouldn't be complete without that."
And he insisted on each displaying his
skill (or else), on his instrument. And, as
it proved, they were four of as sweet fiddlers
as tirrled a bow in the two baronies. And
they completely comethered good Father Dan,
whose inherent respect for good musicians
Father Dan and Fiddlers Four 217
asserted itself, so that he said they were
good men gone wrong, gravely pointed out
to them the enormity of their crime, evoked
from them a hearty promise of amendment,
showed Mr. McClane that, after all, he be-
lieved the nominal fine of a shilling each and
costs would, on the occasion of this their
first offence, appease the offended dignity of
the law, out of his own pocket paid the
money down on the nail, and in front of
himself and Forgiveness marched them to
his house, " till he'd give the creatures a pick
to ate, and a wash and a brush and a heat
of the fire, and put the poor fellows on their
legs, and pack them for home."
And in spite of all old Kitty Byrne's
grumbling Kitty had been his housekeeper
since first he had a house to keep and Kitty
was the only tyrant, other than his boy Bar-
ney, whom Father Dan feared despite all
Kitty's grumblings against the house being
turned into a cow market, Father Dan in-
sisted on their washing and brushing, and
on Kitty's serving up at the kitchen-table
a plentiful meal of which, to tell truth,
they were sadly in need. And despite all
218 Through the Turf Smoke
Kitty's acrid personalities about making her
house the randyvoo for all the thramp fid-
dlers and thramp fluters from end to wind
of the county, with many other equally
pleasant remarks, and many very dismal pro-
phecies of where all this blather-skitin' was
going to end, her four guests made a right
hearty meal, for which they thanked God
when they had done; and then thanked
Father Dan; and finally, to Kitty's utter ex-
asperation, thanked her and wished her a
long ljfe and a sweet temper.
Finding they had finished their meal,
Father Dan ushered them into his own little
parlour, he going in front, laden with the
four fiddles and with as many bitter re-
proaches as Kitty could contrive to pile on
him ere he got all in and the door closed in
the enemy's face. Then Father Dan seated
the four and put his fiddle into the hands of
each, and took down his own fiddle (at which
he was no mean adept) from over the mantel,
and proceeded to get it into tune, keenly re-
joicing all the while in the prospect of a
long, pleasant evening.
But it took his guests an extraordinarily
Father Dan and Fiddlers Four 219
long time to tune theirs, and divers myste-
rious looks and winks passed between them
which Father Dan was neither slow to receive
nor to interpret. The short and the long of
it was that the fiddlers wanted what they
themselves would have styled elbow grease,
but which in the plain man's dictionary is
spelled poteen. Musical preparations were
then temporarily suspended while Father
Dan produced a quart bottle three-quarters
filled, out of which after a bit of very serious
and very paternal advice against the abuse
of whiskey, to which the four lent a filial ear,
he gave them a glass apiece, which made
their eyes kindle; and they invoked blessings
on his head, informed him that it put a new
BOW! in them, and in token thereof gave a
particularly lively jig by way of flourish, the
manner of which promised well for an enjoy-
able night.
Then Father Dan got himself seated, and
all five of them gave "The Blackbird" so
excellently as to draw the tears to the good
man's eyes. Then there was less or more
friction, for whilst Father Dan wanted some
of Moore, his friends were loud for jigs and
22O Through the Turf Smoke
strathspeys, favourites of their own. They
compromised on " An Sluadh Sidhe."
When things seemed again to be going
smoothly, everyone of the five putting his
soul into the music, the sound of wheels was
faintly heard by Father Dan; the sound
ceased opposite the door; he succeeded in
silencing the music in time to hear Kitty's
greeting at the door responded to in the well-
known voice of Dr. McGilligan, the Bishop!
Father Dan, in one awe-stricken glance,
took in the room with its five fiddlers four
of them as disreputable-looking as ever sat
in a priest's parlour nursing their fiddles
around a table on which was a stout quart
bottle and a glass, and inwardly he asked
himself why he was born! " The Bishop! "
was all he could ejaculate to his startled com-
panions. But that was enough. Quicker-
witted or perhaps less frightened than he,
the four musicians as with one accord popped
under the table, fiddles and all; and one of
them, seized with sudden presence of mind,
put up a long arm from the hiding-place and
bore off the bottle just one moment ere the
good old Bishop, in his own familiar way,
Father Dan and Fiddlers Four 221
Balked in unannounced. The table-cloth of
generous amplitude let fall its ends to the
floor around the table; and so Father Dan
had half recovered himself, sufficiently re-
covered himself anyhow to greet his Bishop
warmly, and thanked him profusely for the
honour of this unexpected visit. The good
Bishop instantly made himself at home, seat-
ing himself in an arm-chair to one side of
the fireplace, his side to the fire and his face
to the room. The sight of a glass on the
table naturally turned the Doctor's discourse
on the subject of all others nearest his heart,
the cause of temperance. And as Father
Dan, with something very much akin to
twinges of conscience, gave him an encourag-
ing account of the progress of the cause in
his parish, his trial only properly com-
menced, for the table got a distinct knock
from below, such as would be caused by the
heel of an inverted bottle going up suddenly.
Father Dan conjectured this was but the first
of a series. And rightly. With a well pre-
pared cough he half drowned the next rap.
Proceeding with his discourse, he kept his
right heel in readiness by an opportune
222 Through the Turf Smoke
crack of which on the floor he confounded
the following one. A shuffle of his feet
fairly well confused the next succeeding one.
But it was getting a trying ordeal. Adroitly
punctuating his argument by a few raps of his
knuckles on the table neutralized a few more.
Thereat taking his cue, he became so demon-
strative in his argument and clinched his
points with such and so many blows on the
table, that he would soon have awaked con-
jectures in Dr. McGilligan's mind, but that
gentleman turned his face towards the fire
for a moment, and the bottle, to Father Dan's
utter consternation, was rapidly reached out
from under the table and deposited, of all
places in the world, under the heavy drap-
ings that hung from his Lordship's chair!
An old brown and bony hand, too, had gone
out from under the table at a few feet
distant from the rugged one that held the
bottle (yet quarter-filled), and made a rather
aimless grab for the bottle, and then retired
slowly, as it were disappointedly, beneath the
fringes of the table-cloth again. Though
this proceeding took barely a few seconds,
it seemed to Father Dan an hour. Distinct
Father Dan and Fiddlers Four 223
beads of perspiration certainly did start on
his brow; he had not even presence of mind
to make a noise. But as the mysterious hand
missed its grab, something, which might be
a grumble or might be any indistinct sound
under the moon, was emitted from under the
table, and the Bishop's eye, Father Dan ob-
served, detected a swaying in the drapery
depending from the table.
Father Dan said " Scat! " and stamped his
foot.
" I suppose you are troubled with rats? "
Dr. McGilligan said,
" Oh, yes, sometimes sometimes annoy-
ing villains annoying villains. But as I
was saying about Father Hugh's parish "
and he had the discourse again reverted to
its proper channel, and was comparatively
at ease once more.
But not for long. He observed when the
Doctor looked any other way than straight
before him that brown, bony, big hand came
out on a rambling excursion, darting sud-
denly back to cover each time the Bishop's
eye threatened to come back. And he then
observed a bright eye glistening through a
224 Through the Turf Smoke
hole in the table-cloth, at about a foot from
the ground. And every time the ugly hand
came out, and grasped, and sprawled, he felt
an itching to give it a thundering good whack
of his staff that would cure it of its rambling.
He had to say " Scat! " several times, when
he fancied Dr. McGilligan's attention was
attracted by the slight noises, or by the shak-
ing of the table-cover. All his endeavours
to entice Dr. McGilligan to be shown to his
room, that he might brush himself up after
his journey, were unavailing, for his Lord-
ship would persist in having out his chat
first.
The hand had come out about the tenth
time, and had gone rambling and fumbling
in the direction of the Bishop's chair, and
had swiftly retreated on false alarms, and
slowly gone forth, and rapidly come back,
and hesitatingly gone pioneering again, until
just as Kitty Byrne appeared with a lapful
of turf for the fire, a second even uglier hand
and both were left hands had crept out,
and both were making ineffectual darts at
something unseen by Kitty. She suddenly
stopped short on first seeing them a few feet
Father Dan and Fiddlers Four 225
before her, and across her passage. Then
she quickly took in half the situation: re-
venge was sweet, and Kitty laid down her
broad and heavy boot, with very much em-
phasis, plump on the back of the nearest
hand to her. There was a stifled cry, luckily
covered by the noise with which Father Dan
hitched his chair and coughed. Kitty's
ankle was immediately caught firmly by a
right hand, and viciously wrenched. She
swayed, staggered forward, and, first her load
of turf, then herself, was pitched into his
Lordship's lap, out of which Kitty narrowly
escaped rolling into the fire. In the com-
motion, three hands started out simulta-
neously from beneath the table, swooped
under his Lordship's chair, the bottle rapidly
passed back in one, the other two hands fol-
lowed, limp, and one might easily think half
disappointed. The spirit-rappings under-
neath the table set in again at once; sharp
and quick they were. But there was yet too
much commotion for them to be heard
amongst the party at the fire. Father Dan
sharply reprimanded Kitty for her clumsi-
ness in tripping, and begged a thousand par-
15
226 Through the Turf Smoke
dons of Dr. McGilligan, while Kitty was too
much overcome with horror of the situation
to do more than clasp her hands, and turn
up her eyes to heaven, and cluck her tongue
against the roof of her mouth, in attempted
expression of her inexpressible feelings.
