The Knight Of Gwynne, Vol. 2

“‘What answer have you sent?’ said he.

“‘Declined, of course,’ said I.

“‘You are wrong, Heffernan,’ said his Lordship, as he took from me the note which I held ready sealed in my hand; ‘in my opinion, Heffernan, you are quite wrong.’

“‘I may be so, my Lord; but I confess to you I always act from the first impulse, and if it suggests regret afterwards, it at least saves trouble at the time.’

“‘Heffernan,’ said the Secretary, as he calmly read over the lines of your letter, ‘there are many reasons why you should go: in the first place, O’Reilly has really a fair grudge against us, and this note shows that he has the manliness to forget it. Every line of it bespeaks the gentleman, and I ‘ll not feel contented with myself until you convey to him my own sorrow for what is past, and the high sense I entertain of his character and conduct.’

“He said a great deal more; enough, if I tell you he induced me to rescind my first intention, and to become your guest; and I may say that I never followed advice the consequences of which have so thoroughly sustained my expectations.”

“This is very flattering,” said O’Reilly; “it is, indeed, more than I looked for; but, as you have been candid with me, I will be as open with you: I had already made up my mind to retire, for a season at least, from politics. My father, you know, is a very old man, and not without the prejudices that attach to his age; he was always averse to those ambitious views a public career would open, and a degree of coldness had begun to grow up between us in consequence. This estrangement is now happily at an end; and in his consenting to our present mode of life and its expenditure, he is, in reality, paying the recompense of his former opposition. I will not say what changes time may work in my opinion or my line of acting; but I will pledge myself that, if I do resume the path of public life, you are the very first man I will apprise of the intention.”

A cordial shake-hands ratified this compact; and Heffer-nan, who now saw that the fortress had capitulated, only stipulating for the honors of war, was about to add something very complimentary, when Beecham O’Reilly galloped up, with his horse splashed and covered with foam.

“Don’t you want to hear O’Halloran, Mr. Heffernan?” cried he.

“Yes, by all means.”

“Come along, then; don’t lose a moment; there’s a phaeton ready for you at the door, and if we make haste, we’ll be in good time.”

O’Reilly whispered a few words in his son’s ear, to which the other replied, aloud, —

“Oh! quite safe, perfectly safe. He was obliged to join his regiment, and sail at a moment’s notice.”

“Young Darcy, I presume?” said Heffernan, with a look of malicious intelligence. But no answer was returned, and O’Reilly continued to converse eagerly in Beecham’s ear.

“Here comes the carriage, Mr. Heffernan,” said the young man; “so slip in, and let’s be off.” And, giving his horse to a servant, he took his seat beside Heffernan, and drove off at a rapid pace towards the town.

After a quick drive of some miles, they entered the town, and had no necessity to ask if O’Halloran had begun his address to the jury. The streets which led to the square before the court-house, and the square itself, was actually crammed with country-people, of all sexes and ages; some standing with hats off, or holding their hands close to their ears, but all, in breathless silence, listening to the words of the Counsellor, which were not less audible to those without than within the building.

Nothing short of Beecham O’Reilly’s present position in the county, and the fact that the gratification they were then deriving was of his family’s procuring for them, could have enabled him to force a passage through that dense crowd, which wedged up all the approaches. As it was, he could only advance step by step, the horses and even the pole of the carriage actually forcing the way through the throng.

As they went thus slowly, the rich tones of the speaker swelled on the air with a clear, distinct, and yet so soft and even musical intonation that they fell deeply into the hearts of the listeners. He was evidently bent as much on appealing to those outside the court as to the jury, for his speech was less addressed to the legal question at issue than to the social condition of the peasantry; the all but absolutism of a landlord, – the serf-like slavery of a tenantry, dependent on the will or the caprice of the owners of the soil! With the consummate art of a rhetorician, he first drew the picture of an estate happily circumstanced, a benevolent landlord surrounded by a contented tenantry, the blessings of the poor man, “rising like the dews of the earth, and descending again in rain to refresh and fertilize the source it sprang from.” Not vaguely nor unskilfully, but with thorough knowledge, of his subject, he descanted on the condition of the peasant, his toils, his struggles against poverty and sickness borne with long-suffering and patience, from the firm trust that, even in this world, his destinies were committed to no cruel or unfeeling taskmaster. Although generally a studied plainness and even homeliness of language pervaded all he said, yet at times some bold figure, some striking and brilliant metaphor, would escape him, and then, far from soaring – as it might be suspected he had – above the comprehension of the hearers, a subdued murmur of delight would follow the words, and swelling louder and louder, burst forth at last into one great roar of applause. If a critical ear might cavil at the incompleteness or inaptitude of his similes, to the warm imagination and excited fancy of the Irish peasant they had no such blemishes.

