Valentine M'Clutchy, The Irish Agent by William Carleton

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"No," said he, "he will never open his eyes again; he will never look
upon any one more: and what will she do when she hasn't his white head
before her?"

Whilst poor Raymond thus indulged himself in the caprices of a
benevolent imagination, his mother was hastening to the house of Mr.
Hickman, the former agent of the Castle Cumber property, with the
intention of rendering an act of justice to an individual and a family
whom she had assisted deeply and cruelly to injure. Whilst she is on the
way, however, we will take the liberty of introducing our readers to Mr.
Hickman's dining-room, where a small party are assembled; consisting of
the host himself, Mr. Easel, the artist, Mr. Harman, and the Rev. Mr.
Clement; and as their conversation bears upon the topic of which we
write, we trust it may not be considered intruding upon private society
to detail a part of it.

"Property in this country," said Hickman, "is surrounded by many
difficulties--difficulties which unfortunately fall chiefly upon those
who cultivate it. In the first place, there is the neglect of the
landlord; in the next, the positive oppression of either himself or
his agent; in the third, influence of strong party feeling--leaning too
heavily on one class, and sparing or indulging the other; and perhaps,
what is worse than all, and may be considered the _fons et origo
malorum_, the absence of any principle possessing shape or form, or that
can be recognized as a salutary duty on the part of the landlord.
This is the great want and the great evil. There should be a distinct
principle to guide, to stimulate, and when necessary to restrain
him; such a principle as would prevent him from managing his property
according to the influence of his passions, his prejudices, or his
necessities."

"That is very true," said Mr. Clement, "and there is another duty which
a landlord owes to those who reside upon his property, but one which
unfortunately is not recognized as such; I mean a moral duty. In
my opinion a landlord should be an example of moral propriety and
moderation to his tenantry, so as that the influence of his conduct
might make a salutary impression upon their lives and principles.
At present the landed Proprietary of Ireland find in the country no
tribunal by which they are to be judged; a fact which gives them the
full possession of unlimited authority; and we all know that the absence
of responsibility is a great incentive to crime. No man in a free
country should be invested with arbitrary power; and yet, it is
undeniable that an Irish landlord can exercise it whenever he pleases."

"Then what would you do," said Easel; "where is your remedy?"

"Let there be protective laws enacted, which will secure the tenant from
the oppression and injustice of the landlord. Let him not lie, as he
does, at the mercy of his caprices, passions, or prejudices."

"In other words," said Harman, "set the wolves to form protective
enactments for the sheep. I fear, my good sir, that such a scheme
is much too Utopian for any practically beneficial purpose. In the
meantime, if it can be done, let it. No legislation, however, will
be able, in my mind, to bind so powerful a class as the landlords of
Ireland are, unless a strong and sturdy public opinion is created in the
country."

"But how is this to be done?" asked Easel.

"It is to be done by educating the people; by teaching them their proper
value in society; by instructing them in their moral and civil duties.
Let them not labor under that humiliating and slavish error, that the
landlord is everything, and themselves nothing; but let the absurdity
be removed, and each party placed upon the basis of just and equal
principle."

"It is very right," said Hickman, "to educate the people, but who is to
educate the landlords?"

"A heavy task, I fear," said Easel, "from what I have observed since I
came to the country."

"The public opinion I speak of will force them into a knowledge of their
duties. At present they disregard public opinion, because it is too
feeble to influence them; and consequently they feel neither fear nor
shame. So long as the landlords and the people come together as opposing
or antithetical principles, it is not to be supposed that the country
can prosper."

"But how will you guide or restrain the landlord in estimating the value
of his property?" inquired Mr. Clement. "Here are two brothers, for
instance, each possessed of landed property; one is humane and
moderate, guided both by good sense and good feeling; this man will
not overburthen his tenant by exacting an oppressive rent. The other,
however, is precisely the reverse of him, being naturally either
rapacious or profligate, or perhaps both; he considers it his duty to
take as much out of the soil as he can, without ever thinking of the
hardships which he inflicts upon the tenant. Now, how would you remedy
this, and prevent the tenant from becoming the victim either of his
rapacity or profligacy?"

"Simply by taking from him all authority in estimating the value of his
own property.

"But how?" said Clement, "is not that an invasion of private right?"

"No; it is nothing more than a principle which transfers an unsafe
privilege to other hands in order to prevent its abuse."

"But how would you value the land?"

