The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, 13 May 1920, Page 3

The Storyteller

■ * —— WILLY REILLY AND HIS DEAR COLEEN DAWN. (A Tale Founded upon Fact ) By William Carleton. CHAPTER XXL—(Continued.) “Mr. Folliard,” said the baronet, “is this true?” “Is what true, Sir Robert?” said he, sharply. “Why, that Reilly and the Red Rappareo are both in Sligo Gaol?” “It is true, Sir Robert; and it must be a damned thing to lie in gaol for a capital crime.” “Are you becoming penitent?” asked the other, “for bringing the laws of the land to bear upon the villain that would have disgraced ,and might have ruined, your only daughter?” The father’s heart was stung by the diabolical pungency of this question. "Sir Robert,” said he, “we will hang him, if it was only to get the villain out of the way; and if you will be here to-morrow at 10 o’clock the marriage must take place. I’ll suffer no further nonsense about it; but, mark me, after the honeymoon has passed, you and she must come and reside here; to think that I could live without her is impossible. Be here, then, at 10 o’clock; the special license is ready, and 1 have asked the Rev. Samson Strong to perform the ceremony. A couple of my neighbor Ashford’s daughters will act as bridesmaids, and I myself will give her away ; the marriage articles are drawn up, as you know, and there will Bo little time lost in signing them ; and yet, d n me, but it’s a pity to but no matter— be here at 10.”

Whitecraft took his leave in high spirits. The arrest and imprisonment of Reilly had removed the great impediment that had hitherto lain in the way of his marriage ; but not so the imprisonment of the Red Rapparee. The baronet regretted that that public and notorious malefactor had been taken out of his own hands, because he wished, as the reader knows, to make the delivering of him up to the Government one of the elements of his reconciliation to it. Still, as matters stood, he felt, on the whole, gratified at what had happened. Folliard, after the baronet had gone, knew not exactly how to dispose of himself. The truth is, the man’s heart was an anomaly—a series of contradictions, in which one feeling opposed another for a brief space, and then was obliged to make way for a new prejudice, equally transitory and evanescent. Whitecraft he never heartily liked; for, though the man was blunt, he could look through a knave and appreciate a man of honor with a great deal of shrewd accuracy. To lie sure, Whitecraft was enormously rich, but then he was penurious and inhospitable, two vices strongly and decidedly opposed to the national feeling.

“D n the long-legged scoundrel,” he exclaimed; “if he should begot me a young breed of Wliitecrafts, like himself, I would rather my daughter were dead than marry him. Then, on the other hand, Reilly; d n the fellow, had he only recanted his nonsensical creed, I could —but then, again, he might, after marriage, bring her over to the Papist, and then, by , all my immense property would become Roman Catholic. By heavens, he’d teach the very rivers that run through it to sing Popish psalms in Latin; ho would. However, the best way is to hang him out of the way, and when Jack Ketch has done with him, so has Helen. D n Whitecraft, at all events! ”

We may .as well hint here that ho had touched the Burgundy to some purpose; he was now in that state of mental imbecility where reason, baffled and prostrated by severe mental suffering and agitation, was incapable of sustaining him without having resorted to the bottle. In the due course of the night he was helped to bed, and had scarcely been placed and covered up there when he fell fast asleep. Whitecraft, in the meantime, suspected, of course, or rather he was perfectly aware of the fact, that, unless by some ingenious manoeuvre, of which he could form no conception, a marriage with the Golem Boron would bo a matter of surpassing difficulty ; but he cared not, provided it could bo effected by any means, whether foul or fair. The. attachment of this scoundrel to the fair and beautiful Golecn Bairn was composed of two of the worst principles of the heart —sensuality and avarice. Had Miss Folliard

