Great was the Knight's astonishment, and not less his satisfaction, as he entered the breakfast-room the morning after his dinner with the Secretary, to find Bagenal Daly there before him. They met with all the cordial warmth of men whose friendship had continued without interruption for nigh half a century; each well disposed to prize good faith and integrity at a time when so many lapsed from the path of honor and principle.
“Well, Darcy,” cried Daly, the first greetings over, “there is little hope left us; that rascally newspaper already proclaims the triumph,—a majority of twenty-eight.”
“They calculate on many more; you remember what old Hayes, of the Recruiting Staff, used to say: 'There was no getting fellows to enlist when the bounty was high; make it half-a-crown,' said he, 'and I 'll raise a battalion in a fortnight.'”
“Is Castlereagh adopting the policy?”
“Yes, and with infinite success! Some that held out for English Peerages are fain to take Irish Baronetcies, expectant Bishops put up with Deaneries, and an acquaintance of ours, that would take nothing below a separate command, is now satisfied to make his son a clerk in the War Office.”
“I 'm sorry for it,” said Daly, as he arose and paced the room backwards and forwards, “sincerely sorry. I had fostered the hope that if they succeeded in corrupting our gentry, they had polluted their own Peerage. I wish every fellow had been bought by an Earldom at least. I would like to think that this Judas Peerage might become a jest and a scoff among their order.”
“Have no such expectation, Bagenal,” said the Knight, reflectively; “their origin will be forgiven before the first generation dies out. To all purposes of worldly respect and esteem, they 'll be as high and mighty Lords as the best blood of all the Howards. The penalty will fall upon England in another form.”
“How? Where?”
“In the Lower House, politics will become a trade to live by, and the Irish party, with such an admirable market for grievances, will be a strong and compact body in Parliament, too numerous to be bought by anything save great concessions. Englishmen will never understand the truth of the condition of the country from these men, nor how little personal importance they possess at home. They will be regarded as the exponents of Irish opinion; they will browbeat, denounce, threaten, fawn, and flatter by turns; and Ireland, instead of being easier to govern, will be rendered ten times more difficult, by all the obscuring influences of falsehood and misrepresentation. But let us quit the theme. How have you left all at the Abbey?”
“Well and happy; here are my despatches.” And he laid on the table several letters, the first the Knight had received since his arrival, save a few hurried lines from Lady Eleanor. Darcy broke the envelopes, and skimmed the contents of each.
“How good!” cried he, handing Lord Netherby's letter across the table; “this is really amusing!”
“I have seen it,” said Daly, dryly. “Lady Eleanor asked my opinion as to what answer she should make.”
“Insolent old miser!” broke in Darcy, who, without attending to Daly's remark, had been reading Lady Eleanor's account of Dr. Hickman's proposal. “I say, Bagenal, you 'll not believe this. What social earthquakes are we to look for next? Read that.” And with a trembling hand he presented the letter to Daly.
If the Knight's passion had been more openly displayed, Daly's indignation seemed to evoke deeper emotion, for his brows met, and his stern lips were clenched, as he perused the lines.
“Darcy,” said he, at length, “O'Reilly must apologize for this; he must be made to disavow any share in the old man's impertinence—”
“No, no,” interrupted Darcy, “never speak of it again; rest assured that Lady Eleanor received the offer suitably. The best thing we can do is to forget it. If,” added he, after a pause, “the daring that prompted such a proposition has not a deeper foundation than mere presumption. You know these Hickmans have purchased up my bonds and other securities?”
“I heard as much.”
“Well, Gleeson is making arrangements for the payment. One large sum, something like £20,000—”
“Was paid the day before yesterday,” said Daly; “here is a memorandum of the moneys.”
“How the deuce came you by the information? I have heard nothing of it yet.”
“That entails somewhat of a story,” said Daly; “but I 'll be brief with it.” And in a few words he narrated his meeting with the robber Freney, and how he had availed himself of his hospitality and safe convoy as far as Maynooth.
“Ireland forever!” said the Knight, in a burst of happy laughter; “for every species of incongruity, where was ever its equal? An independent member of the Legislature sups with a highwayman, and takes a loan of his hackney!”
“Ay, faith,” said Daly, joining in the laugh; “and had I not been one of the Opposition, I had been worth robbing, and consequently not so civilly treated. By Jove! Darcy, I felt an evening with Freney to be a devilish good preparation for the company I should be keeping up in town.”
“I'll wager ten pounds you talked politics together.”
“That we did, and he is as stout an Anti-Unionist as the best of us, though he told me he signed a petition in favor of the Bill when confined in Clonmel jail.”
“Is that true, Bagenal? did they hawk a petition for signature among the prisoners of a jail?”
“He took his oath of it to me, and I intend to declare it in the House.”
“What if asked for your authority?”
“I 'll give it,” said Daly, determinedly. “Ay, faith, and if I catch a sneer or a scoff amongst them, I 'll tell them that a highwayman is about as respectable and somewhat more courageous than a bribed representative.”
If the Knight enjoyed the absurdity of Daly's supper with the noted Freney, he laughed till the tears came at the account of his dining with Con Heffernan. Darcy could appreciate the dismay of Heffernan, and the cool, imperturbable tyranny of Daly's manner throughout, and would have given largely to have witnessed the tête-à-tête.
“I will do him the justice to say,” said Daly, “that when he found escape impossible, he behaved as well as any man, his conversation was easy and unaffected, and his manner perfectly well-bred. Freney was more anecdotic, but Heffernan saw deeper into mankind.”
“I hope you hinted the comparison?” said Darcy, slyly.
“Yes, I observed upon the superiority practical men possess in all the relations of social intercourse, and quoted Freney and himself as instances!”
“And he took it well?”
“Admirably. Once, and only once, did he show a little disposition to turn restive; it was when I remarked upon the discrepancy in point of destiny, the one being employed to empty, the other to fill, the pockets of his Majesty's lieges. He winced, but it was over in a second. His time was up at ten o'clock, but we sat chatting till near twelve, and we parted with what the French term a 'sense of the most distinguished consideration' on each side.”
“By Jove! I envy the fellows who sat at the other tables and saw you.”
