"Where was your face before it was washed?"
"Do you know the four pillars that your Church rests upon? because if you don't, I'LL tell you--it was Harry the aigth, Martin Luther, the Law, and the Devil. Put that in your pipe and smoke it. Ah, what a purty boy you are, and what a deludin' face you've got."
"So the priest's doin' you--he's the man can pluck a fat goose, Bob."
"Don't talk of pluckin' geese--you have taken some feathers out o' the Bible blades, to all accounts. How do you expect to be saved by joining an open heresy?"
"Whisht, you hathen, that has taken to idolathry bekase Father M'Cabe made an ass of you by a thrick that every one knows. But I tell you to your brazen face, that you'll be worse yet than ever you were."
"You disgraced your family by turnin' apostate, and we know what for.
Little Solomon, the greatest rogue unhanged, gave you the only grace you got or ever will get."
"Why, you poor turncoat, isn't the whole country laughin' at you, and none more than your own friends. The great fightin' Orangeman and blood-hound turned voteen!--oh, are we alive afther that!"
"The blaggard bailiff and swindler turned swadler, hopin' to get a fatter cut from the Bible blades, oh!"
"Have you your bades about you? if you have, I'll throuble you to give us a touch of your Padareen Partha. Orange Bob at his Padareen Partha!
ha, ha, ha."
"You know much about Protestantism. Blow me, but it's a sin to see such a knavish scoundrel professing it."
"It's a greater sin, you Orange omad-hawn, to see the likes o' you disgracin' the bades an' the blessed religion you tuck an you."
"You were no disgrace, then, to the one you left; but you are a burnin'
scandal to the one you joined, and they ought to kick you out of it."
In fact, both converts, in the bitterness of their hatred, were beginning to forget the new characters they had to support, and to glide back unconsciously, or we should rather say, by the force of conscience, to their original creeds.
"If Father M'Cabe was wise he'd send you to the heretics again."
"If the Protestants regarded their own character, and the decency of their religion, they'd send you back to your cursed Popery again."
"It's no beef atin' creed, anyway," said Darby, who had, without knowing it, become once more a staunch Papist, "ours isn't."
"It's one of knavery and roguery," replied Bob, "sure devil a thing one of you knows only to believe in your Pope."
"You had betther not abuse the Pope," said Darby, "for fraid I'd give you a touch o' your ould complaint, the fallin' sickness, you know, wid my fist."
"Two could play at that game, Darby, and I say, to hell with him--and the priests are all knaves and rogues, every one of them."
"Are they, faith," said Darby, "here's an answer for that, anyhow."
"Text for text, you Popish rascal."
A fierce battle took place on the open highway, which was fought with intense' bitterness on both sides. The contest, which was pretty equal, might, however, have been terminated by the defeat of one of them, had they been permitted to fight without support on either side; this, however, was not to be. A tolerably large crowd, composed of an equal number of Catholics and Protestants, collected from the adjoining fields, where they had been at labor, immediately joined them. Their appearance, unhappily, had only the effect of renewing the battle.
The Catholics, ignorant of the turn which the controversy had taken, supported Bob and Protestantism; whilst the Protestants, owing to a similar mistake, fought like devils for Darby and the Pope. A pretty smart skirmish, in fact, which lasted more than twenty minutes, took place between the parties, and were it not that their wives, sisters, daughters, and mothers, assisted by many who were more peaceably disposed, threw themselves between them, it might have been much more serious than it was. If the weapons of warfare ceased, however, so did not their tongues; there was abundance of rustic controversy exchanged between them, that is to say, polemical scurrility much of the same enlightened character as that in the preceding dialogue. The fact of the two parties, too, that came to their assistance, having mistaken the proper grounds of the quarrel, reduced Darby and Bob to the necessity of retracing their steps, and hoisting once more their new colors, otherwise their respective friends, had they discovered the blunder they had committed, would, unquestionably, have fought the battle a second time on its proper merits. Bob, escorted by his Catholic friends, who shouted and huzza'd as they went along, proceeded to Father M'Cabe's; whilst Darby and his adherents, following their example, went towards M'Clutchy's, and having left him within sight of Constitution Cottage, they returned to their labor.
We have already said, that neither M'Clutchy nor M'Slime was at all a favorite with Darby. Darby was naturally as avaricious, and griping, and oppressive as either of them; and as he was the principal instrument of their rapacity and extortion, he deemed it but fair and just that they should leave him at least a reasonable share of their iniquitous gains.
They were not, however, the gentlemen to leave much behind them, and the upshot was, that Darby became not only highly dissatisfied at their conduct towards him, but jealous and vigilant of all their movements, and determined to watch an opportunity of getting them both into his power. M'Slime's trick about M'Clutchy's letter first awoke his suspicions, and the reader is already acquainted with the dexterous piece of piety by which he secured it. Both letters now were in his possession, or at least in a safe place; but as he had not yet read them, he did not exactly know what line of conduct or deportment to assume. Then, how face M'Clutchy without M'Slime's answer? Darby, however, was fertile, and precisely the kind of man who could, as they sav, kill two birds with one stone. He had it;--. just the very thing that would serve every purpose. Accordingly, instead of going to M'Clutchy's at all, he turned his steps to his own house; tied an old stocking around his head, got his face bandaged, and deliberately took to his bed in a very severe state of illness. And, indeed, to tell the truth, a day or two in bed was not calculated to do him the least harm, but a great deal of good; for what, between the united contributions of Father M'Cabe and Bob Beatty, he was by no means an unfit subject for the enjoyment of a few days' retirement from public life.
