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Valentine M'Clutchy, The Irish Agent by William Carleton

W >> William Carleton >> Valentine M\'Clutchy, The Irish Agent




"If, however, it be the fact, that Hickman could stop to foment this
unhappy feeling on your property, still, my Lord, he is not alone in
it. Indeed it is possible that the intercourse between him and them may
after all be innocent, however suspicions it looks, I trust and hope it
is so--for there are two other families in the neighborhood, who, to
my certain knowledge, have, by diffusing wicked and disloyal principles
among the tenantry, done incalculable injury. I had indeed some notion
of communicating with government on the subject, but I have not as yet
been able to get any information sufficiently tangible to work on. In
the meantime, I think the wisest and most prudent steps I could take for
your Lordship's advantage, would be to get them as quietly as possible
off the estate. I think, from a twofold sense of duty, I shall be forced
to do so. Their leases very fortunately have dropped in the first place,
and it will not be your interest to renew them on political grounds;
for they have lately expressed a determination to vote against your
brother--and in the next, we can get much larger fines from other
sources. Besides his large farm, one of these men, M'Loughlin, holds
a smaller one of eighteen acres, of which there are fifteen years yet
unexpired, yet on consulting with Mr. M'Slime, and examining the lease,
he is of opinion that it contains a flaw, and can be broken. I am sure,
my lord, for your sake I shall be glad of it.

"I cannot conclude without feeling grateful to Heaven for having given
me such a son as I am blessed with. He is, indeed, quite invaluable to
me in managing these refractory people, and were it not for his aid
and vigor, I could not have been able to send your lordship the last
remittance. He is truly zealous in your cause, but I regret to say, that
I am not likely to be able to avail myself long of his services. He is
about taking a large farm in a different part of the country with a view
to marriage, a circumstance which just now occasions me much anxiety of
mind, as he will be a serious loss to both your lordship and me. I
am also looking out for an under agent, but cannot find one to my
satisfaction. Will your lordship be kind enough to acknowledge the
remittance of last week?

"I have the honor to be, my lord,
"Val M'C."


Lord Cumber to Val M'C, Esq.:--

"Dear Sir:

"The check came safely to hand, and seasonably, and the oftener I
receive such communications the better. The best part of it, however, is
gone to the devil already, for I lost six hundred on Alley Croker at the
last Ascot meeting; I write in a hurry, but have time to desire you to
keep your son, if possible, on the property. By the way, as the under
agency is vacant, I request you will let him have it--and, if he wants a
farm to marry on, try and find him one somewhere on the estate: who
has a better right? and, I dare say, he will make as good a tenant as
another. As to Hickman, I think you are quite mistaken, the truth being
that he resigned, but was not dismissed the agency, and if he has not
a wish to get himself replaced--which I do not think--I don't know what
the deuce he should begin to plot about. I rather think the cause of
complaint amongst the people is, that they find some difference between
his laxity and your rigor; if so, you must only let them growl away, and
when, ever they resort to violence, of course punish them.

"Very truly yours,
"Cumber."

"P.S.--By all means get those mischievous fellows--I forget their
names--off the property, as I shall have no tenant under me who will
create disturbance or sow dissension among the people. I thank you
for the fine hamper of fowl, and have only to say, as above, that the
oftener, &c, &c.

"Cumber."




CHAPTER VII.--Reflections on Absenteeism

--Virtues of a Loyal Magistrate--A Small Dose of Flattery--A Brace of
Blessings--Darby has Notions of becoming a Convert--Hints to a Trusty
Bailiff, with a Bit of Mystery--Drum Dhu, and the Comforts of Christmas
Eve--An Extermination.

