The Storyteller.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXIX, Issue 24, 13 June 1901, Page 23

The Storyteller.

KATE O'LEARY.

Thee B is no portun of the Irish coast so barren and desolate that the expe^a*"?™ <\f finding human beings resident in its vicinity in never entertained by the chance visitor in search oi iv« uUaunc au 1 peculiar. Throughout ihe winter months the sea makes b&vage onslaught on the rooks, which are protected by weeds, aumy, ,mv * color that verges on black ; a dirty, forbidding color, that indicates » perpetual state of decay ; beyond is the land low-lying and devoid of vegetation. The two, sea and land, present seemingly, the extreme in ugliness of which nature is capable — that, at any rate, would be the opinion of the stranger who saw them for the first time. They repel ; they induce melancholy ; iv the stranger they would beget a feeling of repugnance. In constant sight of this ooean-washed, wind-blown place the most sanguine would become depressed ; one should be born and bred there in order to be able to view the scene with indifference. The sunshine makes an attempt in the summer months to impart an air of cheerf ulnass, but the sunshine cannot do impossibilities, and the attempt is a miserable failure. Aridness ; sliminess ; gloominess — they cannot be adorned. But the dour spot ia not deserted. In the roar or the murmur of the sea, as the seasons come and go, there are some three dozen scattered dwellings which are inhabited by miserably poor, pinchfaced, lean-bodied men and women. From their front doors many of these folks of narrowed lives have a view of the barren acres, and can almost see the rocks so slimy and blaok. Eajh householder 1b supposed to farm a few acres ; to till the soil, make the rent, and maintain himself and family on the surplus proceeds. A very pretty picture, but, as a matter of fact, these wretched creatures can never manage to make both ends meet. They are stricken with poverty ; most distressingly stricken. It is not an occasional poverty ; an intermittent lack of the least nourishing necessaries of life ; no. it is chronic. In this strip of starvation locality incidents are related more saddening than the novelist ever conceived. One of these incidents, full-padded if you like, to the extent of a story, is now to be told. It will, in many ways, repay perusal. Richest, then, of these inhabitant, was Maurice O'Leary. He was somewhat raised above the poverty-stricken condition of his neighbors by the possession of six acres of really productive land, a boat in which he was wont to go fishing, two cows and two sheep. The cows would have been cipowned by their kind ; bony, gcraggy, ill-conditioned animals ; they were, the reject of many a buyer. In. the days of his youth Maurice had conceived the notion of making money ; of casting from him the degradation which was begotten of circumstances and the locality. All in vain. He might as well have tried to drag himself out of a quicksand if the accursed thing had him wrapped to the neck and death stood ready to claim him. When the seafons were good the possibility of prosperity loomed brightly before his mental gaze ; then came b.id seasons, lo?s, and approach to the close-clinging poverty. Ail very pathetic but all very common-place, to his neighbors, who were ever occupied, as they themselves would have graphically said, iv 'pullin' the devil by the t iil ' ; iv other wordn, in an attempt to stave off sheer starvation. Maurice had a daughter, Kate ; pretty, the very attracti" c robust prettineeß which the peabant favors, and would take a real pleasure in wooing and winning che owner. Agile, swift of foot, as all girls of 18 ought to be ; a hard worker, up at the dawn and to rest when the night had well advanced her face and figure were indications of the life she led. The ieaturts inipht have been more regular : were not, indeed, at all regular, but theu th*» f;v»<.in:tting expression was there. In her eyes were the vivacity and the repov of the pure and the simple at heart ; they looked fearlo-sly out of all things; were sometimes tear-dimtned, more often bright with joy and hope ; never hidden from feelings of shame. They redeemed the pertness of her nose, which was, alack I slightly upturned (pray excure the neglect to use the French word), but tended to give her mouth a piquancy which cannot well be described. From morning to night she sang as Bhe worked or rented, not eonys of many verses, but pleasant snatihes concerning many things which would have puzzled a music-master as much as the uninon and harmony of her untaught notes would have amused him. Ail in all, a maiden fair to see ; to like, to love. Of course she had lovers — several, half a dozen, perhaps ; but her mother had long been dead, her father seemed to n quire her ; indireotly prohibited wooers, and for the time beinur at any rate she would have none of them. It does not follow she regarded all of them with