Excepting the two dingy-looking, dust-covered parlors, which served as office and dining-room, the only portion of Mr. Basset's dwelling untenanted by lodgers was the attics. The large brass plate that adorned the hall door, setting forth in conspicuous letters, “Anthony Basset, Attorney,” gave indeed a most inadequate notion of the mixed population within, whose respectability, in the inverse ratio of their height from the ground, went on growing beautifully less, till it found its culminating point in the host himself, on whose venerable head the light streamed from a cobweb-covered pane in the roof. The stairs were dark and narrow; the walls covered with a dull-colored old wainscot, that flapped and banged with every foot that came and went; while the windows were defended by strong iron railings, as if anything inside them could possibly demand such means of protection.
I followed Mr. Basset as he led the way up these apparently interminable stairs, till at length the decreasing head room betokened that we were near the slates. Mumbling a half apology for the locale, he introduced me into a long, low attic, where a settle bed of the humblest pretensions and a single rush-bottomed chair supporting a basin were the only articles of furniture. Something like the drop curtain of a strolling theatre closed up the distance; but this I could only perceive imperfectly by the dim twilight of a dip candle, and in my state of fatigue and weariness, I had little inclination to explore further. Wishing me a good night, and promising that I should be called betimes next morning, Mr. Basset took his leave; while I, overcome by a long day of care and anxiety, threw myself on the bed, and slept far more soundly than I could have believed it were possible for me to do under the roof of Anthony Basset.
The sun was streaming in a rich flood of yellow light through a small skylight, and playing its merry gambols on the floor, when I awoke. The birds, too, were singing; and the hum of the street noises, mellowed by distance, broke not unpleasantly on the ear. It did not take me long to remember where I was, and why. The conversation of the evening before recurred at once to my mind; and hope, stronger than ever before I felt it, filled my heart. It was clear Basset could place little value on such services as mine; and if I could only contrive to make it his interest to part with me, he would not hesitate about it. I resolved that, whatever price he put upon my freedom, if in my power I should pay it. My next plan was to find out, through some of the persons in correspondence with France, the means of reaching that country, in whose military service I longed to enroll myself. Had I but the papers of my poor friend Charles de Meudon, there had been little difficulty in this; but unfortunately they were seized by Major Barton on the day of his death, and I had never seen them since.
While I revolved these thoughts within myself I heard the merry notes of a girl's voice, singing apparently in the very room with me. I started up and looked about me, and now perceived that what seemed so like a drop curtain' the night before was nothing more or less than a very large patchwork quilt, suspended on a line across the entire attic, from the other side of which came the sounds in question. It was clear, both from the melody and the voice, that she could not be a servant; and somewhat curious to know more of my fair neighbor, I rose gently, and slipping on my clothes, approached the boundary of my territory with noiseless step.
A kind of whistling noise interrupted every now and then the lady's song, and an occasional outbreak of impatience would burst forth in the middle of the “Arrah, will you marry me, dear Alley Croker?” by some malediction on a “black knot” or a broken string. I peeped over the “drop,” and beheld the figure of a young, plump, and pretty girl, busily engaged in lacing her stays,—an occupation which accounted equally for the noise of the rushing staylace and the bit of peevishness I had heard. I quite forgot how inadvisable was the indulgence of my curiosity in my admiration of my fair neighbor, whose buxom figure, not the less attractive for the shortness of her drapery, showed itself to peculiar advantage as she bent to one side and the other in her efforts to fasten the impracticable bodice. A mass of rich brown hair, on which the sun was playing, fell over her neck and on her shoulders, and half concealed her round, well-turned arms as they plied their busy task.
“Well, ain't my heart broke with you, entirely?” exclaimed she, as a stubborn knot stopped all further progress.
At this moment the cord, on which through inadvertence I had leaned somewhat too heavily, gave way, and down came the curtain with a squash to the floor. She sprang back with a bound, and, while a slight but momentary blush flushed her cheek, stared at me half angrily, and then cried out,—“Well, I hope you like me?”
“Yes, that I do,” said I, readily;—“and who wouldn't that saw you?”
Whether it was the naivete of my confession, or my youth, or both, I can't well say, but she laughed heartily at my speech, and threw herself into a chair to indulge her mirth.
“So we were neighbors, it seems,” said I.
“And if we were,” said she, roguishly, “I think it's a very unceremonious way you 've opened the acquaintance.”
“You forget, apparently, I haven't left my own territory.”
“Well, I 'm sure I wish you would, if you 're any good at a black knot; my heart and my nails are both broke with one here.”
I didn't wait for any more formal invitation, but stepped at once over the frontier; while she, rising from the chair, turned her back towards me, as with her finger she directed me to the most chaotic assemblage of knots, twists, loops, and entanglements I ever beheld.
“And you're Burke, I suppose,” cried she, as I commenced my labors.
“Yes; I'm Burke.”
“Well, I hope you 're done with wildness by this time. Uncle Tony tells fine tales of your doings.”
“Uncle Tony! So you 're Mr. Basset's niece? Is that—”
“You did n't take me for his wife, I hope?” said she, again bursting out into laughter.
“In truth, I never thought so well of him as to suppose it.”
“Well, well, I 'm sure it 's little I expected you to look so mild and so quiet. But you need n't pinch me, for all that. Is n't your name Tom?”
“Yes; I hope you 'll always call me so.”
“Maybe I will. Is n't that done yet? And there 's the milk bell. Uncle will be in a nice passion if I 'm not down soon. Cut it,—cut it at once.”
“Now do be patient for a minute or two; it's all right if you stay quiet. I 'll try my teeth on it.”
“Yes; but you needn't try your lips too,” said she, tartly.
“Why, it 's the only plan to get your fingers out of the way. I 'm sure I never was so puzzled in all my life.”
“Nothing like practice, my boy,—nothing,” cried a merry voice from the door behind me, half choked with laughing; while a muttered anathema, in a deeper tone, followed. I looked back, and there stood Bubbleton, his face florid with laughter, endeavoring to hold back Mr. Basset, whose angry look and flashing eye there was no mistaking.
