Chapter IV: Part 4

“It was supposed that Kelly's marriage would have been the means of producing a change in him for the better, but it did not. He was, in fact, the slave of a low, vain ambition, which constantly occasioned him to have some quarrel or other on his hands; and, as he possessed great physical courage and strength, he became the champion of the parish. It was in vain that his wife used every argument to induce him to relinquish such practices; the only reply he was in the habit of making, was a good-humored slap on the back and a laugh, saying,

“'That's it, Honor; sure and isn't that the Magraths, all over, that would let the manest spalpeen that ever chewed cheese thramp upon them, without raising a hand in their own defence; and I don't blame you for being a coward, seeing that you have their blood in your veins--not but that there ought to be something betther in you, afther all; for it's the M'Karrons, by your mother's side, that had the good dhrop of their own in them, anyhow--but you're a Magrath out and out.'

“'And, Denis,' Honor would reply, 'it would be a blessed day for the parish, if all in it were as peaceable as the same Magraths. There would be no sore heads, nor broken bones, nor fighting, nor slashing of one another in fairs and markets, when people ought to be minding their business. You're ever and always at the Magraths, bekase they don't join you agin the Caseys or the Orangemen, and more fools they'd be to make or meddle between you, having no spite agin either of them; and it would be wiser for you to be _sed_ by the Magraths, and _red_ your hands out of sich ways altogether. What did ever the Murphys do to sarve you or any of your family, that you'd go to make a great man of yourself fighting for them? Or what did the poor Caseys do to make you go agin the honest people? Arrah, bad manners to me, if you know what you're about, or if _sonse_ (* Good Luck) or grace can ever come of it; and mind my words, Denis, if God hasn't said it, you'll live to rue your folly for the same work.'

“At this Denis would laugh heartily. 'Well said, Honor _Magrath_, but not _Kelly_, Well, it's one comfort that our childher aren't likely to follow your side of the house, any way. Come here, Lanty; come over, acushla, to your father! Lanty, ma bouchal, what 'ill you do when you grow a man?”

“'I'll buy a horse of my own to ride on, daddy.'

“'A horse, Lanty! and so you will, ma bouchal; but that's not it--sure that's not what I mane, Lanty. What 'ill you do to the Caseys?”

“'Ho, ho! the Caseys! I'll bate the blackguards wid your blackthorn, daddy!'

“'Ha, ha, ha! that's my stout man, my brave little soger! _Wus dha lamh avick!_--give me your hand, my son! Here, Nelly,' he would say to the child's eldest sister, 'give him a brave whang of bread, to make him able to bate the Caseys. Well, Lanty, who more will you leather, ahagur?'

“'All the Orangemen; I'll kill all the Orangemen!'

“This would produce another laugh from the father, who would again kiss and shake hands with his son, for these early manifestations of his own spirit.

“'Lanty, ma bouchal,' he would say, 'thank God, you're not a _Magrath_; 'tis you that's a _Kelly_, every blessed inch of you! and if you turn out as good a _buillagh balthah_ as your father afore you, I'll be contint, avour-neen!'

“'God forgive you, Denis,' the-wife would reply, 'it's long before you'd think of larning him his prayers, or his cateehiz, or anything that's good! Lanty, agra, come over to myself, and never heed what that man says; for, except you have some poor body's blessing, he'll bring you to no good.'

“Sometimes, however, Kelly's own natural good sense, joined with the remonstrances of his wife, prevailed for a short time, and he would withdraw himself from the connection altogether; but the force of habit and of circumstances was too strong in him, to hope that he could ever overcome it by his own firmness, for he was totally destitute of religion. The peaceable intervals of his life were therefore very short.

“One summer evening I was standing in my own garden, when I saw a man galloping up towards me at full speed. When he approached, I recognized him as one of the Murphy faction, and perceived that he was cut and bleeding.

“'Murphy,' said I, 'What's the matter!'

“'Hard fighting, sir,' said he, 'is the matter. The Caseys gathered all their faction, bekase they heard that Denis Kelly has given us up, and they're sweeping the street wid us. I'm going hot foot for Kelly, sir, for even the very name of him will turn the tide in our favor. Along wid that, I have sent in a score of the Duggans, and, if I get in Denis, plase God we'll clear the town of them!'

“He then set off, but pulled up abruptly, and said,

“'Arrah, Mr. Darcy, maybe you'd be civil enough to lind me the loan of a sword, or bagnet, or gun, or anything that way, that would be sarviceable to a body on a pinch?'

“'Yes!' said I, 'and enable you to commit murder? No, no, Murphy; I'm sorry it's not in my power to put a final stop to such dangerous quarrels!'

“He then dashed off, and in the course of a short time I saw him and Kelly, both on horseback, hurrying into the town in all possible haste, armed with their cudgels. The following day, I got my dog and gun, and sauntered about the hills, making a point to call upon Kelly. I found him with his head tied up, and his arm in a sling.

“'Well, Denis,' said I, 'I find you have kept your promise of giving up quarrels!'

“And so I did, sir,' said Denis; 'but, sure you wouldn't have me for to go desart them, when the Caseys war three to one over them? No; God be thanked, I'm not so mane as that, anyhow. Besides, they welted both my brothers within an inch of their lives.'

“'I think they didn't miss yourself,' said I.