“They were most discreet in their observations,” remarked Daly, significantly. “One young fellow, it is true, coughed twice or thrice as a signal to a friend across the room, but I ordered the waiter to bring me a plate, and, taking three or four bullets out of my pocket, sent them over to him, with my respectful compliments, as 'admirable pills for a cough.' The cure was miraculous.”
“Excellent! Men have taken out a patent for a poorer remedy. And now, Bagenal, for the reason of your journey. What, in the name of everything strange and eccentric, brought you up to town? Don't affect to tell me you came for the debate.”
“And why not?” said Daly, who, unwilling to reveal the true cause, preferred to do battle on this pretence. “I admit as freely as ever I did, I'm no lover of Parliament. I have slight respect or esteem for deliberative assemblies split up into factions and parties. A Government, to my thinking, should represent unity as the chief element of strength; but such as it is,—bad enough and base enough, in all conscience,—yet it is the last remnant of national power left, the frail barrier between us and downright provincialism. But I had another reason for coming up,—half-a-dozen other reasons, for that matter,—one of them was, to see your invaluable business man, Gleeson, who, from some caprice or other about a higher rate of interest, has withdrawn my sister's fortune from the funds to invest it in some confounded mortgage. I suppose it's all right, and judicious to boot; but Maria, like every other Daly I ever heard of, has a will of her own, and has commissioned me to have the money restored to its former destination. I verily believe, Darcy, the most troublesome animal on the face of the globe is an old maid with a small funded capital. At one moment deploring the low rate of interest and dying for a more profitable use of the money; at another, decrying all deposit save the Bank, she inveighs against public theft and private credit, and takes off three-and-a-half per cent of her happiness in pure fretting.”
“Is she quite well?” said the Knight, in an accent which a more shrewd observer than Daly might have perceived was marked by some agitation.
“I never knew her better; as fearless as we both remember her at sixteen; and, save those strange intervals of depression she has labored under all through her life, the same gay-hearted spirit she was when the flattered heiress and beauty long, long years ago.”
The Knight heaved a sigh. It might have been for the years thus passed, the pleasant days of early youth and manhood so suddenly called up before him; it might have been that other and more tender memories were crowding on his mind; but he turned away, and leaned on the chimney-piece, lost in deep thought.
“Poor girl,” said Daly, “there is no question of it, Darcy, but she must have formed some unfortunate attachment; she had pride enough always to rescue her from the dangers of an unsuitable marriage, but her heart, I feel convinced, was touched, and yet I never could find a clew to it. I suspected something of the kind when she refused Donington,—a handsome fellow, and an old title. I pressed her myself on the subject,—it was the only time I did so,—and I guessed at once, from a chance phrase she dropped, that there had been an old attachment somewhere. Well, well, what a lesson might be read from both our fortunes! The beauty—and you remember how handsome she was—the beauty with a splendid fortune, a reduced maiden lady; and myself”—he heaved a heavy sigh, and, with clasped hands, sat back in the chair, as he added—“the shattered wreck of every hope I once set out with.”
The two old men's eyes met, and, although undesignedly, exchanged looks of deepest, most affectionate interest. Daly was the first to rally from his brief access of despondency, and he did so with the physical effort he would have used to shake a load from his shoulders.
“Well, Darcy, let us be up and stirring; there's a meeting at Barrington's at two: we must not fail to be there.”
“I wish to see Gleeson in the mean while,” said the Knight; “I am uneasy to learn what has been done with Hickman, and what day I can leave town.”
“Send Sandy out with a note, and tell him to come to dinner here at six.”
“Agreed; nothing could be better; we can talk over our business matters comfortably, and be down at the House by nine or ten.”
The note was soon written, and Sandy despatched, with orders to wait for Gleeson's return, in case he should be absent when he arrived.
The day for the evening of which was fixed the second reading of the Bill of Union, was a busy one in Dublin. Accounts the most opposite and contradictory were everywhere in circulation: some asserting that the Ministerial majority was certain; others, equally positive, alleging that many of their supposed supporters had lapsed in their allegiance, and that the most enormous offers had been made, without success, to parties hitherto believed amongst the ranks of the Government. The streets were crowded, not by persons engaged in the usual affairs of trade and traffic, but by groups and knots talking eagerly over the coming event, and discussing every rumor that chance or scandal suggested.
Various meetings were held in different parts of the town: at some, the Government party were canvassing the modes of reaching the House in safety, and how best they might escape the violence of the mob; at others, the Opposition deliberated on the prospects before them, and by what stratagems the debate might be prolonged till the period when, the Wicklow election over, Mr. Grattan might be expected to take his seat in the House, since, by a trick of “the Castle party,” the writ had been delayed to that very morning.
Con Heffernan's carriage was seen everywhere, and some avowed that at five o'clock he was driving with the third pair of posters he had that day employed. Bagenal Daly was also a conspicuous character “on town;” on foot and alone, he was at once recognized by the mob, who cheered him as an old but long-lost-sight-of acquaintance. The densest crowd made way for him as he came, and every mark of respect was shown him by those who set a higher price on his eccentricity and daring than even upon his patriotism; and a murmuring commentary on his character followed him as he went.
“By my conscience! it 's well for them they have n't to fight for the Union, or they would n't like old Bagenal Daly agin them!”
“He looks as fresh and bould as ever he did,” said another; “sorra a day oulder than he was twenty-eight years ago, when I seen him tried for his life at Newgate.”
“Was you there, Mickey?” cried two or three in a breath.
“Faix was I, as near as I am to you. 'Twas a coal-heaver he kilt, a chap that was called Big Sam; and they say he was bribed by some of the gentlemen at Daly's Club House to come up to Bagenal Daly in the street and insult him about the beard he wears on his upper lip, and sure enough so he did,—it was Ash Wednesday mor by token,—and Sam had a smut on his face just to imitat(e) Mr. Daly's. 'We are a purty pair, ain't we?' says Sam, grinning at him, when they met on Essex Bridge. And wid that he slips his arm inside Mr. Daly's to hook wid his.”
“To walk beside him, is't?”
