Jack Hinton: The Guardsman

‘All ready!’ repeated Dillon; ‘then away!’

As he spoke, the hell rang, and off we went.

For about thirty yards we cantered side by side – the grey horse keeping stroke with the other, and not betraying the slightest evidence of bad temper. Whatever my own surprise, the amazement of Burke was beyond all bounds. He turned completely round in his saddle to look, and I could see, in the workings of his features, the distrustful expression of one who suspected he had been duped. Meanwhile, the cheers of the vast multitude pealed high on every side; and, as the thought flashed across me that I might still acquit myself with credit, my courage rose, and I gripped my saddle with double energy.

At the foot of the slope there was, as I have already mentioned, a small fence; towards this we were now approaching at the easy sling of a hand-gallop, when suddenly Burke’s features – which I watched from time to time with intense anxiety – changed their expression of doubt and suspicion for a look of triumphant malice. Putting spurs to his horse, he sprang a couple of lengths in advance, and rode madly at the fence; the grey stretched out to follow, and already was I preparing for the leap, when Burke, who had now reached the fence, suddenly swerved his horse round, and, affecting to baulk, cantered back towards the hill. The manoeuvre was perfectly successful. My horse, who up to that moment was going on well, threw his forelegs far out, and came to a dead stop. In an instant the trick was palpable to my senses; and, in the heat of my passion, I dashed in both spurs, and endeavoured to lift him by the rein. Scarcely had I done so, when, as if the very ground beneath had jerked us upwards, he sprang into the air, dashing his head forward between the forelegs, and throwing up his haunches behind, till I thought we should come clean over in the somersault. I kept my seat, however; and thinking that boldness alone could do at such a moment, I only waited till he reached the ground, when I again drove the spurs up to the rowels in his flanks. With a snort of passion he bounded madly up, and pawing the air for some moments with his forelegs, lit upon the earth, panting with rage, and trembling in every limb.

The shouts which now filled my ears seemed but like mockery and derision; and stung almost to madness, I fixed myself in my seat, pulled my cap upon my brows, and with clenched teeth gathered up the reins to renew the conflict. There was a pause now for a few seconds; both horse and man seemed to feel that there was a deadly strife before them, and each seemed to collect his energy for the blow. The moment came; and driving in the spurs with all my force, I struck him with the whip between the ears. With something like a yell, the savage animal sprang into the air, writhing his body like a fish. Bound after bound he made, as though goaded on to madness; and, at length, after several fruitless efforts to unseat me, he dashed straight upwards, struck out with his forelegs, poised for a second or two, and then with a crash fell back upon me, rolling me to the ground, bruised, stunned, and senseless.

How long this state lasted I cannot tell; but when half consciousness returned to me, I found myself standing in the field, my head reeling with the shock, my clothes torn and ragged. My horse was standing beside me, with some one at his head; while another, whose voice I thought I could recognise, called out —

‘Get up, man, get up! you ‘ll do the thing well yet. There, don’t lose time.’

‘No, no,’ said another voice, ‘it’s a shame; the poor fellow is half killed already – and there, don’t you see Burke’s at the second fence?’

Thus much I heard, amid the confusion around me; but more I know not. The next moment I was in the saddle, with only sense enough left to feel reckless to desperation. I cried out to leave the way, and turned towards the fence.

A tremendous cut of a whip fell upon the horse’s quarter from some one behind, and, like a shell from a mortar, he leaped wildly out. With one fly he cleared the fence, dashed across the field, and, before I was firm in my seat, was over the second ditch. Burke had barely time to look round him ere I had passed. He knew that the horse was away with me, but he also knew his bottom, and that, if I could but keep my saddle, the chances were now in my favour.

Then commenced a terrible struggle. In advance of him, about four lengths, I took everything before me, my horse flying straight as an arrow. I dared not turn my head, but I could mark that Burke was making every effort to get before me. We were now approaching a tall hedge, beyond which lay the deep ground of which the priest had already spoken. So long as the fences presented nothing of height, the tremendous pace I was going was all in my favour; but now there was fully five feet of a hedge standing before me. Unable to collect himself, my horse came with his full force against it, and chesting the tangled branches, fell head-foremost into the field. Springing to my legs unhurt, I lifted him at once; but ere I could remount, Burke came bounding over the hedge, and lit safely beside me. With a grin of malice he turned one look towards me, and dashed on.