Good Dr. McGilligan tried to reassure and
quiet them, and he repeated, " Tut! Tut!
Tut! " till he got them in a moderately calm
condition again. Then he consented that he
would look into his room while Kitty was
getting them a cup of tea. But as he would
have risen from his seat, he fell back again
slightly startled, for before his eyes, and ap-
parently none interfering with it, one end
of the table was suddenly tilted up some six
inches, and slowly descended again. Father
Dan could neither move nor speak. Kitty
Byrne collapsed on the sofa. Then the other
end of the table went up as mysteriously for
a foot, it swayed to right and left for a few
seconds, while some strange uncertain sounds
were heard from beneath; then the table sub-
sided once more, and for a momentary space
there was no sound. Father Dan strove to
reach for his blackthorn which rested against
Father Dan and Fiddlers Four 227
the wall within a yard of him but on the
way his hand was paralyzed, and fell back to
his side. Now, the table bodily bounded,
sharply and suddenly to the height of a foot,
and as suddenly came down again. A dis-
tinct scuffling noise was heard. Then
" Tarnation saize ye; let go me throat! "
" Let go the bottle or I'll choke ye as dhry
as a whinstone rock! "
" Hish! "
" Hish, or I'll prod the ribs aff ye! "
" Let go the bottle, hatchet-face! let go the
bottle! "
" Not if it was to save yer sowl, cruked
mouth! "
" Ye natarnal veg ye! bad luck to ye, an*
his Lordship listenin'! "
"I don't care a thraneen if Sent Pether
himself was listenin', I'll have the bottle or
his ribs 'ill get what Paddy gave the
dhrum! "
" De'il's cure to you, spavin-feet, an' take
that! "
His Lordship sat terrified. Father Dan
sat terrified. Kitty Byrne lay astounded.
Beneath the table then arose a general hub-
228 Through the Turf Smoke
bub. One side the table then rose a couple
of feet and sank. Then rose again and
the other side followed. Luckily, Father
Dan kept his candle on the mantel. Before
the startled and staring prelate the table rose
up five or six feet from the ground, swayed,
shook there was a crackling noise such as
might be produced by trampling on and
bursting-in fiddles and then the table shot
over and lit on its side on the fender, and
thence tumbled over, exposing four big fel-
lows struggling and gasping, and punching
and grappling, and finally bellowing, trampl-
ing all the while on the debris of four fiddles,
to the utter and fearful consternation of
good Dr. McGilligan, and the unspeakable
mortification of poor Father Dan.
After Father Dan, with the substantial
help of his staff, had cleared out the four
arrant villains, and left them rubbing their
wounds far from his door, and pitched out
after them the sorry remains of their fiddles,
he threw himself on the Bishop's mercy, ex-
plained and apologized, apologized and ex-
plained; but the Bishop, when he had gath-
Father Dan and Fiddlers Four 229
ered his meaning and purport as best he
could from a disjointed statement, went into
fit after fit of long, loud, and hearty laughter,
which seized him at intervals even in bed
that night. Father Dan affected to join, but
the poor man's laugh was distressingly me-
chanical, and in his heart he vowed to whale
and whack every fiddler from either Killy-
mard or Drimholm whom he'd find within,
the bounds of his parish from that sad night
forward. And certainly such were after-
wards very chary of trespassing on the for-
bidden region.
That is the story of Father Dan and the
Fiddlers Four.
Jack Who was the Ashypet
Jack Who was the Ashypet
WANST on a time when Kings and Queens
was as plenty in Ireland as good people, and
good people as plenty as Kings and Queens,
there was a poor widdy woman and she had
wan son they called Jack. Now this Jack
was a lazy, good-for-nothin' sthreel of an
ashypet, who sat round the fire with his heels
and his toes never out of the ashes all days
of the year, and all years of his life, till he
grew to he man-big, and he neither good for
King, country nor clippin' sheep.
Till wan day at long an' at last, he ups,
and he says, says he,
" Mother," says he, " it's the black shame's
on me to be hunkerin' in the ashes all days
o' me life, an' you puttin' the bone through
the skin thryin' to do for me. It has been
so long, but it'll not be so longer. Bake
me a bannock, cut me a callop, an' give me
234 Through the Turf Smoke
yer blissin* till I go away to push me for-
tune."
No sooner said nor done.
"Very well, Jack ahaisge," says the
mother. And she baked him his bannock,
cut him his callop, give him her blissin', an'
off went poor Jack to push his fortune.
And on and on afore him Jack walked,
till, in the hait of the day, haltin' to rest
himself, and to eat a bit of his bannock, he
obsarves on the flag he was goin' to seat him-
self down on, a flock of big black flies, an*
he ups with his stick an* kilt three-an'-thirty
of them, for he counted them, an' wan o'
them was a dale bigger nor the others.
" Now that's what I call a good blow," says
Jack; an' gettin' an old rusty nail he wrote
upon his stick
" With wan blow o' this stick I kilt a
clargyman an' two an' thirty of a congrega-
tion."
Afther that, Jack he thravelled on and on,
far further nor I could tell you, and twicet
further nor you could tell me, till at last he
come to a country where he found two Joy-
ants buildin' a bridge. Here Jack climbs
Jack Who was the Ashypet 235
up a tree unbeknownst to the Joyants, an*
takin' a wee pebble-stone out of his pocket
he fires an' hits wan o' the Joyants that was
in front of the other, with it.
" Don't do that again, I tell ye! " says the
Joyant that was sthruck, says he, to his
brother Joyant.
Then he went on with his work, but he
wasn't right at it, till Jack the rascal threw
another small pebble-stone an' sthruck him
again.
" Be this an' be that," says the Joyant,
says he, as black as thunder, " if ye do that
again I'll throw ye over the bridge! "
But me brave Joyant had scarce yocked
his work the second time, when Jack rattles
another purty little pebble-stone off his skull.
" Melia murtker! " roars the Joyant. An'
afore givin' him time to bliss himself he had
his brother Joyant be the throat an' over the
bridge, an' kilt him cowl' dead on the rocks
below.
An' at this me poor Jack couldn't houl*
himself in no longer, but laughed an'
laughed till he rowled down out of the tree.
" Oh, ye vagabone! " says the Joyant, " so
236 Through the Turf Smoke
it was you that done it, an' made me kill me
poor brother. Oh ye vagabone ye! " says
he, "it's me'll make the short work o' ye!"
" Stan' off, stan' off," says Jack, says he,
wavin' his hand, "ye don't know who ye're
talkin' to. Are you aware," says Jack, says
he, " the wondherful fait that I parformed?"
"I'm not," says the Joyant, says he,
"what was that?"
"I kilt," says Jack, says he, "with wan
blow o' that stick, a clargyman an' his con-
gregation of two-an'-thirty."
"I don't believe a word of it," says the
Joyant.
" There, then," says Jack, handin' him
the stick " There, then," says he, " read it
for yerself."
" Thrue enough," says the Joyant, his jaw
dhroppin' all at wanst when he read what
was on the stick. " But sure ye'll not touch
me, Jack," says he, " an' I'll not say a word
to ye if I had fifty-five brothers, an' ye made
me kill every sowl o' them."
" Never fear," 'says Jack, " I have made it
a rule never to intherfere with the young or
the wake."
Jack Who was the Ashypet 237
So, home with him the Joyant fetched
Jack; an' when Jack had got his fill of a
good supper an' gone to bed, an' left the
Joyant an' his oul' mother sittin' be the
fire
"Isn't this a nice how-do-you-do," says
the oul' mother, says she, " that ye kilt yer
poor brother all through this scoundhril's
thricks."
" Oh, whisht, whisht, whisht, mother! "
eays the Joyant, says he, "for feerd Jack
would hear ye, an' come down out o' the
room an' kill us all. Whisht, whisht, whisht,
mother! " says he, " ye don't know what ye're
talkin' about! "
" Go to pot," says she, " for a blatherskite.
I don't believe a word of it that he has the
sthrength he lets on."*
" Oh, whisht, whisht, whisht, mother! "
says the Joyant, " sure didn't me own two
eyes read it off the stick! "
" Botheration take you an' the stick," says
she, "for the edict ye are! Is that all the
proof ye have? I'll tell ye," says she,
" what ye'll do, to thry him out for it: just
* Pretends.
238 Through the Turf Smoke
ax him out to the meadow the morra-mornin'
for a sthroll; I'll lave in yer way the three-
ton sledge-head of yer brother's, an' the
seven-ton sledge-head of yer own, an' the
ten-ton wan of yer poor oul' father when he
was alive: yous 'ill come across them be ac-
cident, an' you purpose to thry him a throw
at them for fun. Then we'll soon see his
sthren'th, an' be the games, if he turns out
the imposthure I believe him to be, we'll
soon do for him then."
Well an' good; the mornin' come, an' me
boul' Jack was up with the lark.
" What do ye say, Jack/' says the Joyant,
says he, " to a turn in the meadow without,
to get up yer appetite? "
" I say it's no bad iday-a," says Jack.
So out the both o' them marches, Jack
cheek-be- jowl with the Joyant, an' through
the meadow they goes, an' it wasn't long till
they come across a sledge-head.
"I say," says Jack, "what's this?"
" Oh," says the Joyant, says he, turnin' it
over with his toe, " that's only a little sledge-
head belongin* to me poor brother: it's lyin'
here where himself an' me used to come out
Jack Who was the Ashypet 239
of a mornin' an' throw it for exercise. What
do ye say, Jack, to a throw of it? "
" Oh, of course, of course, sartintly we'll
have a throw at it be all means," says Jack.