One of the greatest curses attending absenteeism is the facility
with which a dishonest and oppressive agent can maintain a system of
misrepresentation and falsehood, either to screen his own delinquency or
to destroy the reputation of those whom he hates or fears. An absentee
landlord has no guarantee beyond the honor and integrity of the man to
whom he entrusts the management of his property, and consequently he
ought to know that his very residence abroad presents strong temptations
to persons, who, in too many instances, are not possessed of any
principle strong enough to compete with their rapacity or cruelty.
Valentine M'Clutchy was one of those fellows in whom the heart was
naturally so hard and selfish that he loved both wealth and the
infliction of oppression, simply on account of the pleasure which they
afforded him. To such a man, and they formed too numerous a class, the
estate of an absentee landlord presented an appropriate, and generally
a safe field for action. The great principle of his life was, in every
transaction that occurred, to make the interest of the landlord on one
hand, and of the tenant on the other, subservient to his own. This was
their rule, and the cunning and adroitness necessary to carry it into
practical effect, were sometimes scarcely deemed worth concealment, so
strong was their sense of impunity, and their disregard of what seldom
took place--retribution. Indeed, the absence of the landlord gave
them necessarily, as matters were managed, an unlimited power over the
people, and gratified that malignant vigilance which ever attends upon
suspicion and conscious guilt. Many of the tenants, for instance,
when driven to the uttermost depths of distress and misery, have been
desperate enough to appeal to the head landlords, and almost in every
case the agent himself was enabled to show them their own letters, which
the absentee had in the meantime transmitted to the identical party
whose tyranny had occasioned them.

The appointment of Phil to the under agency was felt even more strongly
than the removal of Mr. Hickman or Val's succession to that gentleman;
for there was about honest Val something which the people could not
absolutely despise. His talents for business, however, prostituted as
they were to such infamous purposes, only rendered him a greater
scourge to the unhappy tenantry over whom he was placed. As for Phil, he
experienced at their hands that combined feeling of hatred and contempt
with which we look upon a man who has every disposition to villany but
not the ability to accomplish its purposes in a masterly manner.

Val's promotion to the Bench did not occasion so much surprise as might
be supposed. It is well known, that every such scoundrel, however he may
disregard the opinions of the people whom he despises, leaves nothing
undone that either meanness or ingenuity can accomplish to sustain a
plausible character with the gentry of the neighborhood. In the times of
which we write, the great passport to popularity among one party was the
expression of strong political opinions. For this reason, Val, who was
too cunning to neglect any subordinate aid to his success in life, had
created for himself a certain description of character, which in a great
degree occasioned much of his dishonesty and oppression to be overlooked
or forgiven. Like his father, old Deaker, he was a furious Orangeman,
of the true, loyal, and Ascendancy class--drank the glorious, pious,
and immortal memory every day after dinner--was, in fact, master of an
Orange Lodge, and altogether a man of that thorough, staunch, Protestant
principle, which was then, as it has been since, prostituted to the
worst purposes. For this reason, he was looked upon, by those of his own
class not so much as a heartless and unscrupulous knave, as a good sound
Protestant, whose religion and loyalty were of the right kidney. In
accordance with these principles, he lost no time in assuming the
character of an active useful man, who considered it the most important
part of his duty to extend his political opinions by every means in his
power, and to discountenance, in all shapes and under all circumstances,
such as were opposed to them. For this purpose, there was only one
object left untried and unaccomplished; but time and his undoubted
loyalty soon enabled him to achieve it. Not long after his appointment
to the agency, he began to experience some of these uneasy sensations
which a consciousness of not having deserved well at the hands of the
people will occasion. The man, as we have said, was a coward at heart;
but like many others of the same class, he contrived on most occasions
to conceal it. He now considered that it would, at all events, be a safe
and prudent act on his part to raise a corps of yeomanry, securing
a commission in it for himself and Phil. In this case he deemed it
necessary to be able to lay, before government such satisfactory proofs
as would ensure the accomplishment of his object, and at the same time
establish his own loyalty and devotion to the higher powers. No man
possessed the art of combining several motives, under the simple guise
of one act, with greater skill than M'Clutchy. For instance, he had an
opportunity of removing from the estate as many as possible of those
whom he could not reckon on for political support. Thus would he, in the
least suspicious manner, and in the very act of loyalty, occasion
that quantity of disturbance just necessary to corroborate his
representations to government--free property from disaffected persons,
whose consciences were proof against both his threats and promises--and
prove to the world that Valentine M'Clutchy was the man to suppress
disturbance, punish offenders, maintain peace, and, in short, exhibit
precisely that loyal and truly Protestant spirit which the times
required, and which, in the end, generally contrived to bring its own
reward along with it.

One evening, about this period, our worthy agent was sitting in his back
parlor, enjoying with Phil the comforts of a warm tumbler of punch, when
the old knock already described was heard at the hall door.

"How the devil does that rascal contrive to give such a knock?" said
Phil--"upon my honor and reputation, father, I could know it out of a
thousand."