For some seconds my horse was so stunned he could scarcely move, and as I pressed him forward the heavy action of his shoulder and his drooping head almost filled me with despair. By degrees, however, he warmed up and got into his stride. Before me, and nearly a hundred yards in advance, rode Burke, still keeping up his pace, but skirting the headlands to my right. I saw now the force of the priest’s remark, that were I to take a straight line through the deep ground the race was still in my favour. But dare I do so with a horse so dead beat as mine was? The thought was quick as lightning; it was my only chance to win, and I resolved to take it. Plunging into the soft and marshy ground before me, I fixed my eye upon the blue flag which marked the course. At this moment Burke turned and saw me, and I could perceive that he immediately slackened his pace. Yes, thought I, he thinks I am pounded; but it is not come to that yet. In fact, my horse was improving at every stride, and although the ground was trying, his breeding began to tell, and I could feel that he had plenty of running still in him. Affecting, however, to lift him at every stroke, and seeming to labour to help him through, I induced Burke to hold in, until I gradually crept up to the fence before he was within several lengths of it. The grey no sooner caught sight of the wall than he pricked up his ears and rushed towards it; with a vigorous lift I popped him over, without touching a stone. Burke followed in splendid style, and in an instant was alongside of me.

Now began the race in right earnest. The cunning of his craft could avail him little here, except as regarded the superior management of his own horse; so Burke, abandoning every ruse, rode manfully on. As for me, my courage rose at every moment; and so far from feeling any fear, I only wished that the fences were larger; and like a gambler who would ruin his adversary at one throw, I would have taken a precipice if he pledged himself to follow. For some fields we rode within a few yards of each other, side by side, each man lifting his horse at the same moment to his leap, and alighting with the same shock beyond it. Already our heads were turned homewards, and I could mark on the distant hill the far-off crowds whose echoing shouts came floating towards us. But one fence of any consequence remained; that was the large gripe that formed the last of the race. We had cleared a low stone wall, and now entered the field that led to the great leap. It was evident that Burke’s horse, both from being spared the shocks that mine had met with, and from his better riding, was the fresher of the two; we had neither of us, however, much to boast of on that score, and perhaps at a calmer moment would have little fancied facing such a leap as that before us. It was evident that the first over must win; and as each man measured the other’s stride, the intense anxiety of the moment nearly rose to madness.

From the instant of entering the field I had marked out with my eye where I meant to take the leap. Burke had evidently done this also; and we now slightly diverged, each to his allotted spot. The pace was awful. All thought of danger lost, or forgotten, we came nearer and nearer with knitted brow and clenched lip – I, the first. Already I was on the side; with a loud cry and a cut of my whip I rose my horse to it. The noble beast sprang forward, but his strength was spent, and he fell downwards on his head. Recovering him without losing my seat, I scrambled up the opposite bank and looked round. Burke, who had pressed the pace so hotly before, had only done so to blow my horse and break him down at his leap; and I saw him now approaching the fence with his mare fully in hand, and her haunches well under her. Unable to move forward, save at a walk, I turned in my saddle to watch him. He came boldly to the brink of the fence; his hand was up prepared to strike; already the mare was collecting herself for the effort, when from the bottom of the gripe a figure sprang wildly up, and as the horse rose into the air, he jumped at the bridle, pulling down both the horse and the rider with a crash upon him, a loud cry of agony rising amid the struggle.

As they disappeared from my sight I felt like one in a trance. All thoughts, however, were lost in the desire to win; and collecting my energies for a last struggle, I lifted the gallant grey with both hands, and by dint of spurring and shaking, pressed him to a canter, and rode in, the winner, amid the deafening cheers and cries of thousands.

‘Keep back! keep back!’ cried Mahon, restraining with his whip the crowd that bore down upon me. ‘Hinton, take care that no one touches your horse; ride inside, take off your saddle and get into the scale.’

Moving onwards like one in a dream, I mechanically obeyed the direction, while the cries and shouts around me grew each moment louder and wilder.

‘Here he comes! here he comes!’ shouted several voices; and Burke galloped up, and without drawing rein rode into the weighing-stand.