"Will you throw first, Jack?" says the
Joyant.
" Oh, not at all," says Jack, " that sort of
thing would be considhered very bad man-
ners o' me in my counthry."
So up with the sledge did the Joyant, an'
at wan throw he threw it eleven mile.
" Now, Jack," says he, " it's your turn."
" Oh, just when ye threw it away," says
Jack, " be good enough to lay it back again."
So, off went the Joyant an' fetched it back,
an' left it down at Jack's feet.
"Himph!" says Jack, says he, lookin' at
it. "What weight do ye call that?"
" Three ton," says the Joyant.
"Have ye any others?" says Jack.
" Yes," says the Joyant, says he, " there's
a seven-ton wan belongin' to me, an' a ten-
ton wan belongin' to me poor oul' father,
lyin' about."
" Get them," says Jack.
The Joyant, all wondherment, got them.
240 Through the Turf Smoke
" Get a rope an' tie the three together
now," says Jack.
The Joyant done this, too; his eyes growin'
bigger every minnit.
" Plaise to stand back out o' me road, now,
me good fella," says Jack, sthrippin' himself
of his coat, an' rowlin' up his sleeves, " an'
gimme room to wind me arms, or ye might
get hurted."
Back the Joyant stands, wondherin' more
an' more, an' ready to dhrop with the won-
dher. An' Jack, puttin' his two fingers in
his mouth gives a loud whistle.
"What do ye mane be that?" says the
Joyant.
" Oh, nothin," says Jack, " only it's a
blacksmith lives at home, an' naybours me
in Dinnygal, an' when I was comin' away he
put it on me if I'd meet any likely bits o'
scrap-iron on me way, to be sure an' mind
not to forget but pick them up an' take them
home to him. But do you think," says Jack,
says he, offended, "that I've got nothin'
whatsomiver to do only be cadgin' bits o'
scraps like these round with me? I'll pitch
them home to him now an' be done with
Jack Who was the Ashypet 241
them. That whistle's to put him on the
lookout."
" Aisy, aisy," says the Joyant, " ye're not
surely goin' to throw our beautiful sledge-
heads home to a blacksmith for scrap-iron.
Melia murther, no! "
" Stand back," says Jack. " Stand back,"
says he, making great sthrives entirely to get
1y the Joyant, an' get at the sledge-heads.
" No, no, no! " says the Joyant. " Mother,
mother, mother! he's goin' to throw our
purty sledge-heads home to a blacksmith for
scrap-iron. No, Jack, Jack," says he, " sure
ye wouldn't be as bad as that on us? "
"Arrah, bad win' to you an* yer little
sledge-heads," says Jack, rowlin' down his
sleeves again, an' gettin' intil his coat. " The
norra be with you an' them! for to go an'
for to raise such a phillalew about nothin!
Take them out o' me sight," says he, turnin'
an' marchin' home to his brekwuss.
An' that night again, when Jack had gone
to bed, the Joyant an' his mother was be-
moanin' to wan another over the fire.
" But now," says the Joyant's mother,
"afther all, he didn't throw the sledges home.
16
242 Through the Turf Smoke
There's no bein' up to the thricks o' them
people comes from Dinnygal, an' I can't get
it off me mind yet but he's maybe only an
imposther. Now, we must thry him out for
it; so, the morra-mornin' you put the hand-
sticks in the water-barrel without, that
houlds ten ton weight o' water, an' ax him
help ye to carry the full of it back from the
lough, an' then we'll soon see what stuff he's
made of."
Right enough, in the mornin' the Joyant
puts the hand-sticks into the emp'y wather-
barrel, that weighed three ton weight itself,
an' he says to Jack,
" Jack," says he, " me mother would like
to get a dhrop o' wather fetched over from
the lough beyant. This little stand only
holds ten tons, an' my brother an' I used to
carry her the full of it every mornin', but
I know you'll be kindly enough to help me
now."
" Is it help ye! " says Jack. " Oh, surely,
surely, sartintly I'll help ye."
"All right," says the Joyant, "I'll take
houP o' this end of the sticks, you of that
end. Are ye ready? "
Jack Who was the Ashypet 243
"Keady/' says Jack. "Lift away, me
jewel! "
But the minnit the Joyant lifted, Jack lets
go his end, an' he brakin' his heart laughin'.
"Ha! ha! ha-ha-ha-a-a! " says Jack, says
he. "Do ye know what I'm laughin' at?"
says he; an' he yocks to tell the Joyant a
dhroll put-out. " Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha-a-a! "
says Jack, says he, " did ye ever hear a betther
wan nor that in yer born days? Ha! ha! ha!
ha-a-a! what's this to do at all, at all! " says
he, houldin' his sides with the laughin'.
" Ha! ha! ha! ha-a-a! that's no miss of a
joke," says Jack, " or did ye ever meet with
the bate of it! Ha! ha! ha! Anee, anee,
oh! " says Jack, says he, an' he lay down on
the grass an' he rowled with the laughin'.
" Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! Anee-oh! anee-oh!
anee-oh! " says he, " I'll never get over
this! "
Till at long an' at last, the Joyant had to
get his arms about the water-barrel an' hoise
it off to the lough himself. Then, when he
had it filled, he got the sticks intil it again,
an' told Jack to take hold of his end, till
they'd get it home.
244 Through the Turf Smoke
"Yis, me fine fella," says Jack, says he,
gettin' hold o' the sticks.
" Are ye ready? " says the Joyant.
"Ready!" says Jack; "lift away, me
jewel! "
But the minnit the Joyant went to lift,
Jack let go his end o' the sticks, nearly
br'akin' the Joyant's hack.
" Och, blatheration! " says Jack, as angry
as ye plaise, " what's the sense o' this way o'
workin', carryin' home water in wee dhribs
like this! Tell me," says he to the Joyant,
"have ye got any spades about the house?
an' what size are they?"
"We have," says the Joyant, wondherin'
what Jack was up to now; " there's a spade,
belongin' to me poor brother that's dead, that
lifts three acres at a time, an' wan belongin'
to me that lifts seven acres at a time, an' wan
belongin' to me poor father that lifts ten
acres."
" Take an' get them three little spades,"
says Jack, says he, " knocked into wan mid-
dim' spade, an' fetch it to me, an' I'll soon
cut a way for the lough to get down round
yer house, so that yer oul' mother 'ill only
Jack Who was the Ashypet 245
have to come to the door-step and lift what-
ever water she wants."
" Oh, vo! vo! vo! " says the Joyant.
" Melia murther! melia murther!" says he,
/ *
runnin' home to his mother an' tellin' her all
how this Jack fella wanted to fetch the whole
lough down round the house, so that she
might fall in an' get dhrownded some
mornin'.
So even the Joyant's oul' mother had to
give in that Jack must be a tarrible fella,
entirely, out an' out, an' they must get rid
of him somehow or other.
An' that self-same night when Jack went
to T>ed, he didn't go to bed at all, only stayed
listenin' at the room door, an' heerd the
Joyant an' his mother discoorsin' how they'd
kill him. An' they agreed to take the ten-
ton sledge-head an' go up an' kill him with
it when he'd be asleep. So, me brave Jack
takes a calf they had tied in the room, an*
puttin' him lyin' in the bed, he put in a lot
of dry sticks along with him, an' covered
over the whole with the blankets, an' got
undher a lump of rubbish in the corner him-
self.
246 Through the Turf Smoke
After a while up comes the Joyant, an' he
whispers " Jack! "
But the sorra answer Jack made, only
snored from his corner.
" Come on, mother! " says the Joyant,
goin' back to the door, " he's as sound as a
top."
Up comes the mother with the ten-ton
sledge-head in her arms, an' the Joyant gets
behind her an' shoves her on tor'st the bed
where they seen the bulk lyin'.
" Now, mother," says the Joyant, from
behind her. "Now, mother," says he,
" strike! an' strike hard! "
An', with that, the oul' mother ups with
the sledge-head, an' fetches it down wan
sillendher on the bulk. An' the dhry sticks
cracked, an' the poor calf could only blurt
out "Boo-oo-oo! "
" Ha-a-a! ye scoundhril." says the Joy-
ant, lookin' over his mother's shoulder,
"ye got that. Did ye hear his bones
crackin', mother? Give him another to
aise him."
So the oul' mother ups with the sledge-
hammer, an' down she comes another sil-
Jack Who was the Ashypet 247
lendher on the bed. An' the sticks cracked
again, an' the poor calf said " Boo-oo-oo! "
" Ha-a-a! " says the Joyant, " that's you,
mother, give the villain wan other to aise
him."
An' the oul' mother ups with the sledge-
head again an' down she comes another
sillendher on the bed.
But the poor calf said nothin' now, for
he was kilt dead.
" Ah, bully are ye, mother! " says the
Joyant, "now he's aised."
An' down both o' them goes to the kitchen,
an' sittin' down at the fire, went out of wan
fit o' laughin' intil another at how aisy they
had got rid of poor Jack.
But lo! an' behoul' ye, in the middle of it
all, the room-door opens, an' in steps me
brave Jack into the kitchen with his shoes
an' stockin's under his arm; and he dhraws
forrid a sait to the fire, and sat down atwixt
the Joyant an' his mother.
" Boys-a-boys! " says Jack, says he, an'
him thrimblin', "I couldn't lie in that bed
no longer," says he, "for a tarrible wild
dhraim I'm afther havin'."