"I am not at this moment about to legislate for it; but I think,
however, that it would be by no means difficult to find machinery
sufficiently simple and effective for the purpose. I am clearly of
opinion that there should, be a maximum value on all land, beyond
which, unless for special purposes--such, for instance, as building--no
landlord ought to be permitted to go. This would prevent an incredible
amount of rack-renting and oppression on the one hand; and of poverty,
revenge, and bloodshed on the other. Where is the landlord now who looks
to the moral character or industrial habits of a tenant? Scarcely one.
On the contrary, whoever bids highest, or bribes highest, is sure to
be successful, without any reference to the very qualities which, in a
tenant, ought to be considered as of most importance."

"I have now," said Easel, "made myself acquainted with the condition and
management of the Castle Cumber property; and, truth to tell, I am not
surprised at the frightful state of society upon it. M'Clutchy is
the type of too numerous a class, and his son is a most consummate
scoundrel. Why my--why Lord Cumber should have appointed him to his
agency I cannot imagine."

"But I can," said Harman; "that which has appointed many a scoundrel
like him--necessity on the part of the landlord, and a desire to extend
his political influence in the county."

"He could not have gone a more successful way about it, however,"
observed Easel.

"If there be one curse," observed Harman, "worse than another on any
such property, it is to have for your agent an outrageous partisan--a
man who is friendly to one party and inimical to another--a fellow who
scruples not to avail himself of his position, for the gratification of
party rancor, and who makes the performance of his duties subservient to
his prejudices, both religious and political. Think, for instance, of a
rancorous No-Popery-man being made agent to an estate where the majority
of the tenantry are Catholics."

"As is the case on the Castle Cumber estate," said Easel.

"And as is the case on too many estates, throughout the country," added
Harman; but the truth is, that unless something is done soon to redress
the local grievances of the people, there will, I fear, be bad work
among us ere long. The tenantry are all ready in a state of tumult; they
assemble on Sundays in vindictive-looking and suspicious groups; they
whisper together, as if fraught with some secret purposes; and I am also
told that they frequently hold nightly meetings to deliberate on what
may be done. Between the M'Clutchys and M'Slimes, I must say they have
ample cause for discontent."

"Everything considered," said Easel, "it is better that we should
anticipate them. When I say we, you of course know who I mean; but
indeed we shall expect every aid, and it will be welcome, no matter from
what quarter it comes."

"M'Clutchy and the estate in question are topics on which I wish not to
speak," said Hickman; "I do not blame Lord Cumber for dismissing me,
Mr. Easel, the fact being--that I dismissed myself; but I most sincerely
hope and trust, for the sake of the people, that some change for the
better may take place. Good God, sir, how popular your----how popular
Lord Cumber might become, and what a blessing to his tenantry and his
country he might be in a short time."

"I feel that, Mr. Hickman," said Easel, "I feel it now, because I know
it. In this instance, too, I trust that knowledge will be power. Lord
Cumber, sir, like other Irish Lords, has nothing to detain him in his
native country but his own virtue. His absence, however, and the absence
of his class in general, is, I fear "--and he smiled as he spoke--a
proof that his virtue, as an Irish nobleman, and theirs, is not
sufficiently strong to resist the temptations of an English court, and
all its frivolous, expensive, and fashionable habits. He has now no
duty as an Irish peer to render his residence in Ireland, at least for a
considerable portion of the year, a matter of necessity to his class and
his country. However, let us not despair--I have reason to think that
his brother has nearly succeeded in bringing him to a sense of his duty;
and it is not impossible that the aspect of affairs may be soon changed
upon his estate."

"The sooner, the better, for the sake of the people," said Harman. "By
the by, Mr. Clement, are you to be one of the Reverend gladiators in
this controversial tournay, which is about to take place in Castle
Cumber?"

"No," said Mr. Clement; "I look upon such exhibitions as manifestations
of fanaticism, or bigotry, and generally of both. They are, in fact,
productive of no earthly good, but of much lamentable evil; for instead
of inculcating brotherly love, kindness, and charity--they inflame the
worst passions of adverse creeds--engender hatred, ill-will, and fill
the public mind with those narrow principles which disturb social
harmony, and poison our moral feelings in the very fountain of the
heart. I believe there is no instance on record of a sincere convert
being made by such discussions."

"But is there not an extensive system of conversion proceeding, called
the New Reformation?" asked Easel. "It appears to me by the papers, that
the Roman Catholic population are embracing Protestantism by hundreds."

