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Willy Reilly by William Carleton

W >> William Carleton >> Willy Reilly




"By my soul, sir, and I'd give a five-pound note, if I had it, that you
and I were dancing 'Jig Polthogue' on it this minute. But, in the mane
time, the devil a one o' me sees the joke your honor speaks of."

"Why, then, do you ask me where I am, when you know I'm astray, that
we're both astray, you snivelling old whelp? By the great and good King
William, I'll be lost, Andy!"

"Well, and even if you are, sir," replied Andy, who, guided by his
voice, had now approached and joined him; "even if you are, sir, I trust
you'll bear it like a Christian and a Trojan."

"Get out, you old sniveller--what do you mean by a Trojan?"

"A Trojan, sir, I was tould, is a man that lives by sellin' wild-fowl.
They take an oath, sir, before they begin the trade, never to die until
they can't help it."

"You mean to say, or to hint at least, that in addition to our other
dangers we run the risk of coming in contact with poachers?"

"Well, then, sir, if I don't mistake they're out to-night. However,
don't let us alarm one another. God forbid that I'd say a single word to
frighten you; but still, you know yourself that there's many a man not
a hundred miles from us that 'ud be glad to mistake you for a target, a
mallard, or any other wild-fowl or that description."

"In the meantime we are both well armed," replied his master; "but what
I fear most is the risk we run of falling down precipices, or walking
into lakes or quagmires. What's to be done? This fog is so cursedly cold
that it has chilled my very blood into ice."

"Our best plan, sir, is to dismount, and keep ourselves warm by taking
a pleasant stroll across the country. The horses will take care of
themselves. In the meantime keep up your spirits--we'll both want
something to console us; but this I can tell you, that devil a bit of
tombstone ever will go over either of us, barrin' the sky in heaven; and
for our coffins, let us pray to the coffin-maker, bekaise, you see, it's
the _maddhu ruah_ * (the foxes), and ravens, and other civilized animals
that will coffin us both by instalments in their hungry guts, until
our bones will be beautiful to look at--afther about six months'
bleaching--and a sharp eye 'twould be that 'ud know the difference
between masther and man then, I think."

We omitted to say that a piercing and most severe hoar frost had set in
with the fog, and that Cummiskey's master felt the immediate necessity
of dismounting, and walking about, in order to preserve some degree of
animal heat in his body.

"I cannot bear this, Andy," said he, "and these two gallant animals
will never recover it after the severe day's hunting they've had. Poor
Fiddler and Piper," he exclaimed, "this has proved a melancholy day to
you both. What is to be done, Andy? I am scarcely able to stand, and
feel as if my strength had utterly left me."

"What, sir," replied his servant, who was certainly deeply attached to
his master, "is it so bad with you as all that comes to? Sure I only
thought to amuse you, sir. Come, take courage; I'll whistle, and maybe
somebody will come to our relief."

He accordingly put his two fingers into his mouth, and uttered a loud
and piercing whistle, after which both stood still for a time, but no
reply was given.

"Stop, sir," proceeded Andrew; "I'll give them another touch that'll make
them spake, if there's any one near enough to hear us."

He once more repeated the whistle, but with two or three peculiar shakes
or variations, when almost instantly one of a similar character was
given in reply.

"Thank God," he exclaimed, "be they friends or foes, we have human
creatures not far from us. Take courage, sir. How do you feel?"

"Frozen and chilled almost to death," replied his master; "I'll give
fifty pounds to any man or party of men that will conduct us safely
home."

"I hope in the Almighty," said Andrew to himself in an anxious and
apprehensive tone of voice, "that it's not Parrah Ruah (Red Patrick),
the red Rapparee, that's in it, and I'm afeered it is, for I think I
know his whistle. There's not a man in the three baronies could give
such a whistle as that, barring himself. If it is, the masther's a gone
man, and I'll not be left behind to tell the story, God protect us!

"What are you saying, Andy?" asked his master: "What were you muttering
just now?"

"Nothing, sir, nothing; but there can be no harm, at all events, to look
to our pistols. If there should be danger, let us sell our lives like
men."

"And so we will, Andy. The country I know is in a disturbed and lawless
state, and ever since that unfortunate affair of the priest, I know I am
not popular with a great many. I hope we won't come across his Rapparee
nephew."

"Whether we do or not, sir, let us look to our firearms. Show me yours
till I settle the powdher in them. Why, God bless me, how you are
tremblin'."