248 Through the Turf Smoke
" A dhraim! " says the Joy ant.
" A dhraim! " says the Joyant's mother.
"Yis, a dhraim, an' a tarrible wan en-
tirely," says Jack. "I dhraimt," says he,
that I was out in a shower o' hailstones, an*
that three great, big, big wans struck me
right there on the stomach, an' a'most took
the breath from me. Oh, oh, oh! " says he,
rubbin' his stomach hard, " I think I feel it
smartin' still. Oh, oh, oh! " says he.
An' the Joyant looked at the oul' mother,
an' the oul' mother looked at the Joyant;
but naither o' them spoke only shuk their
heads at other, as much as to say, " There's
for ye! three ~big hailstones! "
"Jack," then says the Joyant's mother,
" don't ye think aren't ye a long time away
from yer home an' from yer mother now?
And don't ye think wouldn't it be a good
notion if ye made a push back for yer own
counthry again' mornin' ? "
" It would be ill me comin' to do anything
o 5 the sort," says Jack, " for to go for to disart
ye afther all the wee kindnesses ye've shown
me while I was here. No, no, no," says Jack,
" you've been both mother an' father to me,
Jack Who was the Ashypet 249
an' this house is goin' to be my home, plaise
Providence, for the time to come. Oh, no,
no, no, don't think I'd be so small as for to
go for to disart ye that way," says Jack.
So, the lee an' the long of it was that they
had to offer Jack, if he'd return home, he'd
have all the goold he could carry with him.
An' at long an' at last Jack consented only,
he said, he wouldn't ax all the goold he could
carry, for that would rob them entirely, out
an' out; he'd only ax what goold the Joyant
could carry. So, off at length the Joyant
an' Jack started, an' the Joyant two-double
undher a great sack of goold, an' he left Jack
three days' journey on his way, puttin' him
over the bordhers intil his own counthry.
An' Jack soon found manes of fetchin' the
goold the remaindher of the way home,
where right hearty glad his poor oul' mother
was to see her own Ashypet come back. But
when she saw the sight o' the goold was
along with him, it's sartin sure ye may be
that she was beside herself with the delight.
There was an open house, an' faistin',
aitin', an' dhrinkin' for nine days an' nine
nights every day an' night betther nor the
250 Through the Turf Smoke
other an' the last day an' night the best of
all.
And Jack he built a great castle with a
window again' every day o' the year. An'
himself an' his poor oul' mother lived happy
iver afther.
Jack and the Lord High
Mayor of Dublin
Jack and the Lord High
Mayor of Dublin
IN the rare ould times, long, long, ago,
whin there was paice an' plinty in Irelan',
an' whin you'd meet with more humours an'
cracks in one day's journey than now in a
year an' a day, there was an aged widdy
woman, an' she had one son, an' they called
him Jack. An' Jack an' his ould mother
owned a wee hut of a house not a bit bigger
nor that ye might put yer han' down the
chimley an' take the boult off o' the door,
an' they had a stretch o' land behind the
house that supported one Nanny-goat in aise
an' comfort. An' moreover nor the Nanny-
goat, Jack owned two pet rabbits, for he had
that kindly sort of a way with him, that he
had a grah for little wee birds an' bastes, an*
the little wee birds and bastes, too, was jist
every bit as fond o* him. For, by the same
254 Through the Turf Smoke
token, Jack had a wee whistle on a runnin'-
string fastened into his weskit-pocket an*
buttonhole, same as you or me 'ud carry a
watch an' chain, an' whin Jack would put
the whistle into his mouth an' blow it, there
wasn't a bird of any sort or description
within a mile o' ground that wouldn't come
whish! flyin' in a sthring after the other like
a railway thrain, an' light all over him an'
about him, waitin' to be fed, for he had them
all as tame as chickens, feedin' them day an'
daily from he was no height; an' they'd perch
on his hands an' arms an' head, an' all roun'
him, without bein' in the laste taste afeerd.
The cabin that Jack an' his ould mother
lived in was built on the main road to Dub-
lin, where, of course, there was no end of
genthry an' nobility rowlin' by in their car-
riages day af ther day as sure as ever the sun
rose. An' it happened that wan day the
Lord High Mayor of Dublin an' his shoot
was passin' by Jack's an' his ould mother's
wee hut, on his way back to Dublin from a
visit he was afther payin' to a second an'
third cousin of his (by his mother's side) in
the Black North; an' just as he was passin'
Jack and the Lord High Mayor 255
Jack's an' his ould mother's hut what would
ye have of it, but wasn't me hrave Jack just
at that very minnit puttin' the whistle in
his mouth to call the little wee birds to their
mait, an' when the Lord High Mayor he
hears the whistle he ordhers the coachman
to pull up, bethinkin' that it was on himself
Jack was whistlin'; but there, lo and behould
ye! afore ye could say " thrapsticks," there
the very sky itself was a'most darkened with
the dhroves of birds that come helther-skel-
ther from all the hedges an' ditches, woods
an' scrugs aroun', an' gathers roun' Jack, an'
lights atop o' him, an' atop o' everything
round about, some o' them even havin' the
very impidence to light on the Lord High
Mayor's own carriage. Faix, the Lord High
Mayor he opened his eyes at this, an'
" The top o' the mornin' to ye, Jack, me
man," sez the Lord High Mayor, sez he to
him, be raison there wasn't maybe a man,
woman, or child in Dublin didn't know Jack
like his own left han', bekase of his livin'
on the main road side, that way, where they
were always passin' back an' forrid.
" The tip-top o' the blissid mornin' to yer-
256 Through the Turf Smoke
self, me Lord High Mayorship," sez he, " it's
gran' yer honour's lookin' this mornin', an'
might I make bould to ax afther the health
o' the Missis Lord High Mayor? I hope
she's purty fine," sez Jack.
"The Missis Lord High Mayor, Jack,"
sez he, "is as healthy as a throut, thank
you. Her lungs is as sthrong as ever, an'
so is her fist, an' atween yerself an' me an'
the wall, Jack," sez he, " ye may thank the
Lord you're not the Misther Lord High
Mayor," sez he, " or you'd know that to yer
cost. But about that whistle o' yours, Jack,
it's a wonderful one entirely, an' I'd like to
bargain with ye for it. How does it come
that it has that wondherful power over the
birds?"
" Och," sez Jack, sez he, seein' his oppor-
tunity o' turnin' a few pounds at the Lord
High Mayor's cost. " Och," sez he, " there's
a vartue in that whistle, that when I sound
it there's no feathered bird of any kind
within two-an'-twinty mile o' where it is
sounded but must come at the call. It was
a blin' beggarman," sez he, for Jack was
good at makin' histhories "it was a blin'
Jack and the Lord High Mayor 257
beggarman," sez he, " that died in me
great-great-gran'father's house, an' left that
whistle to me great-great-gran'father as a
last bequist for lettin' him die undher their
roof, an' it has been handed down from
father to son since," sez he. " Och it's a
wondherful great cur'osity entirely," sez
Jack, "an' me father, whin he was dyin',
warned me nivir to part it."
" Oh, but," says the Lord High Mayor,
" ye're a poor man, Jack, an' money," sez he,
" would do ye betther good any day nor the
whistle. I'll give ye," sez he, "ten pounds
for it."
" I'm very thankful to yer Lord High
Mayorship," sez Jack, sez he, "but I
wouldn't part it on no tarms."
" Come, Jack, be manly," sez the Lord
High Mayor, "an' I don't care if I give ye
a score o' pounds for it," sez he.
"No use, me lord," sez Jack, "I don't
want to part it, an' less nor fifty pounds
wouldn't purchase it."
" Done then," sez the Lord High Mayor,
"I'll give ye fifty pounds for it," sez he,
openin' his weskit and pullin' the purse out
258 Through the Turf Smoke
of the inside pocket, an' countin' down on
the earraige sait two score an' ten shinin'
goold sovereigns.
" There ye are now, Jack," sez he, raiehin'
Jack the money, " an' that's the dearest
whistle," sez he, " ever I paid for."
" Ye're not half as loth to give it, let me
tell you," sez Jack, "as I am to part me
whistle, that has been a hair-loom in the
family for up'ards of two hundred years."
So the Lord High Mayor took the whistle
an' dhrove off to Dublin, chucklin' to him-
self at the dead chape bargain he got, an*
how he fooled Jack, an' he scarce let bite
or sup cross his lips when he got into Dublin
till he run round all the naybours' houses
showin' the whistle, an' tellin' the exthraor-
nary great vartue of it entirely. An' the
Lord High Mayor's wondherful whistle was
soon the whole talk o' Dublin from one end
o' the street to the other. An' then the
Lord High Mayor give out a great day for
showin' the merits o' the whistle, an' he
hired one o' the biggest lofts in Dublin for
the occasion, an' charged so much a head
for gettin' in, from tuppence up, accordin*
Jack and the Lord High Mayor 259
to their size an' daicency, an' every one come
was to fetch their cage-birds with them be
raison there's no wild birds in Dublin to
practice on. So on that day an' a grate
day entirely it was you wouldn't think
there was one, gentle or simple, in Dublin
that didn't turn up there, every one with
his cage over his shoulder or under his arm,
an' when they were all in, an' the loft was
a'most crammed full,
" Now," sez the Lord High Mayor, sez he,
displayin' his whistle, " I'm goin' to show
yez the exthra-or-nary powers of this won-
dherful little article. Yez will kindly open
the windows, an' then openin' the doors of
your cages," sez he, " let yer birds go free.
