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Willy Reilly by William Carleton

W >> William Carleton >> Willy Reilly




"Ay, but you don't know the good news I have for you and Miss Helen."

"Oh, Lanigan, is Reilly safe?--is he set at large? Oh, I am sure he must
be. Never was so noble, so pure, and so innocent a heart."

"Curse him, look at the eye of him," said her father, pointing his cane
at Lanigan; "it's like the eye of a sharp-shooter. What are you grinning
at; you old scoundrel?"

"Didn't you expect Sir Robert Whitecraft here to-day to marry Miss
Folliard, sir?"

"I did, sirra, and I do; he'll be here immediately."

"Devil a foot he'll come to-day, I can tell you; and that's the way he
treats your daughter!"

"What does this old idiot mean, Helen? Have you been drinking, sirra?"

"Not yet, sir, but plaise the Lord I'll soon be at it."

"Lanigan," said Helen, "will you state at once what you have to say?"

"I will, miss; but first and foremost, I must show you how to dance the
'Little House under the Hill,'" and as he spoke he commenced whistling
that celebrated air and dancing to it with considerable alacrity and
vigor, making allowances for his age.

The father and daughter looked at each other, and Helen, notwithstanding
her broken spirits, could not avoid smiling. Lanigan continued the
dance, kept wheeling about to all parts of the room, like an old madcap,
cutting, capering, and knocking up his heels against his ham, with a
vivacity that was a perfect mystery to his two spectators, as was his
whole conduct.

"Now, you drunken old scoundrel," said his master, catching him by the
collar and flourishing the cane over his head, "if you don't give a
direct answer I will cane you within an inch of your life. What do you
mean when you say that Sir Robert Whitecraft won't come here to-day?"

"Becaise, sir, it isn't convanient to him."

"Why isn't it convenient, you scoundrel?"

"Bekaise, sir, he took it into his head to try a change of air for the
benefit of his health before he starts upon his journey; and as he got
a very friendly invitation to spend some time in Sligo jail he accepted
it, and if you go there you will find him before you. It seems he
started this morning in great state, with two nice men belonging to the
law in the carriage with him, to see that he should want for nothing,
and a party of cavalry surroundin' his honor's coach, as if he was one
of the judges, or the Lord Lieutenant."

The figurative style of his narrative would unquestionably have caused
him to catch the weight of the cane aforesaid had not Helen interfered
and saved him for the nonce.

"Let me at him, Helen, let me at him--the drunken old rip; why does he
dare to humbug us in this manner?"

"Well, then, sir, if you wish to hear the good news, and especially you,
Miss Folliard, it will probably relieve your heart when I tell you that
Sir Robert Whitecraft is, before this time, in the jail of Sligo, for
a charge of murdher, and for burnin' Mr. Reilly's house and premises,
which it now seems aren't Mr. Reilly's at all--nor ever were--but
belong to Mr. Hastings."

"Good heavens!" exclaimed the squire, "this is dreadful: but is it true,
sirra?"

"Why, sir, if you go to his house you'll find it so."

"Oh, papa," said Helen, "surely they wouldn't hang him?"

"Hang him, Helen; why, Helen, the tide's turned; they want to make him
an example for the outrages that he and others have committed against
the unfortunate Papists. Hang him!--as I live, he and the Red Rapparee
will both swing from the same gallows; but there is one thing I say--if
he hangs I shall take care that that obstinate scoundrel, Reilly, shall
also swing along with him."

Helen became as pale as ashes, the flush had disappeared from her
countenance, and she burst again into tears.

"Oh, papa," she exclaimed, "spare Reilly: he is innocent."

"I'll hang him," he replied, "if it should cost me ten thousand pounds.
Go you, sirra, and desire one of the grooms to saddle me Black Tom; he
is the fastest horse in my stables; I cannot rest till I ascertain the
truth of this."

On passing the drawing-room he looked in, and found Mr. Strong and
the two Misses Ashford waiting, the one to perform, and the others to
attend, at the ceremony.

"Sir. Strong and ladies," said he, with looks of great distraction, "I
fear there will be no marriage here to-day. An accident, I believe, has
happened to Sir Robert Whitecraft that will prevent his being a party in
the ceremony, for this day at least."

"An accident!" exclaimed the ladies and the clergyman. "Pray, Mr.
Folliard, what is it? how did it happen?"