"It is not from fear, sir," replied the intrepid old man, "but from
cold. If any thing should happen me, Andy, let my daughter know that my
will is in the oaken cabinet; that is to say, the last I made. She is
my heiress--but that she is by the laws of the land. However, as I had
disposed of some personal property to other persons, which disposition
I have revoked in the will I speak of--my last, as I said--I wish you to
let her know where she may find it. Her mother's jewels are also in
the same place--but they, too, are hers by right of law--her mother
bequeathed them to her."

"All! sir, you are right to remember and think well of that daughter.
She has been a guardian angel to you these five years. But why, sir, do
you give me this message? Do you think I won't sell my life in defence
of yours? If you do you're mistaken."

"I believe it, Andrew; I believe it, Andy," said he again, familiarizing
the word; "but if this red Rapparee should murder me, I don't, wish you
to sacrifice your life on my account. Make your escape if he should be
the person who is approaching us, and convey to my daughter the message
I have given you."

At this moment another whistle proceeded from a quarter of the moor much
nearer them, and Andy, having handed back the pistols to his master,
asked him should he return it.

"Certainly," replied the other, who during all this time was pacing to
and fro, in order to keep himself from sinking; "certainly, let us see
whether these persons are friends or enemies."

His servant then replied to the whistle, and in a few minutes it was
answered again, whilst at the same time a strong but bitter wind
arose which cleared away the mist, and showed them with considerable
distinctness the position which they occupied.

Within about ten yards of them, to the left, the very direction in
which they had been proceeding, was a small deep lake' or tarn, utterly
shoreless, and into which they unquestionably would have walked and
perished, as neither of them knew how to swim. The clearing away of
the mist, and the light of the stars (for the moon had not yet risen),
enabled the parties to see each other, and in a few minutes Andrew and
his master were joined by four men, the principal person among them
being the identical individual whom they both had dreaded--the Red
Rapparee.

"Master," said Cummiskey, in a whisper, on seeing them approach, "we
must fight for it, I'm afeered, but let us not be rash; there may be a
friend or two among them, and it is better to come off peaceably if we
can."

"I agree with you," replied his master. "There is no use in shedding
unnecessary blood; but, in any event, let us not permit them to disarm
us, should they insist on doing so. They know I never go three yards
from my hall-door without arms, and it is not improbable they may make
a point of taking them from us. I, however, for one, will not trust to
their promises, for I know their treachery, as I do their cowardice,
when their numbers are but few, and an armed opponent or two before
them, determined to give battle. Stand, therefore, by me, Andy, and, by
King William, should they have re-course to violence, we shall let them
see, and feel too, that we are not unprepared."

"I have but one life, sir," replied his faithful follower; "it was
spent--at least its best days were--in your service, and sooner than any
danger should come to you, it will be lost in your defence. If it was
only for the sake of her, that is not here, the _Cooleen Bawn_, I would
do it."

"Who goes there?" asked a deep and powerful voice when the parties had
come within about twenty yards of each other.

"By the powers!" exclaimed Andrew in a whisper, "it's himself the Red
Rapparee!"

"We are friends," he replied, "and have lost our way."

The other party approached, and, on joining our travellers, the Rapparee
started, exclaiming, "What, noble Squire, is it possible that this is
you? Hut! it can't be--let me look at you closer, till I make sure of
you."

"Keep your distance, sir," replied the old man with courage and dignity;
"keep your distance; you see that I and my servant are both well armed,
and determined to defend ourselves against violence."