Afther they have got time to be away a re-
spectable distance from the house, then I'll
blow this whistle, and yez 'ill behould the
astonishin' sight of every mother's sowl o*
them birds comin' back all together like
Brown's cows, an' crowdin' in o' the windows
again to yez, when they'll be every one o'
them as tame as tomcats, an' yez will then
kindly catch them an' put them back into yer
cages again, the people with ondifferent van-
260 Through the Turf Smoke
eties of birds takin' care not to get their
naybour's bird into their cages by mistake
for their own. Then yez can thank me an'
go home/' sez he, windin' up the norration
with a great bow.
Up then went the windies, an* open flew
the doors of the cages, an' out wint thrishes,
blackbirds, paycocks, parrots, larks, jinny-
wrans, an' canary-birds, besides siveral birds
of great value an' scarcity, with no names on
thim, that had come from furrin parts, an'
was rackoned worth their weight in goold.
Out they all flew, an' once away an' eye away,
they weren't long showin' a clean pair o'
heels over the roofs o' the houses, an' it
was long an' many a year since such a gath-
erin' o' birds darkened Dublin town afore. To
pass the time, then, an' give the birds time
to get off far enough afore he'd call them
back, the Lord High Mayor commenced
crackin' jokes an' reharsin' dhroll passages
that he fell in with when he was away on
his visit in the North, puttin' the company
into stitches laughin' for he was a dhroll
lad in his way, was the same Lord High
Mayor, an' was no miss at reharsin' a story.
Jack and the Lord High Mayor 261
But well and good, the birds was long
enough away at last to show the wounderful
powers that he b'leeved to be in the little
whistle, so puttin' the whistle up to his lips,
" Now, boys," sez he, " will yez kindly
stand back a bit farther from the windies,
an' give the little animals room to get in.
There's a big body o' them, an' they must
get a little more room nor that, or they won't
be able to show in at all, at all," sez he,
"stand back, boys, stand back. Police-
man," sez he to a policeman was there, " do
you see an' keep ordher there, and help to
keep the crowd back a thrifle from the win-
dies. That's right that's you."
An' then he ins with the whistle into his
mouth and blew a good stout, strong blow o'
the whistle. "Now, boys," sez he, "now,
boys, prepare an' lookout, they'll be here in
a jiffey."
Then the crowd was all on their tip-toes,
an' houldin' in their breaths, an' shovin' out
their eyes to catch the first gleek o' the birds
comin' back. They were this way for full
two minnits, an' still no sign o' the birds.
The Lord High Mayor himself began to look
262 Through the Turf Smoke
a thrifle unaisy, ye would think, an' he looked
out iv the windy.
" I b'leeve, boys," sez he, " they'll be here
immaidiately. It's their time now; watch
hard and yez'll see them comin'."
So the boys watched harder than afore; an'
they'd see things in the distance, an' say,
"There they are!" "No." "What's yon
now?" "It's a dhirty shirt the wind's tos-
sin' over the house." " Here they come."
" Ay, this is them." " It's a lie." " It is."
"It is not." "You're a liar." "You're
another." "Do ye want ye're jaw splint-
hered?" " There they are at last." "It's
not them." " It is them." " I'll knock yer
two eyes into wan." " What's yon black
thing now?" "It's a lawyer's sowl that
died at the town end, last night." " Hur-
rooh! here they are now! " " Nobbut, is it
them? " " No, the divil a feather o' them
yet." " They're not goin' to come at all,
lads." "They are." " They're not." "Shut
yer mouth, or ye won't see them if they do
come." "They'll not come." "Our birds
is lost, boys." " We'll nivir see the sight o*
them more." " Give it up, boys, the Lord
Jack and the Lord High Mayor 263
Mayor has made Tom-fools o' yez."
"Throth an' he'll pay for it if he has."
"Ruffian!" "Villain!" " Scoundhril! "
"Aisy, aisy, lads," sez the Lord High
Mayor, sez he, the colour o' the white wall
wit fright "Aisy, aisy, boys, an' I'll fetch
yez back yer birds, don't fear. Just let me
give one other whistle out o' the windy, an*
yez'll not be able to cage them as fast as
they fly in," sez he. "They mustn't have
heard that last whistle I gave. But, I'll en-
gage ye, they'll hear this one." An' puttin*
his head right out o' the windy, to give the
birds no excuse, he blew with a vingince.
" Now, me lads," sez he, dhrawin' himself
in, " look out for yer birds."
But, mavrone, he might as well have told
them to look out for the sky to fall, for the
sorra a sign o' the birds appeared. An' then
the Lord High Mayor whistled out o' every
other windy o' the house, laist there should
be spells on some o' them, an' then went out
an' whistled at the four corners o' the house,
but it was all o' no use, whatsomever. The
dickens a bird or bird would come next or
near him. The whole crowd b'leeved now
264 Through the Turf Smoke
that the Lord High Mayor had been thryin'
to get up a good laugh at their expense, an'
they got outragus entirely, an' small
wondher.
There was naither houldin' nor tyin j o*
them till they'd get at the Lord High Mayor,
an' not lave two pieces o' him together, an'
make him laugh at the wrong side o' his
mouth. An' there was got up the greatest
royot, that the likes o' it was niver seen in
Dublin afore or sence, an' only for the Lord
High Mayor's sojers an' polis sur-roundin'
him, an' convayin' him home, batin' off the
mob with their bare naked swords, there'd
hev' been a story to tell that day. An' then
the Lord High Mayor had to pay every man-
jack that their bird went away, for his bird,
an' a nice penny he was out o' his pocket
when all was settled.
"Well, be this an' be that, an' be the
crutch o' the cruked waiver," sez he, when
all was fixed up an' blown over, " if I don't
make that scoundhril Jack pay for this busi-
ness I'm not the man I took meself for," sez
he; an' ordherin' out a rajiment of his sojers,
off he starts with them to go an' take me
Jack and the Lord High Mayor 265
brave Jack pres'ner. But, by the boots, as
they come along the main road torst Jack's
house, doesn't Jack eye them, an' well he
knew what was up with them. So Jack had
a little pet rabbit runnin' about the house,
an' he sez to his ould mother: " Mother," sez
he, " I notice the Lord High Mayor o' Dub-
lin an' his sojers comin' along the road there,
an' when they come this far, the Lord High
Mayor 'ill come in an' ax for me. Then
you're to say that I'm not at home that
I'm gone to Scotlan', but that if his business
is any way purtikler ye'll soon have me here.
Then ye'll catch the little rabbit," sez he,
" by the ear, an' tell it to fetch Jack home
from Scotlan'; give it a wee tig of a rod then
that'll make it run out o' the door, an' that's
all ye've got to do." Jack's ould mother
promised she'd do this, an' Jack went out
an' disappeared behind the house. Faix it
wasn't long his shadow was aff the threshel,
when who steps in as sthraight as a ribbon,
an' lookin' as proud as a prence, but me Lord
High Mayor, an' he sez, sez he, steppin* up
the floor like a drum-major, he sez, sez he:
" I'm very desirable, madam," he sez, usin'
266 Through the Turf Smoke
grate English " I'm very desirable," he sez,
" madam, to hould a few minutes' councilta-
tion with your son Jack. Is he inside, or
within?" sez he.
"My son Jack," sez Jack's ould mother,
sez she, " took a run over to Scotlan' two
days ago, an' isn't to be back for a week,"
sez she; " but if it's very great business, sure
I can have him here in a couple of minutes."
" Well, I should say," sez he, " that it is
very grate business entirely no less than a
matter of life an' death. But it puts me
undher a puzzle all the same," sez he, "to
know, if yer son Jack wint to Scotland, how
ye could have him here in a couple of
minutes."
"Faix, then," sez she, "I'll soon take ye
out o' yer puzzle-atation. Jack has got a
little pet rabbit here that's very convanient
that way; an' no matther what quarther of
the known world the man's in that ye want,
even as far as Chanay or Connaught, the
little rabbit will have him here in a jiffey,"
sez she.
An' with that, Jack's ould mother catches
the rabbit by the ear an' give it to undher-
Jack and the Lord High Mayor 267
stand that she wanted it to fetch Jack out
of Scotland immediately without no delay,
for there was a jintleman here wantin' to see
him on very purtickler business. Then, she
gave the rabbit a tig of the rod, which, of
course, made the rabbit bounce an* away out
o' the house. Jack wasn't, maybe, more nor
three sparrow-hops away from the back of
the house, lying hid behind a knowe, with
his belly to the sun; an' the poor rabbit, as
it always did in its disthresses, made for Jack,
an' Jack started up an' walks into the house,
with the rabbit cantherin' at his heels. Well,
my sawnies, the Lord High Mayor was more
nor a bit surprised at this mericle, but he
held his tongue, for he said to himself that
little animal, if he only could come by him
cheap enough, would be an akisition that
he'd give a dale to have.
"Arrah, good mornin', me Lord High
Mayor," sez Jack. " It's proud I am to see
ye. How is the Missis Lord High Mayor, an'
the young Lord High Mayors? Ye'll have
to excuse me bein' a bit out of breath, for
that rabbit took me away in a hurry, just as
I was in the middle of a hearty good break-
268 Through the Turf Smoke
wist in Scotlan'. What might yer Lord High
Mayorship be wantin' o' me?"
So the Lord High Mayor, keepin' one eye
on Jack and two on the rabbit, starts an'
tells him the mess Jack landed him into re-
gardin' the whistle, an' axed him what he'd
got to say for himself, for he had the sojers
just outside ready to carry him off to be
hung.