"How little are the true causes of great events known," said Hickman,
laughing; "who, for instance, would suppose that the great spiritual
principle by which this important movement has been sustained is the
failure of the potato crop in the country, where this gracious work is
proceeding. One would think, if everything said were true, that there
are epidemics in religion as well as in disease; but the truth is, that
the knavery or distress of two or three Catholics who were relieved,
when in a state of famine, by a benevolent and kind-hearted nobleman,
who certainly would encourage neither dishonesty nor imposture, first
set this Reformation agoing. The persons I speak of, fearing that his
Lordship's benevolence might cease to continue, embraced Protestantism
_pro forma and pro tempore_. This went abroad, and almost immediately
all who were in circumstances of similar destitution adopted the same
course, and never did man pay more dearly for evangelical truth than did
his Lordship. In the forthcoming battle the parsons are to prove to the
world that all who belong to Popery must be damned, whilst the priests,
on the other hand, broil the parsons until they blaze in their own fat.
But, my God, when will charity and common sense prevail over bigotry and
brimstone!"

At this moment a servant entered to say that Poll Doolin--for she was
well known--wished to see Mr. Harman on very particular business.

"I can scarcely bear to look on the wretch," said Harman, "but as I
Strongly suspect, that she may in some shape be useful to us, I desired
her to come here. She called three times upon me, but I could not bring
myself to see or speak to' her; she shall be the bearer of no messages
to me," he said bitterly, "let her carry them elsewhere; d--n her."

He betrayed deep and powerful emotion as he spoke, but, as his allusions
were understood, there was--from a respect for his feelings, on the part
of his audience--no reply made to his observations.

"Since she called first," said Harman, pursuing the train of melancholy
thought, "some vague notion, like the shadow of a dream crossed me;
but, alas! it is transgressing the bounds of imagination itself even
to suppose that it could be true. However, if it were, it is in your
presence, sir" he said, addressing himself to Easel, "that I should wish
to have it detailed; and, perhaps, after all, this slight, but latent
reflection of hope, influenced me in desiring her to come here.
Gentlemen, excuse me," said he, covering his face with his hands, "I am
very wretched and unhappy--I cannot account for what has occurred; it
looks like an impossibility, but it is true. Oh, if he were a man!--but,
no, no, you all know how contemptible--what a dastardly scoundrel he
is!"

"Harman, my dear fellow," said Hickman, "we understand you, we respect
your feelings, and we sympathize with you--but, in the meantime, do see
and hear this woman."

He had scarcely uttered the words when the servant entered, stating that
she was at the door.

"Let her come in," said Harman; "let the vile wretch come in."

"And, do you, John, withdraw," said Hickman.

Poll Doolin entered.

Her appearance threw Harman into a violent state of agitation; he
trembled, got pale, and seemed absolutely sickened by the presence of
the wicked wretch who had been the vile instrument of Phil M'Clutchy's
success, of Mary M'Loughlin's dishonor, and of his own unhappiness. It
was the paleness, however, of indignation, of distress, of misery, of
despair. His blood, despite the paleness of his face, absolutely boiled
in his veins, and that the more hotly, because he had no object on which
he could wreak his vengeance. Poll, who was always cool, and not without
considerable powers of observation, at once noticed the tumult of his
feelings, and, as if replying to them, said--

"I don't blame you, Mr. Harman, thinkin' as you do; the sight of me
is not pleasant to you--and, indeed, you don't hate me more than you
ought."

"What is your business with me?" said Harman.

Poll looked around her for a moment, and replied--

"I'm glad of it, the more the better; Francis Harman," she proceeded,
"sit down, and listen to me; yes, listen to me--for I have it in my
power to make you a happy man."

"Great God! could my dream be true?" said Harman, placing himself in the
chair.

"Listen to me," she continued.

"I listen; be brief--for I am in no humor for either falsehood or
imposture."

"I never bore you ill-will," she said, "and yet I have--and may God
forgive me for it I--scalded the very heart within you."

Harman again covered his face with his hands and groaned.

"Will it relieve your heart to know that Mary M'Loughlin's an innocent
and a slandered girl?"

"Prove that," said Harman, starting to his feet, "oh, prove that, Poll,
and never whilst I have life shall you want a--but, alas!" he exclaimed,
"I am a beggar, and can promise you nothing."