It was at the close of a brilliant peroration on this theme, that Heffernan and Beecham O’Reilly reached the courthouse, and with difficulty forcing their way, obtained standing-room near the bar.

The orator had paused, and turning round he caught Beecham’s eye: the glance exchanged was but of a second’s duration, but, brief as it was, it did not escape Heffernan’s notice, and with a readiness he knew well how to profit by, he assumed a quiet smile, as though to say that he, too, had read its meaning. The young man blushed deeply; whatever his secret thoughts were, he felt ashamed that another should seem to know them, and in a hesitating whisper, said, —

“Perhaps my father has told you – ”

A short nod from Heffernan – a gesture to imply anything or nothing – was all his reply, and Beecham went on, —

“He’s going to do it, now.”

Heffernan made no answer, but, leaning forward on the rail, settled himself to listen attentively to the speaker.

“Gentlemen of the jury,” said O’Halloran, in a low and deliberate tone, “if the only question I was interested in bringing before you this day was the cause you sit there to try, I would conclude here. Assured as I feel what your verdict will and must be, I would not add a word more, nor weaken the honest merit of your convictions by anything like an appeal to your feelings. But I cannot do this. The law of the land, in the plenitude of its liberty, throws wide the door of justice, that all may enter and seek redress for wrong, and with such evident anxiety that he who believes himself aggrieved should find no obstacle to his right, and that even he who frivolously and maliciously advances a charge against another suffers no heavier penalty for his offence than the costs of the suit. No, my Lords, for the valuable moments lost in a vexatious cause, for the public time consumed, for insult and outrage cast upon the immutable principles of right and wrong, you have nothing more severe to inflict than the costs of the action! – a pecuniary fine, seldom a heavy one, and not unfrequently to be levied upon insolvency! What encouragement to the spirit of revengeful litigation! How suggestive of injury is the system! How deplorable would it be if the temple could not be opened without the risk of its altar being desecrated! But, happily, there is a remedy – a great and noble remedy – for an evil like this. The same glorious institutions that have built up for our protection the bulwark of the law, have created another barrier against wrong, – grander, more expansive, and more enduring still; one neither founded on the variable basis of nationality or of language, nor propped by the artifices of learned, or the subtleties of crafty men; not following the changeful fortunes of a political condition, or tempered by the tone of the judgment-seat, but of all lands, of every tongue and nation and people, great, enduring, and immutable, – the law of Public Opinion. To the bar of this judgment-seat, one higher and greater than even your Lordships, I would now summon the plaintiff in this action. There is no need that I should detail the charge against him; the accusation he has brought this day is our indictment, – his allegation is his crime.”

The reader, by this time, may partake of Mr. Heffernan’s prescience, and divine what the secret intelligence between the Counsellor and Beecham portended, and that a long-meditated attack on the Knight of Gwynne, in all the relations of his public and private life, was the chief duty of Mr. O’Halloran in the action. Taking a lesson from the great and illustrious chief of a neighboring state, O’Reilly felt that Usurpation can never be successful till Legitimacy becomes odious. The “prestige” of the “old family” clung too powerfully to every class in the county to make his succession respected. His low origin was too recent, his moneyed dealings too notorious, to gain him acceptance, except on the ruins of the Darcys. The new edifice of his own fame must be erected out of the scattered and broken materials of his rival’s house. If any one was well calculated to assist in such an emergency, it was O’Halloran.