An ominous and ferocious glance passed from the Rapparee to his
comrades, who, however, said nothing, but seemed to be resolved to guide
themselves altogether by his conduct. The Red Rapparee was a huge man
of about forty, and the epithet of "Red" had been given to him in
consequence of the color of his hair. In expression his countenance was
by no means unhandsome, being florid and symmetrical, but hard, and
with scarcely any trace of feeling. His brows were far asunder, arguing
ingenuity and invention, but his eyes, which were small and treacherous,
glared--whenever he became excited--with the ferocity of an enraged
tiger. His shoulders were broad, his chest deep and square, his arms
long and powerful, but his lower limbs were somewhat light in proportion
to the great size of his upper figure. This, however, is generally
the case when a man combines in his own person the united qualities of
activity and strength. Even at the period we are describing, when this
once celebrated character was forty years of age, it was well known that
in fleetness of foot there was no man in the province able to compete
with him. In athletic exercises that required strength and skill he
never had a rival, but one--with whom the reader will soon be made
acquainted. He was wrapped loosely in a gray frieze big-coat, or
_cothamore_, as it is called in Irish--wore a hat of two colors, and so
pliant in texture that he could at any time turn it inside out. His coat
was--as indeed were all his clothes--made upon the time principle, so
that when hard pressed by the authorities he could in a minute or two
transmute himself into the appearance of a nun very different from the
individual described to them. Indeed he was such a perfect Proteus that
no vigilance of the Executive was ever a match for his versatility of
appearance, swiftness of foot, and caution. These frequent defeats of
the authorities of that day made him extremely popular with the people,
who were always ready to afford him shelter and means of concealment,
in return for which he assisted them with food, money, and the spoils
of his predatory life. This, indeed, was the sagacious principle of the
Irish Robbers and Rapparees from the beginning to _rob from the rich and
give to the poor_ being their motto.

The persons who accompanied him on this occasion were three of his own
gang, who usually constituted his body-guard, and acted as videttes,
either for his protection or for the purpose of bringing him information
of such travellers as from their known wealth or external appearance
might be supposed worth attacking. They were well-made, active, and
athletic men, in whom it would not be easy to recognise any particular
character at variance with that of the peasantry around them. It is
unnecessary to say that they were all armed. Having satisfied himself as
to the identity of master and man, with a glance at his companions, the
Rapparee said,

"What on earth brought you and Andy Cummiskey here, noble squire? Oh!
you lost your way Andy says. Well now," he proceeded, "you know I have
been many a day and night on the lookout for you; aye, could have
put daylight through you many and many a time; and what do you think
prevented me?"

"Fear of God, or of the gallows, I hope," replied the intrepid old man.

"Well," returned the Rapparee, with a smile of scorn, "I'm not a man--as
I suppose you may know--that ever feared either of them much--God
forgive me for the one, I don't ask his forgiveness for the other. No,
Squire Folliard, it was the goodness, the kindness, the generosity, and
the charity of the _Cooleen Bawn_, your lovely daughter, that held my
hand. You persecuted my old uncle, the priest, and you would a' hanged
him too, for merely marryin' a Protestant and a Catholic together. Well,
sir, your fair daughter, and her good mother--that's now in heaven,
I hope--went up to Dublin to the Lord Lieutenant, and before him the
_Cooleen Bawn_, went on her two knees and begged my uncle's life, and
got it; for the Lord Lieutenant said that no one could deny her any
thing. Now, sir, for her sake, go home in peace. Boys, get their
horses."

Andy Cummiskey would have looked upon all this as manly and generous,
but he could not help observing a particular and rather sinister meaning
in the look which the Rapparee turned on his companions as he spoke. He
had often heard, too, of his treacherous disposition and his unrelenting
cruelty whenever he entertained a feeling of vengeance. In his present
position, however, all he could do was to stand on his guard; and with
this impression strong upon him he resolved to put no confidence in the
words of the Rapparee. In a few minutes the horses were brought up, and
Randy (Randall) Ruah having wiped Mr. Folliard's saddle--for such was
his name--with the skirt of his _cothamore_, and removed the hoar frost
or rime which had gathered on it, he brought the animal over to him, and
said, with a kind of rude courtesy,

"Come, sir, trust me; I will help you to your saddle."

"You have not the reputation of being trustworthy," replied Mr.
Folliard; "keep back, sir, at your peril; I will not trust you. My own
servant will assist me."

This seemed precisely the arrangement which the Rapparee and his men had
contemplated. The squire, in mounting, was obliged, as every man is, to
use both his hands, as was his servant also, while assisting him.
They consequently put up their pistols until they should get into the
saddles, and, almost in an instant, found themselves disarmed, and
prisoners in the hands of these lawless and unscrupulous men.

"Now, Squire Folliard," exclaimed the Rapparee, "see what it is not to
trust an honest man; had you done so, not a hair of your head would
be injured. As it is, I'll give you five minutes to do three things;
remember my uncle, the priest, that you transported."

"He acted most illegally, sir," replied the old man indignantly; "and,
in my opinion, I say that, in consequence of his conduct, the country
had a good riddance of him. I only wish I could send you after him;
perhaps I shall do so yet. I believe in Providence, sirra, and that God
can protect me from your violence even here."