"It's very difficult to say," replied the other; "but I agree with you
in its character--and yet, I am convinced that Master Darby by no means
entertains the terror of me which he affects. However, be this as it
may, he is invaluable for his attachment to our interests, and the trust
which we can repose in him. I intend to make him a sergeant in our new
corps--and talking of that, Phil, you are not aware that I received this
morning a letter from Lord Cumber, in which he thanks me for the hint,
and says he will do everything in his power to forward the business. I
have proposed that he shall be colonel, and that the corps be named the
Castle Cumber Yeomanry. I shall myself be captain and paymaster, and you
shall have a slice of something off it, Phil, my boy."

"I have no objection in life," replied Phil, "and let the slice be a
good one; only I am rather quakerly as to actual fighting, which may God
of his infinite mercy prevent!"

"There will be no fighting, my hero," replied the father, laughing;
"if there were, Phil, I would myself rise above all claims for military
glory; but here there will be nothing but a healthy chase across the
country after an occasional rebel or whiteboy, or perhaps the seizing of
a still, and the capture of many a keg of neat poteen, Phil--eh? What do
you say to that my boy?"

"I have no objection to that," said Phil, "provided everything is done
in an open, manly manner--in broad day-light. These scoundrel whiteboys
have such devilish good practice at hedge-firing, that I have already
made up my mind to decline all warfare that won't be sanctioned by the
sun. I believe in my soul they see better without light than with it, so
that the darkness which would be a protection to them, could be none to
me."

At this moment, a tap--such as a thief would give when ascertaining
if the master of the house were asleep, in order that he might rob
him--came to the door, and upon being desired to "come in and be d----d"

Darby entered.

"You're an hour late, you scoundrel," said Val; "what have you to say
for yourself?"

"Yes," added Phil, who was a perfect Achilles to every bailiff and
driver on the estate--"what have you to say for yourself? If I served
you right, upon my honor and reputation, I would kick you out. I would,
you scoundrel, and I ought."

"I know you ought, squire, for I desarve it; but, any how, sure it was
the floods that sent me round. The stick was covered above three feet,
and I had to go round by the bridge. Throth his honor there ought to
make the Grand Jury put a bridge acrass it, and I wish to goodness,
Square Phil, you would spake to him to get them to do it next summer."

When Solomon said, that all was vanity and vexation of spirit, we hope
he did not mean that the two terms were at all synonymous; because, if
he did, we unquestionably stand prepared to contest his knowledge of
human nature, despite both his wisdom and experience. Darby's reply was
not a long one, but its effect was powerful. The very notion that Val
M'Clutchy could, should, might, or ought to have such influence over the
Grand Jury of the county was irresistible with the father; and that he
should live to be actually called squire, nay to hear the word with his
own ears, was equally so with the son.

Vanity! What sensation can the hearts of thousands--millions feel, that
ought for a moment be compared, in an ecstatic sense of enjoyment, with
those which arise from gratified vanity?

"Come, you sneaking scoundrel, take a glass of spirits--the night's
severe," said Val.

"Yes, you sneaking scoundrel, take a glass of spirits, and we'll see
what can be done about the bridge before next winter," added Phil.

"All I can say is, gintlemen," said Darby, "that if you both take it
up, it will be done. In the mane time, here's both your healths,
your honors; an' may you both be spared on the property, as a pair of
blessins to the estate!" Then, running over to Phil, he whispered in
a playhouse voice--"Square Phil, I daren't let his honor hear me now,
but--here's black confusion to Hickman, the desaver!"

"What is he saying, Phil? What is the cursed sneaking scoundrel saying?"

"Why your honor," interposed Darby, "I was axin' permission jist to add
a thrifle to what I'm goin' to drink."

"What do you mean?" said Val.

"Just, your honor, to drink the glorious, pious, and immoral mimory!
hip, hip, hurra!"

"And how can you drink it, you rascal, and you a papist?" asked Phil,
still highly delighted with Darby's loyalty. "What would your priest say
if he knew it?"

"Why," said Darby, quite unconscious of the testimony he was bearing to
his own duplicity, "sure they can forgive me that, along with my other
sins. But, any how, I have a great notion to leave them and their
ralligion altogether."

"How is that, you scoundrel?" asked Val.

"Yes, you scoundrel; how is that?" added Phil.