“Mr. Burke,—Burke, I say! Nelly, what does this mean? How came this young gentleman—”
“As to that,” said I, interrupting him, and my blood somewhat chafed by his manner, “this piece of trumpery tumbled down when I leaned my arm on it. I had no idea—”
“No, no; to be sure not,” broke in Bubbleton, in an ecstasy. “The thing was delicious; such a bit of stage effect. She was there, as it might be, combing her hair, and all that sort of thing; Tom was here, raving about absence and eternal separation. You are an angry father, or uncle,—all the same; and I 'm Count Neitztachenitz, the old friend and brother officer of Tom's father. Now, let Miss Nelly—But where is she? Why, she's gone! Eh, and Basset? Basset! Why, he 's gone! Come, Tom, don't you go too. I say, my boy, devilish well got up that. You ought to have had a white satin doublet and hose, slashed with pale cherry-colored ribbons to match, small hat looped, aigrette and white plume. She was perfect; her leg and foot were three certain rounds of applause from the pit and gallery.”
“What nonsense!” said I, angrily; “we weren't playing a comedy.”
“Were n't you, though? Well, I 'm deuced sorry for it, that 's all; but it did look confoundedly like an undress rehearsal.”
“Come, come, no foolery, I beg. I'm here in a very sad plight, and this piece of nonsense may not make matters any better. Listen to me, if you can, patiently for five minutes, and give me your advice.”
I took him by the arm as I spoke, and leading him from the room,—where I saw that everything was only suggesting some piece of scenic effect,—and in as few words as I could command, explained how I was circumstanced; omitting, of course, any detail of my political bias, and only stated so much of my desire as implied my wish to be free of my contract with Basset, and at liberty to dispose of myself as I liked in future.
“I see,” cried Bubbleton, as I finished; “the old fox has this five hundred pounds of yours.”
“No, I didn't say that; I only mean—”
“Well, well, it 's all the same. If he has n't, you know he ought.”
“No; that 's not essential either.”
“No matter, he would if he could; it just comes to the same thing, and you only wish to get clear out of his hands at any cost. Is n't that it?”
“Exactly; you have it all perfectly.”
“Bless your heart, boy, there 's nothing easier; if I were in your place, should arrange the affair in less than a week. I 'd have fits,—strong fits,—and burn all the papers in the office during the paroxysm. I 'd make a pile of deeds, leases, bonds, and settlements in the backyard.”
“I don't fancy your plan would be so successful as you flatter yourself,” said a dry, husky voice behind; “there 's rather a stringent law for refractory apprentices, as Mr. Burke may learn.” We turned round, and there stood Mr. Basset, with a grin of most diabolical malignity in his by no means pleasant features. “At the same time,” continued he, “your suggestions are of infinite value, and shall be duly appreciated in the King's Bench.”
“Eh,—King's Bench! Lord bless you, don't speak of it. Mere trifles,—I just threw them out as good hints; I had fifty far better to come. There 's the young lady, now. To be sure, he has started that notion himself, so I must not pretend it was mine. But Miss Nelly, I think, Tom—”
“Mr. Basset is well aware,” interrupted I, “that I am only desirous to be free and untrammelled; that whatever little means I may derive from my family, I 'm willing to surrender all, short of actual beggary, to attain this object,—that I intend quitting Ireland at once. If, then, he consent to enter into an arrangement with me, let it be at once, and on the spot. I have no desire, I have no power, to force him by a threat, in case of refusal; but I hope he will make so much of amends to one of whose present desolation and poverty he is not altogether innocent.”
“There, there; that's devilish well said. The whole thing is all clear before me. So come along, Basset; you and I will settle all this. Have you got a private room where we can have five minutes' chat together? Tom, wait for me here.”
Before either of us could consent or oppose his arrangement, he had taken Basset's arm, and led him downstairs; while I, in a flurry of opposing and conflicting resolves, sat down to think over my fortunes.
Tired at length with waiting, and half suspecting that my volatile friend had forgotten me and all my concerns, I descended to the parlor in hopes to hear something of the pending negotiation. At the head of a long, narrow table sat my fair acquaintance, Miss Nelly, her hair braided very modestly at each aide of her pretty face, which had now assumed an almost Quakerish propriety of expression. She was busily engaged in distributing tea to three pale, red-eyed, emaciated men, whose spongy-looking, threadbare garments bespoke to be attorney's clerks, A small imp, a kind of embryo practitioner, knelt before the fire in the act of toasting bread, but followed with his sharp piercing eyes every stir in the apartment and seemed to watch with malicious pleasure the wry faces around, whenever any undue dilution of the bohea, or any curtailment of the blue milk, pressed heavily on the guests. These were not exactly the circumstances to renew my acquaintance with my fair neighbor, had I been so minded; so having declined her offer of breakfast, I leaned moodily on the chimneypiece, my anxiety to know my fate becoming each instant more painful. Meanwhile not a word was spoken,—a sad, moody silence, unbroken save by the sounds of eating, pervaded all, when suddenly the door of the front parlor was flung open, and Bubbleton's pleasant voice was heard as he talked away unceasingly; in an instant he entered, followed by Basset, over whose hard countenance a shade of better nature seemed to pass.
“In that case,” cried the captain, “I'm your man, not that I 'm anything of a performer at breakfast or dinner; supper 's rather my forte,—an odor of a broiled bone at three in the morning, a herring smeared with chetna and grilled with brandy, two hundred of small oysters, a few hot ones to close with, a glass of seltzer dashed with hollands for health, and, then any number you like of glasses, of hot brandy and water afterwards for pleasure.”
While Bubbleton ran on in this fashion, he had broken about half a dozen eggs into the slop basin, and seasoning the mess with pepper and vinegar, was busily engaged in illustrating the moderation of his morning appetite.
“Try a thing like this, Tom,” cried he, not defining how it was to be effected under the circumstances; while he added in a whisper, “your affair's all right.”