‘Foul play!’ roared he in a tone hoarse with passion. ‘I protest against the race! Holloa, sir!’ he shouted, turning towards me.

‘There, there!’ said Mahon, as he hurried me along towards the scale, ‘you have nothing to do with him.’ And at the same moment a number of others pressed eagerly forward to shake my hand and wish me joy.

‘Look here, Dillon,’ cried the Major, ‘mark the weight – twelve stone two, and two pounds over, if he wanted it. There, now,’ whispered he, in a voice which though not meant for my hearing I could distinctly catch – ‘there, now, Dillon, take him into your carriage and get him off the ground as fast as you can.’

Just at this instant Burke, who had been talking with loud voice and violent gesticulation, burst through the crowd, and stood before us.

‘Do you say, Dillon, that I have lost this race?’

‘Yes, yes, to be sure!’ cried out full twenty voices.

‘My question was not addressed to you, sirs,’ said he, boiling with passion; ‘I ask the judge of this course, have I lost?’

‘My dear Ulick – ’ said Dillon, in a voice scarce audible from agitation.

‘No cursed palaver with me,’ said he, interrupting. ‘Lost or won, sir – one word.’

‘Lost, of course,’ replied Dillon, with more of firmness than I believed him capable.

‘Well, sir,’ said Burke, as he turned towards me, his teeth clenched with passion, ‘it may be some alloy to your triumph to know that your accomplice has smashed his thigh-bone in your service; and yet I can tell you you have not come to the end of this matter.’

Before I could reply, Burke’s friends tore him from the spot and hurried him to a carriage; while I, still more than ever puzzled by the words I had heard, looked from one to the other of those around for an explanation.

‘Never mind, Hinton,’ said Mahon, as, half breathless with running, he rushed up and seized me by the hand. ‘The poor fellow was discharging a double debt in his own rude way – gratitude on your score, vengeance on his own.’

‘Tally-ho, tally-ho! – hark, there – stole away!’ shouted a wild cry from without, and at the same instant four countrymen came forward, carrying a door between them, on which was stretched the pale and mangled figure of Tipperary Joe. ‘A drink of water – spirits – tay – anything, for the love of the Virgin! I’m famished, and I want to drink Captain Phil’s health. Ah, darling!’ said he, as he turned his filmy eyes up towards me, ‘didn’t I do it beautifully; didn’t I pay him off for this?’ With these words he pointed to a blue welt that stretched across his face, from the mouth to the ear. ‘He gave me that yesterday for saying long life and success to you!’

‘Oh! this is too horrible,’ said I, gasping for breath. ‘My poor fellow! and I who had treated you so harshly!’ I took his hand in mine, but it was cold and clammy; his features were sunken too – he had fainted.

‘Come, Hinton,’ said the Major, ‘we can do no good here; let us move down to the inn at once, and see after this poor boy.’

‘You are coming with us, Mr. Hinton?’ cried Dillon.

‘Not now, not now,’ said I, while my throat was swelling with repressed emotion. Without suffering me to say more, Mahon almost lifted me into the tax-cart, and putting his horse to the gallop, dashed towards the town, the cheers of the people following us as we went; for, to their wild sense of justice, Joe was a genuine martyr, and I shared in the glory of his self-devotion.

The whole way towards Loughrea, Mahon continued to talk; but not a word could I catch. My thoughts were fixed on the poor fellow who had suffered for my sake; and I would have given all I possessed in the world to have lost the race, and seen him safe and sound before me.

‘There, there!’ said the Major, as he shook me by the arm; ‘don’t take it to heart this way. You know little of Ireland, that’s plain; that poor fellow will be prouder for the feeling you have shown towards him this night than many a king upon his throne. To have served a gentleman, to have put him under an obligation —that has a charm you can’t estimate the extent of. Beware, only beware of one thing – do not by any offer of money destroy the illusion; do what you like for him, but take care of that.’

We now reached the little inn; and Mahon – for I was incapable of all thought or exertion – got a room in readiness for Joe, and summoning the doctor of the place, provided everything for his care and accommodation.