It was by – to use his own expression – “weeding the country of such men” that the field would be opened for that new class of politicians who were to issue their edicts in newspapers, and hold their parliaments in public meetings. Against exclusive or exaggerated loyalty the struggle would be violent, but not difficult; while against moderation, sound sense and character, the Counsellor well knew the victory was not so easy of attainment. He himself, therefore, had a direct personal object in this attack on the Knight of Gwynne, and gladly accepted the special retainer that secured his services.

By a series of artful devices, he so arranged his case that the Knight of Gwynne did not appear as an injured individual seeking redress against the collusive guilt of his agent and his tenantry, but as a ruined gambler, endeavoring to break the leases he had himself granted and guaranteed, and, by an act of perfidy, involve hundreds of innocent families in hopeless beggary. To the succor of these unprotected people Mr. Hickman O’Reilly was represented as coming forward, this noble act of devotion being the first pledge he had offered of what might be expected from him as the future leader of a great county.

He sketched with a masterly but diabolical ingenuity the whole career of the Knight, representing him at every stage of life as the pampered voluptuary seeking means for fresh enjoyment without a thought of the consequences; he exhibited him dispensing, not the graceful duties of hospitality, but the reckless waste of a tasteless household, to counterbalance by profusion the insolent hauteur of his wife, “that same Lady Eleanor who would not deign to associate with the wives and daughters of his neighbors!” “I know not,” cried the orator, “whether you were more crushed by his gold or by her insolence: it was time that you should weary of both. You took the wealth on trust, and the rank on guess, – what now remains of either?”

He drew a frightful picture of a suffering and poverty-enslaved tenantry, sinking fast into barbarism from hopelessness, – unhappily, no Irishman need depend upon his imagination for the sketch. He contrasted the hours of toil and sickness with the wanton spendthrift in his pleasures, – the gambler setting the fate of families on the die, reserving for his last hope the consolation that he might still betray those whom he had ruined, land that when he had dissipated the last shilling of his fortune, he still had the resource of putting his honor up to auction! “And who is there will deny that he did this?” cried O’Halloran. “Is there any man in the kingdom has not heard of his conduct in Parliament – that foul act of treachery which the justice of Heaven stigmatized by his ruin! How on the very night of the debate he was actually on his way to inflict the last wound upon his country, when the news came of his own overwhelming destruction! And, like as you have seen sometime in our unhappy land the hired informer transferred from the witness-table to the dock, this man stands now forth to answer for his own offences!

“It was full time that the rotten edifice of this feudalist gentry should fall; honor to you on whom the duty devolves to roll away the first stone!”

A slight movement in the crowd behind the bar disturbed the silence in which the Court listened to the speaker, and a murmur of disapprobation was heard, when a hand, stretched forth, threw a little slip of paper on the table before O’Halloran. It was addressed to him; and believing it came from the attorney in the cause, he paused to read it. Suddenly his features became of an ashy paleness, his lip trembled convulsively, and in a voice scarcely audible from emotion, he addressed the bench, —

“My Lords, I ask the protection of this Court. I implore your Lordships to see that an advocate, in the discharge of his duty, is not the mark of an assassin. I have just received this note – ” He attempted to read it, but after a pause of a second or two, unable to utter a word, he handed the paper to the bench.

The judge perused the paper, and immediately whispered an order that the writer, or at least the bearer, of the note should be taken into custody.

“You may rest assured, sir,” said the senior judge, addressing O’Halloran, “that we will punish the offender, if he be discovered, with the utmost penalty the law permits. Mr. Sheriff, let the court be searched.”

The sub-sheriff was already, with the aid of a strong police force, engaged in the effort to discover the individual who had thus dared to interfere with the administration of justice; but all in vain. The court and the galleries were searched without eliciting anything that could lead to detection; and although several were taken up on suspicion, they were immediately afterwards liberated on being recognized as persons well known and in repute. Meanwhile the business of the trial stood still, and O’Halloran, with his arms folded, and his brows bent in a sullen frown, sat without speaking, or noticing any one around him.