These few words brought courage to my heart; and I ventured to begin the breakfast that had lain untasted before me.
“I think, Mr. Burke,” said Basset, as soon as he recovered from the surprise Bubbleton's mode of breakfasting had excited,—“I think and trust that all has been arranged to your satisfaction.” Then turning to the clerks, who ate away without even lifting their heads,—“Mr. Muggridge, you will be late at the Masters' Office; Jones, take that parcel to Hennet; Kit, carry my bag up to the Courts.”
Miss Nelly did not wait for the part destined for her, but with a demure face rose from the table and left the room; giving me, however, one sly glance as she passed my chair that I remembered for many a day after.
“You 'll excuse me, gentlemen, if I am pressed for time this morning; a very particular case comes on in the Common Pleas.”
“Never speak of it, my dear fellow,” said Bubbleton, who had just addressed himself to a round of spiced beef; “business has its calls just as pleasure has,—ay, and appetite too. That would make an excellent bit of supper, with some mulled port, after a few rubbers of shorts.”
Basset paid little attention to this speech, but turning to me, continued:
“You mentioned your intention of leaving Ireland, I think. Might I ask where you have decided on,—from where? Is it possible that your brother—”
“My brother's anxieties on my account, Mr. Basset, can scarcely be very poignant, and deserve no particular respect or attention at my hands. I suppose that this morning has concluded all necessary intercourse between us; and if you have satisfied my friend Captain Bubbleton—”
“Perfectly, perfectly. Another cup of tea, if you please. Yes, nothing could be more gratifying than Mr. Basset's conduct; you are merely to sign the receipt for the legacy, and he hands you over one hundred pounds. Isn't that it?”
“Yes, quite correct; my bill for one hundred at three months.”
“That's what I mean. But surely you're not done breakfast; why, Tom, you 've eaten nothing. I have been picking away this half hour, just to encourage you a bit. Well, well! I lunch in Stephen's Green at three; so here goes.”
Mr. Basset now took from his pocket-book some papers, which, having glanced his eye over, he handed to me.
“This is a kind of acknowledgment, Mr. Burke, for the receipt of a legacy to which you could be only entitled on attaining your majority. Here are your indentures to me; and this is my acceptance for one hundred pounds.”
“I am content,” said I, eagerly, as I seized the pen. The thought of my liberty alone filled my mind, and I cared little for the conditions provided I secured that.
Basset proffered his hand. I was in no humor to reject anything that even simulated cordiality; I shook it heartily. Bubbleton followed my example, and having pledged himself to see more of his pleasant acquaintance, thrust his arm through mine and bustled out; adding, in a tone loud enough to be overheard,—
“Made a capital fight of it; told him you were a Defender, a United Irishman, a Peep-o'-day Boy, and all that sort of thing. Devilish glad to get rid of you, even on Miss Nelly's account.”
And so he rattled away without ceasing, until we found ourselves at the George's Street Barracks, my preoccupation of mind preventing my even having remarked what way we came.
I WAS not sorry to find that Miss Bubbleton did not respond to the noisy summons of the captain, as he flourished about from one room to the other, making the quarters echo to the sweet name of “Anna Maria.” “Saladin,” “Grimes,” “Peter,” were also shouted out unsuccessfully; and with a fierce menace against various grooms of the chambers, waiting-men, and lackeys, who happily were still unborn, Bubbleton flung himself into a seat, and began to conjecture what had become of the inhabitants.
“She's paying a morning call,—gone to see the Duchess; that 's it. Or perhaps she 's looking over that suit of pearls I bought yesterday at Gallon's; pretty baubles, but dear at eight hundred pounds. Never mind; what 's money for, eh, Tom?”
As he looked at me for a reply, I drew my chair closer towards him, and assuming as much of importance as my manner could command, I besought his attention for a moment. Hitherto, partly from my own indecision, partly from his flighty and volatile bearing, I never had an opportunity either to explain my real position or my political sentiments, much less my intentions for the future. The moment had at length arrived, and I resolved to profit by it; and in as few words as I was able, gave a brief narrative of my life, from the hour of my father's death to the day in which I fell into his own hands in Dublin, only omitting such portions as might, by the mention of names, compromise others concerned.
Nothing could possibly be more attentive than he was during the entire detail. He leaned his head on his hand, and listened with eager curiosity to all my scrapes and difficulties, occasionally nodding in assent, and now evincing by his excited air his desire to learn farther; and when I at last wound up by avowing my long cherished desire to enter the French service, he sat perfectly silent, and seemed to reflect gravely on the whole.
“I say, Tom,” said he, at length, as he stared me full in the face, and laid his hand impressively on my knee, “there 's good stuff in that,—excellent stuff, depend upon it.”
“Good stuff! what do you mean?” said I, in amazement.
“I mean,” replied he, “there's bone in it, sinew in it, substance in it; there are some admirable situations too. How Fulham would come out in Tony Basset,—brown shorts, white stockings, high shoes and buckles, his own very costume. And there's that little thing, Miss Booth, for Nelly; give her a couple of songs,—ballad airs take best. Williams should be Barton; a devilish fine villain in coarse parts, Williams,—I think I see him stealing along by the flats with his soldiers to the attack. Then the second act should open: interior of hut; peasants round a table (eating always successful on the stage; nothing like seeing a fat fellow bolting hard eggs, and blustering out unpronounceable jokes over a flagon of colored water). You, by right, should have your own part; splendid thing, devilish fine,—your sensations when the cabin was on tire, and the fellows were prodding about with their bayonets to discover you.”
“And who 's to perform Captain Bubbleton?” asked I, venturing for once to humor his absurdity.
