"Now," thought he, "that I've Solomon in a double pickle--for he can't inquire about the letter without letting it be seen that he tould a lie, and practised a bit of knavery, any how--an' as regwdin' the other thing, I have him fast."
In the meantime, Father M'Cabe, who had read M'Slime's paragraph in the Castle Cumber "True Blue," respecting Darby's conversion, had a sharp eye out for him, as they term it in the country. Indeed, after two or three vain attempts to see him, the Rev. gentleman was satisfied with sending him a gentle message of congratulation upon his change of creed, which was significantly wound up by a slight hint, that he might, probably, on their next meeting, give him a nice treat, but of what particular description was not communicated. Darby having secured the letters as described, was proceeding at a pretty quick pace towards Mr.
Lucre's, when, whom should he meet in a narrow part of the way, which was enclosed between two immense white thorn hedges, through which any notion of escape was impracticable--but the Rev. Father M'Cabe. He tried every shift--looked back as if he expected some friend to follow him--then to the right--again to the left--then stooped to examine the ground, as if he had lost something of value or importance. At length, finding every other trick useless, he adopted that one so common among boys in desperate cases--we mean the attempt to make a mask of the right shoulder in order to conceal the face. Even this failed, and he found himself compelled to meet the fixed and stern gaze of the colossal priest, who was on horseback, and bore in his huge right hand a whip, that might, so gripped, have tamed a buffalo, or the centaur himself, if he were not fabulous.
"Why--my good, honest and most religious friend, Mr. Darby O'Drive--the odor of whose sanctity, you scoundrel, has already perfumed the whole Parish--is it possible that Providence in kindness to me, and in pure justice to yourself, has thrown you into my way at last." This for the present was accompanied only by a peculiar quivering motion of the whip, resulting from the quick vibrations which his sense of Darby's hypocrisy had communicated through the hand to the weapon which it held.
"God save your Reverence!" replied Darby, "an' in troth I'm glad to see you look so well--faith it's in a glow o' health you are, may God continue it to you! Be my sowl, it's you that can pepper the Orangemen, any how, your Reverence--and how is Father Roche, sir--although sure enough he's no match for you in givin' it home to the thieves."
"Silence, you hypocritical sleeveen, don't think you'll crawl up my wrist--as you do up M'Clutchy's and M'Slime's. Is it true that you have become an apostate?"
Darby here attempted to work up a kind of sly significant wheedling expression into his eye, as he stole a half timid, half confidant glance at the priest--but it would not do--the effort was a failure, and no wonder--for there before him sat the terrible catechist like an embodied thunder cloud--red, lurid, and ready to explode before him--nay he could see the very lightning playing and scintillating in his eyes, just as it often does about the cloud before the bursting of the peal. In this instance there was neither sympathy nor community of feeling between them, and Darby found that no meditated exposition of pious fraud, such as "quartering on the enemy," or "doing the thieves," or any other interested ruse, had the slightest chance of being tolerated by the uncompromising curate. The consequence was, that the rising roguery died away from Darby's face, on which there remained nothing but a blank and baffled expression, that gave strong assurance of his being in a situation of great perplexity. The most timid and cowardly animals will, however, sometimes turn upon their captors, and Darby although he felt no disposition to bandy words with the curate, resolved, notwithstanding, to abide by the new creed, until he should be able to ascertain his chance of the gaolership. There was, besides, another motive. He knew Mr. Lucre's character so well, that he determined to pursue such a course, during his interview, as might ensure him a sound horse-whipping; for it occurred to him that a bit of martyrdom would make a capital opening argument during his first interview with Mr.
Lucre.
"Did you hear me, sir?" again inquired the curate, making his whip whistle past his own right foot, just as if he had aimed it at the stirrup--"is it true that you have turned apostate?"
"I thought you knew it, sir," said Darby, "or if you didn't, why did you read me out the Sunday before last from the althar?"
"Then you acknowledge it," cried the priest, "you have the brass to acknowledge it, have you?" And here the whip made a most ferocious sweep in the air.
"Yes," replied Darby, thinking by the admission to increase the impending castigation--"yes, sir; I don't belong to your flock now--you have no authority whatsomever over me--mind that."
[Illustration: PAGE 216-- Oh, what a sweet convert you are]
"Haven't I indeed, Mr. Convert--oh, what a sweet convert you are--but we'll see whether I have or not, by and by. Where are you bound for now?
To taste of Mr. Lucre's flesh pots? eh?"
"I'm bound for Mr. Lucre's, sure enough; and I hope there's no great harm in that."
"Oh, none in the world, my worthy neophyte, none. Mr. Lucre's argument and Lord ----'s bacon are very powerful during this hard season. Those that haven't a stitch to their backs are clothed--those that haven't a morsel to eat are fed--and if they haven't a fire, they get plenty of fuel to burn their apostate skins at; and because this heretical crew avail themselves of the destitution of these wretches--and lure them from their own faith by a blanket and a flitch of bacon, they call that conversion--the new Reformation by the way, ha--ha--ha--oh, it's too good!"
