"That's more than I know," replied this grateful youth; "I neither saw nor heard you, if you were."
"It matters not," replied the other, "let me assist you to rise."
"I can rise myself now," said he, getting up and staggering; "I'll transport you and that d----d savage, Rimon the hatter. You are a po-popish priest, and you cannot be he-here at this time of night for much good. Never fear but I'll make you give an account of yourself, my old buck."
The, reader is already aware that Phil had been far advanced in intoxication previously; but when we take into account the fearful throttling he received, and the immense rush of blood which must have taken place to the brain, we need not be surprised that he should relapse into the former symptoms of his intoxication, or, in other words, that its influence should be revived in him, in consequence of the treatment he received.
"I think," continued Phil, "that I have got you and Rimon in my power now, and damn my hon-honor, may be we won't give you a chase a-across the country that'll put mettle into your heels; hip, hip, hurrah! Ay, and may be we won't give big M'--M'Cabe, or M'Flail, a ran that will do him good too, hip, hip--so good--good-night till I see you-you just as you ought to be--knitting your stock-cooking like Biddy O'Doherty; hip!"
He then staggered on homewards, half stupid from the strangulation scene, and very far removed from sobriety, in consequence of the copious libations of brandy he had swallowed in the course of the day and evening.
"Good night, Captain Phil," cried Raymond after him; "when will you come to the hills to meet Bet M'Cracken again?--Ha ha there now, that's one."
"Poor infatuated young man," exclaimed Father Roche; "if you were not so completely an object of contempt, you would surely be one of compassion.
May God in his mercy pity and relieve the unfortunate people whose destinies, domestic comforts, and general happiness, are to such an extent in the keeping of men like you and your wretched father--men who breathe an atmosphere rank with prejudices of the worst description, and hot with a spirit of persecution that is as free from just policy as it is from common sense! When will this mad spirit of discord between Christians--mad, I call it, whether it poison religion, politics, or inflame religion--be banished by mutual charity, and true liberty, from our unhappy country? and when will the rulers of that country learn that most important secret, how to promote the happiness of the people without degradation on the one hand, or insolent triumph on the other?"
O'Regan's return with the neighbors from the lower country, was somewhat, and yet not much, more protracted than Father Roche had expected. Considering everything, however, there was little time lost, for he had brought about a dozen and a half of the villagers with him.
Having reached the cold bed where she lay, and where all her affections had dwelt, they placed her upon a door, and having covered her body with a cloak brought for the purpose, the little solitary procession directed their steps to that humble roof which had been, ever since Father Roche occupied it, a sheltering one to destitution, and poverty, and repentance.
As they began to move away, O'Regan said--
"Excuse me for a few minutes--I wish to go back to the spot where my father and brothers sleep; that surely is but natural, and I will soon overtake you."
They then proceeded, and he remained at the graves of his relatives. He stood over them in silence for many minutes, keeping his face covered with his hands. At length he knelt down and sobbed out aloud.
"Father," said he, "I have fulfilled my oath--Torley, I have fulfilled my oath--Brian, my sweet and fair-haired child--your brother, when none was left to do you justice but myself, has fulfilled his oath. Listen to me and rest quiet in your, graves. The oppressor is no more--the scourge of the poor--the persecutor--the robber that trampled upon all law--that laughed at justice--that gave vent to his bad passions, because he knew that there was neither law, nor justice in the country to protect people like you or to punish himself;--that oppressor--that scourge of the poor--that persecutor--that robber, is this night sent to his account by my hand--for by no other had such a right to fall.--Sleep quiet and contented in your graves my father--and Torley and poor Brian! As we had no law for us in this country--I was his law--I was his justice--and so may God prosper me, if there is not a heavy load taken off of my heart by the fate that has come on the villain by my hand!"
He spoke these words m tears and deep sobs after which he composed himself, so that he might appear in his usual mood, that of simple grief, on rejoining his companions.
The morning of the following day, the town, and neighborhood of Castle Cumber were in a state of extraordinary excitement and tumult.
"Valentine M'Clutchy, Esq.," said the True Blue, "the excellent and humane Agent of the Castle Cumber property, was most barbarously shot dead in his parlor, about ten o'clock on the previous night. By this diabolical act, the poor of that admirably managed property," continued his brother Orangeman, "have lost, &c, &c."