“Just so, divil a less. 'Come round to the other side of me,' says Daly, 'for I want to step into Kertland's shop.' And in they went together, and Daly asks for a pound of strong white soap, and pays down one-and-eight-pence for it, and out they comes again quite friendly as before. 'Where to now?' says Sam, for he held a grip of him like a bailiff. 'Across the bridge,' says Daly; and so it was. When they reached the middle arch of the bridge, Daly made a spring and got himself free, and then, stooping down, caught Sam by the knees, and before you could say 'Jack Robinson,' hurled him over the battlements into the Liffey. 'You can wash your face now,' says he, and he threw the soap after him; divil a word more he said, but walked on, as cool as you saw him there.”
“And Sam?” said several together.
“Sam was drowned; there came a fresh in the river, and they took him up beyond the North Wall—a corpse.”
“Millia murther! what did Daly do?”
“He took his trial for it, and sorra excuse he gave one way or other, but that he 'did n't know the blackguard couldn't swim.'”
“And they let him off?”
“Let him off? Arrah, is it hang a gentleman?”
“True for you,” chimed in the bystanders; “them that makes the laws knows better than that!”
Such was one of the narratives his reappearance in Dublin again brought up; and, singular enough, by the respect shown him by the mob, derived much of its source in that same feeling of awe and dread they manifested towards one they believed privileged to do whatever he pleased. Alas for human nature! the qualities which find favor with the multitude are never the finer and better traits of the heart, but rather the sterner features that emanate from a strong will and firm purpose.
If the voices of the closely compacted mass which filled the streets and avenues of Dublin on that day could have been taken, it would have been found that Bagenal Daly had an overwhelming majority; while, on a converse scrutiny, it would appear that not a gentleman in Ireland entertained for that mob sentiments of such thorough contempt as he did. Nor was the sentiment concealed by him. The crowd which, growing as it went, followed him from place to place throughout the city, would break forth at intervals into some spontaneous shout of admiration, and a cheer for Bagenal Daly, commanded by some deep throat, would be answered in a deafening roar of voices. Then would Daly turn, and, as the moving mass fell back, scowl upon their unwashed faces with such a look of scorn that even they half felt the insult. In such wise was his progress through the streets of Dublin, now moving slowly onward, now turning to confront the mob that in slavish adulation still tracked his steps.
It was at a moment like this, when, standing at bay, he scowled upon the dense throng, Heffernan's carriage drove slowly past, and Con, leaning from the window, called out in a dramatic tone, “Thy friends, Siccius Dentatus, thy friends!”
Daly started, and as his cheek reddened, answered, “Ay, and by my soul, for the turning of a straw, I 'd make them your enemies.” And as if responsive to the threat, a groan for “the Castle hack, three groans for Con Heffernan,” were shouted out in tones that shook the street. For a second or two Daly's face brightened, and his eyes sparkled with the fire of enterprise, and he gazed on the countless mass with a look of indecision; but, suddenly folding his arms, he dropped his head, and muttered, “No, no, it would n't do; robbery and pillage would be the whole of it;” and, without raising his eyes again, walked slowly homewards.
The hours wore on, and six o'clock came, but no sign of Gleeson, nor had Sandy returned with any answer.
“And yet I am positive he is not from home,” said Darcy. “He pledged himself not to leave this until the whole business was completed. Honest Tom Gleeson is a man to keep to the strictest letter of his word.”
“I 'd not think that less likely,” said Daly, sententiously, “if the world had spared him the epithet. I hate the cant of calling a man by some title that should be common to all men,—at least, to all gentlemen.”
“I cannot agree with you,” said Darcy. “I deem it a proud thing for any one so to have impressed his reputation for honorable dealing on society that the very mention of his name suggests his character.”
“Perhaps I am soured by what we have seen around us,” said Daly; “but the mention of every virtue latterly has been generally followed by the announcement of the purchase of its possessor. I never hear of a good character that I don't think it is a puffing advertisement of 'a high-priced article to be had cheap for cash.'”
“You'll think better of the world after a glass or two of Madeira,” said Darcy, laughing; “and rather than hear you inveigh against mankind, I'll let Gleeson eat his soup cold.” And, so saying, he rang the bell and ordered dinner.
The two friends dined pleasantly, and although, from time to time, some stray thought of Gleeson's absence would obtrude, they chatted away agreeably till past nine o'clock.
“I begin to suspect that Sandy may have met some acquaintance, and lingered to pledge 'old times' with him,” said Darcy, looking at his watch. “It is now nearly twenty minutes past nine.”
“I'll stake my life on it, Sandy is true to his mission. He'd not turn from the duty intrusted to him to hobnob with a Prince of the Blood. Here he comes, however; there was a knock at the door.”
But no; it was a few hurried lines in pencil from the House, begging of them to come up at once, as the Ministerial party was mustering in strength, and the Opposition benches filling but slowly. While deliberating on what course to take, a second summons came from one of the leading men of the party. It was brief, but significant: “Come up quickly. They are evidently pushed hard. Toler has sent a message to O'Donnell, and they are gone out, and Harvey says Castlereagh has six of his fellows ready to provoke us.—W. T.”
“That looks like business, Darcy,” cried Daly, in a transport of delight. “Let us lose no time; there's no knowing how soon so much good valor may ooze out.”
“But Gleeson—”
“If he comes, let him follow us to the House. We can walk; there's no use waiting for the carriage.” Then added, in a mutter to himself, “I 'd give a hundred down to have a shot at the Attorney-General. There, that 's Sandy's voice in the hall;” and at the same instant the trusty servant entered.
“Well, have you seen him?”
“Is he at home?”
“No, sirs, he's no at hame, that's clear. When I asked for him, they told me he was in bed, asleep, for that he was just arrived after a long journey; and so I waited a bit, and gaed out for a walk into the shrubberies, where I could have a look at his chamber windows, and sure enough they were a' closed. I waited a while longer, but he was still sleeping, and they dared na wake him; and so it came to nigh five o'clock, and then I was fain to send up the bit letter by the flunkie, and ask for the answer; but none came.”
“Did you say that the letter was from me?” said the Knight, hastily.
“Na, sir; but I tauld them what most people mind as well, that Mister Bagenal Daly sent me. It's a name few folk are fond to trifle wi'.”
“Go on, Sandy,” said Daly, “What then?”
