The Macdermots of Ballycloran

She looked little as if she was there for amusement, and, in truth, she was not. After a time, Hyacinth had come to himself; and by dint of continual scolding, much soda-water, and various lavations, he had enabled himself to make a very sickly appearance on horseback; but the wife of his bosom was determined that he should not escape from thence to another ordinary, or even to any hospitable table where he might get drunk for nothing; and, consequently, she was there to watch him.

There was but one other there that did not seem bent on enjoyment, and this was poor Feemy. There she was, sitting on the same side of the car with Lyddy McKeon; and the good-natured mother had taken care that this should be the side facing the horses; but Feemy took no interest in them. She had given over crying and sobbing; but she was silent, and apparently sullen, and would much have preferred her own little room at Ballycloran.

There were to be three races. Had there been a prospect of thirty, and among them a trial of speed between all the favourites of the Derby, there could not have been a greater crowd, or more anxiety; every ragged, bare-footed boy there knew the names of each horse, and to whom he belonged, and believed in the invincibility of some favourite beast, – probably from attachment to its owner, – and were as anxious as if the animals were their own. Among this set, McKeon or little Larry Kelly were booked to win; – they were kind, friendly masters, and these judges thought that kind men ought to have winning horses.

"Shure thin," said one half-naked urchin, stuck up in a small tree, growing just out of one of the banks over which the horses were to pass; "shure thin, Playful's an illigant swate baste entirely. I'll go bail there's nothin 'll come nigh her this day!"

"That Tony may win the day thin!" said another. "It's he is the fine sportsman."

"Bedad, ye're both out," said a third, squatting as close on the bank as the men would let him; "it's Mr. Larry 'll win, God bless him! – and none but him – and he the weight all wid him, and why not? There's none of 'em in the counthry so good as the Kellys. Hoorroo for the Kellys! them's the boys."

"They do say," said the second speaker, who was only half way up the tree, "that Conqueror 'll win. By Jasus, av he do, won't young Brown be going it!"

"Is it Conqueror?" said the higher, and more sanguine votary of McKeon. "Is it the Brown Hall horse? He can't win, I tell ye! I saw him as Paddy Cane was leading him down, and he didn't look like winning; he hasn't got it in him. That he may fall at the first lep, and never stir again! Tony 'll win, boys! Hurroo for Tony McKeon."

The weighing was now accomplished, and jockeys mounted. Major McDonnell had to look after this part of the business, of which he knew as much as he did of Arabic. However, he was shoved about unmercifully for half an hour – had his toes awfully trodden on, for he was told he should dismount to see the weighing – narrowly escaped a half-hundredweight, which was dropped within three inches of his foot, and did, I daresay, as much good as stewards usually do on such occasions.

Counsellor Webb was to start them, and, though a counsellor, he was an old hand at the work. He always started the horses at the Carrick races, and usually one of his own among the lot. The Counsellor, by the by, was a great favourite with all parties, and what was more, he was a good man and a gentleman.

Major Longsword from Boyle was the third steward, and he, like his military colleague, was rather out of his element. He was desired to keep the populace back and preserve the course; but it seemed to Major Longsword that the populace didn't care a button for him and his red coat, and though he valiantly attempted to ride in among men, women, and children, he couldn't move them; they merely pushed the horse back with their hands, and the brute, frightened by their numbers, wouldn't go on. They screamed, "Arrah, sir! go asy; shure you're on my foot; musha thin, can't you be quiet with the big horse? faix I'm murdhered with you, sir, – is you going to ride over us? shure, yer honer, won't you go over there? look how the boys is pressing in there." The Major soon saw he could do no good, so he rode out of the crowd, mentally determining that the jockeys might, if they could, clear the course for themselves.

And now they were off – at least seven of them; for when the important morning came, the Captain had in vain used every exertion to get a rider for Kickie-wickie. His ambition had at first soared so high that he had determined to let no one but a gentleman jockey mount her; but gradually his hopes declined, and at the ordinary he was making fruitless inquiries respecting some proper person; but in vain, and now he had been from twelve to one searching for any groom in possession of the necessary toggery. He would have let the veriest tailor in Carrick get on his mare if he had merely been legitimately dressed. Really, his exertions and his misery were distressing, for at last he was obliged to send her back to Boyle, after having paid the stakes and the stable charges for her, and console himself by telling his friends that the gentleman from Galway, who was to ride for him, had deceived him, and that he could not possibly have put any one he did not know upon Kickie-wickie.