"In the next place," proceeded the Rapparee, "think of your daughter,
that you will never see again, either in this world or the next."

"I know I am unworthy of having such an angel," replied the old man,
"but unless you were a cruel and a heartless ruffian, you would not
at this moment mention her, or bring the thoughts of her to my
recollection."

"In the last place," continued the other, "if you have any thing to say
in the shape of a prayer, say it, for in five minutes' time there will
be a bullet through your heart, and in five more you will be snug and
warm at the bottom of the loch there below--that's your doom."

"O'Donnel," said Andy, "think that there's a God above you. Surely
you wouldn't murdher this ould man and make the sowl within your body
redder--if the thing's possible--than the head that's on the top of
it, though in throth I don't think it's by way of ornament it's there
either. Come, come, Randal, my man, this is all _feastalagh_ (nonsense).
You only want to frighten the gentleman. As for your uncle, man alive,
all I can say is that he was a friend to your family, and to religion
too, that sent him on his travels."

"Take off your gallowses" (braces)! said the Rapparee; "take them off,
a couple of you--for, by all the powers of darkness, they'll both go to
the bottom of the loch together, back to back. Down you'll go, Andy."

"By my soul, then," replied the unflinching servant, "if we go down
you'll go up; and we have those belongin' to us that will see you kiss
the hangman yet. Yerra, now, above all words in the alphabet what could
put a gallows into your mouth? Faith, Randal, it's about your neck
it'll go, and you'll put out your tongue at the daicent people that will
attend your own funeral yet--that is, if you don't let us off."

"Put them both to their knees," said the Rapparee in a voice of thunder,
"to their knees with them. I'll take the masther, and, Kineely, do you
take the man."

The companions of the Rapparee could not avoid laughing at the comic
courage displayed by Cummiskey, and were about to intercede for him,
when O'Donnel, which was his name, stamped with fury on the ground and
asked them if they dared to disobey him. This sobered them at once,
and in less than a minute Mr. Folliard and Andy were placed upon their
knees, to await the terrific sentence which was about to be executed
on them, in that wild and lonely moor, and under such appalling
circumstances. When placed in the desired posture, to ask that mercy
from God which they were not about to experience at the hands of man,
Squire Folliard spoke:

"Red Rapparee," said he, "it is not that I am afraid of death as such,
but I feel that I am not prepared to die. Suffer my servant and myself
to go home without harm, and I shall engage not only to get you a pardon
from the Government of the country, but I shall furnish you with money
either to take you to some useful calling, or to emigrate to some
foreign country, where nobody will know of your misdeeds, or the life
you have led here."

"Randal, my man," added Andy, "listen to what the gentleman says, and
you may escape what you know yet. As for my master, Randal, let him
pass, and take me in his place. I may as well die now, maybe, as another
time. I was an honest, faithful servant, at all times. I have neither
chick nor child to cry for me. No wife, thank God, to break my heart
afther. My conscience is light and airy, like a beggarmans blanket,
as they say; and, barrin' that I once got drunk wid your uncle in Moll
Flanagan's sheebeen house, I don't know that I have much to trouble me.
Spare _him_, then, and take _me_, if it must come to that. He has the
_Cooleen Bawn_ to think for. Do you think of her, too; and remember that
it was she who saved your uncle from the gallows."

This unlucky allusion only deepened the vengeance of the Red Rapparee,
who looked to the priming of his gun, and was in the act of preparing
to perpetrate this most in-human and awful murder, when all interruption
took place for which neither party was prepared.

Now, it so happened that within about eight or ten yards of where they
stood there existed the walls and a portion of the arched roof of one
of those old ecclesiastical ruins, which our antiquarians denominate
Cyclopean, like _lucus a non lucendo_, because scarcely a dozen men
could kneel in them. Over this sad ruin was what sportsmen term "a pass"
for duck and widgeon, and, aided by the shelter of the building, any
persons who stationed themselves there could certainly commit great
havoc among the wild-fowl in question. The Red Rapparee then had his gun
in his hand, and was in the very act of adjusting it to his shoulder,
when a powerful young man sprung forward, and dashing it aside,
exclaimed:

"What is this, Randal? Is it a double murder you are about to execute,
you inhuman ruffian?"

[Illustration: PAGE 11--Is it a double murder you are about to execute?]