“Weel, sir, I sat down on the stair at the foot of the big clock, and said to mysel, 'I 'll gie ye ten minutes mair, but not a second after.' And sure enough ye might hear every tick of her through the house, a' was so still and silent. Short as the time was, I thought it wad never gae past, for I did no tak my eyes aff o' her face. When the ten minutes was up, I stole gently up the stair, and opened the door. A was dark inside, so I opened the window, and there was the bed—empty; nobody had lain in it syne it was made. There was a bit ashes in the grate, and some burned paper on the hearth, but na other sign that onybody was there at a', sae I crept back again, and met the flunkie as he was coming up, for he had just missed me, and was in a real fright where I was gone to. I saw by his face that he was found out, and so I laid my hand on his shoulder, and said, 'Ye ha tauld me ane lee; ye maun tak care no to tell me anither. Where is yer maister?' Then came out the truth. Mr. Gleeson was gane awa to England. He sailed for Liverpool in the 'Shamrock.'”
“Impossible!” said Darcy. “He could not be away from Dublin at this moment.”
“It's even sae,” replied Sandy, gravely; “for when I heard a' that I could from the flunkie, I put him into the library, and locked the door on him, and then went round to the stable-yard, where the coachman was sitting in the harness-room, smoking. 'And so he's off to England,' said I to him, as if I kenned it a'.
“'Just sae,' said he, wi' the pipe in his mouth. “'And he's nae to be back for some time,' said I, speerin' at him.
“'On Friday,' said he; and he smoked away, and never a word mair could I get out o' him.”
“Why, Sandy,” said the Knight, laughing, “they'd make you a prefect of police if they had you in France.”
“I dinna ken, sir,” said Sandy, not exactly appreciating what the nature of the appointment might portend.
“I only hope Gleeson may not hear of the perquisition on his return,” said the Knight, in a whisper to Daly. “Our friend Sandy pushes his spirit of inquiry somewhat far.”
“I don't know that,” said Daly, thoughtfully; “he's a shrewd fellow, and rarely makes a mistake of that kind. But come, let us lose no more time.”
“I half suspect the reason of this mystery about Gleeson,” said the Knight, who stood musing deeply on the event; “a few words Drogheda let fall yesterday, going in to dinner,—some unfortunate speculation in South America: this may require his keeping out of the way for a little time. But why not say so, manfully?—I'm sure I'm ready to assist him.”
“Come along, Darcy, we must walk; they say no carriage can get through the mob.” And, with these words, he took the Knight's arm and sallied forth, while Sandy followed, conveying a large cloth cloak over his arm, which only partially concealed an ominous-looking box of mahogany wood, strapped with brass.
A crowd awaited them as they reached the street, by which they were escorted through the denser mass that thronged the great thoroughfare, the mere mention of their names being sufficient to force a passage even where the mob stood thickest.
The space in front of the Parliament House and before the College was filled with soldiers; while patrols of cavalry traversed every avenue leading to it, for information had reached the Government that violence might be apprehended from a mob whose force and numbers were alluded to by members within the House in terms meant to intimidate, while the presence of the soldiery was retorted by the Opposition as a measure of tyranny and oppression of the Castle party. Brushing somewhat roughly through the armed line, Daly, with the Knight beside him, entered the space, and was passing onward, when a bustle and a confused uproar behind him arrested his steps. Believing that it might be to Sandy's progress some objection was offered, Daly wheeled round, when he saw two policemen in the act of dragging away a boy, whose loud cries for help from the mob were incessant, while he mingled the name of Mr. Daly through his entreaties.
“What is it?” said Daly. “Does the fellow want me?”
“Never mind him,” said Darcy; “the boy has caught up your name, and that's all.”
But the urchin struggled and kicked with all his might; and, although overpowered by superior strength, gave battle to the last, screaming at the top of his voice, “One word with Mr. Daly,—just one word!”
Bagenal Daly turned back, and, approaching the scene of contest, said, “Have you anything to say to me? I am Mr. Daly.”
“If they 'd let me go my hands, I 've something to give you,” said the boy, who, although sorely bruised and beaten, seemed to care less for his own troubles than for the object of his enterprise.
At a word from Daly, the policemen relinquished their hold, and stood guard on either side, while the boy, giving himself a shake, leered up in Daly's face with an expression he could not fail to recognize.
“There's a way to treat a young gentleman at home for the Christmas holidays!” said the imp, with a compassionate glance at his torn and tattered garments, while the words and the tone they were uttered in sent a shout of laughter through the mob.
“What, Jemmy!” said Daly, stooping down and accosting him in a whisper, for it was no other than that reputable youth himself, “you here?”
“Just so, sir. Ain't I in a nice way to appear at the Privy Council?”
The police were growing impatient at the continued insolence of the fellow, and were about to lay hold on him once more, when Daly interposed, and said, in a still lower voice, “Have you anything to tell me?”
“I 've a bit of paper for you somewhere, from one you know, if them blackguards the 'polis' has not made me lose it.”
“Be quick, then,” said Daly, “and see after it.” For Darcy was chafed at a delay he could not see any reason for.
“Here it is,” said the imp, taking a piece of dirty and crumpled paper from the lining of his hat; “there, you have it now safe and sure. Give my best respects to Alderman Darby,” added he to the police; “say I was too hurried to call;” and with that he dived between the legs of one of them, dashed through the line of soldiers, and was speedily concealed among the dense crowd outside, where shouts of approving laughter welcomed him.
“A rendezvous or a challenge, Bagenal,—which?” said the Knight, laughing, as Daly stood endeavoring, by the light of a lamp in the corridor, to decipher the torn scrawl.
The other made no reply, but, holding the paper close to his eyes, stood silent and motionless. At last an expression of impatient anger burst from him: “That imp of h—ll has almost effaced the words,—I cannot make them out!” Then he added, in a low muttering, “I trust in Heaven I have not read them aright. Come here, Darcy.” And, so saying, he grasped the Knight's hand, and led him along to one of the many small chambers used as offices of the House.
“Ah! they're looking anxiously out for you, sir,” said a young man who stood with his back to the fire, reading a paper. “Mr. Ponsonby has just been here.”
“Leave us together here for a few minutes,” said Daly, “and let there be no interruption.” And as he spoke, he motioned to the door with a gesture there was no mistaking. The clerk left the room, and they were alone.
“Maurice Darcy,” said Daly, as he turned the key in the lock, “you have a stout heart and a courage I never saw fail, and you need both at this moment.”