But the seven are off. There they go, gently cantering, looking so pretty, and so clean – the riders so steady – the horses so eager. How different they will look when three or four, or more probably only two, are returning to the post! The horses jaded, the men heated, with whip speedily raised, and sharply falling – spurs bloody – and jackets soiled, by perhaps more than one violent fall; and yet in ten minutes this will be their appearance.

"There they go – Hurroo! they're off. Faix, there's Playful at her tricks already – by dad she'll be over the ropes! steady, Bob – steady, or she'll back on you – give it her, Gayner, my boy, give it her, never spare her – laws! did you see that? Well if he gets her over the course, he'd ride the very divil. Well done, Bob, now you've got her – Hurroo, Tony, my boy, you're all right now: " – and the mare, after a dozen preliminary plunges, joined the other horses. "Faix, they're all over that – did you see that big brown horse? He's Thunderer – he's a good horse intirely; did you see the lep he took at the wall?" – and now they had come to a big drain; all the horses being well together as far as this, excepting Crom-a-boo, who having been forced through a breach made by some other of the horses in the first wall, had baulked at a bank which came next, and never went any further. Some one told poor Stark on the course that the horse didn't run to-day nearly so well as his owner did last night; and it was true enough.

"There goes Conqueror – he's over! Faith then, George is leading. – Brown Hall against the field!"

"Never mind," said some knowing fellow, "he's a deal too fond of leading – he's a deal oftener seen leading than winning."

"There's little Larry – my! how sweet the mare went over the water. There's Brickbat in it; – no, he's out. He's an awkward beast. That's Thunderer – Holy Virgin, what a leap! He goes at everything as if there were twenty foot to cross, and a six foot wall in the middle."

"There's Playful at it again – he'll never get her round. Bad cess to you, you vixen – what made me bet on you? There, she's over – no she's not; – there's Diana – did you see Pat walk her through? Faith, she'd crawl up a steeple, and down the other side. There's Playful over – no, she's not; – right in the middle, by heavens!"

"And Bob under her – come away. My God, he'll be drowned!"

"Gracious glory! did you see that? He's up again; – d – n it but he dived under her; well, I never saw the like of that; she's out."

"And look, look! Bob's in the seat – you'll win your money now. Well, Bob Gayner, afther that you'll never live till you're drowned! Come away to the double ditch; that's where they'll show what they're made of – the mare'll be cooled now, and she'll run as easy as a coach-horse."

And the two rode away to the big fence mentioned, which consisted of a broad flat-topped bank between two wide dry ditches; while the horses went the round of the course over four or five intermediate banks.

"Here they come! there's Blake leading. What a stride that horse has! but you'll see he'll die away now. Larry's second – no, George is second, but Larry's well up."

"Faith, and he's been down too – he and the mare. There's Playful, how she pulls – where's Brickbat? now then!"

And the Galway horse came at the big fence – Blake pulling him off a little as he came to it, then stuck his spurs into his horse's flank – gave a lift at his head, and threw his left hand to the tree of the saddle. The horse gave a terrific leap on the bank – paused for a moment – and clearing the second ditch, came down safe on his legs with a shock that seemed to shake the field.

"Hurroo! well done! beat that George – now for Brown Hall; no, by Jasus, little Larry's next, – now, Larry, the Virgin send you safe over!" The mare with the light weight on her back made nothing of what seemed in the horse so tremendous a jump, and without losing her running, skimmed on to the bank and off it, and collared the horse before he had regained his stride.

"Good luck to you, masther Larry, it's you that can ride. Hurroo for the Kellys! – Oh, by the holy, they're both dead!" This last exclamation referred to Conqueror, who had come up to the fence much heated, but at a great pace. George, never attempting to pull him off, or give him a moment of breath, using his whip and riding forward over his horse's neck, hurried him on. The gallant brute leapt with all his force, but not being able to master the height, breasted it violently, sending his rider a dozen feet into the next field, and falling himself into the ditch, his head on to the field, with a broken heart, and dead! George, however, was soon on his feet, for his head was hard and he was used to tumbling.