‘Now, Hinton,’ said he, as he burst into my room, ‘all’s right. Joe is comfortable in bed; the fracture turns out not to be a bad one. So rouse yourself, for Dillon’s carriage with all its ladies is waiting these ten minutes.’

‘No, no!’ cried I; ‘I can’t go to this dinner-party! I’ll not quit – ’

‘Nonsense, man!’ said he, interrupting me; ‘you can only do harm here; the doctor says he must be left quite quiet» and alone. Besides, Dillon has behaved so well to-day – so stoutly for him, that you mustn’t forget it. There, now, where are your clothes? I’ll pack them for you.’

I started up to obey him, but a giddiness came over me, and I sank into my chair, weak and sick.

‘This will never do,’ said Mahon; ‘I had better tell them I’ll drive you over myself. And now, just lie down for an hour or two, and keep quiet.’

This advice I felt was good; and thanking my kind friend with a squeeze of the hand, for I could not speak, I threw myself upon my bed, and strange enough, while such contending emotions disturbed my brain, fell asleep almost immediately.

CHAPTER XXVI. THE DINNER-PARTY AT MOUNT BROWN

I awoke refreshed after half-an-hour’s doze, and then every circumstance of the whole day was clear and palpable before me. I remembered each minute particular, and could bring to my mind all the details of the race itself, notwithstanding the excitement they had passed in, and the rapidity with which they succeeded one another.

My first thought was to visit poor Joe; and creeping stealthily to his room, I opened the door. The poor fellow was fast asleep. His features had already become coloured with fever, and a red hectic spot on either cheek told that the work of mischief had begun; yet still his sleep was tranquil, and a half smile curled; his bloodless lips. On his bed his old hunting-cap was placed, a bow of white and green ribbons – the colours I wore – fastened gaudily in the front; upon this, doubtless, he had been gazing to the last moment of his waking. I now stole noiselessly back, and began a letter to O’Grady, whose anxiety as to the result would, I knew, be considerable.

It was not without pride, I confess, that I narrated the events of the day; yet when I came to that part of my letter in which Joe was to be mentioned, I could not avoid a sense of shame in acknowledging the cruel contrast between my conduct and his gratitude. I did not attempt to theorise upon what he had done, for I felt that O’Grady’s better knowledge of his countrymen would teach him to sound the depths of a motive, the surface of which I could but skim. I told him frankly that the more I saw of Ireland the less I found I knew about it; so much of sterling good seemed blended with unsettled notions and unfixed opinions; such warmth of heart, such frank cordiality, with such traits of suspicion and distrust, that I could make nothing of them. Either, thought I, these people are born to present the anomaly of all that is most opposite and contradictory in human nature, or else the fairest gifts that ever graced manhood have been perverted and abused by mismanagement and misguidance.

I had just finished my letter when Bob Mahon drove up, his honest face radiant with smiles and good-humour.

‘Well, Hinton,’ cried he, ‘the whole thing is properly settled. The money is paid over; and if you are writing to O’Grady, you may mention that he can draw on the Limerick bank, at sight if he pleases. There’s time enough, however, for all this; so get up beside me. We’ve only half an hour to do our five miles, and dress for dinner.’

I took my place beside the Major; and as we flew fast through the air, the cool breeze and his enlivening conversation rallied and refreshed me. Such was our pace that we had ten minutes to spare, as we entered a dark avenue of tall beech-trees, and a few seconds after arrived at the door of a large old-fashioned-looking manor-house, on the steps of which stood Hugh Dillon himself, in all the plenitude of a white waistcoat and black-silk tights. While he hurried me to a dressing-room, he overwhelmed me with felicitations on the result of the day.

‘You’ll think it strange, Mr. Hinton,’ said he, ‘that I should congratulate you, knowing that Mr. Burke is a kind of relation of mine; but I have heard so much of your kindness to my niece Louisa, that I cannot but rejoice in your success.’

‘I should rather,’ said I, ‘for many reasons, had it been more legitimately obtained; and, indeed, were I not acting for another, I doubt how far I should feel justified in considering myself a winner.’

‘My dear sir,’ interrupted Dillon, ‘the laws of racing are imperative in the matter; besides, had you waived your right, all who backed you must have lost their money.’

‘For that matter,’ said I, laughing, ‘the number of my supporters was tolerably limited.’