"I am just going to ride over to Sir Robert's to learn everything about
it," he replied; "I will be but a short time absent. But now!" he added,
"here's his butler, and I will get everything from him. Oh, Thomas, is
this you? follow me to my study, Thomas."

As the reader already knows all that Thomas could tell him, it is only
necessary to say that he returned to the drawing-room with a sad and
melancholy aspect.

"There is no use," said he, addressing them, "in concealing what will
soon be known to the world. Sir Robert Whitecraft has been arrested on a
charge of murder and arson, and is now a prisoner in the county jail."

This was startling intelligence to them all, especially to the parson,
who found that the hangman was likely to cut him out of his fees.
The ladies screamed, and said, "it was a shocking thing to have that
delightful man hanged;" and then asked if the bride-elect had heard it.

"She has heard it," replied her father, "and I have just left her in
tears; but upon my soul, I don't think there is one of them shed for
him. Well, Mr. Strong, I believe, after all, there is likely to be no
marriage, but that is not your fault; you came here to do your duty, and
I think it only just--a word with you in the next apartment," he added,
and then led the way to the dining-room. "I was about to say, Mr.
Strong, that it would be neither just nor reasonable to deprive you of
your fees; here is a ten-pound note, and it would have been twenty had
the marriage taken place. I must go to Sligo to see the unfortunate
baronet, and say what can be done for him--that is, if anything can,
which I greatly doubt."

The parson protested, against the receipt of the ten-pound note very
much in the style of a bashful schoolboy, who pretends to refuse an
apple from a strange relation when he comes to pay a visit, whilst, at
the same time, the young monkey's chops are watering for it. With some
faint show of reluctance he at length received it, and need we say that
it soon disappeared in one of his sanctified pockets.

"Strong, my dear fellow," proceeded the squire, "you will take a seat
with these ladies in their carriage and see them home."

"I would, with pleasure, my dear friend, but that I am called upon to
console poor Mrs. Smellpriest for the loss of the captain."

"The captain! why, what has happened him?"

"Alas! sir, an unexpected and unhappy fate. He went out last night a
priest-hunting, like a godly sportsman of the Church, as he was, and on
his return from an unsuccessful chase fell off his horse while in
the act of singing that far-famed melody called 'Lillibullero,'
and sustained such severe injuries that he died on that very night,
expressing a very ungodly penitence for his loyalty in persecuting so
many treasonable Popish priests."

The squire seemed amazed, and, after a pause, said:

"He repented, you say; upon my soul, then, I am glad to hear it, for
it is more than I expected from him, and, between you and me, Strong, I
fear it must have taken a devilish large extent of repentance to clear
him from the crimes he committed against both priests and Popery."

"Ah," replied Strong, with a groan of deep despondency, "but,
unfortunately, my dear sir, he did not repent of his sins--that is the
worst of it--Satan must have tempted him to transfer his repentance to
those very acts of his life upon which, as Christian champion, he
should have depended for justification above--I mean, devoting his great
energies so zealously to the extermination of idolatry and error. What
was it but repenting for his chief virtues, instead of relying, like a
brave and dauntless soldier of our Establishment, upon his praiseworthy
exertions to rid it of its insidious and relentless enemies?"

The squire looked at him.

"I'll tell you what, Strong---by the great Boyne, I'd give a trifle to,
see you get a smart touch of persecution in your own person; it might
teach you a little more charity towards those who differ with you; but,
upon my honor, if any change in our national parties should soon take
place, and that the Papists should get the upper hand, I tell you to
your teeth that if ever your fat libs should be tickled by the whip of
persecution, they would render you great injustice who should do it for
the sake of religion--a commodity with which I see, from the spirit
of your present sentiments, you are not over-burdened. However, in the
meantime, I daresay that whatever portion you possess of it, you will
charitably expend in consoling his widow, as you say. Good-morning!"

We must return, however, to the close of Smellpriest's very sudden and
premature departure from the scene of his cruel and merciless labors.
Having reached the strip already described to him by Mr. Strong, and to
which he was guided by his men, he himself having been too far advanced
in liquor to make out his way with any kind of certainty, he proceeded,
still under their direction, to the cottage adjoining, which was
immediately surrounded by the troopers. After knocking at the door with
violence, and demanding instant admittance, under the threat of smashing
it in, and burning the house as a harbor for rebellious priests,
the door was immediately opened by a gray-headed old man, feeble and
decrepit in appearance, but yet without any manifestation of terror
either in his voice or features. He held a candle in his hand, and asked
them, in a calm, composed voice, what it was they wanted, and why they
thus came to disturb him and his family at such an unseasonable hour.