Before he was on his legs, however, up came Playful, awfully rushing, her neck out – her nose forward – her nostrils open – her eye eager – covered with foam, but showing no sign of fatigue, nor any further inclination to baulk. Gayner was sitting her beautifully, not attempting to hold her, for he knew that if he stopped her, whipcord wouldn't make her run again; but with a firm, steady pull on her mouth – his hands low, and both on the reins, and his legs well tucked in. There she came, on at the leap without easing her pace for a moment, and going over the carcass of the dying animal, cleared it all, bank and ditches at one leap – two and thirty feet at one stride! There are the marks to this day, for Tony McKeon, in his pride, measured the ground, and put in stakes to point out the spot where his mare showed herself so worthy of all his trouble.

Brickbat had quarrelled with some of his namesakes at a wall, and was now nowhere; Diana still persevered, and got well over the big fence, but her chance was out, unless some unaccountable accident happened to the three other horses that were still running. On they went; there were only three more fences, two small banks, and a five foot wall. Thunderer and Miss Fidget neck and neck took the two banks, the big horse making awfully high leaps at them, Playful nearing them at every stride, galloping over the banks as though they were but a part of the level field. Now for the wall. "Now, Nicholas Blake, now, show them how little they think of a five foot wall in Galway. Faith though, Larry's first – bravo, Roscommon!" He's over, and a couple of bricks only falling show how lightly Miss Fidget touched it with her hind feet; not so Thunderer; again the horse made an awful leap, but the pace had been too much for him, he struck the wall violently with his knees, and, bursting through, gave Blake a fall over his shoulders. Galway, however, was soon in his saddle again, but not before Bob was over, and had long passed him.

And now there was a beautiful race in between the two mares; and oh! how charmingly both were ridden! But though Miss Fidget was so favoured in weight, and had begun with the lead, her elder rival collared her, and beat her at the post by a head. "And why shouldn't she win?" as Tony said in triumph to his friends, "for hadn't she the dhrop in her? wasn't she by Coriander, out of Pink, by Highflyer? Of course she'd win – hadn't he known it all the time?"

"That's all very well," said Larry, as he stood with his saddle in his hand, waiting till Bob got out of the scales, "it was only her d – d long nose and neck that won after all, fur I'll swear my head was past the post before Bob's."

"Well then, Larry, we'll make a case for the stewards, whether it's your head or the horse's the judge should go by."

"There's two of 'em," whispered Gayner, "wouldn't know if you were to ask 'em."

Thunderer came in third, and a couple of minutes afterwards, Diana; – and Pat Conner, when he was laughed at as to his place, truly boasted that at any rate he was the only one that had been able to ride round the course without a fall.

The chief and most exciting race of the day being over, the more aristocratic of the multitude seemed with one accord to turn their attention to luncheon. The ladies began to unpack the treasures with which the wells of their cars had been loaded – cold hams – shoulders of mutton – pigeon pies – bottles of sherry – and dozens of porter soon made their appearance; and pretty girls putting cork-screws and carving knives into the hands of their admirers, bid them work for their food before they ate. Woe betide the young man there who had no female friends on the course – no one to relieve the pangs of his hunger, or to alleviate that intolerable delay which seems always necessary between races.

Then were made engagements for the ball; quadrilles and waltzes were given in exchange for sandwiches and ale – Lieutenants were to be had for sherry – a glass of champagne would secure a Captain.

Great was the crowd round Mrs. McKeon's car, and plentiful the partners who solicited the honour of dancing with Lyddy, Louey, and Feemy. McKeon was there in all his glory, shaking hands with every one – praising his mare with his mouth full of ham, and uttering vehement eulogiums on Gayner between the different tumblers of porter, which in his joy he seemed to swallow unconsciously. Then Bob came up himself, glowing with triumph, for he knew that he had acquitted himself more than ordinarily well. He had changed all his clothes, for he had been completely drenched by his fall in the brook; and now, having nearly altogether fasted for the last forty-eight hours, was not at all disinclined to assist at Mrs. McKeon's banquet.