“'You may well say they did not, sir,' he replied: 'and, to tell God's truth, they thrashed us right and left out of the town, although we rallied three times, and came in agin. At any rate, it's the first time for the last five years that they dare go up and down the street, calling out for the face of a Murphy, or a Kelly; for they're as bitter now agin us as agin the Murphys themselves.'

“'Well, I hope, Denis,' I observed, 'that what occurred yesterday will prevent you from entering into their quarrels in future. Indeed, I shall not give over, until I prevail on you to lead a quiet and peaceable life, as the father of a rising family ought to do.'

“'Denis,' said the wife, when I alluded to the children, looking at him with a reproachful and significant expression--'Denis, do you hear that!--the father of a family, Denis! Oh, then, God look down on that family; but it's--Musha, God bless you and yours, sir,' said she to me, dropping that part of the subject abruptly; 'it's kind of you to trouble yourself about him, at all at all: it's what them that has a better right to do it, doesn't do.'

“'I hope,' said I, 'that Denis's own good sense will show him the folly and guilt of his conduct, and that he will not, under any circumstances, enter into their battles in future. Come, Denis, will you promise me this?'

“'If any man,' replied Denis, 'could make me do it, it's yourself, sir, or any one of your family; but if the priest of the parish was to go down on his knees before me, I wouldn't give it up till we give them vagabone Caseys one glorious battherin,' which, plase God, we'll do, and are well able to do, before a month of Sundays goes over us. Now, sir, you needn't say another word,' said he, seeing me about to speak; 'for by Him that made me we'll do it! If any man, I say, could persuade me agin it, you could; but, if we don't pay them full interest for what we got, why my name's not Denis Kelly--ay, sweep them like varmint out of the town, body and sleeves!'

“I saw argument would be lost on him, so I only observed, that I feared it would eventually end badly.

“'Och, many and many's the time, Mr. Darcy,' said Honor, 'I prophesied the same thing; and, if God hasn't said it, he'll be coming home a corpse to me some day or other; for he got as much bating, sir, as would be enough to kill a horse; and, to tell you God's truth, sir, he's breeding up his childher--'

“'Honor,' said Kelly, irritated, 'whatever I do, do I lave it in your power to say that I'm a bad husband? so don't rise me by your talk, for I don't like to be provoked. I know it's wrong, but what can I do? Would you have me for to show the Garran-bane,* and lave them like a cowardly thraitor, now that the other faction is coming up to be their match? No; let what will come of it, I'll never do the mane thing--death before dishonor!'

* The white horse, i.e., be wanting in mettle.
Tradition affirms that James the Second escaped on a
white horse from the battle of the Boyne; and from this
circumstance a white horse has become the emblem of
cowardice.

“In this manner Kelly went on for years; sometimes, indeed, keeping quiet for a short period, but eventually drawn in, from the apprehension of being reproached with want of honor and truth, to his connection. This, truly, is an imputation which no peasant could endure; nor, were he thought capable of treachery, would he be safe from the vengeance of his own party. Many a time have I seen Kelly reeling home, his head and face sadly cut, the blood streaming from him, and his wife and some neighbor on each side of him--the poor woman weeping and deploring the senseless and sanguinary feuds in which her husband took so active a part.

“About three miles from this, down at the Long Ridge, where the Shannons live, dwelt a family of the Grogans, cousins to Denis. They were anything but industrious, although they might have lived very independently, having held a farm on what they called an old take, which means a long lease taken out when lands were cheap. It so happened, however, that, like too many of their countrymen, they paid little attention to the cultivation of their farm; the consequence of which neglect was, that they became embarrassed, and overburdened with arrears. Their landlord was old Sam Simmons, whose only fault to his tenants was an excess of indulgence, and a generous disposition wherever he could possibly get an opportunity to scatter his money about him, upon the spur of a benevolence which, it would seem, never ceased goading him to acts of the most Christian liberality and kindness. Along with these excellent qualities, he was remarkable for a most rooted aversion to law and lawyers; for he would lose one hundred pounds rather than recover that sum by legal proceedings, even when certain that five Pounds would effect it; but he seldom or never was known to pardon a breach of the peace.

“I have always found that an excess of indulgence in a landlord never fails ultimately to injure and relax the industry of the tenant; at least, this was the effect which his forbearance produced on them. But the most extraordinary good-nature has its limits, and so had his; after repeated warning, and the most unparalleled patience on his part, he was at length compelled to determine on at once removing them from his estate, and letting his land to some more efficient and deserving tenant. He accordingly desired them to remove their property from the premises, as he did not wish, he said, to leave them without the means of entering upon another farm, if they felt so disposed. This they refused to do; adding, that they would, at least, put him to the expense of ejecting them. He then gave orders to his agent to seize; but they, in the mean time, had secreted their effects by night among their friends and relations, sending a cow to this one, and a horse to that; so that, when the bailiff came to levy his execution, he found very little, except the empty walls. They were, however, ejected without ceremony, and driven altogether off the farm, for which they had actually paid nothing for the three preceding years. In the mean time the farm was advertised to be let, and several persons had offered themselves as tenants; but what appeared very remarkable was, that the Roman Catholics seldom came a second time to make any further inquiry about it; or, if they did, Simmons observed that they were sure to withdraw their proposals, and ultimately decline having anything to do with it.