"And I'll tell you who beggared you before all is over--but, as I said,
listen. It's now fifteen years since Brian M'Loughlin transported my son
Dick, for stealin' a horse from him; he was my only son, barrin' poor
Raymond, who was then a mere slip. He was a fine young man, but he was
wild and wicked, and it was in Squire Deaker's house, and about
Squire Deaker's stables, that he picked up his dishonesty and love of
horses--he was groom to that ould profligate, who took him into sarvice
for a raison he had."

"Be as brief as you can," said Harman, "brief--brief."

"On the contrary, Mr. Harman," said Clement, "let her, if you will be
advised by me, take her own time, and her own way."

"Thank you, sir," said Poll, "that's just what I wish. Well, he,
M'Loughlin, transported my boy, that my heart was in, and from that
minute I swore never to die till I'd revenge that act upon him. Very
well--I kept my word. Phil M'Clutchy sent for me, and in his father's
presence, we made up a plot to disgrace Miss M'Loughlin. I brought her
out two or three times to meet me privately, and it was all on your
account, by the way, for I tould her you were in danger; and I so
contrived it, that on one or two occasions you should see myself and her
together. I made her promise solemnly not to tell that she saw me, or
mention what passed between us, or if she did, that your life was not
safe; her love for you, kept her silent even to yourself. But it was
when you were sent to gaol, that we found we had the best opportunity of
ruining her, which was all I wanted: but Phil, the boy, wished to give
you a stab as well as her. As for myself it was in for a penny, in for a
pound with me, and I didn't care a traheen what you suffered, provided
I had my revenge on any one belongin' to Brian M'Loughlin, that
transported my son."

"Is Mary M'Loughlin innocent?" asked Harman, starting from his seat, and
placing his face within a few inches of Poll Doolin's.

Poll calmly put her hand upon his shoulder, and said:--

"Sit down, young man; don't disturb or stop me in what I'm sayin', and
you'll come the sooner at the truth."

"You are right," he replied, "but who can blame me?--my happiness
depends on it."

"Listen," said she, "we made up a plan that she was to meet Phil behind
her father's garden--and why? Why, because I told her that Val had
made up his mind to hang you; but I said that Phil, for her sake, could
prevent that, and save you, if she would only see him that he might
clear himself of some reports that had gone abroad on him. For your
sake she consented to that; but not until I had brought her nearly to
despair, and till she believed that there was no other hope for you.
It was Val M'Clutchy, though, that put me up to bring several of the
neighbors, and among the rest your own cousin, to witness the trick of
Phil's gettin' in at the windy; as it was his to bring the bloodhounds,
at the very minute, to catch the scoundrel in the poor girl's bedroom.
That was enough; all the wather in the say couldn't wash her white, when
this was given to the tongue of scandal to work upon."

"But," said Mr. Clement, "you unfortunate woman, let me ask, why you
suffered Mr. Harman to live under a conviction of Miss M'Loughlin's
guilt?"

"I tould you I had sworn to be revenged on either him, M'Loughlin, or
his; and so I was--may God forgive me!--but one day that my poor foolish
son undertook to convey Hugh Roe O'Regan's wife across the ford of Drum
Dhu river while in a flood, he lost his footing, and never would breathe
the breath of life again, only that God sent John M'Loughlin to the
spot, and at the risk of his own life, he saved poor Raymond's. From
that day out my heart changed. If one son was sent from me in life,
the other was saved from death; and I swore to tell you the truth. But
that's not the only injury I have done you. They put me up, and so
did Solomon M'Slime, to drop hints wherever I went, that you and Mr.
M'Loughlin were on the point of failin'; and, I believe, from some words
I heard Phil say to Solomon one morning, that they put something into
the paper that injured you."

"What was it you heard?" said Hickman.

"Phil said--'all right, Solomon, it's in--and--d--n my honor and
reputation, but it will set a screw loose in the same firm;' he was
reading the paper as he spoke."

"All this is of great value," said Easel, "and must be made use of."

"As for me," said Harman in an impassioned voice, "I care not a jot for
our bankruptcy; the great and oppressive evil of my heart is removed; I
ought, I admit, to have known that admirable girl better than to suffer
any suspicion of; her to have-entered into my heart; but, then, I must
have discredited my own eyes--and so I ought. God bless you, Poll!
I forgive you all that you and those malignant villains have made me
suffer, in consequence of what you have just now disclosed to us."

"I could not have believed this," observed Easel; "I scarcely thought
that such profound infamy was in human nature. Good God--and these two
men hold the important offices of Head and Under Agent on the Castle
Cumber estate!"