He shook hands with her, and all the three girls round, and with Tony – although he had already done that three times before; and he began a full history of the race, which we needn't repeat.

"I knew Brickbat was as fat as a bullock; he couldn't keep the pace up; but I'll tell you what, Tony, if any horse there could beat Playful, it was Conqueror. But George can't wait – I win fifteen pound from him – he's made a bad thing of it – lost his horse and all."

"Did you see the horse, Bob, when you came to the big ditch?"

"By my honour, then, I didn't see anything from the time I got out of the brook. I'd enough to do to sit where I was, and keep the mare's head straight. When she made the great leap, I hardly felt her feet come to the ground, she came down so lightly."

While he was speaking, Ussher came up to the car, and began congratulating them. He had now openly stated that he was to leave the country altogether, and that he had been ordered to Cashel. Mrs. McKeon was therefore no longer at a loss to account for Feemy's melancholy; and whilst she felt a cordial dislike to the man, who she thought had so basely deceived Feemy and was now going to desert her, she was heartily glad for her sake he was going, and reflected that as he was to be off to-morrow, it was useless for her now to begin to be uncivil to him.

"I'm glad to congratulate you, Mr. McKeon – I'm glad you won, as my friend Brown didn't; a bad thing his losing his horse, isn't it?"

"Thank ye, Captain; and I'm to congratulate you too. I hear you're promoted, and going away from us – very glad for one, sorry for t'other. Take a bit of cold pie; d – n it, I forgot – the pie's all gone, but there's cold mutton and plenty of sherry. Lyddy, give Captain Ussher a glass of sherry."

And Ussher went round to the side of the car where Feemy was sitting, and shook hands with her and the other girls. It was the first time through the whole long morning he had come near her; indeed, it was the first time he had seen her since his short visit at Mrs. McKeon's, and very cruel poor Feemy had thought such conduct. Yet now, when he merely came to speak a few words, it was a relief to her, and she took it actually for a kindness. She felt herself so fallen in the world – so utterly degraded – she was so sure that soon every one else would shun her, that she shuddered at the idea of his ill-treating or deserting her. He soon left her, having got an opportunity of desiring her in a whisper to dance the first quadrille with him, as he didn't think he should remain late at the ball.

As for Ussher himself, he would now have been glad if he had been able to have got rid of Feemy altogether. As I said before, when he started for Ballycloran on the day that he heard he had to remove his quarters, he had by no means made up his mind as to what he would do: it was not at that time at all his purpose to induce Feemy to leave her home, or go with him in the scandalous manner he had at last proposed. It was the warmth of her own affection, and the vanity which this had inspired, or rather strengthened in his breast, that had at the moment induced him to do so; and now he could not avoid it. He had told his sporting friends of his intention, and if even he could have brought himself to endure their ridicule by leaving her behind him, he had gone so far that he could not well break off with Feemy herself.

He was considerably bothered, however, by his position; he felt that she would be a dreadful chain round his neck at the place he was going to, and he began already to dislike her. Poor Feemy! she had already lost that for which she had agreed to sacrifice her pride, her family, her happiness, and herself.

Ussher now returned to his two friends, whose tempers were by no means improved by the calamity which had occurred. Fred declared it was all George's fault – that he had ridden his horse too fast or too slow – that he had been too forward, or not forward enough. His temper was by far too much soured by the loss of his own bets, to allow him to console his brother for the more serious injury he had suffered.

At length, however, the three got into the drag, and returned to Brown Hall. After dinner, each endeavoured to solace himself by no stinted application to the bottle. George declared, that as he had been able to drink nothing for the last three days, he'd make up for it now, and that he wouldn't allow himself to be disturbed to dress for the best ball that could be given in Ireland. Fred, however, was not so insatiable, and at about eleven he and Ussher dressed and again drove into Carrick.