“What is it, Bagenal?” gasped the Knight, as a most deadly pallor covered his face. “Is my wife—are my children—”
“No, no; be calm, Darcy, they are all well.”
“Go on, then,” cried he, with a firmer voice; “I'll listen to you patiently.”
“Read that,” said Daly, as he held the paper near the candle; and the Knight read aloud: “'Honored Sir,—I saw the other night you were troubled when I spoke of Gleeson, and I take the occasion of—'” “'warning you,' I think the words are,” broke in Daly.
“So it is:—'warning you honest Tom is away to America!'” The paper fell from Darcy's hand, and he staggered back into a seat.
“With they say above a hundred thousand pounds, Darcy,” continued Daly, taking up the fragment. “If the news be true—”
“If so, I'm ruined; he received the whole loan on Saturday last,—he could not delay Hickman's payment beyond Wednesday without suspicion.”
“Ah! I see it all, and the American packet does not sail till to-morrow morning from Liverpool.”
“But it may all be false,” said Darcy. “Who writes you this story?”
“It is signed 'F.,' and Freney is the man; I know the fellow that brought it.”
“I 'll not believe a word of it, Bagenal,” said the Knight, impetuously. “I 'll not credit the calumny of a highwayman against the honor of one I have known and respected for years. It is false, depend upon it.”
“Yet how it tallies with Sandy's tidings; there is something in it. Hush! Darcy, don't speak; there is some one passing.”
The sounds of feet and voices were heard at the same instant without, and among them the clear, distinctive accents of Hickman O'Reilly.
“Yes,” said he, “if the news had come a little earlier, Lord Castlereagh, would have found some of our patriots less stern in virtue. Gleeson will have carried away half a province with him.”
“There,” whispered Daly, “you heard that,—the news is about already.”
But Darcy was now totally overcome, and, with his head resting on the table, neither spoke nor stirred. “Bagenal,” said he, at length, but in a voice faint as a whisper, “I am too ill to face the House; let us turn homewards.”
“I 'll see for a carriage,” said Daly, who issued forth to take the first he could find.
“I say, Hamilton,” cried a member, as he alighted from his chariot, “there's the Knight of Gwynne and Bagenal Daly in Castlereagh's carriage.”
“Daly said he could drive a coach-and-six through the Bill!” replied the other; “perhaps he's gone to practise with a pair first.”
Although the debate had commenced at seven o'clock, none of the great speakers on either side arose before eleven. Some fierce skirmishes had, indeed, occurred; personalities and sarcasms the most cutting had been interchanged with a freedom that showed that if shame were in a great measure departed, personal daring and intrepidity were qualities still in repute. The Ministerial party, no longer timid or wavering, took no pains to conceal their sense of coming victory, and even Lord Castlereagh, usually so guarded on every outward observance, entered the House and took his seat with a smile of conscious triumph that did not escape observation from either friends or opponents.
The tactics of the Treasury benches, too, seemed changed: not waiting, as hitherto, to receive and repel the attack of the Opposition, they now became themselves the assailants, and evinced, by the readiness and frequency of their assaults, the perfect organization they had attained. The Opposition members, who opened the debate, were suffered to proceed without any attempt at reply, an ironical cheer, a well-put question, some home-thrust as to former opinions, alone breaking the thread of an argument which, even from its monotony, was becoming less effective.
Sir Henry Parnell, the late Chancellor of the Exchequer, and who had been dismissed from office for his opinions on the Union, was the first speaker; with a moderation, in part the result of his former position with regard to those who had been his colleagues, he limited himself to a strict examination of the measure in its bearings and consequences, and never, even for a moment, digressed into anything like reflection on the motives of its advocates. His speech was able and argumentative, but evidently unsatisfactory to his party, who seemed impatient and uneasy till he concluded, and hailed Ponsonby, who rose after him, with cheers that showed their expectations were now, at least, more likely to be realized.
Whether the occasion alone was the cause, or that catching the excitement of his supporters, Ponsonby deviated from the usually calm and temperate character he was accustomed to assume in the House, and became warm and impassioned. Disdaining to examine the relative merits or demerits of the proposed Bill, he boldly pronounced Parliament incompetent to decide it, and concluded by declaring that, if carried, the measure might endanger not only the ties of amity between the two nations, but dissolve those of allegiance also. A loud burst of mingled indignation and irony broke from the Treasury benches at this daring flight, when the speaker, at once collecting himself, turned the whole force of his attack on the Secretary. With slow and measured intonation, he depicted the various stages of his political career, recalling to memory the liberal pledges he had once contracted, and the various shades of defection by which he had at last reached the position in which he could “betray Ireland.”
None were prepared for the degree of eloquent power Ponsonby displayed on this occasion; and the effect of such a speech from one habitually calm, even to coldness, was overwhelming. It was not Lord Castlereagh's intention to have spoken at this early hour of the debate; but, apologizing for occupying the time of the House by a personality, he arose, not self-possessed and at ease, but flushed and excited.
Without adverting for a second to the measure in debate, he launched forth into a most violent invective on his adversary. With a vehement passion that only his nearest friends knew him to possess, he exposed every act of his political life; taunted him with holding opinions liberal enough to be a patriot, but sufficiently plastic to be marketable; he accused his very calmness as being a hypocritical affectation of fairness, while in reality it was but the tacit admission of his readiness to be bought; and at length pushed his violent sarcasm so far that a loud cry of “Order!” burst forth from the Opposition, while cheers of defiance were heard along the densely crowded ranks of the Ministerial party.
From this moment the discussion assumed a most bitter character; assertions and denials, uttered in language the most insulting, were heard at every moment, and no speaker could proceed without some interruption which demanded several minutes to subdue. More than one member was seen to cross the floor and interchange a few words with an adversary, the import of which, as he returned to his place, no physiognomist need have doubted. It was not debate or discussion, it was the vehement outpouring of personal and political hatred, by men whose passions were no longer restrainable, and many of whom saw in this the last occasion of their ever being able to confront their enemies. Language that could not be uttered with impunity elsewhere, was heard at every moment; open declarations were made that, the Bill once carried, allegiance and loyalty were dissolved; and Sir Neil O'Donnell went so far as to say that he regarded the measure as an act of treason, and would place himself at the head of his regiment to oppose and annul it.
