The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, 18 September 1919, Page 3

The Storyteller

By William Cakleton.

WILLY REILLY AND his DEAR COLEEN DAWN. A Tale Founded upon Fact)

CHAPTER ll.—(Continued.) When they had gone, the Rappareo and his companions looked after them with blank faces for some minutes. “Well,” said their leader, “Reilly has knocked up our game for this night. Only for him I’d have had a full and sweet revenge. However, never mind, it’ll go hard with me, or I’ll have it yet. In the manetime it won’t be often that such another opportunity will come in our way.” “Well, now that is over, what was your intention, Randal?” asked the person to whom Reilly had addressed himself. ' “Why,” replied the miscreant, “after the deed was done, what was to prevent us from robbing the house tonight and taking away his daughter to the mountains? I have long had my eye on her, I can tell you, and it’ll cost mo a fall, or I’ll have her yet.” “You had better,” replied Fergus Reilly, for such was his name, “neither make nor meddle with that family after this night. If you do, that terrible relation of mine will hang you like a clog.” “How will he hang me like a dog?” asked the Rapparee, knitting his shaggy eyebrows, and turning upon him a fierce and glooming look. “Why, now, Randal, you know as well as I do,” replied the other, “that if he only raised his finger against you in the country, the very people that harbor both you and us would betray us, aye, seize us and bind us hand and foot, like common thieves, and give us over to the authorities. But as for himself, I believe you have sense enough to lot him alone. When you took away Mary Traynor and nearly kilt her brother, tho young priestyou know they were Reilly’s tenantsl needn’t tell you what happened in four hours’ time he had the country up, followed you and your party l wasn’t with you then, but you know it’s truth I’m spakin’ and when he had five to one against you, didn’t he make them stand aside until ho and you should decide it between you? Aye, and you know he could ’a’ brought home every man of you tied neck and heels, and would, too, only that there was. a largo reward offered for the takin’ of you, livin’ or dead, and he scorned to have any hand in it on that account.” “It was by a chance blow he hit me,” said the Rapparee“by a chance blow.” “By a couple dozen chance blows,” replied the other; “you know he knocked you down as fast as ever you got up —I lave it to the boys here that wor present.” “There’s no use in denyin’ it, Randal,” they replied, “you hadn’t a chance wid him.” “Well, at all events,” observed the Rapparee, “if he did beat me, he’s the only man able to do it ; but it’s not over, curse him l’ll have another trial with him yet. “If you take my advice,” replied Reilly, “you’ll neither make nor meddle with him. He’s the head o’ the Catholics, and you know that; aye, and he’s their friend, and uses the friendship that the Protestants have toward him for their advantage, whenever he can. The man that would injure Willy Reilly is an enemy to our religion, as well as to everything that’s good and generous and, mark me, Randal, if ever you cross him in what he warned you against this very night, I’ll hang you myself, if there wasn’t another livin’ man to do it, and to the back o that again, I say you must shed no blood so long as I m wid you.” / “That won’t be long, then,” replied the Rapparee, pulling out a purse; “there’s twenty guineas for you, and go about your business ; but take care, no treachery. “No,” replied the other; “I’ll have none of your money; there’s blood on it. God forgive, me for ever joinin’ you. When I want money I can get it; as for treachery, there’s none of it in my veins; good-night, and remember my words.”

Having thus spoken, he took his way along the same, road by which the old squire and his party went. “That fellow will betray, us,” said the Rapparee. “No,” replied his companions, firmly, “there never was treachery in his part of the family. We wish you were as sure of every man you have as you may be of him.” “Well, now,” observed their leader, “a thought strikes me; this ould squire Will be half-dead all night. At any rate, he’ll sleep like , a top. Wouldn’t it be a good oppor-