"Why, you treasonable old scoundrel," shouted Smellpriest, "haven't
you got a rebel and recusant Popish priest in the house? I say, you
gray-headed old villain, turn him out on the instant, or, if you
hesitate but half a minute, well make a bonfire of you, him, the house,
and all that's in it. Zounds, I don't see why I shouldn't burn a house
as well as Whitecraft. That cursed baronet is getting ahead of me, but
I think I am entitled to a bonfire as well as he is. Shall we burn the
house?" he added, addressing his men.

"I think you had better not, captain," replied the principal of them;
"recollect there are new regulations now. It wouldn't be safe, and might
only end in hanging every man of us--yourself among the rest."

"But why doesn't the old rebel produce the priest?" asked their leader.
"Come here, sirra--hear me--produce that lurking priest immediately."

"I don't exactly understand you, captain," replied the old man, who
appeared to know Smellpriest right well. "I don't think it's to my house
you should come to look for a priest."

"Why not, you villain? I have been directed here, and told that I would
find my game under your roof."

"In the first place," replied the old man, with a firm and intrepid
voice, "I am no villain; and in the next, I say, that if any man
directed you to this house in quest of a priest, he must have purposely
sent you upon a fool's errand. I am a Protestant, Captain Smellpriest;
but, Protestant as I am, I tell you to your face that if I could give
shelter to a poor persecuted priest, and save him from the clutches
of such men as you and Sir Robert Whitecraft, I would do it. In the
meantime, there is neither priest nor friar under this roof; you can
come in and search in the house, if you wish."

"Why, gog's 'ouns, father," exclaimed one of the men, "how does it come
that we find you here?"

"Very simply, John," replied his father--for such he was--"I took this
cottage, and the bit of land that goes with it, from honest Andy Morrow,
and we are not many hours in it. The house was empty for the last six
months, so that I say again, whoever sent Captain Smellpriest here sent
him upon a fool's errand--upon a wild-goose chase."

The gallant captain started upon hearing these latter words.

"What does he say," he asked--"a wild-goose chase! Right--right,"
he added, in a soliloquy; "Strong is at the bottom of it, the black
scoundrel! but still, let us search the house; the old fellow admits
that he would shelter a priest. Search the house I say.

'There was an old prophecy found in a bog,
Lillibullero, bullen ala, &c., &c.'"

The house was accordingly searched, but it is unnecessary to add that
neither priest nor friar was found under the roof, nor any nook or
corner in which either one or the other could have been concealed.

The party, who then directed their steps homewards, were proceeding
across the fields to the mountain road which ran close by, and parallel
with the stripe, when they perceived at once that Smellpriest was in a
rage, by the fact of his singing "Lillibullero;" for, whenever either
his rage or loyalty happened to run high, he uniformly made a point to
indulge himself in singing that celebrated ballad.

"By jabers," said one of them to his companions, "there will be a battle
royal between the captain and Mr. Strong if he finds the parson at home
before him."

"If there won't be a fight with the parson, there will with the wife,"
replied the other. "Hang the same parson," he added; "many a dreary
chase he has sent us upon, with nothing but the fatigue of a dark and
slavish journey for our pains. With what bitterness he's giving us
'Lillibullero,' and he scarcely able to sit on his horse! I think I'll
advance, and ride beside him, otherwise, he may get an ugly tumble on
this hard road."

He accordingly did so, observing, as he got near him, "I have taken the
liberty to ride close beside you, lest, as the night is dark, your horse
might stumble."

"What! do you think I'm drunk, you scoundrel?--fall back, sir,
immediately.

"'Lillibullero, bullen ala.'

"I say I'm not drunk; but I'm in a terrible passion at that treacherous
scoundrel; but no matter, I saw something to-night--never mind, I say.

"'There was an old prophecy found in a bog,
Lillibullero, bullen ala;

That Ireland should be ruled by an Ass and a Dog,
Lillibullero, bullen ala;

And now that same prophecy has come to pass--
Lillibullero, bullen ala;

For Talbot's the Dog, and James is the Ass,
Lillibullero, bullen ala.'

"Never mind, I say; hang me, but I'll crop the villain, or crop both,
which is better still--steady, Schomberg--curse you."