‘No matter for that; and even if you had not a single bet upon you, Ulick’s conduct, in the beginning, deserved little favour at your hands.’

‘I confess,’ said I, ‘that there you have touched on the saving clause to my feeling of shame. Had Mr. Burke conducted himself in a different spirit towards my friend and myself, I should feel sorely puzzled this minute.’

‘Quite right, quite right,’ said Dillon; ‘and now try if you can’t make as much haste with your toilette as you did over the clover-field.’

Within a quarter of an hour I made my appearance in the drawing-room, now crowded with company, the faces of many among whom I remembered having seen in the morning. Mr. Dillon was a widower, but his daughters – three fine, tall, handsome-looking girls – did the honours. While I was making my bows to them, Miss Bellew came forward, and with an eye bright with pleasure held out her hand towards me.

‘I told you, Mr. Hinton, we should meet in the west. Have I been as good a prophetess in saying that you would like it?’

‘If it afforded me but this one minute,’ said I, in a half-whisper.

‘Dinner!’ said the servant, and at the same moment that scene of pleasant confusion ensued that preludes the formal descent of a party to the dining-room.

The host had gracefully tucked a large lady under his arm, beside whose towering proportions he looked pretty much like what architects call ‘a lean-to,’ superadded to a great building. He turned his eye towards me to go and do likewise, with a significant glance at a heaving mass of bugles and ostrich feathers that sat panting on a sofa. I parried the stroke, however, by drawing Miss Bellow’s arm within mine, while I resigned the post of honour to my little friend the Major.

The dinner passed off like all other dinners. There was the same routine of eating and drinking, and pretty much the same ritual of table-talk. As a kind of commentary on the superiority of natural gifts over the affected and imitated graces of society, I could not help remarking that those things which figured on the table of homely origin were actually luxurious, while the exotic resources of the cookery were, in every instance, miserable failures. Thus the fish was excellent, and the mutton perfect, while the fricandeau was atrocious, and the petits pâtés execrable.

Should my taste be criticised, that with a lovely girl beside me, for whom I already felt a strong attachment, I could thus set myself to criticise the cookery, in lieu of any other more agreeable occupation, let my apology be, that my reflection was an apropos, called forth by comparing Louisa Bellew with her cousins the Dillons. I have said they were handsome girls; they were more – they were beautiful. They had all that fine pencilling of the eyebrow, that deep, square orbit, so characteristically Irish, which gives an expression to the eye, whatever be its colour, of inexpressible softness; their voices too, albeit the accent was provincial, were soft and musical, and their manners quiet and ladylike – yet, somehow, they stood immeasurably apart from her.

I have already ventured on one illustration from the cookery, may I take another from the cellar? How often in wines of the same vintage, of even the same cask, do we find one bottle whose bouquet is more aromatic, whose flavour is richer, whose colour is more purely brilliant! There seems to be no reason why this should be so, nor is the secret appreciable to our senses; however, the fact is incontestable. So among women. You meet some half-dozen in an evening party, equally beautiful, equally lovely; yet will there be found one among the number towards whom, without any assignable cause, more eyes are turned, and more looks bent; around whose chair more men are found to linger, and in whose slightest word some cunning charm seems ever mingled. Why is this so? I confess I cannot tell you; but trust me for the fact. If, however, it will satisfy you that I adduce an illustration – Louisa Bellew was one of these. With all the advantages of a cultivated mind, she possessed that fearlessness that only girls really innocent of worldly trickery and deceit ever have; and thus, while her conversation ranged far beyond the limits the cold ordeal of fashion would prescribe to a London beauty, the artless enthusiasm of her manner was absolutely captivating.

In Dublin the most marked feature about her was an air of lofty pride and hauteur, by which, in the mixed society of Rooney’s house, was she alone enabled to repel the obtrusive and impertinent attentions it was the habit of the place to practise. Surrounded by those who resorted there for a lounge, it was a matter of no common difficulty for her, a young and timid girl, to assert her own position, and exact the respect that was her due. Here, however, in her uncle’s house, it was quite different. Relieved from all performance of a part, she was natural, graceful, and easy; and her spirits, untrammelled by the dread of misconstruction, took their own free and happy flight without fear and without reproach.