indifference. If she confessed the secret oi her inmost heart there was one of them at least for whom she had something more than mere neighborly esteem For the reasons given, however, she took care never to betray herself with definiteness, and the months came and went, and to all appearance she was fancy free. Chronic poverty, or something like it, and marriage — what a combination. It may safely be asserted, however, that as a rule tn« Irish peasant will marry if he can ; be discontented if he cannot ; and, indeed, the Irish peasant girl also as a rule has uo desire to hvo and die single. The monotony of her existence was one day somewhat rudely dispelled by her father. It was evening ; a lowering evening, with the clouds low o'er land and sea, the waters of which broke in erratic chops and splashes on the repelling shore; an evening to send a chill to the heart and deaden all joyousnes*. Kato had been to feed the scraggy, bony oows, the never-grow-fats of their kind. Bhe came in a straight line from the tumbled-down cowhouse of rotten timber and decaying thatch. In one hand the carried a pail and in the other a turban-like roll of cloth used for balancing the loaded pail on her head. All unsuspecting of anything out of the

common she sang * snatch of a Bong as she approached the door where her father stood lost in meditation. He peemed indeed asebe came nearer to take greater ' stock ' of her than usual, but that was nothing remarkable, a mere fancy of the moment. When she entered the house he followed and for several minutes remained silent. ' You'd not be guessin' who vws here this evenin ? ' he said abruptly. Kate turned and star, d. Maybe it was one particular ' I'd not b c pucfin,' phe answered. Who wub il ? ' • Tmr*"> Lynch, iv Caw beg.' At this announcement she wiped and re wiped her hands in an old cloth, but made no remark. Jamea Lynch, aged 45 years and upwards, single, of no interest whatever to her. ' When a man like James Lynch walks six miles iv an evenin', he don't do it for nothin',' continued her father. 'Would you believp it, Kate ? ' ' What 1 ' queried the unsuspecting Kate. ' He cum match-makin.' She started. All the chronic poverty of her neighbors passed before her mental vision. • An' who's the rich man's daughter he cum lookin' af ther ? ' she queried sarcastically. 'No rich man's daughter at all, at all, but a poor man's daughter, wan Kate O'Leary. 1 1 Father ! ' The unexpected in this cafe was bo sudden that she remained momentarily speechless after the ejaculated word. James Lynch, aged 45 year?, and ' Sure it's y' are, father,' she gasped, at last, the color coming and going in her countenance. ' Kate, avick,' he said, unheeding her question, it's a grand chance for you an' me — for you an 1 me, Kate avourneen — for you an' me.' ' Father I father ! You never ' ' He's willin' to make a settlement — rale handsome, wan hundred pound down. I never heard anythin' to akale id, afore or since.' He rubbed his chin and stared reflectively at the earthen-hole riddled floor. His daughter seemed to consult the gathering shadows that kept thickening into darkness without the door. It may be she conjured up the face of a young man, toil-worn, poverty-stricken, but very dear to her. There were tears in her eye», but her father saw nothing but the floor, and he thought of nothing but the wealth that seemed at last to be coming within his grasp. ' What did y' tell him, father ? ' The woe in in her voice, the lingering wail of one who was filled with sorrow, caused him to look up. Her figure loomed before him, and her features could be indistinctly seen. ' What did I tell him.' he repeated. ' What did I tell him, but all 'il be right. Ih it thinkin' iv' refuain' ye are ; refuain' a man that takes y' without axin' anythin' an' pay wan hundhred pounds down. An' more, Kate avourneen, an' more; he's been made agent to collect the nuts hereabouts, an' that's somethin' to consider too.' 'I don't care, father." she .blurted out at last, 'I wouldn't marry him iv he had a goold mine.' Rebellion ; rank rebellion ; visions of wealth nowhere ; poverty everywhere, and this time the blow struck by his own daughter. He ros-e Irom his seat, came close to her, peered into her face, and said ' IV y' tnane I'm to tell Jamea Lynch yer wont have him, is that what you maue ? ' ' I mane that, an' nothing else, father.' 'Ah t D' y' tell me so.' There was m bin tone a bitter sarcasm which she had never heird before. The pant and the present ; the brightness of the future, as he conceived it, urged him to become determined. At the same instant, however, his voice softened. 