The ball at Carrick passed off as such balls always do. There was but little brilliancy, but a great deal of good humour. The dresses were not the most costly, nor possibly the most fashionable, but the faces were as pretty, and the figures as good, as any that could be adorned for Almack's by a Parisian head-dresser or milliner. The band was neither numerous nor artistic, but it played in good time, and never got tired. The tallow candles, fixed in sconces round the walls of the room, in which a short time since we saw some of our friends celebrating the orgies of Bacchus, gave quite sufficient light for the votaries of the nimble-footed muse to see their partners, mind their steps, and not come in too rude collision with one another. Quadrilles succeeded waltzes, and waltzes quadrilles, with most unceasing energy; and no one dreamt of giving way to fatigue, or supposed that it was at all desirable to sit down for a single dance. From ten to two they kept it up without five minutes' pause, and then went joyfully to supper – not to drink half a glass of wine, and eat a mouthful of jelly or blanc-manger standing – but to sit down with well-prepared appetite to hot joints – ham and chicken, veal pies, potatoes, and bottled porter. And then the songs that were sung! It would have done your heart good to hear young Fitzpatrick sing the "Widow Machree;" and then all the punch that was mixed! and the eloquence that was used, not in vain, to induce the fairer portion of the company to taste it!

This state of things was not, however, allowed to remain long. It was not at all the thing that men – at any rate unmarried men – should waste their time in drinking when they had come there to dance; and after the ladies had left them about ten minutes, messages came hot and thick from the ball-room, desiring their immediate presence; nor were they so bold as to neglect these summonses, excepting some few inveterate sinners, who, having whiskey and hot water in their possession, and looking forward to a game at loo, neglected the commands which were brought to them.

Soon again the fiddles sounded, and quick feet flew round the floor with more rapidity than before. The tedium of the quadrille was found to be too slow, and from three till six a succession of waltzes, reels, and country dances, kept the room in one whirl of confusion, and at last sent the performers home, not from a feeling of satiety at the amusement, but because, from very weariness, they were no longer able to use their feet.

Feemy, early in the evening, had danced with Ussher, and received his final instructions respecting their departure on the morrow. He was to leave Brown Hall early for Mohill, and Fred's gig and horse were to be sent over to him there. He was to send his heavy luggage on by the car, and leaving Mohill about seven, when it would be dusk, drive by the avenue at Ballycloran and pick Feemy up as he passed, and they would then reach Longford in time for the mail-coach during the night.

Ussher calculated that Feemy would not be missed till he had had two hours' start, and that then it would be impossible to catch him before he reached Dublin.

"But, Myles," said Feemy, "how am I to get home? You know I am at Mrs. McKeon's now."

"Why how helpless you are," replied he; "can't you easily make some excuse to get home? say you are ill – and sick – and want to be at home. Or if it must come to that, say you will go home; who's to stop you?"

"But I wouldn't like to quarrel with them, Myles; just now, too, when they've been so kind to me."

"Well, dearest, you needn't quarrel with them; say you're ill, and wish to be at home; but don't make difficulties, love; don't look so unhappy; you'll be as happy as the day is long, when we're once away – that is, if you still love me, Feemy. I hope, after all I'm doing for you, you'll not be sullen and cold to me because you're leaving such a hole as Ballycloran. If you don't love me, Feemy, say so, and you may stay where you are."

"Oh! Myles, how can you say such words now! you know I love you – how much I love you – else I wouldn't be leaving my home for you this way! And though Ballycloran is – "

Here the poor girl could say no more; for she was using all her energies to prevent herself from sobbing in the ball-room.

"Good G – d! you're not going to cry here; come out of the room, Feemy;" and he led her into the passage, where, under the pretence of looking at the moon, they could turn their faces to the window. "What are you crying for now?"

"Don't you know I love you? why else would I be going with you?"

"Well, don't cry then; but mind, I shan't see you again before the time, for I'm going out of this at once now. I shall be at the avenue at a quarter before eight; don't keep me waiting. If you are there first, as you will be, walk a few steps along the Mohill road, so as to meet me; no one will know you, if you should meet any one, for it will be nearly if not quite dark; the moon won't rise till past ten; do you understand, Feemy?"

"Oh, yes, I understand!"

"Well, good night then, my own love, for I must be off."

"But, Myles, I want to say one thing."