The same rut or chasm across the more open road on which they had
now got out, and that had nearly been so fatal to Mr. Brown, became
decidedly so to unfortunate Smellpriest. The horse, as his rider spoke,
stopped suddenly, and, shying quickly to the one side, the captain was
pitched off, and fell with his whole weight upon the hard pavement. The
man was an unwieldy, and consequently a heavy man, and the unexpected
fall stunned him into insensibility. After about ten minutes or so he
recovered his consciousness, however, and having been once more placed
upon his horse, was conducted home, two or three of his men, with much
difficulty, enabling him to maintain his seat in the saddle. In this
manner they reached his house, where they stripped and put him to bed,
having observed, to their consternation, that strong gushes of blood
welled, every three or four minutes, from his mouth.

The grief of his faithful wife was outrageous; and Mr. Strong, who was
still there kindly awaiting his safe return, endeavored to compose her
distraction as well as he could.

"My dear madam," said he, "why will you thus permit your grief to
overcome you? You will most assuredly injure your own precious health by
this dangerous outburst of sorrow. The zealous and truly loyal captain
is not, I trust, seriously injured; he will recover, under God, in a few
days. You may rest assured, my dear Mrs. Smellpriest, that his life is
too valuable to be taken at this unhappy period. No, he will, I trust
and hope, be spared until a strong anti-Popish Government shall come
in, when, if he is to lose it, he will lose it in some great and godly
exploit against the harlot of abominations."

"Alas! my dear Mr. Strong, that is all very kind of you, to support my
breaking heart with such comfort; but, when he is gone, what will become
of me?"

"You will not be left desolate, my dear madam--you will be
supported--cheered--consoled. Captain my friend, how do you feel now?
Are you easier?"

"I am," replied the captain feebly--for he had not lost his
speech--"come near me, Strong."

"With pleasure, dear captain, as becomes my duty, not only as a friend,
but as an humble and unworthy minister of religion. I trust you are not
in danger, but, under any circumstances, it is best, you know, to be
prepared for the worst. Do not then be cast down, nor allow your heart
to sink into despair. Remember that you have acted the part of a zealous
and faithful champion on behalf of our holy Church, and that you have
been a blessed scourge of Popery in this Pope-ridden country. Let that
reflection, then, be your consolation. Think of the many priests you
have hunted--and hunted successfully too; think of how many bitter
Papists of every class you have been the blessed means of committing
to the justice of our laws; think of the numbers of Popish priests
and bishops you have, in the faithful discharge of your pious
duty, committed to chains, imprisonment, transportation, and the
scaffold--think of all these things, I say, and take comfort to
your soul by the retrospect. Would you wish to receive the rites and
consolations of religion at my hands?"

"Come near me, Strong," repeated Smell-priest. "The rites of religion
from you--the rights of perdition as soon, you hypocritical scoundrel;"
and as he spoke he caught a gush of blood as it issued from his
mouth and flung it with all the strength he had left right into the
clergyman's face. "Take that, you villain," he added; "I die in every
sense with my blood upon you. And as for my hunting of priests and
Papists, it is the only thing that lies at this moment heavy over my
heart. And as for that wife of mine, I'm sorry she's not in my place.
I know, of course, I'll be damned; but it can't be helped now. If I go
down, as down I will go, won't I have plenty of friends to keep me in
countenance. I know--I feel I'm dying; but I must take the consequences.
In the meantime, my best word and wish is, that that vile jade shan't
be permitted to approach or touch my body after I am dead. My curse upon
you both! for you brought me to this untimely death between you."

"Why, my dear Smellpriest--" exclaimed the wife.

"Don't call me Smellpriest," he replied, interrupting her; "my name is
Norbury. But it doesn't matter--it's all up with me, and I know it
will soon be all down with me; for down, down I'll go. Strong, you
hypocritical scoundrel, don't be a persecutor: look at me on the very
brink of perdition for it. And now the only comfort I have is, that I
let the poor Popish bishop off. I could not shoot him, or at any rate
make a prisoner of him, and he engaged in the worship of God."

"Alas!" whispered Strong, "the poor man is verging on rank Popery--he is
hopeless."

"But, Tom, dear," said the wife, "why are you displeased with me, your
own faithful partner? I that was so loving and affectionate to you?
I that urged you on in the path of duty? I that scoured your arms and
regimentals with my own hands--that mixed you your punch before you went
after the black game, as you used to say, and, again, had it ready for
you when you returned to precious Mr. Strong and me after a long hunt.
Don't die in anger with your own Grizzey, as you used to call me, my
dear Tom, or, if you do, I feel that I won't long survive you."