been the daughter of an humble , man, he would probably have given from ten to twenty pounds to accomplish her seduction; but if she proved virtuous, and rejected, his base proposals with scorn, ho would have sneered at her, kept his money, and betaken himself to a cheaper market. But in this instance avarice came in to support sensuality. What the licentious passions of the debauchee might have failed to tempt him to, the consideration of her large fortune accomplished. And such was the sordid and abominable union of the motives which spurred him on to the marriage. . . The next morning, being that which was fixed for his wedding-day, he was roused at an early hour by a loud rapping at his hall door. He started on his elbow in the bed, and ringing the bed for his valet, asked, when that gentleman entered his apartment half dressed—“what was the matter? what d—d knocking was that? Don’t they know I can hunt neither priest nor Papist now, since this polite Viceroy came here.” “I don’t know what, the matter is, Sir Robert; they are at it again; shall I open the door, Sir?” “Certainly, open the door immediately.” “I think you had better dress, Sir Robert, and see what they want.” The baronet threw his long, fleshless shanks out of the bed, and began to get on his clothes as fast as he could. “Ha!” said he, when ho was nearly dressed; “good God! what if this should be a Government prosecution for what I have undertaken to do on my own responsibility during the last Administration? But no, surely it cannot be; they would have given me some intimation of their proceedings. This was due to my rank and station in the country, and to my exertions, as a zealous Protestant, to sustain the existence of Church and .State. D — Church and State, if it be! I have got myself, perhaps, into a pretty mess by them.” He had scarcely uttered the last words when Mr, Hastings, accompanied by two or three officers of justice entered his bedroom. Ah, Hastings, my dear friend, what is the matter? Is there anything wrong, or can I he of any assistance to you? if so, command me. But we are out of power now, you know. Still, show me how 1 can assist you. How do you do?” and, as he spoke, he put his hand out to shake hands with Mr. Hastings. “No, Sir Robert, f cannot take your hand, nor the hand. of any man that is red with the blood of murder. This,” said he, turning to the officers, “is Sir Robert AVhitecraft; arrest him for , murder and arson.” “Why, good God, Mr. Hastings, are you mad? Surely, I did nothing, unless under the sanction and by the instructions of the last Government?” “That remains to be seen, Sir Robert; but, at all events, I cannot enter into any discussion with you at present. I am here as a magistrate. Informations have been sworn against you by several parties, and you must: now consider yourself our prisoner, and come along with us. There is a party of cavalry below, to escort you to Sligo Gaol.” “But how am I to he conveyed there? I hope I will bo allowed ray own carriage?” “Unquestionably,” replied Mr. Hastings; “I was about to have proposed it myself. You shall be treated with every respect, sir.” “May I not breakfast before I go?” “You may, sir; wo wish to discharge our duty in the mildest possible manner.” “Thank you, Hastings, thank you; you were always a good-hearted, gentlemanly fellow. You will, of course breakfast with me; and these men must bo attended to.” And ho rang the bell. “I have already breakfasted, Sir Robert; but oven if T had not, it would not become me, as your prosecutor, to do so; but, perhaps, the men ” “What,” exclaimed the baronet, interrupting him, “you my prosecutor! For what, pray?” “That will come in time,” replied the other; “and you may rest assured that I would not be here now, were I not made aware that you were about to bo married to that sweet girl, whom you have persecuted with such a mean and unmanly spirit, and design to start with for England this-day.” YVhitecraft, now that he felt the dreadful consequences of the awful position in which ho was placed, became the very picture of despair and pusillanimity; his complexion turned haggard, his eyes wild, and his hands trembled so much that he was not able to bring the tea or bread and butter to his lips in the act; such an impersonation of rank and unmanly cowardice could not be witnessed. He rose up, exclaiming, in a faint and hollow voice, that echoed no other sensation than that of horror : “I cannot breakfast; I can eat nothing. Good God!

what a fate is this! on the very day, too, which I thought would have consummated my happiness! Oh, it is dreadful!” His servant then, by Mr. Hastings’ "orders, packed up changes of linen and apparel in bis trunk; for he saw that he himself had not the presence of mind to pay attention to anything. In the course of a few minutes the carriage was ready, and with tottering steps he went down the stairs, and was obliged to be assisted into it by two constables, ■ who took their places beside him. Mr. Hastings bowed to him coldly, but said nothing; the coachman smacked his whip, and was about to start, when he turned round and said ; “Where am I to drive, Sir Robert?” “To Sligo Gaol,” replied on® of the constables, ' a# quick as you can, too.” The horses got a lash or two, and bounded on; whilst an scort of cavalry, with swords drawn, attended the coach Until it reached its gloomy destination, where wo will leave it for the present. The next morning, as matters approached to a crisis, the unsteady old squire began to feel less comfortable in Id’s mind than ho could have expected. I To say th* truth, he had often felt it rather an. unnatural process to marry so lovely a girl to “such a d——d stork of a man as V hitecraft was, and a knave to boot. I cannot 1 ergot how ho took me in by the ‘Hop-and-go-Constant affair.’ But then, he’s a good Protestant—not that I mean he has a single spark of religion in his nondescript carcass; but in these times it’s not canting and psalmsinging wo want, but good political Protestantism, that will enable us to maintain our ascendancy by other means than praying. Curse the hound, what keeps him? Is this a. day for him to be late on? And it now half-past ten. o’clock; however, he must come soon; but, upon my soul, 1 dread what will happen .when ho does. A scene there will bo, no doubt of it; however, we must only straggle through it as well as wo can. I’ll go and see Helen, and try to reconcile her to this chap, or, at all events, to let her know at once that, be the consequences what they may, she must marry him, if I were myself to hold her at tho altar.”

On entering Helen’s chamber, he ordered her attendants out of the room; but, on looking at her, lie felt surprised to perceive that her complexion, instead of being' pale, was quite flushed, and her eyes flashing with a strange wild light that he had never seen in them before. “Helen,” said he, “what’s the matter, love? Are you unwell?”

She placed her two snowy hands on her temples, and pressed them tightly, as if striving to compress her brain and firing it within the influence of reason. “I fear you are unwell, darling,” lie continued; “you look flushed and feverish. Don’t, however, be alarmed if you’re not well; I’d see that knave of a fellow to the devil before I’d marry you to him, and you in that state. The thing’s out of the question, my darling Helen, anti must not be done. No; God forbid that I should he tho means of murdering my only child.”