'Take time an' think, Kate, avourneen,' he said slowly, 'an' in a couple iv days it's a different mind you'll have.' She shook her bead. He passed out into the shadows repeating — 'Take time an' think ; take time an" think.' Begun abruptly, ended abruptly, the conversation weighed upon her uiiud and heart. The days came and the days went and the remained unchanged, unchangeable. Jamea Lynch, aged 45 years, at length put in an appearance ; the»e was a discussion between three ; pleas urged by a father who wished to be wealthy ; muny soft words by a bachelor who wished to marry, and a firm unwillingness on the part of a girl to please either one or the other. Then the departure of the wooer ; an angry scene between father and daughter, and a night of misery and wretchedness. In the ensuing week both parent and child might as well have bten dumb, for they spoke not to each other. Wrath and despondency, these were the feelmga they shared between them, and there seemed no possibility of a reconciliation. And while matters stood thus there came over the sea, from Heaven knows where, a storm. Towards the close of day a blaok patch of a cloud lay l.ke a smudge on the blue sky ; irregularly the cloud spread and shaped itself, a most ungainly, ugly thing, till the line which marks the horizon was (covered, and a cold wind came sweeping inland. In an hour or more great oloud battalions had shut land and sea in sombre gloom ; the wind increased ; the rain fell ; lightning flashed ; thunder rolled in the distance ; the storm was under weigh. There are those in that locality who will never forget the battle of the elements. It raged through the night and part of the next day. All previous experiences of the kind were insignificant in comparison. At length it ceased, and the immediate damage could be estimated. It was great. The dwellings of the poor creatures were battered unmercifully ; everything that offered a resistance to the wind had suffered, and, Baddeat

of all, two lives were lost. Almost homeless, with ruin staring them in the face, heart-broken, the poor inhabitants went hither and thither, noting and calculating. The mournful cry for loved ones so suddenly snatched away was mingled with the lamentations of lesser tribulations. A terrible blow ; most terrible. Maurice O'Leary, the man in Bearch of wealth, went abroad at noon on the day following the night of the storm. The wind still blew in spiteful flitters, and cloud patches raced and jumbled overhead, and all real dangar waß passed. He found his two cows dead, and bis two Rhe»p driven he knew not where. A very small item in comparison with what the storm had done, but a very big iLeui on him, and not easily to bo replaced — impossible, in fact. He returned indoors and pondered, forgetful of all the distress of ihotm in his vicinity. At last he was at the lowest ebb — could not well go lower except he were left without a roof, and this did not seem at all improbable, for the house had been played upon savagely by wind and rain, and waa now trembling in impending decrepitude. Kate — there was Kate. If she could only consent to a union with James Lynch, aged forty-five, all might yet be well ; if not, ill wonld be very ill indeed. Where was Kate ? There was no time for the continuance of a quarrel which ought never have been begun. He called aloud, but got no response. ' Kate ! Kate 1 Where are y', avourneen 1 ' In some haste, like a man apprehensive, he went to the room where he expected he might find her, and there she was. She was kneeling before a small altar of the Virgin, lost to all her surroundings, deaf to calls from whomsoever. Ab well leave her there ; no, on second thoughts, he would speak. He went over, placed his hand on her shoulder and said : ' Kate, avourneen, did y' hear me call — did y', Kate? ' In a tremble, why he could not understand, she bent lower and lower, and then there burst from her a sob — a deep sob, rending emotions and feeling like one in agony. Alarmed, astonished, he too went on his knees and endeavored, to remove her hands from her face. 4 Won't y' talk to me, Kate ? ' he said. ' What is it avourneen ? Has any hurt or harm cum t' y' ? ' Then for the first time he noticed her bedraggled dress. Out in the blinding storm she must have been — struck at, buffeted, and now, of course, all affrighted and depressed. Solicitude for his welfare, for she was young and hardy, had induced her to do this. 'Spake to me, avourneen,' he entreated ; ' spake to me Out in the storm an' the wind on' the rain — an' for me ; shure, Kate ' She let her hands fall to her sides, and he could look directly into her eyes. They were not as they were wont to be — what was the difference ? He could not tell. She did not look at him, but beyond him, as if she were not sure where her gaze was fixed. A thought that lessened the pnlsations of his heart and numbed bis energies flashed through his mind. No, no ! It could not be ; must not be. God was good, God was merciful, and would not afflict her thus. ' Kate,' he murmured in a choking whisper, • look at me ; tell me y' can see me, Kate ?' She stretched out her hands at the sound of his voice, but they struck only the empty air. A sobbing cry terminated the action. IMy God 1' he cried. ' She cannot see me. She is blind ! blind ! blind !'