But it is really sickening to read these unprincipled vindications of the scoundrels who drive the people into crime and bloodshed by their rack-renting and oppression. It is time that honest men should speak out, and fasten upon these scourges of their country, their proper appellative. To this murder, as to others of a similar character, there never was any clew found; notwithstanding the large rewards that were subscribed by the gentry of the county and by government. Phil was too drunk the evening before to remember anything distinctly. His pistols were never found, nor was any other discovery made which could fasten even suspicion on any particular individual.
If Phil, however, were drunk the night before his father's death, he was sober enough the night after it. On that night there was not a hill head on all the Castle Cumber estate which had not its bonfire and its rejoicing--for the re-appointment of Mr. Hickman to the agency. It might, however, be observed in-general--and it is frightful to be forced to record such a surfeit of things--that the tenantry, one and all appeared to feel a singular complacency of temper on the occasion--a strong sense as it were, of great relief--a revival of good spirits--a cherishing of rational hope--associated with dreams of domestic comfort, reasonable indulgence, sympathy, and common justice.
[Illustration: PAGE 355-- Such was the end of Valentine M'Clutchy]
Such was the end of Valentine M'Clutchy--and as we have only one other fact in connection with him to record, we may as well record it here. On the morning after his death, his mother, Kate Clank, was found dead on the steps of Castle Cumber gaol, whither, it would seem, she had come, as if from a principle of early recollection, to the spot where she had first drawn her breath in innocence; and who can tell, or will any one dare to say, that she died in guilt, or unforgiven? That is only known to God, by whom she was to be judged.
CHAPTER XXXI.--Richard Topertoe and his Brother
--Lord Cumber's Duel--Shot by Hartley--Dies in the Vindication of a tyrannical Principle--Marriage of Harman and Mary O'Loughlin--Solomon struck off the roll--Handsome Compliment to the Judge--Solomon's Death--Dances the Swaggering Jig--Lucre's Virtues and Christian Death.
The Honorable Richard Alexander Topertoe, for he was sometimes called the one and sometimes the other, but most frequently Richard, had been for several years on the continent, where he found it more economical to reside than at home. A circumstance connected with a gambling debt of his brother's; communicated by a friend, brought him suddenly to London, where he arrived in time to save his brother's reputation and fortune, and most probably his life, for Lord Cumber, be it known, was very nearly what is termed a professed duelist. Having succeeded in saving his brother from being fleeced by a crew of aristocratic black-legs, and thereby rendered an appeal to the duello unnecessary, he happened to become acquainted with a very wealthy merchant, whose daughter, in the course of a few months, he wooed and won. The thing in fact is common, and has nothing at all of romance in it. She had wealth and beauty; he had some title. The father, who passed off to a different counting-house, about a couple of months after their marriage, left him and her to the enjoyment of an immense property in the Funds; and sooth to say, it could not have got into better hands. She was made the Honorable Mrs. Richard Topertoe, and if a cultivated understanding, joined to an excellent and humane heart, deserved a title, in her person they did. After his arrival in London he had several conversations with his brother, whose notions with regard to property he found to be of the cool, aristocratic, and contemptuous school; that is to say, he did not feel himself bound to neglect the pleasures and enjoyments of life, and to look after his tenants. It was enough that he received their rents, and paid a sensible Agent to collect them. What more could he do? Was he to become their slave?
Richard, who now felt quite anxious to witness the management of his brother's estate--if only for the purpose of correcting his bad logic upon the subject of property, came over incognito to the metropolis, accompanied by his wife; and it was to his brother, under the good-humored sobriquet of Spinageberd, that he addressed the letters recorded in these volumes. He also had a better object in view, which was to purchase property in the country, and to reside on it. That he did not succeed in rooting out of Lord Cumber's mind his senseless prejudices with respect to the duties of a landlord, was unfortunately none of his fault. All that man could do, by reasoning, illustration, and remonstrance, he did; but in vain; the old absurd principle of the landlord's claims upon his tenantry, Lord Cumber neither could nor would give up; and having made these necessary observations, we proceed with our narrative.