" Me Lord High Mayor/' sez Jack, sez he,
" are ye quite positive sartain that ye said
' Whistle, whistle, do yer work, for I com-
mand ye/ three times afore ye blew as I
tould ye, when I sold ye it? "
" Go long, ye blaguard," sez he. " Ye
nivir tould me nothin' of the sort, an', of
course, I didn't do it."
" I nivir tould ye nothin' o' the sort! " sez
Jack, all taken by surprise, if it was true for
him " I nivir tould ye nothin' o' the sort!
Well, plague on me, but it's just like the
misfortunate numbskull that I am, to nivir
tell ye that. Och, then, when ye didn't use
them words it was no more use nor a common
penny whistle. Plague take me, but I'm the
stupid omadhaun out an' out entirely! Any-
Jack and the Lord High Mayor 269
thing in me power I can do to recompinsate
ye, me Lord High Mayor/' sez Jack, sez he,
" ye have only to mintion it an' it's done."
"Well, Jack," sez the Lord High Mayor,
" it would be next to onpossible to recompin-
sate me for all the vexation, not to mintion
the expince, at all, at all, that whistle cost
me. Stillan'ever, I'm not disposed to be too
harsh on ye, seem' ye have an' ould mother
to support, so I'll only ax ye make me a
present of that little rabbit ye have runnin*
about there. He might come in useful to
me."
"Oh, is it that little rabbit," sez Jack.
" Oh, me Lord High Mayor, don't ax that.
Ax anything else but that I couldn't part
that little rabbit at all, at all, he's so on-
common useful to me. Oh, ye'll have to ax
some other requist any at all undher the
sun but that," sez Jack, for he seen be his
eye that the Lord High Mayor had set his
heart in the rabbit. " Oh, anything at all,
only that, yer Lord High Mayorship," sez
Jack.
" Well," sez he, " if ye don't like to part
it for nothin' though a rajiment of rabbits
270 Through the Turf Smoke
wouldn't railly be enough to recompinsate
me for what ye've cost me, yerself an' yer
infarnal whistle why then put a price on
it/' sez he.
" Well," eez Jack, sez he, " I wouldn't part
with that little animal for all the goold in
the King's cellars, but seem' it's yerself is in
it, an' seem' that ye did lose by my little
mistake in forgettin' to give ye proper dirac-
tion seein', I say, ye did come to a loss
through me, I never had it in me to see any
man wronged on my account, or through any
fault of mine; so, I don't care though I do
lose by the transaction just count down a
hundred guineas there, an' the haste's yours."
"A hundred guineas! a hundred fiddle-
sticks! " sez the Lord High Mayor. " Is it
a common barefaced robber ye want to make
yerself? " sez he.
" Oh, all right, all right, me Lord High
Mayor, there's no harm done yet every man
has his own, an' then no man's onsatisfied.
I was goin' to give ye the rabbit for a hun-
dred guineas bekase it was yerself was in it,
but I'm glad ye won't take him I'm very
glad indeed ye won't take him," sez Jack,
Jack and the Lord High Mayor 271
" for if I had recklessly parted with that rab-
bit for the money, I'd nivir regretted it but
wanst, an' that would 'a' been all the days
o' my life," sez he. " I'm very glad yer Lord
High Mayorship didn't jump at the offer."
So, the long an' the short of it was, Jack
made him believe so well that he was lettin'
the rabbit go at a sackerfice, an' that he
would sooner not let him go, that the Lord
High Mayor at last had to count down his
hundred goold guineas on the dale table to
Jack; an' then takin' up the rabbit, he wint
away back to Dublin again, himself an' his
sojers.
"Well, mavrone, it wasn't long till the Lord
High Mayor had put it about all over Dublin,
about the rare grate rabbit he had got en-
tirely, an' the mortial wonderful things it
was fit for, an' all Dublin was talkin' of it;
an' he said to himself when they'd witness
the great doin's of his rabbit, he would be
well recompinsated for all the bad handlin'
an' hard usage he got over the whistle. So
he was detarmined to lose no time lettin'
them see what he could do with his rabbit;
an' as he had a brother called Jimmy that
272 Through the Turf Smoke
lived in Galway, an' whose birthday would
come roun' in a week, he said he'd give a
grate supper in the market-house, the biggest
house in Dublin, on that night, an' Jimmy
was to get no word of it at all, but when
they'd all be ready to sit down to the supper,
he'd pack off the rabbit for Jimmy an' have
him there at wanst, an' that would be the
surprise! So me brave Lord High Mayor
went an' ordhered a supper of, oh, the very
best of everything that Dublin could afford,
disregardless of all expense, for that night,
an' then he went roun' an' axed in all the
quality, an' high-up people of Dublin to
come in to the supper in honour of his
brother Jimmy's birthday nivir remarkin*
at all about the way he was to fetch Jimmy
there that night. An' sure enough, whin
the night come, the market-house was gorjus
with lights an' illuminations; an' at laist a
dozen long tables was spread out, an' all the
invited quality come in coaches an' carriages
an' 'bushes, with at laist four black horses
in ivery coach, an' great snobs of coachmen
dhrivin' them with castor-hats; an' whin the
parties were all gathered, they were all
Jack and the Lord High Mayor 273
lookin' about an' gapin' about, lookin' out
to see if they'd see Jimmy, or where was he
at all, at all. But sarra take the one o' them
could see him, an' they were puzzled out an'
out; so they called the Lord High Mayor, an'
put it to him where was Mr. Jimmy, or
what had happened to him at all that he
wasn't here before this?
" Oh, that's all right/' sez he, smilin' a
knowin' kind of a smile, an' wavin' his hand.
" That's all right," sez he. " Whin the sup-
per's ready to be sarved," sez he, " I'll soon
let ye see Jimmy."
They all wondhered to themselves, what
did he mean by the cur'ous smile he had on
him when he said this. But they weren't
long under the mistification, for, no sooner
did the messenger come in to ax the Lord
High Mayor that the gran' supper was ready
now an' would it be sarved, when the Lord
High Mayor sayed he would just sarve it
immadiately, as soon as Misther Jimmy
would come, an' he was goin' to send for him
now. The whole company got up their ears
at this, an' it sthruck them about the rabbit
they had heard so much about, an' they were
18
274 Through the Turf Smoke
all on tip-toe to sec the wondherful perform-
ance. Then the Lord High Mayor, he took
the rabbit out of a beautiful cage he had it
in, an' in the presence of the whole as-
sembled company, he commanded it in its
ear to go down to his brother Jimmy in Gal-
way, an' fetch him here immaidiately, for
that a grate supper was waitin' him. Then
givin' the rabbit a tig of his walkin' stick on
the behind, he made it run away out of the
door.
"Now, ladies and gintlemen," sez he,
turnin' to the company, " ye're about to see
a very wonderful performance entirely. My
brother Jimmy, as ye all know, is in Galway
this night, an' doesn't know, no more than
that walkin' stick of mine, about this great
supper I'm getting up in his honour. But
yez have all heard me puttin' the ordhers,"
sez he, " on that little rabbit to fetch him
here; consequentially ye'll see Jimmy comin'
walkin' in o' that door in an instant, with
the little rabbit trottin' behin' him at his
heels," sez he.
Well, of course, the whole company, all
the great tip-top ladies an' jintlemen of the
Jack and the Lord High Mayor 275
town of Dublin, they were all wondherfully
amazed at this. An' they were all standin'
tippy-toes at once, watchin' the door to see
the quare sight of Jimmy an' the rabbit
comin' in, all the way from Galway. They
waited this way five minutes, an' the mes-
senger come back to ax the Lord High Mayor
if he'd sarve the supper now.
"Just immaidiately immaidiately, my
man," sez he, lookin' at his watch. " Jimmy
has time to be here now, an' the minute he
comes you'll sarve the supper."
Still, be me song, there was no Jimmy
puttin' in an appearance, an' the company
had their necks strained watchin'. Afther
another five minutes the man come back
again to say "the supper was coolin'. No
odds no supper dar' be sarved, the Lord
High Mayor said, till Jimmy comes, an' he'd
be here just now. But, be the toss o' war,
it was plain to be seen he was gettin' a
thrifle onaisy, an' when, afther another
quarther of an hour, the man come in an'
sayed the supper was as cowld as charity,
faith the Lord High Mayor he knocked him
down wit' vexation, an' he started out to look
276 Through the Turf Smoke
for the rabbit. An' soon afther, when there
was no sign of him comin' back aither, an'
the supper got past takin' entirely, faix the
company begun to get up their dandher wit'
their stomachs achin', seein' that most of
them didn't cut mait for four-an'-twinty
hours afore, as they wanted to have plinty
of room for the gran' supper faix their
dandher begun to get up, an' afther they
passed some ugly remarks not nowise com-
plimenthary to the Lord High Mayor, who
had now made a purty fool an' town talk o'
them twicet over, they started off hot foot
to look for the Lord High Mayor himself,
till they would taich him a lesson he wouldn't
be likely to forget. But the Lord High
Mayor, who was runnin' the sthreets like a
lunatic axin' afther his rabbit, got word
of this, an' only he raiched his own house
in time, an' locked an' barred an' bolted
all, an' kept within doors for betther nor a
week, he'd 'a' been a sorry man, let me tell
you.