“This was a circumstance which he could not properly understand; but the fact was, that the peasantry were almost to a man members of a widely-extending system of agrarian combination, the secret influence of which intimidated such of their own religion as intended to take it, and prevented them from exposing themselves to the penalty which they knew those who should dare to occupy it must pay. In a short time, however, the matter began to be whispered about, until it spread gradually, day after day, through the parish, that those who already had proposed, or intended to propose, were afraid to enter upon the land on any terms. Hitherto, it is true, these threats floated about only in the vague form of rumor.

“The farm had been now unoccupied for about a year; party spirit ran very high among the peasantry, and no proposals came in, or were at all likely to come. Simmons then got advertisements printed, and had them posted up in the most conspicuous parts of this and the neighboring parishes. It was expected, however, that they would be torn down; but, instead of that, there was a written notice posted up immediately under each, which ran in the following words:--

“'Take Notess.

“'Any man that'll dare to take the farm belonging to
smooth Sam Simmons, and sitivated at the long ridge,
will be flayed alive.

“' Mat Midnight.

“'B. N.--It's it that was latterrally occupied by the
Grogans.'

“This occasioned Simmons and the other magistrates of the barony to hold a meeting, at which they subscribed to the amount of fifty pounds as a reward for discovering the author or authors of the threatening notice; but the advertisement containing the reward, which was posted in the usual places through the parish, was torn down on the first night after it was put up. In the meantime, a man, nicknamed Vengeance--Vesey Vengeance, in consequence of his daring and fearless spirit, and his bitterness in retaliating injury--came to Simmons, and proposed for the farm. The latter candidly mentioned the circumstances of the notice, and fairly told him that he was running a personal risk in taking it.

“'Leave that to me, sir,' said Vengeance; 'if you will set me the farm at the terms I offer, I am willing to become your tenant; and let them that posted up the notices go to old Nick, or, if they annoy me, let them take care I don't send them there. I am a true blue, sir--a purple man*--have lots of fire-arms, and plenty of stout fellows in the parish ready and willing to back me; and, by the light of day if they make or meddle with me or mine, we will hunt them in the face of the world, like so many mad dogs, out of the country: what are they but a pack of ribles, that would cut our throats, if they dared?'

* These terms denote certain stages of initiation in
the Orange system

“'I have no objection,' said Simmons, 'that you should express a firm determination to defend your life and protect your property; but I utterly condemn the spirit with which you seem to be animated. Be temperate and sober, but be firm. I will afford you every assistance and protection in my power, both as a magistrate and a landlord; but if you speak so incautiously, the result may be serious, if not fatal, to yourself.'

“Instead of that,' said Vengeance, 'the more a man appears to be afeard, the more danger he is in, as I know by what I have seen; but, at any rate, if they injure me, I wouldn't ask better sport than taking down the ribles--the bloody-minded villains! Isn't it a purty thing that a man darn't put one foat past the other only as they wish. By the light o' day, I'll pepper them!'

“Shortly after this, Vengeance, braving all their threats, removed to the farm, and set about its cultivation with skill and vigor. He had not been long there, however, when, a notice was posted one night on his door, giving him ten days to clear off from this interdicted spot, threatening, in case of non-compliance, to make a bonfire of the house and offices, inmates included. The reply, which Vengeance made to this was fearless and characteristic. He wrote another notice, which he posted on the chapel-door, stating that he would not budge an inch--recommending, at the same time, such as intended paying him a nightly visit to be careful that they might not chance to go home with their heels foremost. This, indeed, was setting them completely at defiance, and would, no doubt have been fatal to Vesey, were it not for a circumstance which I will now relate:--In a little dell, below Vesey's house, lived a poor woman, called Doran, a widow; she inhabited a small hut, and was principally supported by her two sons, who were servants, one to a neighboring farmer, a Roman Catholic, and the other to Dr. Ableson, rector of the parish. He who had been with the rector lost his health shortly before Vengeance succeeded the Grogans as occupier of the land in question, and was obliged to come home to his mother. He was then confined to his bed, from which, indeed, he never rose.

“This boy had been his mother's principal support--for the other was unsettled, and paid her but little attention, being like most of those in his situation, fond of drinking, dancing, and attending fairs. In short, he became a Ribbonman, and consequently was obliged to attend their nightly meetings. Now it so happened that for a considerable time after the threatening notice had been posted on Vengeance's door, he received no annoyance, although the period allowed for his departure had been long past, and the purport of the paper uncomplied with. Whether this proceeded from an apprehension on the part of the Ribbonmen of receiving a warmer welcome than they might wish, or whether they deferred the execution of their threat until Vengeance might be off his guard, I cannot determine; but the fact is, that some months had elapsed and Vengeance remained hitherto unmolested.

“During this interval the distress of Widow Doran had become known to the inmates of his family, and his mother--for she lived with him--used to bring down each day some nourishing food to the sick boy. In these kind offices she was very punctual; and so great was the poverty of the poor widow, and so destitute the situation of her sick son, that, in fact, the burden of their support lay principally upon Vengeance's family.