It was in a momentary pause of this bitter conflict that rumor announced the arrival of the Knight of Gwynne and Bagenal Daly at the House. Never were reinforcements more gladly hailed by a weakened and disabled army; cheers of triumphant delight broke from the Opposition benches, answered by others, not less loud and taunting, from the Ministerial side, and every eye was turned eagerly towards the door by which they were expected to enter.
To such a pitch of violence had partisanship carried the members on both sides, expressions of open defiance and insult were exchanged in the midst of this scene of tumult, nor was the authority of the Speaker able to restore order for several minutes; when at last the doors were thrown open, and Hickman O'Reilly entered, and walked up the body of the House. Shouts of loud laughter now resounded from either side; such an apparition at the moment was the most ludicrous contrast to that expected, and a boisterous gayety succeeded to the late scene of acrimony and intemperance.
The individual himself seemed somewhat puzzled at these unlooked-for marks of public notice, and stared around him in astonishment, till his eyes rested on the spot where Lord Castlereagh sat whispering with Mr. Corry. Brief as was the glance, it seemed to have conveyed some momentous intelligence to the gazer, for he became at first scarlet, and then pale as death; he looked again, but the Secretary had turned his head away, and Corry was coolly unfolding the plaits of a white cambric handkerchief, and apparently only occupied with that object. At this moment Hickman was standing with one foot upon the steps which led towards the Treasury benches: he wheeled abruptly round, and walked over to the other side of the House, where he sat down between Egan and Ponsonby.
The cheers of the Opposition now burst forth anew, and with a deafening clamor, while from back and cross benches, and everywhere within reach, hands were eagerly stretched forth to grasp O'Reilly's. Never was support less expected, never an alliance less speculated on, and the cries of exultation were almost maddening. How long the scene of tumultuous excitement might have lasted, it is difficult to say, when Lord Castlereagh rose, with a calm dignity of manner that never in the most trying moments forsook him. “He begged to remind the gentlemen opposite that if these triumphant expressions were not indecorous, they were at least premature; that the momentous occasion on which they were met demanded all the temperate and calm consideration which they could bestow upon it; that the time for the adoption of any course would not be distant, and would sufficiently show to which side, with most propriety, the expression of triumph belonged.”
The hint was significant; the foreshadowed victory was too plainly and too palpably predicted to admit of a doubt, and a chilling silence succeeded to the former uproar. The individual whose address this long scene of tumult had interrupted was now suffered to proceed. He was a law-serjeant, a man of inferior capacity and small professional repute, whose advocacy of the Government plan had raised him to an unbecoming and dangerous eminence at the Bar. Without the slightest pretensions as a speaker, or one quality that should adorn a statesman, he possessed other gifts scarcely less valuable at that day: he was a ready pistol; he came of a fighting family, not one of whom did not owe some advancement in life to a cool hand and a steady eye; and he occupied his place in the Ministerial van by virtue of this signal accomplishment. As incapable of feeling the keen sarcasm of his opponents as he was of using a similar weapon, he was yet irascible from temperament, and overbearing in manner, and was used by his party as men employ a fire-ship,—with a strong conviction that it may damage more than the enemy.
To cover the deficiencies of his oratory, as well as to add poignancy to his personalities, it was the invariable custom of his friends to cheer him vociferously at the end of every sentence which contained anything like attack on the Opposition; and to this species of backing he was indebted for the courage that made him assail men incomparably above him in every quality of intellect.
Mr. Plunkett was now the object of his invective, nor was the boldness of such a daring its least recommendation. Few of the Government side of the House would have adventured to cross weapons with this master of sarcasm and irony; none but the Serjeant Nickolls could have done so without a strong fear of consequences. He, however, was unconcerned for the result as it affected himself personally; and as for the withering storm that awaited him, the triple hide of his native dulness was an armor of proof that nothing could penetrate. From Plunkett he passed on to Bushe, from Bushe to Grattan; no game flew too high for his shafts, nor was any invective coarse enough to level at the great leaders of the Opposition. If the overbearing insolence of his harangue delighted his own party, it called down peals of laughter from his opponents, who cheered every figurative absurdity and every illogical conclusion with shouts of ironical admiration.
Lord Castlereagh saw the mischief, and would gladly have cut short the oration; but the speaker was revelling in an imaginary victory, and would listen to no suggestions whatever. Passing from the great names of the Irish party, he launched forth in terms of insult towards the county members, whom he openly accused of holding their opinions under a mistaken hope that they were a marketable commodity, and that as some stanch adherents of the Crown had reaped the honors due to “their loyalty,” these quasi-patriots were only waiting for their price. The allusion was so palpable that every eye was turned to where Hickman O'Reilly sat, and whose confusion was now overwhelming.
“Ay,” continued the speaker, now carried beyond all self-restraint by the evident sensation he had caused, “there are gentlemen opposite whose confessions would reveal much of this kind of independence. I have my eye on some of them,—men who will be Patriots if they cannot be Peers, ready to put on the cap of liberty for the Mob if they cannot get the coronet from the Crown. Many, too, are absent from this debate: they stand out, perhaps, for high terms; they have got Peerages for their wives, and now, like a hackney-coachman, not content with their fare, they want 'something for themselves.' I heard of two such a while ago; they even came as far as the lobby of this House, where they halted and hesitated: a mitre or a regiment, a blue ribbon or a red one, would have turned the scale, perhaps. Why are they not here now? I ask, what has become of them?”
“Name! name!” screamed the Opposition, in a torrent of mad excitement, while the Government party, outrageous at the blundering folly of the whole harangue, endeavored to pull the speaker back into his seat. Never was such a scene: one party lashed to madness by suspected treachery and open insult; the other indignant at the stupidity of a man who, in his attempts at attack, had raked up every calumny against his own friends. Already, more than one hand was laid on his arms to press him down into his seat, when he, with the obstinacy of thorough dullness, shook himself free, and called out, “I 'm ready to name.”
Again the cries of “Name!” were shouted, mingled with no less vociferous cries of “No, no!” and the struggle now had every appearance of a personal one, when the Speaker, calling to order, asked if it was the sense of the House that the Serjeant should gives the names he alluded to.
“I 'll soon cut the matter short,” called out the Serjeant, in a voice that resounded through every corridor of the House. “I mean the Knight of Gwynne and Bagenal Daly.”