The curiosity to know the exact words the paper contained was meanwhile extreme, and a thousand absurd versions gained currency; for, in the absence of all fact, invention was had recourse to. “Young Darcy is here, – he was seen this morning on the mail, – it was he himself gave the letter.” Such were among the rumors around; while Con Hefferman, coolly tapping his snuff-box, asked one of the lawyers near him, but in a voice plainly audible on either side, “I hope our friend Bagenal Daly is well; have you seen him lately?”

From that moment an indistinct murmur ran through the crowd that it was Daly had come back to “the West” to challenge the bar, and the whole bench, if necessary. Many added that there could no longer be any doubt of the fact, as Mr. Heffernan had seen and spoken to him.

Order was at last restored; but so completely had this new incident absorbed all the interest of the trial, that already the galleries began to thin, and of the great crowd that filled the body of the court, many had taken their departure. The Counsellor arose, agitated and evidently disconcerted, to finish his task: he spoke, indeed, indignantly of the late attempt to coerce the free expression of the advocate “by a brutal threat;” but the theme seemed one he felt no pleasure in dwelling upon, and he once more addressed himself to the facts of the case.

The judge charged briefly; and the jury, without retiring from the box, brought in a verdict for Hickman O’Reilly.

When the judges retired to unrobe, a messenger of the court summoned O’Halloran to their chamber. His absence was very brief; but when he returned his face was paler, and his manner more disturbed than ever, notwithstanding an evident effort to seem at ease and unconcerned. By this time Hickman O’Reilly had arrived in the town, and Heffernan was complimenting the Counsellor on the admirable display of his speech.

“I regret sincerely that the delicate nature of the position in which I stood prevented my hearing you,” said O’Reilly, shaking his hand.

“You have indeed had a great loss,” said Heffernan; “a more brilliant display I never listened to.”

“Well, sir,” interposed the little priest of Curraghglass, who, not altogether to the Counsellor’s satisfaction, had now slipped an arm inside of his, “I hope the evil admits of remedy; Mr. O’Halloran intends to address a few words to the people before he leaves the town.”

Whether it was the blank look that suddenly O’Reilly’s features assumed, or the sly malice that twinkled in Heffernan’s gray eyes, or that his own feelings suggested the course, but the Counsellor hastily whispered a few words in the priest’s ear, the only audible portion of which was the conclusion: “Be that as it may, I ‘ll not do it.”

“I ‘m ready now, Mr. O’Reilly,” said he, turning abruptly round.

“My father has gone over to say good-bye to the judges,” said Beecham; “but I’ll drive you back to the abbey, – the carriage is now at the door.”

With a few more words in a whisper to the priest, O’Halloran moved on with young O’Reilly towards the door.

“Only think, sir,” said Father John, dropping behind with Heffernan, from whose apparent intimacy with O’Halloran he augured a similarity of politics, “it is the first time the Counsellor was ever in our town, the people have been waiting since two o’clock to hear him on the ‘veto,’ – sorra one of them knows what the same ‘veto’ is, – but it will be a cruel disappointment to see him leave the place without so much as saying a word.”

“Do you think a short address from me would do instead?” said Heffernan, slyly; “I know pretty well what’s doing up in Dublin.”

“Nothing could be better, sir,” said Father John, in ecstasy; “if the Counsellor would just introduce you in a few words, and say that, from great fatigue, or a sore throat, or anything that way, he deputed his friend Mr. – ”

“Heffernan’s my name.”

“His friend Mr. Heffernan to state his views about the ‘veto,’ – mind, it must be the ‘veto,’-you can touch on the reform in Parliament, the oppression of the penal laws, but the ‘veto’ will bring a cheer that will beat them all.”

“You had better hint the thing to the Counsellor,” said Heffernan; “I am ready whenever you want me.”

As the priest stepped forward to make the communication to O’Halloran, that gentleman, leaning on Beecham O’Reilly’s arm, had just reached the steps of the courthouse, where now a considerable police-force was stationed, – a measure possibly suggested by O’Reilly himself.

The crowd, on catching sight of the Counsellor, cheered vociferously; and, although they were not without fears that he intended to depart without speaking, many averred that he would address them from the carriage. Before Father John could make known his request, a young man, dressed in a riding-costume, burst through the line of police, and, springing up the steps, seized O’Halloran by the collar.