The truth was that the undefinahle old squire was the greatest parental coward in the world. In the absence of his daughter he would rant, and swear, and vapor, strike the ground with his staff, and give other indications of the most extraordinary resolution, combined with fiery passion, that seemed alarming. No sooner, however, did he go into her presence, and contemplate' nob only her wonderful beauty, but her goodness, her tenderness and affection for himself, than tho bluster departed from him, his resolution fell, his courage oozed away, and he felt that he was fairly subdued; under which circumstances he generally entered into a new treaty of friendship and affection with the enemy. Helen’s head was aching dreadfully, and she felt feverish and distracted. Her father’s words,, however, and the affection which they expressed, went to her heart; sh« threw her arms about him, kissed him, and was relieved by

a copious flood of tears. “Papa,” she said, “you are both kind and good; surely you wouldn’t kill your poor Helen?” “Me kill you, Helen ! —Oh, no, faith. If Whitecraft were hanged to-morrow, it wouldn’t give me half so much pain as if your little finger ached.” Just at this progress of the dialogue, a smart and impatient knock came to the door. “Who is that?” said the squire; “come in— stay till I see who you are.” He then opened the door, and exclaimed; “What 1 Lanigan! Why, you infernal old scoundrel! How dare you have the assurance to look me in the face, or to come under my roof at all, after what I said to you about the pistols?” “Aye, but yon don’t know th® good news I have for you and Miss Helen.” - “Oh, Lanigan, is Reilly safe?. Is ha set at large?

Oil,: I am sure he ; must' be. y Never was so noble, so pure, and so innocent a , heart.” “Curse him, look at the eye of him,” said her father, pointing his cane at Lanigan, “it’s like the eye of a sharpshooter. What are you "grinning at, you old scoundrel “Didn’t you expect Sir Robert Whitccraft here today, to marry Miss Folliard, sir?” “I did, sirrah, and I do—he’ll be here immediately.” “Devil a foot he’ll come to-day, I can tell you; and that’s the way he treats your daughter!” “What does this old idiot mean, Helen? Have you been drinking, sirrah?” “Not yet, sir, but, plaze the Lord, I'll soon be at it.” “Lanigan,” said Helen, “will you state at once what you Lave to say?” 1 “I will, Miss; but, first and foremost, I must show you how to dance the 'Little House Under the Hill’;” and as he spoke he commenced whistling that celebrated air, and dancing to it with considerable alacrity and vigor, making allowances for his age. The father and daughter looked 'at each other, and Helen, notwithstanding her broken spirits, could not avoid smiling. Lanigan continued the dance; kept wheeling about to all parts of the room, like an old madcap; cutting, capering, and knocking up his heel against his ham, with a vivacity "that was a perfect mystery to his two spectators, as was his whole conduct. “Now, you drunken old scoundrel,” said his master, catching him by the collar and flourishing the cane over his head, “if you don’t give a direct answer I will cane you within an inch of your life. What do you mean when you say that Sir Robert Whitecraft won’t come here today “Bekaise, sir, it isn’t convanient to him.” “Why isn't it convenient, you scoundrel?” “Bekaise, sir, he took it into his head to try a change of air for the benefit of his health, before he starts upon his journey and as he got a very friendly invitation to spend some time in Sligo Gaol, ho accepted it, and if you go there you will find him before you. It seems he started this morning in great state, with two nice men belonging to the law in the carriage with him, to see that he should want for nothing, and a party of cavalry surrounding his honor’s coach, as if he was the Lord Lieutenant.” The figurative style of his narrative would unquestionably have caused him to catch the weight of the cane aforesaid, had not Helen interfered and saved him for the nonce. • “Let me at him, Helen, let me at him— the d d old rip: why does he dare to humbug us in this manner .?” “Well, then, sir, if you wish to hear the good news, and especially you, Miss Folliard, it will probably relieve your heart when I tell you that Sir Robert Whitccraft is, before this time, in the gaol of Sligo, for a charge of murder, and for burnin’ Mr. Reilly’s house and premises, which it now seems aren’t Mr. Reilly’s at all — nor never —but belong to Mr. Hastings.” “Good heavens!” exclaimed the squire, “this is dreadful; but is it true, sirrah?” “Why, sir, if you go to his house you’ll find it so.’’ “Oh, papa,” said Helen, “surely they wouldn’t hang him “Hang him,’ Helen; why, Helen, the tide’s turned: they want to make him an example for the outrages that he and others have committed against the unfortunate Papists. Hang him ! By ,he and Reilly, and the Red Rapparce will all swing from the same gallows: but there is one thing I say if he hangs I shall take care that that obstinate Rapist, Reilly, shall swing along with him.” Helen became as pale as ashes, the flush had disappeared from her countenance, and she burst again into tears. “Oh, papa,” she exclaimed, “spare Reilly; he is innocent.” “I’ll hang him,” he replied; “if it should cost me ten thousand pounds. Go you, sirrah, and desire one of the grooms to saddle me black Tom ; he is the fastest horse in ray stables; I cannot rest till I ascertain the truth of this.” (To be continued.)