A cry of “Order! order!” now arose from all parts of the House, the direct mention of any member by name being a liberty unprecedented.
“I beg to correct myself,” said the Serjeant. “I should have said the honorable members for Mayo and Old Castle. I ask again, why are they not here?”
“Better you had never put the question,” said a deep, low voice from beneath the gallery; and at the same instant Bagenal Daly advanced along one of the passages, and took his place at the table directly in front of the Serjeant. A tremendous cheer now broke from the Opposition benches, which the Ministerial party in vain essayed to return.
“I perceive, sir,” said the Serjeant, with an effort to resume his former ease,—“I perceive I have succeeded in conjuring up one at least of these truant spirits, and I cannot do better than leave him to make his explanations to the House.”
With this lame, disjointed conclusion the learned Serjeant sat down; and although the greatest exertions were made by his friends to cover this palpable failure, the cries of derision drowned all other sounds, and before they were silenced, a shout of “Daly! Daly!—Bagenal Daly!” resounded through the building.
Daly arose slowly, and saluted the Speaker with a most deferential courtesy. It was several minutes before the tumult had sufficiently subsided to make his words audible; but when silence prevailed, he was heard to regret, in terms of unaffected ease, that any circumstance might occur which should occupy the time of the House by observations from one so rude and unlettered as himself, nor would he now venture on the trespass, were the occasion merely a personal one. From this he proceeded to state that great emergencies were always occurring, in which even the humblest opinions should be made known as evidencing the probable impressions upon others as lowly circumstanced as he who now addressed them.
“Such is the present one,” said he, raising his voice, and looking around him with a glance of bold defiance. “You are about to take away the right of self-government from a nation, and every man in the land, not only such as sit here, sir, but every man to whose future ambition a seat in this House may form a goal, every man has a deep interest in your proceedings. It is a grave and weighty question, whose conditions impose the conviction that we are unfit to legislate for ourselves,—that we are too weak, or too venal, or too ignorant, or too dishonest. To that conclusion you must come, or no other. Absence from Ireland must suggest enlightenment on her interests; distance must lend knowledge as well as enchantment, or an English Parliament cannot be better than our own. I have listened attentively, but unconvinced, to all arguments on this head; I have heard over and over again the long catalogue of benefits to accrue to this country when the power of realizing them herself has been wrested from her, and I have thought of Lear and his daughters! It would seem to me, however, that the social welfare and the commercial prosperity of a people are themes too vulgar for the high consideration of our times. The real question at issue is not whether a Parliament should or should not continue to sit here, but what shall I, and others like me, benefit by voting it away forever?”
“Order! order!” called out several voices.
But Daly resumed: “I ask pardon. It is more parliamentary to put the case differently, and I shall, under correction, do so. Well, sir, we may benefit largely. I trust I am not disorderly in saying that peerages, bishoprics, regiments, frigates, commissionerships, and Heaven knows what more, will reward us when our utility to the State has met the approval of an Imperial Parliament. I can well credit every promise of such gratitude, and have only to ask in turn, Are these the arguments that should sway us now? Is it because we are bungling legislators that they wish for us in London?—is it because we are venal they seek our company, because we are inefficient they ask for our cooperation? Are they so supremely right-minded, honorable, and far-seeing that they need the alloy of our dulness to make them mortal? And suppose such the case, will it be gratifying to us to become the helots to this people? Will our national pride be flattered because our eloquence is sneered at, our law derided, our political knowledge a scoff, and our very accent a joke? Do not tell me such things are unlikely; we are far weaker on the point than we like to confess. For myself, I can imagine the sense of shame—of deep, heartfelt, abasing shame—I should feel at seeing some of those I see here rise in a British House of Commons to address that body, while the rumor should run, 'He is the member for Meath or for Wicklow.' I can picture to myself such a man: a man of low origin and mean capacity; a man who carves his path in life less from his own keen abilities than that others shrink from his contact, and leave him unopposed in every struggle; a pettifogger at the Bar; a place-hunter at the Parliament; half beggar, half bravo, with a petition for the Minister, and a pistol for the Opposition. Imagine a man like this, and reflect upon the feeling of every gentleman at hearing the rumor announce, 'Ay, that's a learned Serjeant, a leader at the Bar of Ireland.'”
The last words were delivered in a tone of direct personality, as, turning towards where Nickolls sat, Daly threw at him a look of defiance. The whole House arose as if one man, with cheers and counter-cheers, and loud yells of insult, mingled with cries of “Order!” Nor was it till after a long and desperate wordy altercation that the clamor was subdued, and decorum at length restored. Then it was remarked that Nickolls had left the House.
The Speaker immediately ordered the Serjeant of the House to place Daly under arrest,—a measure which, however dictated by propriety, seemed to call forth a burst of indignation from the Opposition benches.
“I hope, sir,” said Daly, rising with an air of most admirably feigned humility,—“I hope, sir, you will not execute this threat,—the inconvenience to me will be very great: I was about to pair off with the honorable and learned member for Newry.”
The mention of the town for which the Serjeant sat in Parliament renewed the laughter which now prevailed on both sides of the House.
“I cannot understand the mirth of the gentlemen opposite,” said Daly, with affected simplicity, “without it be from their astonishment that the Government can spare so able and so eloquent an advocate as the honorable and learned gentleman; but let them reassure themselves and look around, and, believe me, they'll find the Treasury benches filled by gentlemen as like him as possible.”
The Speaker reissued the order to the Serjeant-at-Arms, and Daly now came forward to the table and begged in all form to know the reason of such severity. “If, sir,” said he, in conclusion,—“if I could believe it possible that you anticipate any personal collision between myself and any member of this House, I have only to say that I am bound over in the sum of two thousand pounds to keep the peace within the limits of this kingdom. I take out a license at two pounds fifteen to kill game, it is true; but I 'd not pay sixpence for the privilege to shoot a lawyer.”
The fact of the heavy recognizances to which Daly alluded was at once confirmed by several members, and after a brief conversation with the Speaker the matter was dropped.
It was, as may be supposed, a considerable time before the debate could assume its due decorum and solemnity after an incident like this; for although hostile collisions were neither few nor unfrequent, an insult of so violent a character had never before been witnessed.