"Have you nothing particular, Poll, about that pious little man,
M'Slime?" asked Hickman. Poll, however, who in no instance was ever
known to abuse professional confidence, shook her head in the negative.

"No;" said she, "I know nothing that I can tell about him; honor
bright's my motive--no--no. However, thank God, I've aised my mind by
tellin' the truth, and when you see Mr. M'Loughlin, Mr. Harman, I'll
thank you to let him know that I have done his daughter justice, and
that from the minute his son saved mine, I had no ill-will to him or his
family." She then departed.

CHAPTER XXV.--Val and his Son brought to Trial

A Ribbon Lodge--Their Crimes against the People,--Their Doom and
Sentence--A Rebel Priest Preaching Treason--A Respite.

It is undoubtedly a fact, as was observed in the dialogue just given,
that the state of affairs on this property was absolutely fearful. The
framework of society was nearly broken up, for such was the heartless
rapacity and cruelty--such the multiplied and ingenious devices by which
he harassed and robbed the tenantry, or wreaked his personal vengeance
on all who were obnoxious to him or his son, that it was actually
impossible matters could proceed much longer in a peaceable state. If
the reader will accompany us to a large waste house, from which a
man had been some time before ejected, merely because Val had a pique
against him, he may gather from the lips of the people themselves, there
assembled, on the very night in question, sufficiently clear symptoms of
the state of feeling in the neighborhood.

The hour at which they assembled, or rather began to assemble, was
eleven o'clock, from which period until twelve they came in small groups
of two or three at a time; so as to avoid observation on the way. Some
of them had their faces blackened, and others who appeared utterly
indifferent to consequences, did not think it worth their while to
assume such a disguise. The waste house in which they were assembled,
stood on a hillside, about half way between Castle Cumber and Drum Dhu;
so that its isolated situation was an additional proof of their security
from, surprise by the bloodhounds. The party were nearly all armed, each
with such weapons as he could get, and most of them with fire or side
arms, such as they were. They had several lights, but so cautious were
they, that quilts and window-cloth's were brought to hang over the
windows, to prevent them from being seen; for it was well known that the
house was not inhabited, and the appearance of lights in it would most
certainly send the wreckers on their back; as it was, however, they
obviated all danger of this in the way I mention. When these men were
met together, it might be supposed that they presented countenances
marked by savage and ferocious passions, and that atrocity and cruelty
were the-predominating traits in each face. This, however, was not so.
In general they were just as any other number of men brought together
for any purpose might be. Some, to be sure, among them betrayed strong
indications of animal impulse; but taken together, they looked just as
I say. When they were all nearly assembled, one might-naturally imagine
that the usual animated dialogue and discussions, which the cause that
brought them together furnished, would have taken place. This, however,
was not the case. On the contrary, there was something singularly wild,
solemn, and dreadful, in their comparative quietness; for silence we
could not absolutely term it.

There were many reasons for this. In the first place, there existed
an apprehension of the yeomanry and cavalry, who had on more than one
occasion surprised meetings of this description before. 'Tis true
they had sentinels placed--but the sentinels themselves had been made
prisoners of by parties of yeomen and blood-hounds, who had come in
colored clothes, in twos and threes, like the Ribbon men themselves.
There were other motives, however, for the stillness which
prevailed--motives which, when we consider them, invest the whole
proceedings with something that is calculated to fill the mind with
apprehension and fear. Here were men unquestionably assembled for
illegal purposes--for the perpetration of crime--for the shedding
of human blood. But in what light did they view this terrible
determination? Simply as a redress of grievances; as the only means left
them of doing that for themselves which the laws refused to do for them.
They keenly and bitterly felt the scourge of the oppressor, who,
under the sanction, and in the name of those laws which ought to
have protected them, left scarcely anything undone to drive them
to desperation; and now finding that the law existed only for their
punishment, they resolved to legislate for themselves, and retaliate
on their oppressor. There is an awful lesson in all this; for it is
certainly a frightful thing to see law and justice so partially and
iniquitously administered as to disorganize society, and to make men
look upon murder as an act of justice, and the shedding of blood as a
moral triumph, if not a moral virtue. When, therefore, the very little
conversation which took place among them, and that little in so low a
tone, is placed in connection with the dark and deadly object of their
meeting, it is no wonder that one cannot help feeling strangely and
fearfully on contemplating it.