“I gave you a choice, sir,” said he, “and you made it;” and at the same instant, with a heavy horsewhip, struck him several times across the shoulders, and even the face. So sudden was the movement, and so violent the assault, that, although a man of great personal strength, O’Halloran had received several blows almost before he could defend himself, and when he had rallied, his adversary, though much lighter and less muscular, showed in skill, at least, he was his superior. The struggle, however, was not to end here; for the mob, now seeing their favorite champion attacked, with a savage howl of vengeance dashed forward, and the police, well aware that the youth would be torn limb from limb, formed a line in front of him with fixed bayonets. For a few moments the result was doubtful; nor was it until more than one retired into the crowd bleeding and wounded, that the mob desisted, or limited their rage to yells of vengeance.

Meanwhile the Counsellor was pulled back within the court-house by his companions, and the young man secured by two policemen, – a circumstance which went far to allay the angry tempest of the people without.

As, pale and powerless from passion, his livid cheek marked with a deep blue welt, O’Halloran sat in one of the waiting-rooms of the court, O’Reilly and his son endeavored, as well as they could, to calm down his rage; expressing, from time to time, their abhorrence of the indignity offered, and the certain penalty that awaited the offender. O’Halloran never spoke; he tried twice to utter something, but the words died away without sound, and he could only point to his cheek with a trembling finger, while his eyes glared like the red orbs of a tiger.

As they stood thus, Heffernan slipped noiselessly behind O’Reilly, and said in his ear, —

“Get him off to the abbey; your son will take care of him. I have something for yourself to hear.”

O’Reilly nodded significantly, and then, turning, said a few words in a low, persuasive tone to O’Halloran, concluding thus: “Yes, by all means, leave the whole affair in my hands. I ‘ll have no difficulty in making a bench. The town is full of my brother magistrates.”

“On every account I would recommend this course, sir,” said Heffernan, with one of those peculiarly meaning looks by which he so well knew how to assume a further insight into any circumstance than his neighbors possessed.

“I will address the people,” cried O’Halloran, breaking his long silence with a deep and passionate utterance of the words; “they shall see in me the strong evidence of the insolent oppression of that faction that rules this country; I ‘ll make the land ring with the tyranny that would stifle the voice of justice, and make the profession of the bar a forlorn hope to every man of independent feeling.”

“The people have dispersed already,” said Beecham, as he came back from the door of the court; “the square is quite empty.”

“Yes, I did that,” whispered Heffernan in O’Reilly’s ear; “I made the servant put on the Counsellor’s greatcoat, and drive rapidly off towards the abbey. The carriage is now, however, at the back entrance to the court-house; so, by all means, persuade him to return.”

“When do you propose bringing the fellow up for examination, Mr. O’Reilly?” said O’Halloran, as he arose from his seat.

“To-morrow morning. I have given orders to summon a full bench of magistrates, and the affair shall be sifted to the bottom.”

“You may depend upon that, sir,” said the Counsellor, sternly. “Now I ‘ll go back with you, Mr. Beecham O’Reilly.” So saying, he moved towards a private door of the building, where the phaeton was in waiting, and, before any attention was drawn to the spot, he was seated in the carriage, and the horses stepping out at a fast pace towards home.

“It’s not Bagenal Daly?” said O’Reilly, the very moment he saw the carriage drive off.

“No, no!” said Heffernan, smiling.

“Nor the young Darcy, – the captain?”

“Nor him either. It’s a young fellow we have been seeking for in vain the last month. His name is Forester.”

“Not Lord Castlereagh’s Forester?”

“The very man. You may have met him here as Darcy’s guest?”

O’Reilly nodded.

“What makes the affair worse is that the relationship with Castlereagh will be taken up as a party matter by O’Halloran’s friends in the press; they will see a Castle plot, where, in reality, there is nothing to blame save the rash folly of a hot-headed boy.”

“What is to be done?” said O’Reilly, putting his hand to his forehead, in his embarrassment to think of some escape from the difficulty.

“I see but one safe issue, – always enough to any question, if men have resolution to adopt it.”

“Let me hear what you counsel,” said O’Reilly, as he cast a searching glance at his astute companion.