“Vengeance was a small, thin man, with fair hair, and fiery eyes; his voice was loud and shrill, his utterance rapid, and the general expression of his countenance irritable. His motions were so quick, that he rather seemed to run than walk. He was a civil, obliging neighbor, but performed his best actions with a bad grace; a firm, unflinching friend, but a bitter and implacable enemy. Upon the whole he was generally esteemed and respected--though considered as an eccentric character, for such indeed he was. On hearing of Widow Doran's distress, he gave orders that a portion of each meal should be regularly sent down to her and her son; and from that period forward they were both supported principally from his table.

“In this way some months had passed, and still Vengeance was undisturbed in his farm. It often happened, however, that Doran's other son came to see his brother; and during these visits it was but natural that his mother and brother should allude to the kindness which they daily experienced from Vesey.

“One night, about twelve o'clock, a tap came to Widow Doran's door, who happened to be attending the invalid, as he was then nearly in the last stage of his illness. When she opened it, the other son entered, in an evident hurry, having the appearance of a man who felt deep and serious anxiety.

“'Mother,' said he, 'I was very uneasy entirely about Mick, and just started over to see him, although they don't know at home that I'm out, so I can't stay a crack; but I wish you would go to the door for two or three minutes, as I have something to say to him.'

“'Why, thin, Holy Mother!--Jack, a-hagur, is there anything the matther, for you look as if you had seen something?' *

* This phrase means--you look as if you had seen a
ghost; it is a very common one.

“'Nothing worse than myself, mother,' he replied; 'nor there's nothing the matther at all--only I have a few words to say to Mick here, that's all.'

“The mother accordingly removed herself out of hearing.

“'Mick,' says the boy, 'this is a bad business--I wish to God I was clear and clane out of it.'

“'What is it?' said Mick, alarmed. “' Murther, I'm afeard, if God doesn't turn it off of them, somehow.

“'What do you mane, man, at all?' said the invalid, raising himself, in deep emotion, on his elbow, from his poor straw bed.

“'Vengeance,' said he--'Vengeance, man--he's going to get it. I was out with the boys on Sunday evening, and at last it's agreed on to visit him to-morrow night. I'm sure and sartin he'll never escape, for there's more in for him than taking the farm, and daring them so often as he did--he shot two fingers off of a brother-in-law of Jem Reilly's one night that they war on for threshing him, and that's coming home to him along with the rest.'

“'In the name of God, Jack,' inquired Mick, 'what do they intend to do to him?'

“' Why,' replied Jack, 'it's agreed to put a coal in the thatch, in the first place; and although they were afeared to name what he's to get besides, I doubt they'll make a spatchcock of himself. They won't meddle with any other of the family, though--but he's down for it.'

“'Are you to be one of them?' asked Mick.

“'I was the third man named,' replied the other, 'bekase, they said, I knew the place.'

“'Jack,' said his emaciated brother, with much solemnity, raising himself up in the bed--'Jack, if you have act or part in that bloody business, God in his glory you'll never see. Fly the country--cut off a finger or toe--break your arm--or do something that may prevent you from being there. Oh, my God!' he exclaimed, whilst the tears fell fast down his pale cheeks--'to go to murder the man, and lave his little family widout a head or a father over them, and his wife a widow! To burn his place, widout rhime, or rason, or offince! Jack, if you go, I'll die cursing you. I'll appear to you--I'll let you rest neither night nor day, sleeping nor waking, in bed or out of bed. I'll haunt you, till you'll curse the very hour you war born.'

“'Whist, Micky,' said Jack, 'you're frightening me: I'll not go--will that satisfy you?'

“'Well, dhrop down on your two knees, there,' said Micky, 'and swear before the God that has his eye upon you this minute, that you'll have no hand in injuring him or his, while you live. If you don't do this, I'll not rest in my grave and maybe I'll be a corpse before mornin.'

“'Well Micky, said Jack, who though wild and unthinking, was a lad whose heart and affections were good, 'it would be hard for me to refuse you that much, and you! not likely to be long wid me--I will;' and he accordingly knelt down and swore solemnly, in words which his brother dictated to him, that he would not be concerned in the intended murder.

“'Now, give me your hand, Jack,' said the invalid; 'God bless you--and so He will. Jack, if I depart before I see you again, I'll die happy. That man has supported me and my mother for near the last three months, bad as you all think him. Why, Jack, we would both be dead of hunger long ago, only for his family; and, my God! to think, of such a murdhering intention makes my blood run cowld'--

“'You had better give him a hint, then,' said Jack, 'some way, or he'll be done for, as sure as you're stretched on that bed; but don't mintion names, if you wish to keep me from being murdhered for what I did. I must be off now, for I stole out of the barn:* and only that Atty Laghy's gone along wid the master to the ---- fair, to help him to sell the two coults, I couldn't get over at all.'

* Laboring servants in Ireland usually sleep in barns.

“'Well, go home, Jack, and God bless you, and so He will, for what you did this night.'

“Jack accordingly departed, after bidding his mother and brother farewell.

“When the old woman came in, she asked her son if there was anything wrong with his brother, but he replied that there was not.

“'Nothing at all,' said he--'but will you get up airly in the morning, plase God, and tell Vesey Johnston that I want to see him; and--that--I have a great dale to say to him?'

“' To be sure I will, Micky; but, Lord guard us, what ails you, avourneen, you look so frightened?'

“'Nothing at all, at all, mother; but will you go where I say airly to-morrow, for me?'