tunity to attack the house aise him of . his money, for he’s as rich as ’a' Jew—and take away the Coleen Bawn? We’ll call at Shane Bearna’s stables on our way, and bring the other boys along wid us. - hat 'do you say?” - , “Why, that you’ll hang yourself, and every man of us.” - “Nonsense, you cowardly dogs,” replied their leader, indignantly; “can’t we lave the country?” “Well, if you’re bent on it,” replied his followers, “we , won’t be your hindrance.” ” “We can break up, and be off to America,” he added. “But what will you do with the Coleen Bawn, if you take her?” “Why, lave her behind us, after showin’ the purty creature the inside of Shane Bearna’s stables. She’ll be able to find her way' 4 back to her father’s, never fear. Come, boys, now or never. To say the truth, the sooner we get out of the country, at* all events, the better.” •; ... _ - The Rapparee and his men had moved up to the door of the old chapel already alluded to, whilst this conversation went on ; and now that their- dreadful project had been determined on, they took a short-cut across the moors, in” "order to procure additional assistance for its accomplishment. No sooner had they gone, however, than an individual, who had been concealed in the darkness within, came stealthily to the door, and, peeping cautiously out, at length advanced a few steps and looked timidly about him. Perceiving that the coast was clear, he placed himself under the shadow of the old walls — there was now sufficient light to cast a shadow from any prominent object; and thence having observed the direction which the Rapparee and his men took, without any risk of being seen himself, he appeared satisfied. The name of this individual —who, although shrewd and cunning in many things, was nevertheless deficient in reason —or rather the name by which he generally went, was Tom Steeple, a sobriquet given to him on account of a predominant idea which characterised and influenced his whole conversation. The great delight of this poor creature was to be considered the tallest individual in the kingdom, and indeed nothing could be more amusing than to witness the manner in which he held up his head while he walked or sat or stood. In fact, his walk was a complete strut, to which the pride arising from consciousness of, or rather the belief in, his extraordinary height gave an extremely ludicrous appearance. Poor Tom was about five feet nine in height, but imagined himself to be at least a foot higher. His whole family were certainly tall, and one of the greatest calamities of the poor fellow’s life was the bitter reflection that he’ himself was by several inches the lowest of his race. This was the only exception he made with respect to height, but so deeply did it affect him that he could scarcely ever allude to it .without shedding tears. The life he led was similar in most respects to that of his unhappy class. He wandered' about through the country, stopping now at one farmer’s house, and now at another’s, where he always experienced a kind reception, because he was not only amusing and inoffensive, but capable of making himself useful as a messenger and drudge. Ho was never guilty of a dishonest act, nor ever known to commit a breach of trust; and as a quick 'messenger, extraordinary speed of foot rendered him unrivalled. His great delight, however, was to' attend sportsmen, to whom he was invaluable as a guide and director. Such was his wind and speed of foot that, aided by his knowledge of what is termed the lie of the country, ho was able to keep up with any pack of bounds that ever went out. As a snho man he was unrivalled. The form of every hare for miles about xvas known to him, and if a fox or a covey of partridges were to be found at all, he was your man. In wildfowl-shoot-sing he was infallible. No pass of duck, widgeon,'-barnacle, or curlew was unknown to him. In fact, his principal delight was to attend the gentry of the country to the field, either with harrier, . foxhound, or setter. No coursing match went right if Tom were not present; and as for bight shooting, his eye and ear were such as, for accuracy of observation, few have ever witnessed. It is true ho could subsist a long time without food, but, like the, reifewned Captain Dalgetty, when an abundance of it happened to be placed before him, rhe displayed the most ' indefensible ignorance as to all knowledge of the period when he ought'to stop; considering it his bounden duty on 'all occasions to clear off whatever was set before him —a feat which he always accomplished with the most signal success. M “Aha!” exclaimed Tom, “dat Red Rapparee is tall than, but not tall as Tom; him no steeple like Tom; but him rogue and murderer, and Tom honest ; him won’t carry & Coleen Bawn dough, nor rob her fader? ayder. Come, Toni, Steeple Tom, out wid yer two legs, one afore toder, and put Rapparee’s nose out o’ joint. Coleen Bawn, dat’s good to everybody, Catlicks (Catholics) an’ all, an’ often ordered Tom a bully dinner. Hicko I hicko ! be the bones of Peter White, off I go !”; ; • ~Vy i{ V T ' i i . ? B '■ : . ’