“Eh? Oh I there's nothing for me; no marked feature, nothing strong, nothing characteristic. That has been through life my greatest, my very highest ambition,—that no man should ever detect, by anything in my manner, my dress, or my style of conversation, that I was not John Nokes or Peter Styles. You 'll meet me at a dinner party, Tom; you 'll converse with me, drink with me; we'll sit the evening together, grow intimate, perhaps you 'll borrow fifty pounds of me; and yet I 'd wager another, you'd never guess that I rode a hippopotamus across the Ganges after tiffin one day, to pay my respects to the Governor-Greneral. That, let me tell you, Tom, is the very proudest boast a man can make. Do you see that scar? It looks nothing now. That was a bite from a ferocious boa: the villain got into my room before breakfast; he had eaten my chokeedar, a fellow I was very fond of—”
“Ah, I remember you mentioned that to me. And now to come back to my dull story, to which, I assure you, however dramatic you may deem it, I 'd prefer adding an act or so before it comes before the world. I intend to leave this to-morrow.”
“No, no; you mustn't think of it yet awhile. Why, my dear fellow, you 've a hundred pounds; only think of that! Twenty will bring you to Paris; less, if you choose. I once travelled from Glugdamuck to the Ghauts of Bunderamud for half a rupee; put my elephants on three biscuits a day; explained to them in Hindostanee—a most expressive language—that our provisions had fallen short; that on our arrival all arrears of grub should be made up. They tossed up their trunks thus in token of assent, and on we marched. Well, when we came to Helgie, there was no water—”
“Very true,” interrupted I, half in despair at the torrent of story-telling I had got involved in. “But you forget I have neither elephants, nor camels, nor coolies, nor chokeedars; I'm a mere adventurer, with, except yourself, not a friend in the world.”
“Then why not join us?” cried the ever ready captain. “We are to have our orders for foreign service in a few weeks; you 've only to volunteer; you 've money enough to buy your kit. When you 're fairly in, it 's only writing to your brother. Besides, something always turns up; that 's my philosophy. I rarely want anything I don't find means to obtain, somehow or other.”
“No,” said I, resolutely, “I will never join the service of a country which has inflicted such foul wrong on my native land.”
“All stuff and nonsense!” cried Bubbleton. “Who cares the deuce of clubs about politics? When you 're my age, you 'll find that if you 're not making something of politics, they 'll make very little of you. I 'd as soon sell figs for my grocer or snuff for my tobacconist as I 'd bother my head governing the kingdom for Billy Pitt. He 's paid for it,—that's his business, not mine. No, no, my boy; join us,—you shall be 'Burke of Ours!' We 'll have a glorious campaign among the Yankees. I 'll teach you the Seneca language, and we 'll have a ramble through the Indian settlements. Meanwhile you dine to-day at the mess; to-morrow we picnic at the Dargle; next day we—What the deuce is next day to be? Oh yes! next day we all dine with you. Nothing stiff or formal,—a snug, quiet thing for sixteen; I'll manage it all.”
Here was an argument there was no resisting; so I complied at once, comforting myself with a silent vow, come what might, I 'd leave Ireland the day after my dinner party.
Under whatever guise—with what history of my rank, wealth, and family influence—Bubbleton thought proper to present me to his brother officers, I cannot say; but nothing could possibly be more kind, or even more cordial, than their reception of me. And although I had some difficulty in replying to questions put under mistaken notions of my position and intentions, I readily followed, as far as I was able, the line suggested by my imaginative friend, whose representations, I suspected, would be received with a suitable limitation by his old associates.
There is, perhaps, no species of society so striking and so captivating to the young man entering on life as that of a military mess. The easy, well-bred intimacy, that never degenerates into undue familiarity; the good-humored, playful raillery, that never verges on coarseness or severity; the happy blending of old men's wisdom and young men's buoyancy,—are all very attractive features of social intercourse, even independently of the stronger interest that invests the companionship of men whose career is arms. I felt this, and enjoyed it too; not the less pleasantly that I discovered no evidence of that violent partisan feeling I had been led to believe was the distinguishing mark of the Royalist soldier. If by chance any allusion was made to the troubles of the period, it was invariably done rather in a tone of respect for mistaken and ill directed political views, than in reprehension of disloyalty and rebellion; and when I heard the dispassionate opinions and listened to the mild counsels of these men, whom I had always believed to be the veriest tyrants and oppressors, I could scarcely credit my own senses, so utterly opposed were my impressions and my experience. One only of the party evinced an opposite feeling. He was a pale, thin, rather handsome man, of about five and twenty, who had lately joined them from a dragoon regiment, and who by sundry little innuendoes, was ever bringing uppermost the preference he evinced for his former service, and his ardent desire to be back again in the cavalry.
Captain Montague Crofts was indeed the only exception I witnessed to the almost brotherly feeling that prevailed in the Forty-fifth. Instead of identifying himself with the habits and opinions of his brother officers, he held himself studiously apart. Regarding his stay in the regiment like a period of probation, he seemed resolved to form neither intimacies nor friendships, but to wait patiently for the time of his leaving the corps to emancipate himself from a society below his caste.
The cold, repulsive, steady stare, the scarcely bowed head, the impassive silence with which he heard the words of Bubbleton's introduction of me, formed a strong contrast with the warm cordiality of the others; and though at the time little disposed to criticise the manner of any one, and still less to be dissatisfied with anything, I conceived from the moment a dislike to Captain Crofts, which I felt to increase with every minute I spent in his company. The first occasion which suggested this dislike on my part, was from observing that while Bubbleton—whose historical accuracy or blind adherence to reality no one in the corps thought of requiring—narrated some of his incredible adventures. Crofts, far from joining in the harmless mirth which such tales created, invariably took delight in questioning and cross-questioning the worthy captain, quoting him against himself, and playing off a hundred tricks, which, however smart and witty in a law court, are downright rudeness when practised in society. Bubbleton, it is true, saw nothing in all this save the natural interest of a good listener,—but the others did; and it was quite clear to me, that while one was the greatest favorite in the regiment, the other had not a single friend amongst them. To me, Crofts manifested the most perfect indifference, not ever mixing himself in any conversation in which I bore a part. He rarely turned his head towards that part of the table at which I sat; and by an air of haughty superciliousness, gave me plainly to understand that our acquaintance, though confessedly begun, was to proceed no further. I cannot say how happy I felt to learn that one I had so much cause to dislike was a violent aristocrat, an ultra-Tory, a most uncompromising denouncer of the Irish Liberal party, and an out-and-out advocate of severe and harsh measures towards the people. He never missed an opportunity for the enunciation of such doctrines, which, whatever might be the opinions of the listeners, there was at the time I speak of no small risk in gainsaying, and this immunity did Crofts enjoy to his heart's content.