At length, however, order was restored, and another speaker addressed the House. All had assumed its wonted propriety, when a messenger delivered into Daly's hands a small sealed note; he glanced at the contents and rose immediately. Lord Castlereagh's quick eye caught the motion, and he at once called on the Speaker to interfere. “I have myself seen a letter conveyed to the honorable member's hands,” said he; “it requires no peculiar gift of divination to guess the object.”
“I will satisfy the noble lord at once,” said Daly; “there is the letter I have received: I pledge my word of honor the subject is purely a private one, having no reference whatever to anything that has passed here.” He held out the letter as he spoke, but Lord Castlereagh declined to peruse it, and expressed his regret at having made the remark. Daly bowed courteously to him, and left the House.
“Well, Sandy,” said he, as soon as he reached the corridor, where his faithful follower stood waiting his coming, “what success?”
“No sae bad,” said Sandy. “I 've got a wherry, ane of them Wicklow craft; she's only half-decked, but she's a stout-looking sea-boat, and broad in the beam.”
“And the wind, how's that?”
“As it should be,—west, or west wi' a point north.”
“Is there enough of it?”
“Enough! I trow there is,” said Sanders, with a grin; “if there be no a blast too much. Hear till it now.” And, as if waiting for the remark, a tremendous gust of wind shook the strong building, while the clanking sound of falling slates and chimney-pots resounded through the street.
“There's music for ye,” said Sandy; “there came a clap like that when I had a'maist made the bargain, and the carles would no budge without ten guineas mair. I promised them fifty, and the handsel whatever your honor liked after.”
“It's all right,—quite right,” said Daly, wishing to stop details he never listened to with patience.
“It's a' right, I know weel enough,” said Sandy, querulously; “but it wad no be a' right av ye went yersel'; they 'd have a gude penny, forbye what I say.”
“And what say the fellows of this wind,—is it like to last?”
“It will blow hard from the west for three or four days mair, and then draw round to the north.”
“But we shall get to Liverpool before noon to-morrow.”
“Maybe,” said Sandy, with a low, dry laugh.
“Well, I mean if we do get there. You told them I 'd double the pay if we catch the American ship in the Mersey. I'd triple it; let them know that.”
“They canna do mair than they can do: ten pounds is as good as ten hundred.”
While this conversation was going forward, they had walked on together, and were now at the entrance door of the House, where a group of four persons stood under the shadow of the portico.
“Mr. Daly, I presume,” said one, advancing, and touching his hat in salutation. “We have waited somewhat impatiently for your coming.”
“I should regret it, sir, if I was aware you did me the honor to expect me.”
“I am the friend of Serjeant Nickolls, sir,” said the other, in a voice meant to be eloquently meaning.
“For your sake, the fact is to be deplored,” answered Daly, calmly. “But proceed.”
With a great effort to subdue his passion, the other resumed: “It does not require your experience in such matters to know that the insult you have passed upon a high-minded and honorable gentleman—the gross and outrageous insult—should be atoned for by a meeting. We are here for this purpose, ready to accompany you, as soon as you have provided yourself with a friend, to wherever you appoint.”
“Are you aware,” said Daly, in a whisper, “that I am bound over in heavy recognizances—”
“Ah, indeed!” interrupted the other; “that, perhaps, may explain—”
“Explain what, sir?” said Daly, as he grasped the formidable weapon which, more club than walking-stick, he invariably carried.
“I meant nothing; I would only observe—”
“Never observe, sir, when there's nothing to be remarked. I was informing you that I am bound over to keep the peace in this same kingdom of Ireland; circumstances compel me to be in England to-morrow morning,—circumstances of such moment that I have myself hired a vessel to convey me thither,—and although the object of my journey is far from agreeable, I shall deem it one of the happiest coincidences of my life if it can accommodate your friend's wishes. Nothing prevents my giving him the satisfaction he desires on English ground. I have sincere pleasure in offering him, and every gentleman of his party, a passage over—the tide serves in half an hour. Eh, Sandy?”
“At a quarter to twelve, sir.”
“The wind is fair.”
“It is a hurricane,” replied the other, almost shuddering.
“It blows fresh,” was Daly's cool remark.
For a moment or two the stranger returned to his party, with whom he talked eagerly, and the voices of the others were also heard, speaking in evident excitement.
“You have the pistols safe, Sandy?” whispered Daly.
“They 're a' safe, and in the wherry; but you 'll no want them this time, I trow,” said Sandy, with a shrug of his shoulders; “yon folk would rather bide where they are the night, than tak' a bit o' pleasure in the Channel.”
Daly smiled, and turned away to hide it, when the stranger again came forward. “I have consulted with my friends, Mr. Daly, who are also the friends of Serjeant Nickolls; they are of opinion that, under the circumstances of your being bound over, this affair cannot with propriety go further, although it might not, perhaps, be unreasonable to expect that you, feeling the peculiar situation in which you stand, might express some portion of regret at the utterance of this most severe attack.”
“You are really misinformed on the whole of the business,” said Daly. “In the few words I offered to the House, I was but responding to the question of your friend, who asked, I think somewhat needlessly, 'Where was Bagenal Daly?' I have no regrets to express for any terms I applied to him, though I may feel sorry that the forms of the House prevented my saying more. I am ready to meet him now; or, as he seems to dislike a breeze, when the weather is calmer. Tell him so; but tell him besides, that if he utters one syllable in my absence that the most malevolent gossip of a club-room can construe into an imputation on me, by G—d I'll break every bone in his cowardly carcass! Come, Sandy, lead on. Good evening, sir. I wish you a bolder friend, or better weather.” So saying, he moved forward, and was soon hastening towards the North Wall, where the wherry was moored.
“It's unco like the night we were wrecked in the Gulf,” said Sandy. “I mind the moon had that same blue color, and the clouds were a' below, and none above her.”
“So it is, Sandy,—there 's a heavy sea outside, I 'm sure. How many men have we?”
“Four, and a bit o' a lad that's as gude as anither. Lord save us! there was a flash! I wish it wud come to rain, and beat down the sea; we 'd have aye wind enough after.”
“Where does she lie?”
“Yonder, sir, where you see the light bobbing. By my certie, but the chiels were no far wrang. A bit fighting 's hard bought by a trip to sea on such a night as this.”