“'It's the first thing I'll do, God willin',' replied the mother. And the next morning Vesey was down with the invalid very early, for the old woman kept her word and paid him a timely visit.

“'Well, Micky, my boy,' said Vengeance, as he entered the hut, 'I hope you're no worse this morning.'

“'Not worse, sir,' replied Mick; 'nor, indeed, am I anything better either, but much the same way. Sure it's I that knows very well that my time here is but short.'

“'Well, Mick, my boy,' said Vengeance, 'I hope you're prepared for death--and that you expect forgiveness, like a Christian. Look up, my boy, to God at once, and pitch the priests and their craft to ould Nick, where they'll all go at the long-run.'

“'I b'lieve,' said Mick, with a faint smile, 'that you're not very fond of the priests, Mr. Johnston; but if you knew the power they possess as well as I do, you wouldn't spake of them so bad, anyhow.'

“'Me fond of them!' replied the other;' 'why, man, they're a set of the most gluttonous, black-looking hypocrites that ever walked on neat's leather; and ought to be hunted out of the country--hunted out of the country, by the light of day! every one of them; for they do nothing but egg up the people against the Protestants.'

“'God help you, Mr. Johnston,' replied the invalid, 'I pity you from my heart for the opinion you hould about them. I suppose if you were sthruck dead on the spot wid a blast from the fairies, that you think a priest couldn't cure you by one word's spaking?'

“'Cure me!' said Vengeance, with a laugh of disdain; 'by the light of day! if I caught one of them curing me, I'd give him the purtiest chase you ever saw in your life, across the hills.'

“'Don't you know,' said Mick, 'that priest Dannelly cured Bob Beaty of the falling sickness--until he broke the vow that was laid upon him, of not going into a church, and the minute he crossed the church-door, didn't he dhrop down as bad as ever--and what could the minister do for him?'

“'And don't you know,' rejoined Vengeance, 'that that's all a parcel of the most lying stuff possible; lies--lies--all lies--and vagabondism? Why, Mick, you Papishes worship the priests; you think they can bring you to heaven at a word. By the light of day, they must have good sport laughing at you, when they get among one another. Why don't they teach you and give you the Bible to read, the ribelly rascals? but they're afraid you'd know too much then.'

“'Well, Mr. Johnston,' said Mick, 'I b'lieve you'll never have a good opinion of them, at any rate.'

“'Ay, when the sky falls,' replied Vengeance; 'but you're now on your death bed, and why don't you pitch them to ould Nick, and get a Bible? Get a Bible, man; there's a pair of them in my house, that's never used at all--except my mother's, and she's at it night and day. I'll send one of them down to you: turn yourself to God--to your Redeemer, that died on the mount of Jehosha-phat, or somewhere about Jerusalem, for your sins--and don't go out of the world from the hand of a rascally priest, with a band about your eyes, as if you were at blind-man's-buff, for, by the light of day, you're as blind as a bat in a religious way.'

“'There's no use in sending me a Bible,' replied the invalid, 'for I can't read it: but, whatever you may think, I'm very willing to lave my salvation with my priest.'

“'Why, man,' observed Vengeance, 'I thought you were going to have sense at last, and that you sent for me to give you some spiritual consolation.'

“'No, sir,' replied Mick; 'I have two or three words to spake to you.'

“'Come, come, Mick, now that we're on a spiritual subject, I'll hear nothing from you till I try whether it's possible to give you a trute insight into religion. Stop, now, and let us lay our heads together, that we may make out something of a dacenter creed for you to believe in than the one you profess. Tell me the truth, do you believe in the priests?'

“'How?' replied Mick; 'I believe that they're holy men--but I know they can't save me widout the Redeemer and His blessed mother,'

“'By the light above us, you're shuffling, Mick--I say you do believe in them--now, don't tell me to the contrary--I say you're shuffling as fast as possible.'

“'I tould you truth, sir,' replied Mick; 'and if you don't believe me, I can't help it.'

“'Don't trust in the priests, Mick; that's the main point to secure your salvation.'

“Mick, who knew his prejudices against the priests, smiled faintly, and replied--

“'Why, sir, I trust in them as bein' able to make inthercession wid God for me, that's all'

“'They make intercession! By the stool I'm sitting on, a single word from one of them would ruin you. They, a set of ribles, to make interest for you in heaven! Didn't they rise the rebellion in Ireland?--answer me that.'

“'This is a subject, sir, we would never agree on,' replied Mick.

“'Have you the Ten Commandments?' inquired Vesey.

“'I doubt my mimory's not clear enough to have them in my mind,' said the lad, feeling keenly the imputation of ignorance, which he apprehended from Vesey's blunt observations.

“Vesey, however, had penetration enough to perceive his feelings, and, with more delicacy than could be expected from him, immediately moved the question.

“'No matter, Mick,' said he, 'if you would give up the priests, we would get over that point: as it is, I will give you a lift in the Commandments; and, as I said a while ago,' if you take my advice, I'll work up a creed for you that you may depend upon. But now, for the Commandments--let me see.

“'First: Thou shalt have no other gods but me. Don't you see, man how that peppers the priests?'

“'Second: Remember that thou keep holy the Sabbath-day.'

“'Third: That shalt not make to thyself--no, hang it no!--I'm out--that's the Second--very right. Third: Honor thy father and thy mother--you understand that, Mick? It means that you are bound to--to--just so--to honor your father and your mother, poor woman.'