"Why, troth," replied Darby, "I can't well account for it myself,
barrin' it comes from an enlightened conscience. Mr. M'Slime gave me a
tract, some time ago, called Spiritual Food for Babes of Grace, and I
thought in my own conscience, afther readin' it carefully over, that it
applied very much to my condition."

"Ah!" said Phil, "what a babe you are! but no matter; I'm glad you
have notions of becoming a good sound Protestant; take my word there's
nothing like it. A man that's a good sound Protestant is always a loyal
fellow, and when he's drunk, drinks--to hell with the Pope."

"Phil, don't be a fool," said his father, who inherited many, if not
all of old Deaker's opinions. "If you are about to become a
Protestant, Darby, that's a very different thing from changing your
religion--inasmuch as you must have one to change first. However, as you
say, M'Slime's your man, and be guided by him."

"So I intend, sir; and he has been spakin' to me about comin' forrid
publicly, in regard of an intention he has of writin' a new tract
consarning me, to be called the Converted Bailiff, or a Companion to
the Religious Attorney; and he says, sir, that he'll get us bound up
together."

"Does he?" said Val, dryly; "strung up, I suppose he means."

"Troth your honor's right," replied Darby; "but my own mimory isn't what
it used to be--it was strung up he said, sure enough, sir."

"Very well," said Val, "but now to business. Phil, my boy, you move off
for a little--Darby and I have a small matter to talk over, that nobody
must hear but ourselves."

"All right," replied Phil; "so take care of yourselves;" and accordingly
left the room.

Now the truth was, that M'Clutchy, who perfectly understood the
half-witted character of his son--for be it known that worthy Phil was
considered by those who had the honor of his acquaintance, as anything
but an oracle--did not feel himself justified in admitting the said Phil
to full confidence in all his plans and speculations.

"You see now," said he, addressing Darby sternly--"you see the opinion
which I entertain of your honesty, when I trust you more than I do my
son."

"Troth I do your honor--and by the same token did I ever betray you?"

"Betray, you scoundrel! what had you to betray?" said Val indignantly,
whatever I do is for the benefit of the country in general, and for Lord
Cumber's property in particular: you know that."

"Know it! doesn't the whole world know it, sir?"

"Well, then"--said Val, softening---"now to business. In the first place
observe my words--listen."

Darby said nothing, but looked at him in the attitude of deep and
breathless attention.

"Whenever you happen to execute a warrant of distress--that is, when
removing furniture or any other property off the premises, keep a sharp
look out for any papers or parchments that happen to come in your way.
It would do no harm if you should slip them quietly into your pocket and
bring them to me. I say quietly, because there is a spirit abroad among
the people that we must watch; but if they once suspected that we were
on the look out for it, they might baffle us; these papers, you know can
be returned."

"I see, your honor," said Darby--"there you are right, as, indeed, you
always are."

"Very well, then. Is the night dark and stormy?"

"So dark, sir, that a blind man could see it."

Val then approached the bailiff, looked cautiously about the
room--opened the door, and peeped into the hall; after which he
returned, and placing about half-a-dozen written papers in his hand,
whispered something to him with great earnestness and deliberation.
Darby heard him with profound attention, nodded his head significantly
as he spoke, and placed the point of his right hand fore-finger on the
papers, as if he said, "I see--I understand--I am to do so and so with
these; it's all clear--all right, and it shall be done before I sleep."

The conversation then fell into its original channel, and Phil was
summoned, in order to receive his instructions touching a ceremony which
was to take place on the following day but one; which ceremony simply
consisted in turning out upon the wide world, without house, or home, or
shelter, about twenty three families, containing among them the young,
the aged, the sick, and the dying--but this is a scene to which we must
beg the reader's more particular attention.