Slight as these few reminiscences of the mess are, they are the called-up memories of days not to be forgotten by me; for now, what with my habitual indecision on the one hand, and Bubbleton's solicitations on the other, I continued to linger on in Dublin,—leading the careless, easy life of those about me, joining in all the plots for amusement which the capital afforded, and mixing in every society to which my military friends had access. Slender as were my resources, they sufficed, in the eyes of all who knew not their limit, to appear abundant. Crofts was the only rich man in the regiment; and my willingness to enter into every scheme of pleasure, regardless of cost, impressed them all with the notion that Bubbleton for once was right, and that “Burke was a kind of Westcountry Croesus,” invaluable to the regiment.
Week after week rolled on, and still did I find myself a denizen of George's Street. The silly routine of the barrack life filled all my thoughts, save when the waning condition of my purse would momentarily turn them towards the future; but these moments of reflection came but seldom, and at last came not at all. It was autumn; the town almost divested of its inhabitants,—at least of all who could leave it,—and along the parched, sunburned streets a stray jingle or a noddy was rarely seen to pass. The squares, so lately crowded with equipages and cavalcades of horsemen, were silent and deserted; the closed shutters of every house, and the grass-grown steps, vouched for the absence of the owners. The same dreamy lethargy that seemed to rest over the deserted city appeared to pervade everything; and save a certain subdued activity among the officials of the Castle,—a kind of ground-swell movement that boded something important,—there was nothing stirring. The great measure of the Union, which had been carried on the night of the riots, had, however, annihilated the hopes of the Irish Liberal party; and many who once had taken a leading part in politics had now deserted public life forever.
They with whom I associated cared but little for these things. There were but two or three Irish in the regiment, and they had long since lost all their nationality in the wear and tear of the service; so that I heard nothing of what occupied the public mind, and lived on, in the very midst of the threatening hurricane, in a calm as deep as death itself.
I had seen neither Barton nor Basset since the day of my leave-taking; and, stranger still, never could meet with Darby, who seemed to have deserted Dublin. The wreck of the party he belonged to seemed now effectually accomplished, and the prospect of Irish independence was lost, as it seemed, forever.
I was sitting one evening in the window of Bubbleton's quarters, thinking over these things; not without self-reproach for the life I was leading, so utterly adverse to the principles I had laid down for my guidance. I thought of poor De Meudon, and all his ambitious dreams for my success, and I felt my cheek flush with shame for my base desertion of the cause to which, with his dying breath, he devoted me. I brought up in memory those happy evenings as we wandered through the fields, talking over the glorious campaigns of Italy or speculating on the mighty changes we believed yet before us; and then I thought of the reckless orgies in which my present life was passed. I remembered how his full voice would falter when one great name fell from his lips; and with what reverence he touched his chapeau as the word “Bonaparte” escaped from him; and how my heart thrilled to think of an enthusiasm that could light up the dying embers of a broken heart, and make it flash out in vivid brilliancy once more,—and longed to feel as he did.
For the first time for some weeks I found myself alone. Bubbleton was on guard; and though I had promised to join him at supper, I lingered at home to think and ponder over the past,—I scarcely dared to face the future. It was growing dusky. The richly golden arch of an autumn moon could be seen through the hazy mist of that half frost which is at this season the sure harbinger of a hot day on the morrow. The street noises had gradually died away, and save the distant sound of a ballad-singer, whose mournful cadence fell sadly on the ear, I heard nothing.
Without perceiving it, I found myself listening to the doggerel of the minstrel, who, like most of her fellows of the period, was celebrating the means that had been used by Government to carry their favorite measure,—the Union with England. There was, indeed, very little to charm the ear or win the sense, in either the accent or the sentiment of the melody; yet somehow she had contrived to collect a pretty tolerable audience, who moved slowly along with her down the street, and evinced by many an outburst of enthusiasm how thoroughly they relished the pointed allusions of the verse, and how completely they enjoyed the dull satire of the song.
As they approached the barracks, the procession came to a halt,—probably deeming that so valuable a lesson should not be lost to his Majesty's service; and forming into a circle round the singer, a silence was commanded, when, with that quavering articulation so characteristic of the tribe, and that strange quality of voice that seems to alternate between a high treble and a deep bass, the lady began:—
“Don't be crowdin' an me that a way. There it is now,—ye 're tearin' the cloak off the back o' me! Divil receave the note I 'll sing, if ye don't behave! And look at his honor up there, with a tenpenny bit in the heel of his fist for me. The Lord reward your purty face; 't is yourself has the darlin' blue eyes! Bad scran to yez, ye blaggards! look at my elegant bonnet the way you 've made it!”
“Arrah! rise the tune, and don't be blarneying the young gentleman,” said a voice from the crowd,—and then added, in a lower but very audible tone, “Them chaps hasn't a farthin' beyond their pay,—three and ninepence a day, and find themselves in pipeclay!”
A rude laugh followed this insolent speech; and the ballad-singer, whose delay had only been a ruse to attract a sufficient auditory, then began to a very well-known air:
The mob chorus here broke in, and continued with such hearty enthusiasm that I lost the entire of the next verse in the tumult.
“Here 's the pollis!” said a gruff voice from the crowd; and the word was repeated from mouth to mouth in every accent of fear and dread; while in an instant all took to flighty—some dashing down obscure lanes and narrow alleys, others running straight onwards towards Dame Street, but all showing the evident apprehension they felt at the approach of these dreaded officials. The ballad' singer alone did not move,—whether too old or too infirm to trust to speed, or too much terrified to run, I know not; but there she stood, the last cadence of her song still dying on her lips, while the clattering sounds of men advancing rapidly were heard in the distant street.