“'My father--God be good to him!--is dead near fourteen years, sir,' replied Mick.

“'Well, in that case, Mick, you see all that's left for you is to honor your mother--although I'm not certain of that either; the Commandments make no allowance at all for death, and in that case why, living or dead, the surest way is to respect and obey them--that is, if the thing were'nt impossible. I wish we had blind George M'Girr here, Mick; although he's as great a rogue as ever escaped hemp, yet he'd beat the devil himself at a knotty point.'

“'His breath would be bad about a dying man,' observed Mick.

“'Ay, or a living one,' said Vesey; 'however, let us get on--we were at the Third. Fourth: Thou shalt do no murder.'

“At the word murder, Mick started, and gave a deep groan, whilst his eyes and features assumed a gaunt and hollow expression, resembling that of a man struck with an immediate sense of horror and affright.

“'Oh! for heaven's sake, sir, stop there,' said Doran, 'that brings to my mind the business I had with you, Mr. Johnston.'

“'What is it about?' inquired Vengeance, in his usual eager manner.

“'Do you mind,' said Mick, 'that a paper was stuck one night upon your door, threatening you, if you wouldn't lave that farm you're in?'.

“'I do, the blood-thirsty villains! but they knew a trick worth two of coming near me.'

“'Well,' said Mick, 'a strange man, that I never seen before, came into me last night, and tould me, if I'd see you, to say that you would get a visit from the boys this night, and to take care of yourself.'

“'Give me the hand, Mick,' said Vengeance,--'give me the hand; in spite of the priests, by the light of day you're an honest fellow. This night you say, they're to come? And what are the bloody wretches to do, Mick. But I needn't ask that, for I suppose it's to murder myself, and to burn my place.

“'I'm afeard, sir, you're not far from the truth,' replied Mick; 'but, Mr. Johnston, for God's sake don't mintion my name; for, if you do, I'll get myself what they were laying out for you, be bumed in my bed maybe.'

“'Never fear, Mick,' replied Vengeance; 'your name will never cross my lips.'

“'It's a great thing,' said Mick, 'that would make me turn informer: but sure, only for your kindness and the goodness of your family, the Lord spare you to one another! mightn't I be dead long ago? I couldn't have one minute's peace if you or yours came to any harm when I could prevint it.'

“'Say no more, Mick,' said Vengeance, taking his hand again; 'I know that, leave the rest to me; but how do you find yourself, my poor fellow? You look weaker than you did, a good deal.'

“'Indeed I'm going very fast, sir,' replied Mick; 'I know it'll soon be over with me.'

“'Hut, no, man,' said Vengeance, drawing his hand rapidly across his eyes, and clearing his voice, 'not at all--don't say so; would a little broth serve you? or a bit of fresh meat?--or would you have a fancy for anything that I could make out for you? I'll get you wine, if you think it would do you good.”

“'God reward you,' said Mick feebly--'God reward you, and open your eyes to the truth. Is my mother likely to come in, do you think?'

“'She must be here in a few minutes,' the other replied; 'she was waiting till they'd churn, that she might bring you down a little fresh milk and butter.'

“'I wish she was wid me,' said the poor lad, 'for I'm lonely wantin' her--her voice and the very touch of her hands goes to my heart. Mother, come home, and let me lay my head upon your breast, agra machree, for I think it will be for the last time: we lived lonely, avourneen, wid none but ourselves--sometimes in happiness, when the nabors 'ud be kind to us--and sometimes in sorrow, when there 'ud be none to help us. It's over now, mother, and I'm lavin' you for ever!'

“Vengeance wiped his eyes--'Rouse yourself, Mick,' said he, 'rouse yourself.'

“'Who is that sitting along with you on the stool?' said Mick.

“'No one,' replied his neighbor; 'but what's the matter with you, Mick?--your face is changed.'

“Mick, however, made no reply; but after a few slight struggles, in which he attempted to call upon his mother's name, he breathed his last. When Vengeance saw that he was dead--looked upon the cold, miserable hut in which this grateful and affectionate young man was stretched--and then reflected on the important service he had just rendered he could not suppress his tears.

“After sending down some of the females to assist his poor mother in laying him out, Vengeance went among his friends and acquaintances, informing them of the intelligence he had received, without mentioning the source from which he had it. After dusk that evening, they all flocked, as privately as possible, to his house, to the number of thirty or forty, well provided with arms and ammunition. Some of them stationed themselves in the out-houses, some behind the garden edge, and others in the dwelling-house.”

When my brother had got thus far in his narrative, a tap came to the parlor-door, and immediately a stout-looking man, having the appearance of a laborer, entered the room. “Well, Lachlin,” said my brother, “what's the matter?”

“Why, sir,” said Lachlin, scratching his head, “I had a bit of a favor to ax, if it would be plaisin' to you to grant it to me.”

“What is that,” said my brother. “Do you know, sir,” said he, “I haven't been at a wake--let us see--this two or three years, anyhow; and, if you'd have no objection, why, I'd slip up awhile to Denis Kelly's; he's a distant relation of my own, sir; and blood's thicker than wather you know.”