Better than a week had now elapsed; M'Clutchy had been interred with great pomp--all the Orangemen of the neighboring districts having attended "his honored and lamented remains" to the grave, each dressed in his appropriate Orange costume. The provincial chaplain, remarkable for singing his own songs, had been engaged to preach his funeral sermon, which he did with a force of eloquence and pathos that literally brought the tears of those who were acquainted with Val's virtues down their cheeks--but of none else. He dwelt with particular severity upon those who had kindled bonfires, and hung his respectable son, "our esteemed brother, Captain Phil, in effigy; whilst the sacred remains of that father whom he loved so well, and who so well deserved his love, and the love of all who had the pleasure and happiness of his acquaintance, &c, &c, were not yet cold."
All this, we say, had taken place, and our friend Hartley was seated quietly at his breakfast one morning, when a gentleman named Fenton waited upon him, on the part of Lord Cumber. After the usual salutations, Mr. Fenton opened the business on which he had come.
"I regret, Mr. Hartley, that there should be any misunderstanding between you and Lord Cumber."
"Not more so than I do, Mr. Fenton, I assure you; Lord Cumber, I presume, has arrived then? But pardon me, have you breakfasted?"
"Thank you, sir, I have breakfasted. He has arrived, sir, and, requested me, to wait upon you for an apology. It appears, according to my instructions, as the lawyers say, that you have charged him with holding and exercising tyrannical principles as a landlord; now this, you know, is really a thing that a man like him could not overlook."
"Of course, Mr. Fenton, he placed our correspondence in your hands."
"Unquestionably he submitted it to me, previous to my consenting to act."
"And may I ask your own opinion, Mr Fenton?"
"As an extensive landed proprietor, Mr. Hartley, I must say that I agree with him; I think a landlord has a right to demand every kind of support from his tenant, and that if the tenant claims the privilege of running counter to his landlord's interest, then the landlord is justified in removing the tenant off his property as soon as he can."
"In that case, then," replied Hartley, "I have no concession to make, and no apology to offer. I regret this business very much; but Lord Cumber places me in a position which I cannot leave without dishonor."
"He also wishes to have an explanation with respect to the circumstances which induced so many of his corps of yeomanry to enroll their names in your new troop."
"I have explained that already, by stating that I never solicited any of his men to join my troop; they came of their own free will, and I received them, and certainly will receive as many as come to us under similar circumstances."
"Then I suppose you will not cause them to withdraw from your troop, as Lord Cumber insists on."
"Insists on! Will he allow neither the tenant nor the yeoman the use of his free will, Mr. Fenton? I see nothing now remains but to refer you to my friend, Captain Ormsby, who will assist you in making all the necessary arrangements; and the sooner this unpleasant matter is terminated; the better."
After bidding each other good morning, Mr. Fenton departed to make, as Hartley termed them, "the necessary arrangements."
The next morning at day-break, in a paddock about two miles from Castle Cumber, there stood a very elegant young man, of a high and aristocratic bearing, accompanied by Mr. Fenton, to whom he appeared to be relating some pleasant anecdote, if one could judge by the cheerful features of the narrator, and the laughter of his companion. A carriage stood by a kind of scalp in the road, which carriage contained a medical man, who, indeed, was present with great reluctance. In a few minutes a gig, containing two persons, drove to the same spot at a rapid pace, a gentleman on horseback accompanying it; these were Mr. Hartley, his friend, Captain Ormsby, and a medical gentleman, whom he also had brought on the occasion.
On meeting the two principals bowed politely, addressing each other in friendly terms, and were actually advancing to shake hands, when they mutually checked themselves, and Hartley, smiling, said:--
"My Lord, I fear that this is really a foolish business--why, it is literally fighting a duel upon abstract principles."
"It is fighting a duel upon a principle, which, either abstract or not, I will always support. If, however, you wish to avoid a duel, Mr.
Hartley, you have only to withdraw the offensive term you applied to the principle in question."
"As soon, my Lord, as you renounce the principle itself."
"Enough," said Lord Cumber, "gentlemen, please to let us take our ground."
Nothing could surpass the coolness, the ease of manner, and fine bearing of both. The ground was measured at twelve paces, and it was agreed by the seconds, from principles of humanity, that they should fire by signal. Indeed, we may say here, that the seconds did everything that men so circumstanced could do, to prevent the necessity of fighting.
Each, however, was high-minded and courageous, and knowing that his opponent was remarkable for bravery and success as a duellist, refused to make any concession. They accordingly took their grounds, resolved to abide the event.