I know not why,—some strange momentary impulse, half pity, half caprice, moved me to her rescue, and I called out to the sentry, “Let that woman pass in!” She heard the words, and with an activity greater than I could have expected, sprang into the barrack yard, while the police passed eagerly on in vain pursuit of their victims.
I remained motionless in the window-seat, watching the now silent street, when a gentle tap came to my door. I opened it, and there stood the figure of the ballad-singer, her ragged cloak gathered closely across her face with one hand, while with the other she held the bundle of printed songs, her only stock-in-trade.
While I stood gazing at the uncouth and ragged figure before me, she pushed rudely past, and shutting the door behind her, asked, in a low whisper, “Are ye alone?”—and then, without waiting for a reply, threw back the tattered bonnet that covered her head, and removing a wig of long black hair, stared steadfastly at me.
“Do you know me, now?” said the hag, in a voice of almost menacing eagerness.
“What!” cried I, in amazement; “it surely cannot be—Darby, is this really you?”
“Ye may well say it,” replied he, bitterly.—“Ye had time enough to forget me since we met last; and 'tis thinking twice your grand friends the officers would be, before they 'd put their necks where mine is now to see you. Read that,”—as he spoke, he threw a ragged and torn piece of printed paper on the table,—“read that, and you 'll see there 's five hundred pounds of blood money to the man that takes me. Ay, and here I stand this minit in the King's barrack, and walked fifty-four miles this blessed day just to see you and speak to you once more. Well, well!” He turned away his head while he said this, and wiping a starting tear from his red eyeball, he added, “Master Tom, 'tis myself would never b'lieve ye done it.”
“Did what?” said I, eagerly. “What have I ever done that you should charge me thus?”
But Darby heard me not; his eyes were fixed on vacancy, and his lips moved rapidly as though he were speaking to himself.
“Ay,” said he, half aloud, “true enough; 'tis the gentlemen that betrayed us always,—never came good of the cause where they took a part. But you,”—here he turned full round, and grasping my arm, spoke directly to me, “you that I loved better than my own kith and kin, that I thought would one day be a pride and glory to us all; you that I brought over myself to the cause—”
“And when have I deserted,—when have I betrayed it?”
“When did you desert it?” repeated he, in a tone of mocking irony. “Tell me the day and hour ye came here, tell me the first time ye sat down among the red butchers of King George, and I 'll answer ye that. Is it here you ought to be? Is this the home for him that has a heart for Ireland? I never said you betrayed us. Others said it; but I stood to it, ye never did that. But what does it signify? 'Tis no wonder ye left us; we were poor and humble people; we had nothing at heart but the good cause—”
“Stop!” cried I, maddened by this taunt. “What could I have done? where was my place?”
“Don't ask me; if your own heart doesn't teach thee, how can I? But it's over now; the day is gone, and I must take to the road again. My heart is lighter since I seen you; and it will be lighter again when I give you this wamin',—God knows if you 'll mind it. You think yourself safe now since you joined the sodgers; you think they trust you, and that Barton's eye is n't on ye still. There is n't a word you say is n't noted down,—not a man you spake to isn't watched. You don't know it; but I know it. There 's more go to the gallows in Ireland over their wine, than with the pike in their hands. Take care of your friends, I say.”
“You wrong them. Darby; and you wrong me. Never have I heard from one here a single word that could offend the proudest heart among us.”
“Why would they? what need of it? Ar'n't we down, down? ar'n't we hunted like wild beasts? is the roof left to shelter us? dare we walk the roads? dare we say 'God save ye!' when we meet, and not be tried for pass words? It 's no wonder they pity us; the hardest heart must melt sometimes.”
“As to myself,” said I,—for there was no use in attempting to reason with him further,—“my every wish is with the cause as warmly as on the day we parted. But I look to France—”
“Ay, and why not? I remember the time your eye flashed and your cheek grew another color when you spoke of that.”
“Yes, Darby,” said I, after a pause; “and I had not been here now, but that the only means I possessed of forwarding myself in the French service are unfortunately lost to me.”
“And what was that?” interrupted he, eagerly.
“Some letters which the poor Captain de Meudon gave me,” said I, endeavoring to seem as much at ease as I could.
Darby stooped down as I spoke, and ripping open the lining of his cloak, produced a small parcel fastened with a cord, saying, “Are these what you mean?”
I opened it with a trembling hand, and to my inexpressible delight, discovered Charles's letter to the head of the Ecole Polytechnique, together with a letter of credit and two cheques on his banker. The note to his sister was not, however, among them.
“How came you by these papers, Darby?” inquired I, eagerly.
“I found them on the road Barton travelled, the same evening you made your escape from the yeomanry; you remember that? They were soon missed, and an orderly was sent back to search for them. Since that, I 've kept them by me; and it was only yesterday that I thought of bringing them to you, thinking you might know something about them.”
“There 's a mark on this one,” said I, still gazing on the paper in my hand; “it looks like blood.”
“If it is, it 's mine, then,” said Darby, doggedly. And after a pause, he continued: “The soldier galloped up the very minute I was stooping for the papers. He called out to me to give them up; but I pretended not to hear, and took a long look round to see what way I could escape where his horse could n't follow me. But he saw what I was at; and the same instant his sabre was in my shoulder, and the blood running hot down my arm. I fell on my knees; but if I did, I took this from my breast” (here he drew forth a long-barrelled rusty pistol), “and shot him through the neck.”
“Was he killed?” said I, in horror at the coolness of the recital.
“Sorrow one o' me knows. He fell on his horse's mane, and I saw the beast gallop with him up the road with his arms hanging at each side of the neck. And then I heard a crash, and I saw that he was down, and the horse was dragging him by the stirrup; but the dust soon hid him from my sight. And indeed I was growing weak too; so I crept into the bushes until it was dark, and then got down to Glencree.”