“I'm just glad you came in, Lachlin,” said my brother, “I didn't think of you; take a chair here, and never heed the wake to-night, but sit down and tell us about the attack on Vesey Vengeance, long ago. I'll get you a tumbler of punch; and, instead of going to the wake to night, I will allow you to go to the funeral to-morrow.”

“Ah, sir,” said Lachlin, “you know whenever the punch is consarned, I'm aisily persuaded; but not making little of your tumbler, sir,” said the shrewd fellow, “I would get two or three of them if I went to the wake.”

“Well, sit down,” said my brother, handing him one, “and we won't permit you to get thirsty while you're talking, at all events.”

“In troth, you haven't your heart in the likes of it,” said Lachlin.

“Gintlemen, your healths--your health, sir, and we're happy to see you wanst more. Why, thin, I remember you, sir, when you were a gorsoon, passing to school wid your satchel on your back; but, I'll be bound you're by no means as soople now as you were thin. Why, sir,” turning to my brother “he could fly or kick football with the rabbits.--Well, this is raal stuff!”

“Now, Lachlin,” said my brother, “give us an account of the attack you made on Vesey Vengeance's house, at the Long Ridge, when all his party were chased out of the town.”

“Why, thin, sir, I ought to be ashamed to mintion it; but you see, gintleman, there was no getting over being connected wid them; but I hope your brother's safe, sir!”

“Oh, perfectly safe, Lachlin; you may rest assured he'll never mention it.”

“Well, sir,” said Lachlin, addressing himself to me, “Vesey Vengeance was--.”

“Lachlin,” said my brother, “he knows all about Vesey; just give an account of the attack.”

“The attack, sir! no, but the chivey we got over the mountains. Why, sir, we met in, an ould empty house, you see, that belonged to the Farrells of Ballyboulteen, that went over to America that spring. There war none wid us, you may be sure, but them that war up;* and in all we might be about sixty or seventy. The Grogans, one way or another, got it up first among them, bekase they expected Mr. Simmons would take them back when he'd find that no one else dare venther upon their land. There war at that time two fellows down from the county Longford, in their neighborhood, of the name of Collier--although that wasn't their right name--they were here upon their keeping, for the murder of a proctor in their own part of the country. One of them was a tall, powerful fellow, with sandy hair, and red brows; the other was a slender chap, that must have been drawn into it by his brother--for he was very mild and innocent, and always persuaded us agin evil. The Grogans brought lashings of whiskey, and made them that war to go foremost amost drunk--these war the two Colliers, some of the strangers from behind the mountains, and a son of Widdy Doran's, that knew every inch about the place, for he was bred and born jist below the house a bit. He wasn't wid us, however, in regard of his brother being under board that night; but, instid of him, Tim Grogan went to show the way up the little glin to the house, though, for that matther, the most of us knew it as well as he did; but we didn't like to be the first to put a hand to it, if we could help it.

* That is, had been made members of a secret society.

“At any rate, we sot in Farrell's empty house, drinking whiskey, till they war all gathered, when about two dozen of them got the damp soot from the chimley, and rubbed it over their faces, making them so black, that their own relations couldn't know them. We then went across the country in little lots, of about six or ten, or a score, and we war glad that the wake was in Widdy Koran's, seeing that if any one would meet we war going to it you know, and the blackening of the faces would pass for a frolic; but there was no great danger of being met for it was now long beyant midnight.

“Well, gintlemen, it puts me into a tremble, even at this time, to think of how little we cared about doing what we were bent upon. Them that had to manage the business war more than half drunk; and, hard fortune to me! but you would think it was to a wedding they went--some of them singing songs against the law--some of them quite merry, and laughing as if they had found a mare's nest. The big fellow, Collier, had a dark lanthern wid a half-burned turf in it to light the bonfire, as they said; others had guns and pistols--some of them charged and some of them not; some had bagnets, and ould rusty swords, pitchforks, and go on. Myself had nothing in my hand but the flail I was thrashing wid that day; and to tell the thruth, the divil a step I would have gone with them, only for fraid of my health; for, as I said awhile agone, if any discovery was made afterwards, them that promised to go, and turned tail, would be marked as the informers. Neither was I so blind, but I could see that there war plenty there that would stay away if they durst.

“Well, we went on till we came to a little dark corner below the house, where we met and held a council of war upon what we should do. Collier and the other strangers from behind the mountains war to go first, and the rest were to stand round the house at a distance--he carried the lanthern, a bagnet, and a horse-pistol; and half a dozen more war to bring over bottles of straw from Vengeance's own haggard, to hould up to the thatch. It's all past and gone now--but three of the Reillys were desperate against Vesey that night, particularly one of them that he had shot about a year and a half before--that is, peppered two of the right-hand fingers of him, one night in a scuffle, as Vesey came home from an Orange lodge. Well, all went on purty fair; we had got as far as the out-houses,where we stopped, to see if we could hear any noise; but all was quiet as you plase.

“'Now, Vengeance,' says Reilly, swearing a terrible oath out of him--'you murdering Orange villain, you're going to get your pay,' says he.

“'Ay,' says Grogan, 'what he often threatened to others he'll soon meet himself, plase God--come, boys,' says he, 'bring the straw and light it, and just lay it up, my darlings, nicely to the thatch here, and ye'll see what a glorious bonfire we'll have of the black Orange villain's blankets in less than no time.'