"And do you think, sir," said Darby, "that if they had a hard or an enlightened hoult of their own creed, that that would do it?"
The whip here described a circle, one part of whose circumference sang within a few inches of Darby's ear--who, forgetting his relish for martyrdom, drew back his head to avoid it.
"None of your back jaw," said M'Cabe; "don't you know, sirra, that in spite of this Methodist Lord and the proud parson's temptations, you are commanded to renounce the devil, the world, and the flesh? Don't you know that?"
"But," replied Darby, "are we commanded to renounce the devil, the world, and a bit o' fresh mait?"
"Ha--you snivelling scoundrel," said the curate, "you've got their arguments already I see--but I know how to take them out of you, before you leave my hands."
"Surely," continued Darby, "you wouldn't have a naked man renounce a warm pair o' breeches, or a good coat to his back--does the Scriptur forbid him that?"
"You will have it," replied the curate, who felt for the moment astounded at Darby's, audacity, "you are determined on it; but I will have patience with you yet, a little, till I see what brought you over, if I can. Don't you admit, as I said, that you are commanded to renounce the devil, the world, and the flesh--particularly the flesh, sirra, for there's a peculiar stress laid upon that in the Greek."
"Well, but does it go in the Greek against a flitch o' bacon and a wisp o' greens, your reverence? Faith, beggin' your pardon, if you were to see some o' the new convarts, how comfortable they are wid their good frieze coats, and their new warm blankets, sittin' beside their good fires, you'd maybe not blame them so much as you do. Your religion, sir, only provides for the sowl; but theirs, you see, provides any how for the body--and faith, I say, the last is a great advantage in these hard times."
The priest's astonishment increased at the boldness with which Darby continued the argument, or rather, which prompted him to argue at all.
He looked at him, and gave a smile.
"Well," said he, almost forgetting his anger--for he was by no means deficient in a perception of the humorous--"but no matter--it will do by and by. You villain," said he, forced into the comic spirit of the argument; "do you not know that it said--cursed is he who becometh an apostate, and eateth the flesh of heretics."
"Aitin' the flesh of heretics is forbidden, I dare say, sure enough,"
replied Darby; "an' troth it's a commandment not likely to be broken--for dirty morsels they are, God knows; but is there anything said against aitin' the flesh of their sheep or cows--or that forbids us to have a touch at a good fat goose, or a turkey, or any harmless little trifle o' the kind? Troth myself never thought, sir, that beef or mutton was of any particular religion before."
"Yes, sir; beef and mutton, when they're good, are Catholic--but when they're lean, why, like a bad Christian, they're Protestant, of course, and that's well known," said the priest, still amused, against his will, by Darby's arguments.
"Faith, and wid great respect, the same is but a poor argument for your own--hem--I mane, sir, for your church; for if the best beef and mutton be of the thrue religion, the Protestants have it all to nothing.
There, they're infallible, and no mistake. The fat o' the land, your reverence," said Darby, with a wink; "don't you understand? They've got that any how."
A slight cut of the whip across the shoulders made him jump and rub himself, whilst the priest, struck with his utter want of principle, exclaimed.
"You double-dealing scoundrel, how dare you wink at me, as if we felt anything in common?"
The blow occasioned Darby's gorge to rise; for like every other knave, when conscious of his own dishonesty, and its detection, he felt his bad passions overpower him.
"You must," said the priest, whose anger was now excited by his extraordinary assurance--"you must renounce their religion, you must renounce M'Slime and Lucre--their flitches, flannels, and friezes. You must--"
"Beggin' your pardon," said Darby, "I never received any of their flitches or their flannels. I don't stand in need of them--it's an enlightened independent convart I am."
"Well, then," continued the priest, "you must burn their tracts and their treatises, their books and Bibles of every description, and return to your own church."
"To become acquainted," replied Darby, "with that piece o' doctrine in your hand there? Faith and I feel the truth o' that as it is, your reverence; and it is yourself that can bring it home to one. But, why, wid submission, don't you imitate Father Roche? By me sowl, I tell you to your face, that so long; as you take your divinity from the saddler's shop, so long you will have obedient men, but indifferent Catholics."
"What!" replied M'Cabe, in a rage, "do you dare to use such language to my face--a reprobate--a brazen contumacious apostate! I've had this in for you; and now (here he gave him a round half dozen) go off to M'Slime, and Lucre, and Lord------, and when you see them, tell them from me, that if they don't give up perverting my flock, I'll give them enough of their own game."
Darby's face got pale, with a most deadly expression of rage--an expression, indeed, so very different from that cringing, creeping one which it usually wore, that M'Cabe, on looking at him, felt startled, if not awed, intrepid and exasperated as he was. Darby stood and looked at him coldly, but, at the same time, with unflinching fearlessness in the face.
"You have done it," he said, "and I knew you would. Now, listen to me--are you not as aiger to make convarts as either M'Slime or Lucre?"
"You will have it again, you scoundrel," said the curate, approaching him with uplifted whip.