Tom, like many,.; other individuals of his description, ’ . was never able to. get over , the (language' of childhood—characteristic which" is often appended;. to -'the want of reason, and from,; which, we presume, 'the;. term “innocent” has been applied in ;an ', especial manner to those who are remarkable for the : same defect. Having uttered the words wo have just recited, he started off at a gait peculiar to.\ fools, which is known by the name of “a sling : trot,” . and after getting out upon the old road he turned himself ;in - the direction which Willy Reilly and’ his party . had ' taken, and there we beg to leave him for the present. The old squire felt his animal heat much revived by the warmth of the frieze coat, and his spirits, now that the dreadful scene into which he had been so unexpectedly cast had passed away without danger, began to rise so ■*- exuberantly that his conversation became quite loquacious and .mirthful, if not actually, to a certain extent, incoherent. “Sir,” said he, “you must come home with me—d n me, but you must, and you needn’t say nay now, for I shall neither take excuse nor apology. I am a hospitable man, Mr. what’s this your name is?” “My name, sir,” replied the other, “is Reilly—William Reilly, or, as I am more generally called, Willy Reilly. The name, sir, though an honorable one, is, in this instance, that of an humble man, but one who, I trust, will never disgrace it.” “You must come home with me, Mr. Reilly. Not a word now.” ... “Such is my intention, sir,” replied Reilly. “I shall not leave you until I see that all risk of danger is past; until I place you under your own roof. ’ “Well, now,” continued the old squire, “I believe a Papist can be a gentleman—a brave man a man of honor Mr. Reilly.” “I am not aware that there is anything in his religion to make him either dishonorable or cowardly, sir ” replied Reilly, with a smile. ’ “No matter,” continued the other, who found a good deal of difficulty in restraining his prejudices on that point no matter, sir, no matter, Mr.a——O yes, Reilly—we will have nothing to do with religion— away with it—confound religion, sir, if it prevents one man from being thankful and grateful too, to another, when that other , has . saved Ins life. What’s your state and condition in society, M ? I) the scoundrel! he’d have shot me We must hang that fellow—the Red Rapparee they call him—a dreadful scourge to the country; and, another thing, Mr.—Mr. Mahan— must come to mv daughter’s wedding. Not a word now— the great Boyne, you must. Have you ever seen my daughter, sir?” “I have never had that pleasure,” replied Reilly “but 1 have heard enough of her wonderful goodness and beauty.” “Well, sir, I tell you to your teeth I deny your words you have stated a falsehood, sir—a lie, sir.” . “What do you mean, sir?” replied Reilly, somewhat indignantly. lam not in the habit of stating a falsehood, nor of submitting tamely to such an imputation.” “Ha, ha, I say it’s a lie still, my friend. What did you say? Why, that you had heard cnouqh of her goodness and beauty. Now, sir, by the banks of the Boyne, I say you didn’t hear half enough of either one or t’ other! you should know her, for although you are a Papist, you’re a brave man and a gentleman. Still, sir, a Papist is not D n it, this isn’t handsome of me, Willy. I beg your pardon. Confound all religions,’ if it goes to that. Still, at the same time, I’m bound to say as a loyal man, that Protestantism is my forte, Mr. Reilly— there’s where I’m strong; a touch of Hercules about me there, Mr. Reilly—Willy, I mean. Well, you are a d d good fellow, Papist and all though you ahem ! —never mind, though, you-shall see my daughter; you shall hear my daughter; you shall feel my daughter for by the great Boyne, she must salute the man that saved her father’s life, and prevented her from being an orphan. And yet see, Willy, Move that girl to such a degree that if heaven was open for me this moment, and that Saint Peter— ! —I mean the Apostle Peter, said to me, ‘Come, Folliard, walk in, sir,’ by the great Deliverer that saved us : from Pope and Popery, brass, money, and —ahem! I beg your ' pardonwell, I say if he was to say so, I wouldn’t leave her. There’s affection for you; but she deserves it. No, if ever a girl was capable of keeping an old father from heaven, she is.”