The easy indifference with which he spoke, the tone of coolness in which he narrated this circumstance, thrilled through me far more painfully than the most passionate description; and I stood gazing on him with a feeling of dread that unhappily my features but too plainly indicated. He seemed to know what was passing in my mind; and as if stung by what he deemed my ingratitude for the service he had rendered me, his face grew darkly red, the swollen veins stood out thick and knotted in his forehead, his livid lips quivered, and he said in a thick, guttural voice,—
“Maybe ye think I murdered him?” And then, as I made no answer, he resumed in a different tone: “And faix, ye war n't long larnin' their lessons. But hear me now: there never was a traitor to the cause had a happy life or an easy death; there never was one betrayed us but we were revenged on him or his. I don't think ye 're come to that yet; for if I did, by the mortial—”
As he pronounced the last word, in a tone of the fiercest menace, the sound of many voices talking without, and the noise of a key turning in the lock, broke in upon our colloquy; and Darby had scarcely time to resume his disguise when Bubbleton entered, followed by three of his brother officers, all speaking together, and in accents that evidently betokened their having drunk somewhat freely.
“I tell you, again and again, the diamond wins it But here we are,” cried Bubbleton; “and now for a pack of cards, and let 's decide the thing at once.”
“You said you 'd bet fifty, I think?” drawled out Crofts, who was unquestionably the most sober of the party. “But what have we here?” At this instant his eye fell upon Darby, who had quietly ensconced himself behind the door, and hoped to escape unseen. “Eh, what's this, I say?”
“What!” cried Bubbleton; “what do I see? A nymph with bright and flowing hair; a hag like Hecuba, by Jove! Tom Burke, my man, how comes the damsel here?”
“'Tis Kitty, ould Kitty Cole, your honor—The young gentleman was buying a ballad from me, the Heavens prosper him!” said Darby.
“Nothing treasonous, I hope; no disloyal effusion, Tom; no scandal about Queen Elizabeth, my boy,—eh?”
“Come, old lady,” said Cradock, “let's have the latest novelty of the Liberty.”
“Yes,” said Bubbleton; “strike the harp in praise of—Confound the word!”
“Hang the old crone!” broke in Hilliard. “Here are the cards. The game stands thus: a spade is led,—you 've got none; hearts are trumps.”
“No, you mistake; the diamond's the trump,” said Cradock.
“I cry halt,” said Crofts, holding up both his hands; “the first thing is, what's the bet?”
“Anything you like,” cried Bubbleton; “fifty,—a hundred,—five hundred.”
“Be it then five hundred. I take you,” said Crofts, coolly, taking a memorandum book from his pocket.
“No, no,” interposed Hilliard; “Bubbleton, you sha'n't do any such thing. Five,—ten,—twenty, if you wish; but I 'll not stand by at such a wager.”
“Well, then, if twenty be as much as you have got permission to bet,” replied Crofts, insolently, “there's my stake.” So saying, he threw a note on the table, and looked over at Bubbleton, as if awaiting his doing the same.
I saw my poor friend's embarrassment, and without stirring from my place, slipped a note into his hand in silence. A squeeze of his fingers replied to me, and the same instant he threw the crumpled piece of paper down, and cried out, “Now for it; decide the point.”
Crofts at once drew his chair to the table, and began with the utmost coolness to arrange the cards; while the others, deeply interested in the point at issue, looked on without speaking. I thought this a good opportunity for Darby to effect his escape, and raising my hand noiselessly, I pointed to the door. Darby, who had been only waiting for the fortunate moment, stole quietly towards it; but while his hand was on the lock, Crofts lifted his eyes towards me, and then throwing them half round, intimated at once that he observed the manoeuvre. The blood suffused my face and temples, and though I saw the door close behind the piper, I could not recover from my embarrassment, or the fear that pressed on me lest Crofts should have penetrated the secret of Darby's disguise, and augured from the fact something to my discredit.
“The game is now arranged,” said he. “The spade being led here, the second player follows suit; the third, having none, trumps the card, and is overtrumped by the last in play. The trick is lost, therefore, and with it the game.”
“No, no,” interrupted Bubbleton, “you mistake altogether. The diamond,—no, the heart; I mean the—the—What the deuce is it? I say, Cradock, I had it all correct a minute ago; how is it, old fellow?”
“Why, you 've lost, that's all,” said the other, as he looked intently on the table, and seemed to consider the point.
“Yes, Bubbleton, there's no doubt about it; you've lost. We forgot all about the last player,” said Hilliard.
A violent knocking at the outer door drowned the voices of all within, while a gruff voice shouted out, “Captain Bubbleton, the grand round is coming up Parliament Street.”
Bubbleton snatched up his sword, and dashing through the room, was followed by the others in a roar of laughter, Crofts alone remaining behind, proceeded leisurely to open the folded piece of bank paper that lay before him, while I stood opposite unable to take my eyes from him. Slowly unfolding the note, he flattened it with his hand, and then proceeded to read aloud,—
“Payez au porteur la somme de deux mille livres—,'
“I beg pardon,” interrupted I. “There's a mistake there; that belongs to me.”
“I thought as much,” replied Crofts, with a very peculiar smile; “I scarcely supposed my friend Bubbleton had gone so far.”
“There's the sum, sir,” said I, endeavoring to control my temper, and only eager to regain possession of what would at once have compromised me, if discovered. “This is what Captain Bubbleton lost; twenty pounds, if I mistake not?”
“I must entreat your pardon, sir,” said Crofts, folding up the French billet de hanque, “My wager was not with you, nor can I permit you to pay it. This is at present my property, and remains so until Captain Bubbleton demands it from me.”
I was struck dumb by the manner in which these words were spoken. It was clear to me, that not only he suspected the disguise of the ballad-singer, but that by the discovery of the French note he connected his presence with its being in my possession. Rousing myself for the effort, I said,—
“You force me, sir, to speak of what nothing short of the circumstance could have induced me to allude to. It was I gave Captain Bubbleton that note. I gave it in mistake for this one.”