"Ah! you jade," replied Tom, "didn't I see the wink between you
to-night, although you thought I was drunk? Ah, these wild-goose
chases!"

"Tom, dear, we are both innocent. Oh, forgive your own Grizaey!"

"So I do, you jade--my curse on you both."

Whether it was the effort necessary to speak, in addition to the
excitement occasioned by his suspicions, and whether these suspicions
were well founded or not, we do not presume to say; but the fact was,
that, after another outgulp of blood had come up, he drew a long,
deep sigh, his under-jaw fell, and the wretched, half-penitent Captain
Smellpriest breathed his last. After which his wife, whether from
sorrow or remorse, became insensible, and remained in that state for a
considerable time; but at length she recovered, and, after expressing
the most violent sorrow, literally drove the Rev. Mr. Strong out of the
house, with many deep and bitter curses. But to return:

In a few minutes the parties dispersed, and Folliard, too much absorbed
in the fates of Reilly and Whitecraft, prepared to ride to Sligo, to
ascertain if any thing could be done for the baronet. In the meantime,
while he and his old friend Cummiskey are on their way to see that
gentleman, we will ask the attention of our readers to the state of
Helen's mind, as it was affected by the distressing events which had so
rapidly and recently occurred. We need not assure them that deep anxiety
for the fate of her unfortunate lover lay upon her heart like gloom
of death itself. His image and his natural nobility of character, but,
above all, the purity and delicacy of his love for herself his manly and
faithful attachment to his religion, under temptations which few
hearts could resist--temptations of which she herself was, beyond all
comparison, the most trying and the most difficult to be withstood; his
refusal to leave the country on her account, even when the bloodhounds
of the law were pursuing him to his death in every direction; and the
reflection that this resolution of abiding by her, and watching over
her welfare and happiness, and guarding her, as far as he could, from
domestic persecution--all these reflections, in short, crowded upon her
mind with such fearful force that her reason began to totter, and she
felt apprehensive that she might not be able to bear the trial which
Reilly's position now placed before her in the most hideous colors. On
the other hand, there was Whitecraft, a man certainly who had committed
many crimes and murders and burnings, often, but not always, upon his
own responsibility; a man who, she knew, entertained no manly or tender
affection for her; he too about to meet a violent death! That she
detested him with an abhorrence as deep as ever woman entertained
against man was true; yet she was a woman, and this unhappy fate that
impended over him was not excluded out of the code of her heart's
humanity. She wished him also to be saved, if only that he might
withdraw from Ireland and repent of his crimes. Altogether she was in
a state bordering on frenzy and despair, and was often incapable of
continuing a sustained conversation.

When Whitecraft reached the jail in his carriage, attended by a guard
of troopers, the jailor knew not what to make of it; but seeing the
carriage, which, after a glance or two, he immediately recognized as
that of the well-known grand juror, he came out, with hat in hand,
bowing most obsequiously.

"I hope your honor's well; you are coming to inspect the prisoners, I
suppose? Always active on behalf of Church and State, Sir Robert."

"Come, Mr. O'Shaughnessy," said one of the constables, "get on with no
nonsense. You're a mighty Church and State man now; but I remember when
there was as rank a rebel under your coat as ever thumped a craw. Sir
Robert, sir, is here as our prisoner, and will soon be yours, for murder
and arson, and God knows what besides. Be pleased to walk into the
hatch, Sir Robert, and there we surrender you to Mr. O'Shaughnessy, who
will treat you well if you pay him well."

They then entered the hatch. The constable produced the _mittimus_ and
the baronet's person both together, after which they withdrew, having
failed to get the price of a glass from the baronet as a reward for
their civility.

Such scenes have been described a hundred times, and we consequently
shall not delay our readers upon this. The baronet, indeed, imagined
that from his rank and influence the jailer might be induced to give him
comfortable apartments. He was in, however, for two capital felonies,
and the jailer, who was acquainted with the turn that public affairs had
taken, told him that upon his soul and conscience if the matter lay
with him he would not put his honor among the felons; but then he had no
discretion, because it was as much as his place was worth to break
the rules--a thing he couldn't think of doing as an honest man and an
upright officer.

"But whatever I can do for you, Sir Robert, I'll do."

"You will let me have pen and ink, won't you?"

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