But when it was all settled up again, an*
the Lord High Mayor had shown how he
was swindled himself, far more an' far worse
Jack and the Lord High Mayor 277
nor them, they give him pardon, an' he got
free once more. An' when he was free:
" Well, be this an' be that, an' be the
other thing," sez the Lord High Mayor, " if
I don't make that scoundhril Jack pay for
this," sez he, " it's not day yet. That's
twicet the conscionless knave has robbed an'
thricked me, but, by Jimminy! he'll not do
it the third time. I'll ardher out me sojers,"
sez he, " an' I'll go to his house an' saize on
him, the blaguard; an' I'll fetch him here,
an' hang, an' dhraw, an' quarther him, for
the addification of the Dublineers an'
that'll be the proper way to thrait the
wratch," sez he.
So, ordherin' out his sojers once more, off
again he started wit' them for Jack's house,
detarmined to have Jack wit' him this time,
whither or how, be hook or be crook.
As the Lord High Mayor an' his sojers
come along doesn't me brave Jack again eye
them, an' right well the rascal knew their
arrand. So puttin' his ould mother into bed,
he filled a bladdher with bullock's blood an'
tied it roun' his mother's neck. Then he
sat down by the hearth just to wait till they'd
278 Through the Turf Smoke
come. An' he wasn't long sittin' till the
thramp! thramp! comes up to the main road
torst Jack's house, an' in walks me Lord
High Mayor up the floor, far straighter and
prouder, you'd think, than ever he was.
"Arrah, begorra," sez Jack, sez he, run-
nin' to him with hoth hands out, "but it's
the welcome sight for me to see yer Lord
High Mayorship, an' but it's meself is both
plaised an' proud to see ye; for, would ye
b'lieve it, ye were the very idantical man I
was thinkin' about yerself an' the Missis
Lord High Mayor. Sure I hope an' thrust
in Providence it's right well an' hearty she
is, both herself an' the young Lord High
Mayors I hope they're all as well as I'd
wish them; an' may the Lord in His bounties
always keep them so. Won't yer Lord High
Mayorship dhraw forrid this sate to the fire,
an' sit down on it, an' take a wee hate of the
fire, such as it is, an' it's just poor enough
a sort of mixed, middlin', like a man comin'
out o' the faver for the thurf, thanks be
to God for all his marcies, wasn't just as
plentiful this year as we'd wish them. I
thrust yez isn't anyway ill off for thurf in the
Jack and the Lord High Mayor 279
town now or, sure if yer Lord High Mayor-
ship was disthressed for a grain of thurf to
make the dhrap o' tay for the Missis Lord
High Mayor an' the young Lord High Mayors
in the mornin', why, if you'd sen' a man out
to me with a creel, I'd I'd I'd show him
a stack where he could stale plinty."
" Will ye, for heaven's sake," sez the Lord
High Mayor, " stop that tongue of yours that
goes like a hand-hell. Don't give me any
more o' yer palaverin', for I don't want none
of it it's too much of it, to me own loss,
comes me way I'm come here, ye notorious
scoundhril ye," sez he, " with me sojers to
take ye off to Dublin, where I'll hang, dhraw,
an' quarther ye, for an example," sez he,
commencin' an' norratin' to him all happened
to him over the head o' the rabbit.
" Oh, well, me Lord High Mayor," sez
Jack, "sure the divil of it is that meself
an' me poor ould mother made the gran' mis-
take of forgettin' to give ye the wee rod we
iised to strike it with, for none other would
do!"
"Come, come along," sez he, "ye bla-
guard, an' give me no more o' yer nadiums.
280 Through the Turf Smoke
Don't think ye can take me in that way,
more. Come along," sez he, " come along."
" Oh, well, if I must go," sez Jack, " I
can't go away an' laive me poor sick an' help-
less ould mother in bed there to parish of
hunger. Betther for me do for her at once,"
sez he, takin' up a big knife, an' plungin' it
down into the bed, pertendin' it was into his
mother, moryah, but Jack knew well it was
into the bladdher he put the knife, an' there,
behould, up spurts the big sthraim of blood,
an' more blood commenced flowin' out o' the
bed an' over the floor, an' the ould mother
give a groan an' stiffened out all as one she
was dead.
" Och, ye natarnal murdherin' villian
ye! " sez the Lord High Mayor, sez he, when
he seen what Jack had done "ye natarnal
murdherin' villain ye! ye have fixed yerself
now anyhow murdherin' yer poor ould
mother. Oh, ye notorious reprobate! it's
burned and beheaded ye'll be now, besides
bein' hanged, dhrawn, an' quarthered," sez
he, "for Christian daith is too good for a
ruffin of yer. sort."
" Oh, aisy, me Lord High Mayor," sez Jack,
Jack and the Lord High Mayor 281
" take it aisy, man. If it matters that much
about a dying ould woman that couldn't live
long anyhow, sure we'll fetch her back to
life again if it gives ye any plaisement."
" Go along," sez the Lord High Mayor,
" ye couldn't do that."
" Couldn't I, though ? " sez Jack. " We'll
soon see about whether I can or no." So
climbin' up to the l)ak of the roof, he takes
down a cow's horn out of it, and no sooner
did he blow the blast, than his mother, that
was all as one as dead, jumped up in the bed,
as well as ever.
" Well, that bates me! " sez the Lord High
Mayor, when he saw this. " That's a most
wondherful thing," sez he. "An' a most
wondherful horn entirely."
" Wondherful, is it? " sez Jack. " Arrah,
good luck to yer wit, if ye were livin' with
meself an' me ould mother here long," sez
he, " ye wouldn't make much wondher of it.
There isn't that day ever the sun rises that
she doesn't displaise me somehow or other,
for ould people, ye know, is very cantankrus,
an' there's no livin' wit' them. So, every
time she puts me out in me timper it works
282 Through the Turf Smoke
me to kill her, an' I just stick that knife in
her, an' by an' by when I cool down an' gets
out o' my anger, I just take down the horn
an' blow in it, an' then we live as happy as
ye plaise till the nixt day. I find it very
aisin' on me entirely to be able to kill her
that way now an' again," sez he.
" Well, throgs," sez the Lord High Mayor,
" I have an ould woman that way at home
the missis," sez he, " an' she has got her
share of a tongue, an' like most women, too,
she knows the use of it; and there's times
that way an' I'd give a good dale to be able
to take her life. An' moreover, nor that,
too," sez he, " the sarvints I have got would
brak the timper of a saint if it was made of
wrought steel," sez he, "an' it comes over
me that way, too, many's a time, to have one
of their lives, an' I know it would give me
grate aise to kill one o' them back an' forrid,
if I could only fetch him to life again. I
don't care, Jack," sez he, "if I let ye off
this time with yer life, if ye give me that
horn," sez he.
"Is it give ye the horn to get off?" sez
Jack: " Arrah, conshumin' to me, man,"
Jack and the Lord High Mayor 283
sez he, "that horn is worth a ship's cargo
of goold an' I wouldn't like to part it on no
account," sez he.
But the end of it all was that after they
had bargained an' banthered for lee an' for
long the Lord High Mayor bought the horn
off Jack for a hundred guineas. An' off he
sets with the horn, himself an' the sojers, off
for Dublin, as delighted as if he was made
King of Irelan'. An' be me song, he was
detarmined not to keep the horn long till
he'd put it in use. So he went out that very
night, an' carousin' till long l>y midnight,
knowin' his wife would be waitin' up for him
to give him a barjin with the tongue as usual.
So when he raiches his own door an' raps at
it, sure enough there was the Missis Lord
High Mayor come to open the door, with a
candle, an' as soon as she sees him she opens
on him at once, and sez she:
" Ay, a nice how-do-ye-do it is, comin'
staggerin' home blin' drunk," sez she, "at
this time of night or this time nixt morn-
in', I should say. A nice thing, indeed,"
sez she, " for yer poor neggar-slave of a wife
to be waitin' up here this way, night an'
284 Through the Turf Smoke
nightly, on ye; a nice example it is, too, to
the young Lord High Mayors," sez she, " an*
purty boys they'll be when they get up, seein'
nothin' all the days of their lives but you
comin' staggerin' in as drunk as a beggar
every night when they're sound asleep in
their wee beds," sez she. "A purty thing,
indeed."
"Will ye hould yer jaw, ma'am?" sez he.
" No, nor I won't hould me jaw," sez she.
" I warn ye it'll be betther for ye if ye do,"
sez he, " for if ye don't I'll soon find a way
of makin' ye."
" Jist thry that for a thrick," sez she, " ye
dhrunkin' scavinger ye, that's good for noth-
in' only sihravagin* the town afther night,"
sez she.
" Oh, ye long-tongued hussy ye! " sez he,
"it's the life of a dog I haven't with ye
but I'll soon cure ye," sez he, flyin' at her
with a knife that he plunged into her, an'
she fell over dead with a screech that wak-
ened the whole house, an' sarvants an' all
come runnin' down to the door to see what
was up, or what was the matther at all.
" Oh! " sez the first of them, when he
Jack and the Lord High Mayor 285"
come down, an' seen his misthress murdhered
"dead " Oh! ye hlack murdherer," sez he,
" what's this ye have done, at all, at all! "
"Faithn, I'll soon let ye know that, me
man," sez the Lord High Mayor, rushin' at
him with the knife, an' leavin' him dead on
the floor.
Then the nixt come an*.
" Oh, melia murther! " sez he, " what's
this what's this ye have done at all, at all,
ye murtherin' villain, ye? " sez he.
" I'll show you that, too," sez the Lord
High Mayor, rushing at him with the knife,
an' leavin' him dead a-top of the other two.