"Stand back," said Darby, "I've jist got all I wanted--stand back, or by all the vestments ever you wore, if your whip only touches my body, as light as if it wouldn't bend a feather, I'll have you in heaven, or purgatory, before you can cry 'God forgive me.'"
The other still advanced, and was about to let the whip fall, when Darby stretched his right hand before him, holding a cocked and loaded pistol presented to the curate's breast.
"Now," said he, "let your whip fall if you like; but if you do, I'll lodge this bullet," touching the pistol with his left forefinger, "in your heart, and your last mass is said. You blame Lucre and M'Slime for making convarts; but ai'en't you every bit as anxious to bring over the Protestants as they are to bring over us? Aren't you paradin' them Sunday af'ther Sunday, and boastin' that you are takin' more from the heretics than they are takin' from you? Wasn't your last convart Bob Beatty, that you brought over because he had the fallin' sickness, and you left it upon him never to enter a church door, or taste bacon; and now you have him that was a rank Orangeman and a blood-hound six weeks ago, a sound Catholic to-day? Why, your reverence, with regard to convart makin' divil the laist taste o' differ I see between you on either side, only that they are able to give betther value in this world for the change than you are--that's all. You're surprised at seeing my pistols, but of late I don't go any where unprovided; for, to tell you the thruth, either as a bailiff or a convart, it's not likely I'd be safe widout them; and I think that yourself are a very good proof of it."
"Very well, my good, fine, pious convart; I'll keep my eye on you. I understand your piety."
"And I can tell you, my good, meek, pious priest, I'll keep mine on you; and now pass on, if you're wise--and so _bannath lath_."
Each then passed on, pursuing his respective destination. They had not gone far, however, when both chanced to look back at the same moment--M'Cabe shook his whip, with a frown, at Darby, who, on the other side, significantly touched the pocket in which he carried his fire-arms, and nodded his head in return.
Now, it is an undeniable fact, that characters similar to that of Darby, were too common in the country; and, indeed, it is to be regretted that they were employed at all, inasmuch as the insolence of their conduct, on the one hand, did nearly as much harm as the neglect of the hard-hearted landlord himself, on the other. Be this as it may, however, we are bound to say that Darby deserved much more at M'Cabe's hands than either that Rev. gentleman was aware of then, or our readers now. The truth was, that no sooner had M'Slime's paragraph touching Darby's conversion gone abroad, than he became highly unpopular among the Catholics of the parish. Father M'Cabe, in consequence of Darby's conduct, and taking him as a specimen, uttered some lively prophecies, touching' the ultimate fate of the new Reformation. He even admonished his flock against Darby:--
"I have warned you all now," he said, "and if after this I hear of a single perversion, woe be unto that pervert, for it is better for his miserable soul that he had never been born. Is there a man here base enough to sell his birthright for a mess of Mr. Lucre's pottage? Is there a man here, who is not too strongly imbued with a hatred of heresy, to laugh to scorn their bribes and their Bibles. Not a man, or, if there is, let him go out from amongst us, in order that we may know him--that we may avoid his outgoings and his incomings--that we may flee from him as a pestilence--a plague--a famine. No, there is none here so base and unprincipled as all that--and I here prophesy that from this day forth, this Reformation has got its death-blow--and that time will prove it. Now, remember, I warn you against their arts, their bribes, and their temptations--and if, as I said, any one of this flock shall prove so wicked as to join them--then, I say again, better for his unfortunate soul that he had never come into existence, than to come in contact with this leprous and polluted heresy."
Darby having heard--for he never went to mass--that he was denounced by the priest, and feeling that his carrying into execution the heartless and oppressive proceedings of M'Clutchy had, taken together, certainly made him as unpopular a man as any individual of his contemptible standing in life could be, resolved, in the first place, to carry arms for his own protection, and, in the next, to take a step which he knew would vex the curate sorely. Accordingly, he lost no time in circulating, and having it circulated by others, that the great Reformation Society would give, in a private way, five guineas a head to every convert, taking them either by the individual or the family, although the conversion of the latter, he said, was far more coveted than even a greater number of individuals, when they were not bound by the same ties of blood, inasmuch, as the bringing them over by families was an outpouring of grace which could not be withstood. The consequence was, that all the profligate and unprincipled who had cold, and nakedness, and famine, in addition to their own utter want of all moral feeling to stimulate them, looked upon the new Reformation and its liberal promises as a complete windfall blown into their way by some unexpected piece of good fortune. Five guineas a head! And all for only going to church, and gaining for ever more the heart and affections of the good and kind Lord ------. There was also another class, the simple and honest poor, who had no other way of avoiding all the rigors and privations of that terrible season, than a painful compliance with the only principle which could rescue themselves and their children, from a state of things worse than death itself--and which might probably have terminated in death--we mean the principle of the new Reformation. There was, still, a third class--which consisted of a set of thorough Irish wags, who looked upon the whole thing as an excellent joke--and who, while they had not a rag to their backs, nor a morsel for their mouths, enjoyed the whole ceremony of reading their recantation, renouncing Popery, and all that, as a capital spree while it lasted, and a thing that ought by all means to be encouraged, until better times came.