The dead were buried on a day when the sun shone and the sea was calm, with ripples that lapped the shore in musical cadence. A great deal had been done to repair the damage, but debris, battered houses, with gaps and fissures, and a general appearance of devastation remained to attest the force of wind and rain. To a great extent forgetful of themselves, they felt a genuine sympathy for Maurice O'Leary in the affliction which had befallen his daughter ; Btill a greater sympathy, if possible, for the girl, herself. But there was a prevailing opinion that something might be done for her. It might be only a temporary loss of sight, and the services of a clever doctor might prove invaluable. At any rate no time Bhould be lost. Take her from that wretched spot to where Bhe could be treated ; that was the point they impressed with almost undue emphasis upon her father, who was only too anxious to do what lay in his power for her. To take her by road — a bad, rutty road it then was — would be tedious and wearisome — the more oomfortable, the better way altogether, would be by sea in the boat which was the one chattel on which her father could now set any value. This he decided to do. A week had not passed from the night of the lightning flashes and thunder roll when all arrangements were made for the journey. It was then there came upon the scene James Lynch ; full of commiseration ; still making a claim ; told her father, indeed, in whispered converse that he waa still willing to woo, and, if possible, to win. Maurice failed to understand him, and had a notion it was his duty to knock this ardent lover down, but refrained. The entire of that conversation will never be known, but the honeyed words of the lover were mixed with covert threats which the unfortunate Maurice had reason to believe could easily be carried out. Worst of all, the two had conversed in the house, and Kate had heard almost everything. This became known to her father only when the disagreeable wooer had departed, and he went to speak to her. The first statement she made ; the readiness she now showed to sacrifice herself for him aroused in him feelings of remorse and anger. He would have gone in pursuit of Lynch and bid him defiance, but she restrained him and kept him by her side. How could all this end / A couple of hours before the beginning of the voyage a young man volunteered his services to guide the boat to its destination. Maurice gratefully accepted the offer, and went and told Kate. ' There's Phil Bergin,' he said, the son iv the widow at the urn above, and what d' 7' think, Kate, but he comes an' out iv

himself, says he'll help t' Bail the boat all the way—rale kindness, wasn't it ?' The oolor that dyed the cheeks of Kate told a tale ; but her father's eyes were elsewhere, and he missed possessing a secret. In ~ her great affliction this waß the firßt gleam of sunshine that had gladdened her heart. She conld almost smile and sing. In a certain indefinite way Phil had been made aware ehe liked him, but that was all; in other respects they were mere neighbors. Her father was her care ; anyhow, he had indirectly shown he did not wish she should marry —perhaps he was willing for a man with a fortune, who had come at last, and seemed likely to cause some trouble if he baulked his object. The care of Phil liergin was hia widowed mother, for whioh care Kate admired him, came at length to love him, but held aloof. That brief voyage of a few miles—all objects might be shut from her gaze, but a sweet pleasure would be there all the way. The three, father, daughter, and lover, for that he was, boarded the boat, shifted the single dirty sail to catch the wind, and headed outwards. A group of neighbors stood near the Blimy rocks, and wished God-speed with deep emotion. They turned away as the boat and its occupants became a large blot on the gently tossing sea. Without mishap, wafted by a favorable breeze, the boat raced onwards, about a mile from the shore, and reached its destination in safety. Two of the three had found a great deal of happiness ; strange happiness, in an open boat, with one fond heart drinking in the words that fell on her ears, the other almost inclined to weep when he gazed on the face, and thought of the eyes that saw not — might