An' every one o' them, sarvints an' family,
an' all, as they corned down, they went to
open on him in the same way, with a melia
murther! An' every sowl o' them he left
Btone dead inside his hall-door.
But, my sawnies, the naybours was all
awoke with the melia murtherin', an' the
screechin', an' the roarin' comin' out of the
Lord High Mayor's; an' they gathered about
the door with the polis and the sojers, an'
they saw what was up, an' they thought the
Lord High Mayor was gone clean cracked
286 Through the Turf Smoke
altogether; an' they called on the polls an'
sojers to saize him an' carry him off to be
hung at once, afore he'd have time to do
more harm. But
" No, me good men, just hould on yez a
bit," sez the Lord High Mayor, sez he, " an'
I'll show yez somethin' 'ill open yer eyes," sez
he. An' away he goes for his horn an' fetched
it, an' then an' there commences to tell them
all about the wondherful powers of the horn,
an' that all he'd have to do would be to give
one wee blast, the slightest in the worP, an'
they'd all rise up as well as ever again.
The crowd looked at the horn, an' then
looked from one to the other at this. An'
then
" "Well, go on an' do it," sez they, " till we
see."
" Yes," sez he, " but any of yez would be
mindin' to get yerselves killed first, I can
do it right handy an' aisy with this little
knife here, an' give yez very little pain, till
I fetch yez all back to life again together."
But no; they all stood back a bit from him,
an' thanked him, an' said they'd not mind
gettin' killed just yet till they'd see him
Jack and the Lord High Mayor 287
fetch back the detachment he had killed,
back to life again first.
So seem' he couldn't persuade none of
them he takes the horn, an' putting it to his
mouth, he siz:
" Now, boys, stand back a bit an' give a
little air> for when this crowd rises they'll
be all dhrawin' in a big breath, an' they'll
want all the fresh air they can."
So back they stood, an* the Lord High
Mayor put his mouth to the horn, an' he
blew a blast an' then stepped back to give
them room to rise, but the sorra a wee finger
moved in the heap.
"Eh?" sez he, "what's that? Did none
o' them get up? Maybe they didn't hear it."
Some one in the crowd said he was of the
same opinion that they did not hear it.
"Ay, that's just it," sez he, "they did
not hear it. But they'll hear this one, or I
haven't a mouth on me," sez he, puttin' the
horn to his lips again, an' blowin' och! a
tearin' wild blast entirely that shook the very
windies in the house. But conshumin' to
the one of them gave any more sign of stir-
rin' than if they were so many stone statieys.
288 Through the Turf Smoke
"What what's this at all, at all?" sez
he. " This is a mighty quare thing, in-
tirely."
An' so it was mighty quare, but, all lie
could do, an' all he could hlow, if he was
to blow the chist out o' himself, the sorra
resaive the one o' them he could make rise,
of course; for to be sure they were as dead
as a nail in a coffin, an' oh! wirrasthrue! that
was the play when he found what he had
done, an' what that scoundhril Jack led him
into once more. An' it was only the pity o'
the people for him, when they heard his
story, an' saw the rale grief he was in for
what he had done, not mainin' no manner o'
means of harm by it, that saved him from
bein' strung up like a cured herrin' afore his
own door. But they put pity on him, an'
they let him off; an' no sooner was he off
than he swore all sorts, high up an' low down,
that he would never rest or get bit or sup
in contintmint till he'd have Jack burned,
beheaded, hung, dhrawn, an' quarthered, on
Dublin sthreet, an' much grass he didn't let
grow under his heels till he was on the road
once more, himself an' his sojers, detarmined
Jack and the Lord High Mayor 289
to have Jack this time be hook or be crook,
surely, an' not to be put off with no more
of his palavers or his thricks, for he got
enough of thim.
An', sure enough, it wasn't long till he
lifts the latch on Jack's door, an' walks in,
an' catches me brave Jack sittin' opposite his
ould mother across the fire, the both o' thim
plannin' what they'd do, or how they'd lay
out the Lord High Mayor's guineas to the
best advantage. But when Jack sees him
steppin' in up he jumps, an'
" Cead mile faille a thousand times over!
an' cead mile failte over again! " says Jack,
"but it's meself's the glad man to see yer
Lord High Mayorship again. Mother, dar-
lin', why don't ye move yerself an' wipe a
chair for his Lord High Mayorship to sit
down an' take a shin-hate at our little fire.
Troth, it's delighted I am, if ye'd know but
all. An' how, might I ax, is the Missis Lord
High Mayor may the Lord in His kindness
presarve her to ye! an' the young "
" Come, come, ye morodin', deludhrin'
rascal ye! " sez the Lord High Mayor, " I
don't want no more of yer blarney, for it's
19
290 Through the Turf Smoke
too much of it, to me own loss, I got. Come
along wit' me an' get into this sack here,"
sez he, unrowlin' a sack from undher his arm
that he'd fetched special to tie up poor Jack
in, so he couldn't escape " Come along wit'
me an' get into this sack, for I'm not goin'
to be done any more he yer thricks. Every
dog has his day, an' turn about, ye know, is
fair play. You had your thricks, an' I'm
goin' to have a wee one o' me own now.
Jump in here," sez he, " for ye'll never ate
the bread o' corn again."
Me poor Jack saw there was nothin' for
it now only to obey, so kissin' his mother
all over, an' wishing her good-bye for ever,
he walked into the sack, an' they tied the
mouth o' it, an' throwin' him across a horse's
back set off for Dublin. But there's great
depth entirely in a bottomless barrel, an*
Jack had a thrick or two in his head yet.
When they raiched half-ways to Dublin, the
day bein' hot an' the road long, the Lord
High Mayor, when he come to a shebeen by
the roadside said he was blissed if he'd pass
it without thryin' the quality of the poteen,
for that his throat was as dhry as a lime-
Jack and the Lord High Mayor 291
burner's hat. An' the sojers was noways
objectionable to taste a dhrop aither; so
leavin' Jack tied up in the sack, across the
horse's back, they went in an' had a caroose.
As soon as me brave Jack foun' them all in
he commences bemoanin' " Och, I'll not take
her! I'll not take her! I'll not take her, at
all, at all! Och, och, I'll not take her! I'll
not take her! " When what would ye have
of it but there comes by a great swell en-
tirely, dhressed an' starched up as if he was
just steppin' out of a ban-box. He comes
by, an' hearin' Jack callin' out " I'll not take
her! I'll not take her! " " Halloa, me good
man," sez he, " what's that yer sayin', or who
will ye not take?"
"Oh," sez Jack, sez he, "it's the Lord
High Mayor of Dublin wit' his sojers is car-
ryin' me off to make me marry his ouldest
daughter. But for all her money an' all her
family, she's not the sort o* girl for me, an'
I don't want her, an' I'll not take her, but
they're goin' to marry me again' me will
but I'll not have her on no account I'll not
take her! I'll not take her! I'll not take her
at all, at all! " says he wit* great bemoanin'.
292 Through the Turf Smoke
" I say, me good man/' sez the swell, " will
ye let me swap places wit' ye? " sez he.
" I will," sez Jack, " but on one account."
" What's that? " sez the swell.
" As you'll be comin' into a mortial grate
fortune wit' her, I must get fifty poun' for
allowin' ye to take me place," sez Jack.
" Done," sez the grate swell.
So, out he loosed Jack, and paid him
down the fifty poun', and then he got in him-
self, an' Jack tied him up tight, an' warned
him not to spake till he'd get to Dublin. He
tould Jack there was no fear o' that. Then
Jack wasn't well away till the Lord High
Mayor an' his sojers came out o' the shebeen,
an' takin' the horse by the head they started
off for Dublin, an' no sooner were they there
nor the Lord High Mayor .ordhered a grate
bonfire to be lit. An' it was lit; and all the
people gathered to see the rascal Jack roastin'
for he was to be roasted half to death first.
Then the sack was taken by four men an'
heaved into the middle o' the flames; an' the
mmnit it was in, the roarin', an' the screech-
in', an' the squealin', an' the yellin', an' the
bawlin', an' the melia murtherin' started in
Jack and the Lord High Mayor 293
the sack, that ye'd think there was nine div-
ils in it, ivery one o' them makin' more noise
nor the other; an' the Lord High Mayor
laughed, an' the people laughed, an' heartily
enjoyed seein' poor Jack (as they thought)
gettin' such a good scorchin', an' they actu-
ally danced an' whooped roun' it with de-
light. Whin they thought he was well
enough roasted they had him pulled out, an*
och, that was the play! There the Lord
High Mayor saw, an' all the people saw, it
was one o' the greatest jintlemen's sons in
Dublin, an' a very grate swell entirely, the
greatest in the whole town, that they had
roasted, an' then there was the ructions!
But to make a long story short, the swell's
father come, an' he wanted the Lord High
Mayor arrested, and the Lord High Mayor-
ship to be taken from him, an' it was a very
narrow nick with the Lord High Mayor or
he'd 'a' lost his life over it. When it was all
over he shook his head an' said that rascal
Jack was too many for him entirely, and
he'd niver go near him more, but laive him
in paice for the remaindher of his days. An'
Jack an' his ould mother had plinty o'
294 Through the Turf Smoke
money; an' when his mother died he built
a castle an' married a great lady out o' Dub-
lin, an' lived ever afther the greatest jintle-
man in them parts, with a stable o' horses,
an' a pack o' hounds, an' a cellar o' wine,
the like o' which wasn't to be found again
within the four corners of Ireland! an' sure
it was all only his disarts, for he had a cliver
head, had me brave Jack.
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY
Los Angeles
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