There stood, facing the west, about two miles from Constitution Cottage,
an irregular string of cabins, with here and there something that might
approach the comfortable air of a middle size house. The soil on which
they stood was an elevated moor, studded with rocks and small cultivated
patches, which the hard hand of labor had, with toil and difficulty,
worn from what might otherwise be called a cold, bleak, desert. The
rocks in several instances were overgrown with underwood and shrubs
of different descriptions, which were browsed upon by meagre and
hungry-looking goats, the only description of cattle that the poverty
of these poor people allowed them to keep, with the exception of two
or three families, who were able to indulge in the luxury of a cow. In
winter it had an air of shivering desolation that was enough to chill
the very blood, even to think of; but in summer, the greenness of the
shrubs, some of which were aromatic and fragrant, relieved the dark,
depressing spirit which seemed to brood upon it. This little colony,
notwithstanding the wretchedness of its appearance, was not, however,
shut out from a share of human happiness. The manners of its inhabitants
were primeval and simple, and if their enjoyments were few and limited,
so also were their desires. God gave them the summer breeze to purify
their blood, the sun of heaven to irradiate the bleakness of their
mountains, the morning and evening dressed in all their beauty, and
music of their mountain streams, and that of the feathered songsters, to
enliven their souls with its melody. The voices of spring, of summer, of
autumn, were cheerful in their ears as the voices of friends, and even
winter, with all his wildness and desolation, was not without a grim
complacence which they loved. They were a poor, harmless, little
community, so very humble and inoffensive, as to be absolutely beneath
the reach of human resentment or injustice. Alas! they were not so.

The cause of the oppression which was now about to place them in its
iron grasp, was as simple as it was iniquitous. They refused to vote for
Lord Cumber's brother, and were independent enough to respect the rights
of conscience, in defiance of M'Clutchy's denunciations. They had voted
for the gentleman who gave them employment, and who happened besides, to
entertain opinions which they approved. M'Clutchy's object was to remove
them from the property, in order that he might replace them with a more
obedient and less conscientious class; for this was his principle of
action under such circumstances.

It so happened that there lived among them a man named O'Regan, who,
in point of comfort, was at the head of this little community. He was a
quiet and an affectionate individual, industrious, sober, and every way
well conducted. This inoffensive and virtuous man, and Iris faithful
wife, had been for some time before the period we are describing,
under the shadow of deep affliction. Their second child, and his little
brother, together with the eldest, who for two or three years before had
been at service in England, were all that had been spared to them--the
rest having died young. This second boy was named Torley, and him they
loved with an excess of tenderness and affection that could scarcely be
blamed. The boy was handsome and manly, full of feeling, and possessed
of great resolution and courage; all this, however, was ultimately of
no avail in adding to the span of the poor youth's life. One day in the
beginning of autumn, he overloaded himself with a log of fir which
he had found in the moors; having laid it down to rest, he broke a
blood-vessel in attempting to raise it to his shoulder the second time:
he staggered home, related the accident as it had occurred, and laid
himself down gently upon his bed. Decline then set in, and the
handsome and high-spirited Torley O'Regan, lay patiently awaiting his
dissolution, his languid eye dim with the shadow of its approach. From
the moment it was ascertained that his death, early and unexpectedly,
was known to be certain, the grief of his parents transcended the bounds
of ordinary sorrow. It was indeed, a distressing thing to witness their
sufferings, and to feel, in the inmost chambers of the heart, the awful
wail of their desolation and despair.

Winter had now arrived in all its severity, and the very day selected
for the removal of these poor people was that which fills, or was
designed to fill, every Christian heart with hope, charity, affection
for our kind, and the innocent enjoyment of that festive spirit which
gives to the season a charm that throws the memory back upon the
sweetest recollections of life--I mean Christmas eve. The morning,
however, was ushered in by storm. There had been above a fortnight's
snow, accompanied by hard frost, and to this was added now the force
of a piercing wind, and a tremendous down pouring of hard dry drift,
against which it is at any time almost impossible even to walk, unless
when supported by health, youth, and uncommon strength.

In O'Regan's house there was, indeed, the terrible union of a most
bitter and twofold misery. The boy was literally dying, and to this was
added the consciousness that M'Clutchy would work his way in spite
of storm, tempest, and sickness, nay, even death itself. A few of the
inhabitants of the wild mountain village, which, by the way, was named
Drum Dhu, from its black and desolate look, had too much the fear of
M'Clutchy before their eyes, to await his measures, and accordingly
sought out some other shelter. It was said, however, and generally
supposed, by several of the neighboring gentry, that even M'Clutchy
himself would scarcely dare to take such a step, in defiance of common
humanity, public opinion, and the laws both of God and--we were about
to add--man, but the word cannot be written. Every step he took was
strictly and perfectly legal, and the consequence was, that he had that
strong argument, "I am supporthed by the, laws of the land," to enable
him to trample upon all the principles of humanity and justice--to
gratify political rancor, personal hatred, to oppress, persecute, and
ruin.

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