CHAPTER XIV.--Poll Doolin's Honesty, and Phil's Gallantry
--A Beautiful but Cowardly Method of Destroying Female Reputation.--A Domiciliary Visit from the Blood-hounds--Irresponsible Power
At length the hour of Mary M'Loughlin's appointment with Phil arrived, and the poor girl found herself so completely divided between the contending principles of love for Harman and aversion towards Phil, that she scarcely knew the purport of her thoughts or actions. Harman's safety, however, was the predominant idea in her soul, and in order to effect that, or at least to leave nothing undone to effect it, she resolved, as pure and disinterested attachment always will do--to sacrifice her detestation for young M'Clutchy, so far as to give him an opportunity of satisfying her that he was sincere in wishing to save her lover. This setting aside her invincible and instinctive hatred of that worthy gentleman, was, she thought, not at least unreasonable, and with her mind thus regulated she accordingly awaited the appointed time. On reaching the back of her father's garden she found that Phil had not arrived, but somewhat to her relief she was accosted by Poll Doolin, who approached from a clump of trees that stood in deep and impenetrable shadow, whilst she and Poll were easily visible under the dim light of what is called a watery and cloudy moon.
Poll, as she addressed her, spoke eagerly, and her voice trembled with what appeared to Mary to be deep and earnest agitation.
"Miss M'Loughlin," she exclaimed, in a low, but tremulous voice, "I now forgive your father all--I forgive him and his--you need not forgive, for I never bore you ill-will--but I am bound to tell you that there's danger over your father's house and hearth this night. There is but one can save them, and he will. You must go into your own room, raise the window, and he will soon be there."
"What is that, Poll," said Mary, seriously alarmed, "I thought I heard the sound of low voices among the trees there. Who are they, or what is it?"
"Make haste," said Poll, leading the way, "go round to your room and come to the window. It's an awful business--there is people there in the clump--be quick, and when you come to the window raise it, and I'll tell you more through it."
Mary, in a state of great terror, felt that ignorant as she was of the dangers and difficulties by which she was surrounded, she had no other alternative than to be guided by Poll, who seemed to know the full extent of the mysterious circumstances to which she made such wild and startling allusions.
Poll immediately proceeded to Miss M'Loughlin's bed-room, the window of which was soon opened by Mary herself, who with trembling hands raised it no higher than merely to allow the necessary communication between them.
"You don't know, nor could you never suspect," said Poll, "the struggles that Misther Phil is makin' for you and yours. This night, maybe this hour, will show his friendship for your family. And now, Mary M'Loughlin, if you wish to have yourself and them safe--safe, I say, from his own father's blood-hounds," and this she hissed into her ear, squeezing her hand at the same time until it became painful--in a voice so low, earnest, and condensed, that it was scarcely in human nature to question the woman's sincerity; "if," she continued, "you wish to have them safe--and Harman safe, be guided by him, and let him manage it his own way. He will ask you to do nothing that is wrong or improper in itself; but as you love your own family--as you value Harman's life--let him act according to his own way, for he knows them he has to deal with best."
"Wo--wo--heavy and bitter betide you, Poll Doolin, if you are now deceiving me, or prompting mo to do anything that is improper! I will not act in this business blindfold--neither I nor my family are conscious of evil, and I shall certainly acquaint them this moment with the danger that is over them."
"By the souls of the dead," replied Poll, uttering the oath in Irish, "if you do what you say there will be blood shed this night--the blood, too, of the nearest and dearest to you! Do not be mad, I say, do not be mad!"
"May God guide me?" exclaimed the distressed girl, bursting into tears; "for of myself I know not how to act."
"Be guided by Mr. Phil," said she; "he is the only man living that can prevent the damnable work that is designed against your family this night."
She had scarcely uttered the words when Phil came breathless to the window, and, as if moved by a sense of alarm, and an apprehension of danger still greater than that expressed by Poll herself, he exclaimed--
"Miss M'Loughlin, it's no time for ceremony--my father's blood-hounds are at your father's door; and there is but one way of saving your family from violence and outrage. Excuse me--but I must pass in by this window. You don't know what I risk by it; but for your sake and theirs it must be done."
Even as he spake, the trampling of horses feet and the jingling of arms were distinctly heard at M'Loughlin.'s door--a circumstance which so completely paralyzed the distracted girl, that she became perfectly powerless with affright. Phil availed himself of the moment, put his hand to the window, which he raised up, and deliberately entered, after which he shut it down. Poll, while he did so, coughed aloud, as if giving a signal; and in an instant, a number of individuals mostly females, approached the window, near enough to see young M'Clutchy enter, and shut the window after him.
"Now," said Poll to the spectators, "I hope you're all satisfied; and you, James Harman, will believe your own eyes, if you don't Poll Doolin.
Is that girl a fit wife for your cousin, do you think? Well, you're satisfied, are you? Go home now, and help forrid the match, if you can.
You're a good witness of her conduct, at any rate."
"I did not believe you, Poll," replied the young man whom she addressed; "but unfortunately I am now satisfied, sure enough. My own eyes cannot deceive me. Lost and unhappy girl! what will become of her? But that's not all--for she has proved herself treacherous, and deceitful, and worthless."
"Ay," said the crones whom Poll had brought to witness what certainly seemed to them to be the innocent girl's shame and degradation--"ay,"
they observed, "there's now an end to her character, at any rate.
The pride of the M'Loughlins has got a fall at last--and indeed they desarved it; for they held their heads as upsettin' as if they were dacent Protestants, and them nothing but Papishes affeher all."