“I understand your meaning, sir,” replied Reilly, with a smile, “and I “believe she is loved by everyone who has the pleasure of knowing herby rich and , poor.” ' “Troth, Mr. Reilly,” observed Andy, “it’s a sin for anyone to let their affections, even for one of their own childer, go between them and heaven. As for the masther, he makes a god of her. To be, sure, if ever there was an angel in .this world, she is one.” w

v “Get out, you old whelp,” exclaimed his master; “what dp you know: about it? — - who never had wife or child? Isn't she my only child ?—the apple of my eye?the love of my heart?” % “If you loved her so well, you wouldn’t make her unhappy, then.” Mr?-;;. *’“What do you mean, you despicable old Papist?” “I mean that you wouldn’t marry her to a man she doesn’t like, as you’re goin’ to do. That’s a bad. way to make her happy, at any rate.” ; . ' "- 1 J ss “Overlook the word Papist, Mr. Reilly, that I applied to that old idolater:-the fellow worships images; of course you know, as a Papist, he does — ahem ! — blit to show you that I don’t hate the Papists' without exception, I beg to let you know, sir, that I frequently have the Papist priest of our parish to dine with me and if that isn’t liberality the devil’s in it. Isn’t that true, you superstitious old Pq,dareen? No, Mr. Reilly, Mr. Mahan —Willy, I mean; I’m a liberal man, and I hope we’ll be all saved yet, with the exception of the Pope ahem! yes, I hope we shall all be saved.” “Troth, sir,” said Andy, addressing himself to Reilly, “he’s a square gentleman, this. He’s always abusing the Papists,, as he calls us, and yet the devil a servant undher his roof hut a Papist. His bark, sir, is worse than his bite, any day.” “I believe it,” replied Reilly, in a low voice, “and it’s a pity that a good and benevolent man should suffer these idle prejudices to sway him.” “Devil a bit they sway him, sir,” replied Andy; “he’ll damn and abuse them and their religion, and yet he’ll go any length to serve one o’ them, if they want a friend and has a good character. But here, now we’re at the gate of the avenue, and you’ll soon see the Colcen- Pawn.” “Hallo!” the squire shouted out, “what the devil! are you dead or asleep there? Brady, you Papist scoundrel, why not open the gate?” The porter’s wife came out as he uttered the words, saying, “I beg your honor’s pardon. Ned is up at the castle”; and whilst speaking she opened the gate. “Ha, Molly!” exclaimed her master, in a tone of such bland good-nature as could not for a moment be mistaken ; “well, Molly, how is little Mick? Is he better, poor fellow ?” “He is, thank God, and your honor.” “Hallo, Molly,” said the squire, laughing, “that’s Popery again. You are thanking God and me as if we were intimate acquaintances. None of that foolish Popish nonsense. When you thank God, thank Him; and when you’ thank me, why thank me; but don’t unite us, as you do Him and your Popish saints, for I tell you, Molly, Pm no saint God forbid! Tell the doctorman to pay him every attention, and to send his bill to me when the child s properly recovered; mark thatproperly., recovered.” A noble avenue, that swept along with two or three magnificent bends, brought them up to a fine old mansion of the castellated style, where the squire and his two equestrian attendants dismounted and were ushered into the parlor, which they found brilliantly lighted up with a number of large wax tapers. The furniture of the room was exceedingly rich, but somewhat curious and oldfashioned. -■ It was such, however, as to give ample proof of great wealth and comfort, and by the heat of a large peat fire, which blazed in the capacious hearth, it communicated that sense of warmth which was in complete accordance - with the general aspect of the apartment. .An old, grey-haired butler, well powdered, together with two or three other servants in rich livery, now entered, and the squire’s first inquiry was after his daughter. “John,” said he to the butler, “how is your mistress?” But, without waiting for a reply, ho added : “Hero are twenty pounds, which you will hand to those fine fellows at the hall door.” “Pardon me, sir,” replied Reilly, “those men are my tenants, and the sons of my tenants: they have only performed towards you a duty, which common humanity would require at their hands towards the humblest person that lives.” , “They must accept it, Mr. Reillythey must have it —they are humble men —and as it is only the reward of a kind : office, I think it is justly due to them. Here, John, give- them the money.” . . fit} It was in vain that Reilly interposedthe old squire would not listen to him. John was, accordingly, dispatched to the hall steps, but found that they had all gone. . '-’is' (To bo continued.) -s ■