The Rapparee glared at him, but with a quailing and subdued, yet sullen
and vindictive, expression.

"Stand up, sir," proceeded this daring and animated young man,
addressing Mr. Folliard; "and you, Cummiskey, get to your legs.
No person shall dare to injure either of you while I am here.
O'Donnel--stain and disgrace to a noble name--begone, you and your
ruffians. I know the cause of your enmity against this gentleman; and I
tell you now, that if you were as ready to sustain your religion as you
are to disgrace it by your conduct, you would not become a curse to it
and the country, nor give promise of feeding a hungry gallows some day,
as you and your accomplices will do."

Whilst the young stranger addressed these miscreants with such energy
and determination, Mr. Folliard, who, as well as his servant, had now
got to his legs, asked the latter in a whisper who he was.

"By all that's happy, sir," he replied, "it's himself, the only man
living that the Red Rapparee is afraid of; it's 'Willy Reilly.'"




CHAPTER II. _The Cooleen Baum_.

The old man became very little wiser by the information of his servant,
and said in reply, "I hope, Andy, he's not a Papist;" but checking the
unworthy prejudice--and in him such prejudices were singularly strong in
words, although often feeble in fact he added, "it matters not--we owe
our lives to him--the deepest and most important obligation that one
man can owe to another. I am, however, scarcely able to stand; I feel
be-numbed and exhausted, and wish to get home as soon as possible."

"Mr. Reilly," said Andy, "this gentleman is very weak and ill; and as
you have acted so much like a brave man and a gentleman, maybe you'd
have no objection to see us safe home."

"It is my intention to do so," replied Reilly. "I could not for a moment
think of leaving either him or you to the mercy of this treacherous
man, who dishonors a noble name. Randal," he proceeded, addressing the
Rapparee, "mark my words!--if but a single hair of this gentleman's
head, or of any one belonging to him, is ever injured by you or your
gang, I swear that you and they will swing, each of you, from as many
gibbets, as soon as the course of the law can reach you. You know me,
sir, and my influence over those who protect you. As for you, Fergus,"
he added, addressing one of the Rapparee's followers, "you are, thank
God! the only one of my blood who has ever disgraced it by leading
such a lawless and guilty life. Be advised by me--leave that man of
treachery,rapine, and murder--abandon him and re-form your life--and if
you are disposed to become a good and an industrious member of society,
go to some other country, where the disgrace you have incurred in this
may not follow you. Be advised by me, and you shall not want the means
of emigrating. Now begone; and think, each of you, of what I have said."

The Rapparee glanced at the noble-looking young fellow with the
vindictive ferocity of an enraged bull, who feels a disposition
to injure you, but is restrained by terror; or, which is quite as
appropriate, a cowardly but vindictive mastiff, who eyes you askance,
growls, shows his teeth, but has not the courage to attack you.

"Do not look at me so, sir," said Reilly; "you know I fear you not."

"But the meantime," replied the Rapparee, "what's to prevent me from
putting a bullet into you this moment, if I wish to do it?"

"There are ten thousand reasons against it," returned Reilly. "If you
did so, in less than twenty-four hours you would find yourself in Sligo
jail--or, to come nearer the truth, in less than five minutes you would
find yourself in hell."

"Well, now, suppose I should make the trial," said the Rapparee. "You
don't know, Mr. Reilly, how you have crossed me to-night. Suppose now I
should try--and suppose, too, that not one of you three should leave the
spot you stand on only as corpses--wouldn't I have the advantage of you
then?"

Reilly turned towards the ruined chapel, and simply raising his right
hand, about eight or ten persons made their appearance; but, restrained
by signal from him, they did not advance.

"That will do," said he. "Now, Randal, I hope you understand your
position. Do not provoke me again; for if you do I will surround you
with toils from which you could as soon change your fierce and brutal
nature as escape. Yes, and I will take you in the midst of your ruffian
guards, and in the deepest of your fastnesses, if ever you provoke me as
you have done on other occasions, or if you ever injure this gentleman
or any individual of his family. Come, sir," he proceeded, addressing
the old man, "you are now mounted--my horse is in this old ruin--and in
a moment I shall be ready to accompany you."

Reilly and his companions joined our travellers, one of the former
having offered the old squire a large frieze great-coat, which he gladly
accepted, and having thus formed a guard of safety for him and his
faithful attendant, they regained the old road we I have described, and
resumed their journey.

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