“Some of us could hardly stand this: 'Stop, boys,' cried one of Dan Slevin's sons--'stop, Vengeance is bad enough, but his wife and children never offinded us--we'll not burn the place.'

“'No,' said others, spaking out when they heard any body at all having courage to do so--'it's too bad, boys, to burn the place; for if we do,' says they, 'some of the innocent may be burned before they get from the house, or even before they waken out of their sleep.'

“'Knock at the door first,' says Slevin, 'and bring Vengeance out; let us cut the ears off of his head and lave him.'

“'Damn him!' says another, 'let us not take the vagabone's life; it's enough to take the ears from him, and to give him a prod or two of a bagnet on the ribs; but don't kill him.'

“'Well, well,' says Reilly, 'let us knock at the door, and get himself and the family out,' says he, 'and then we'll see what can be done wid him.'

“'Tattheration to me,' says the big Longford fellow, 'if he had sarved me, Reilly, as he did you, but I'd roast him in the flames of his own house,' says he.

“'I'd have you to know,' says Slevin, 'that you have no command here, Collier. I'm captain at the present time,' says he; 'and more nor what I wish shall not be done. Go over,' says he to the blackfaces, 'and rap him up.'

“Accordingly they began to knock at the door, commanding Vengeance to get up and come out to them.

“'Come, Vengeance,' says Collier, 'put on you, my good fellow, and come out till two or three of your neighbors, that wish you well, gets a sight of your purty face, you babe of grace!'

“'Who are you that wants me at all?' says Vengeance from within.

“'Come out, first,' says Collier; 'a few friends that has a crow to pluck with you; walk out, avourneen; or if you'd rather be roasted alive, why you may stay where you are,' says he.

“'Gentlemen,' says Vengeance, 'I have never, to my knowledge, offended any of you; and I hope you won't be so cruel as to take an industrious, hard-working man from his family, in the clouds of the night, to do him an injury. Go home, gentlemen, in the name of God, and let me and mine alone. You're all mighty dacent gentlemen, you know, and I'm determined never to make or meddle with any of you. Sure, I know right well it's purtecting me you would be, dacent gentlemen. But I don't think there's any of my neighbors there, or they wouldn't stand by and see me injured.'

“'Thrue for you, avick,' says they giving, at the same time; a terrible patterrara agin the door, with two or three big stones.

“'Stop, stop!' says Vengeance, 'don't break the door, and I'll open it. I know you're merciful, dacent gentlemen--I know your merciful.'

“So the thief came and unbarred it quietly, and the next minute about a dozen of them that war within the house let slap at us. As God would have had it, the crowd didn't happen to be forenent the door, or numbers of them would have been shot, and the night was dark, too, which was in our favor. The first volley was scarcely over, when there was another slap from the outhouse; and after that another from the gardens; and after that, to be sure, we took to our scrapers. Several of them were very badly wounded; but as for Collier, he was shot dead, and Grogan was taken prisoner, with five more, on the spot. There never was such a chase as we got; and only that they thought there was more of us in it, they might have tuck most of us prisoners.

“'Fly, boys!' says Grogan as soon as they fired out of the house--'we've been sould,' says he, 'but I'll die game, any how,'--and so he did, poor fellow; for although he and the other four war transported, one of them never sould the pass or stagged. Not but that they might have done it, for all that, only that there was a whisper sent to them, that if they did, a single soul belonging to one of them wouldn't be left living. The Grogans were cousins of Denis Kelly's, that's now laid out there above.

“From the time this tuck place till after the 'sizes, there wasn't a stir among them on any side; but when that war over, the boys began to prepare. Denis, heavens be his bed, was there in his glory. This was in the spring 'sizes, and the May fair soon followed. Ah! that was the bloody sight, I'm tould--for I wasn't at it--atween the Orangemen and them. The Ribbonmen war bate though, but not till after there was a desperate fight on both sides. I was tould that Denis Kelly that day knocked down five-and-twenty men in about three-quarters of an hour; and only that long John Grimes hot him a _polthoge_ on the sconce with the butt-end of the gun, it was thought the Orangemen would be beat. That blow broke his skull, and was the manes of his death. He was carried home senseless.”

“Well, Lachlin,” said my brother, “if you didn't see it, I did. I happened to be looking out of John Carson's upper window--for it wasn't altogether safe to contemplate it within reach of the missiles. It was certainly a dreadful and barbarous sight. You have often observed the calm, gloomy silence that precedes a thunder-storm; and had you been there that day, you might have witnessed its illustration in a scene much more awful. The thick living mass of people extended from the corner-house, nearly a quarter of a mile, at this end of the town, up to the parsonage on the other side. During the early part of the day, every kind of business was carried on in a hurry and an impatience, which denoted the little chance they knew there would be for transacting it in the evening.

“Up to the hour of four o'clock the fair was unusually quiet, and, on the whole, presented nothing in any way remarkable; but after that hour you might observe the busy stir and hum of the mass settling down into a deep, brooding, portentous silence, that was absolutely fearful. The females, with dismay and terror pictured in their faces, hurried home; and in various instances you might see mothers, and wives, and sisters, clinging about the sons, husbands, and brothers, attempting to drag them by main force from the danger which they knew impended over them. In this they seldom succeeded: for the person so urged was usually compelled to tear himself from them by superior strength.