perhaps never see again. Thus, alas I it came to pass. The doctor, who had some skill as an oculist, could hold out no hope. Blind she was —blind she would remain. She herself displayed marked fortitude ; but her father's heart was wrung with sorrow, and as for the third person, he oonld utter no word, either of comfort or regret. He was experiencing a new and poignant grief whioh rendered him dumb, full of moods and gloomy fancies. The setting out had seen them buoyed up by hope ; the return saw the last vestige of hope vanished ; worst of all never to spring anew. The conversation as the boat swept through the waters back to everlasting sliminess and dreariness was brief. Kate sat in the stern, her father by her side, and steered. Phil managed the sail, most unruly and flapping sail ever made. The green water threatened the sides of the boat in gurgling menaces ; the surface of the ocean, as far as could be seen, was undulating in lazy pleasantness ; the air was keen, but tinged with warmth ; overhead the blue sky arched itself most majestically. Beauty sublime everywhere — ignored by two, unseen by the third. The Bun set, evening oame, shadows on the deep, silence, save the dash of the pushful boat. It was evident the voyage would finish in darkness. What matter ? Daylight or darkness it was all the same. Phil had set the sail till the wind caught every inch, when a sharp gust swept low over the water, and the boat rocked ominously and went off several points. A squall, heavy or light was near. He righted her with difficulty with the aid of Maurice, who had almost let the tiller slip from his hand. The sky was now most villainously black, and the wind seemed to be blowing in arcs and circles. Phil was aware that along the coast where he was sailing were treacherous undercurrents which destroyed all chance of safety for the small craft caught in them in bad weather. These undercurrents usually succeeded in ' turtling ' the boat with remarkable suddenness —that is, they turned it upaide down. He glanced in the direction of Kate —she sat with bowed head and scarcely any sign of life. The boat was slashed by the rising sea. It would soon be impossible to use the sail, except with the gravest danger to all concerned. Splash ! She was caught partially in the ugly current and careened over at an alarming angle ; righted herself, and all waa well. The sail was let go, furled as well as might be, and a black speck on a black sea she ploughed onward. But Kate —she waa roused from her lethargy and was clinging to her father. He could hear her murmur some words and stooped till his ear was close to her mouth. ' Hail, Mary, full of grace, our Lord is with thee ; blessed art thou amongst women ; and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.' She was praying. He looked around at the slashing, fieroe, menacing eea ; above at the inky blackness, and felt indeed that prayer was needed. Phil came near and spoke to him, but he did not catch the words. Kate heard his voice, stretched out her hands, and, huddling himself at the bottom of the boat, he took them ; at the same instant a deluge of water hit the side of the boat with a crackling sound; there was a gurgle ;an oozing and squeezing ; ehe had sprung a leak. ' God have mercy on us ! God have mercy on us!' The words fell from the lips of Maurice O'Leary; Kate continued to pray, but her voice was lost in the whistle of the wind and the dashing of the sea. To the leak Phil had turned his attention ; stayed the inrushing water, and again came near Kate. The hands of the three met in a long clasp. Their hands drew together ; the two men heard the end of the prayer uttered by the girl whom they loved so sincerely — ' pray for us now and at the hour of our death. Amen.' They were beautiful words. Then the current and waves caught the boat; raised her, twisted her, crashing planks like matchwood, and casting her a wreck on the swirl of waters. 1 God have mercy on us. God have mercy ' ' Darkness descended thicker than ever ; the wind rose to a shriek, weird and prolonged ; the waves took strange Bhapee and leaped higher and higher in wild jubilation ; as for the rest —God knoweth. —Belfast Weekly.

The beat remedy yet discovered for Influenza is TUSSICURA. It is a wonderful tonic.—-***