“I guessed as much, sir,” was the cool answer of Crofts, as he placed the note in his pocket-book and clasped it. “But I cannot permit your candid explanation to alter the determination I have already come to,—even had I not the stronger motive which as an officer in his Majesty's pay I possess,—to inform the Government, on such infallible evidence, how deeply interested our French neighbors are in our welfare when they supply us with a commodity which report says is scarce enough among themselves.”
“Do not suppose, sir, that your threat—for as such I understand it—has any terror for me. There is, it's true, another whose safety might be compromised by any step you might take in this affair; but when I tell you that it is one who never did, never could have injured you, and, moreover, that nothing treasonous or disloyal lies beneath your discovery—”
“You are really taking a vast deal of trouble, Mr. Burke,” said he, stopping me with a cold smile, “which I am forced to say is unnecessary. Your explanation of how this billet de banque came into your possession may be required elsewhere, and will, I am certain, meet with every respect and attention. As for me, an humble captain, with only one principle to sustain me, one clue to guide me, in what I am disposed to consider a question of some importance, I shall certainly ask advice of others better able to direct me.”
“You refuse, then, sir, to restore me what I have assured you is mine?”
“And what I have no doubt whatever you are correct in calling so,” added he, contemptuously.
“And you persist in the refusal?” said I, in a voice which unhappily betrayed more temper than I had yet shown.
“Even so, sir,” said he, moving towards the door.
“In that case,” said I, springing before him, and setting my back against it, you don't leave this room until in the presence of a third party,—I care not who he be,—I have told you somewhat more of my opinion of you than it is necessary I should say now.
The insulting expression of Crofts' features changed suddenly as I spoke, the color left his cheek, and he became as pale as death; his eye wandered round the room with an uncertain look, and then was fixed steadfastly on the door, against which I stood firmly planted. At length his face recovered its wonted character, and he said, in a cool, distinct manner,—
“Your difficulties have made you bold, sir.”
“Not more bold than you 'll find me whenever you think fit to call on me. But perhaps I am wrong for suggesting a test, which report, at least, says Captain Crofts has little predilection for.”
“Insolent cub!” said he, half drawing his sword from the scabbard, and as hastily replacing it when he perceived that I never moved a muscle in my defence, but stood as if inviting his attack. “Let me pass, sir,” cried he, impetuously; “stand by this instant.”
I made no reply, but crossing my arms on my breast, stared at him firmly as before. He had now advanced within a foot of me, his face purple with passion, and his hands trembling with rage.
“Let me pass, I say!” shouted he, in an accent that boded his passion had completely got the ascendant. At the same instant he seized me by the collar, and fixing his grip firmly in my clothes, prepared to hurl me from the spot.
The moment had now come that for some minutes past I had been expecting, and with my open hand I struck him on the cheek, but so powerfully that he reeled back with the stroke. A yell of rage burst from him, and in an instant his sword leaped from the scabbard, and he darted fiercely at me. I sprang to one side, and the weapon pierced the door and broke off short; still, more than half the blade remained, and with this he flew towards me. One quick glance I gave to look for something which might serve to arm me; and the same moment the sharp steel pierced my side, and I fell backwards with the shock, carrying my antagonist along with me. The struggle was now a dreadful one; for while he endeavored to withdraw the weapon from the wound, my hands were on his throat, and in his strained eyeballs and livid color might be seen that a few seconds more must decide the contest. A sharp pang shot through me. Just then a hot gush of warm blood ran down my side, and I saw above me the shining steel, which he was gradually shortening in his hand before he ventured to strike. A wild cry broke from me; while at the instant, with a crash, the door of the room fell forward, torn from its hinges. A heavy foot approached, and the blow of a strong arm felled Crofts to the earth, where he lay stunned and senseless. In a second I was on my feet. My senses were reeling and uncertain; but I could see that it was Darby who came to my rescue, and who was now binding a sash round my wound to stanch the blood.
“Now for it,—life or death 's on it now,” said he, in a low but distinct whisper. “Wipe the blood from your face, and be calm as you can when you're passing the sentry.”
“Is he—” I dared not speak the word as I looked on the still motionless body that lay before me.
Darby raised one arm, and as he let it go, it fell heavily on the ground. He stooped down, and placing his lips near the mouth, endeavored to ascertain if he breathed; and then, jumping to his feet, he seized my arm, and, in a tone I shall never forget, he said, “It 's over now!”
I tottered back as he spoke. The horrible thought of murder,—the frightful sense of crime, the heaviest, the blackest that can stain the heart of man,—stunned me. My senses reeled; and as I looked on that corpse stretched at my feet, I would have suffered my every bone to be broken on the rack, to see one quiver of life animate its rigid members.
Meanwhile Darby was kneeling down, and seemed to search for something beside the body. “Ah! right! Come now,” said he; “we must be far from this before daybreak. And it 's lucky if we We the means to do it.”
I moved onward like one walking ib a dream when horrible images surround him and dreadful thoughts are ever crowding fast; but where, amid all, some glimmering sense of hope sustains him, and he half feels that the terrors will pass away, and his soul be calm and tranquil once more. What is it? what has happened? was the ever-rising question, as I heard Darby groping his way along the dark gallery and the darker stairs.
“Be steady, now,” said he, in a whisper; “we 're at the gate.”
“Who comes there?” cried the sentry.
“A friend!” said Darby, in a feigned voice, answering for me, while he dropped behind me.
The heavy bolts were withdrawn, and I felt the cold air of the streets on my cheek.
“Where to, now?” said I, with a dreamy oonsciousness that some place of safety must be sought, without well knowing why or wherefore.
“Lean on me, and don't speak,” said Darby. “If you can walk as far as the end of the quay, we 're all safe.”
I walked on without further questioning, and almost without thought; and though, from time to time, Darby spoke to several persons as we passed, I heard not what they said, nor took any notice of them.