The Martins Of Cro' Martin, Vol. I (of II)

“I ‘m vara sorry for it, my Leddy; I don’t deserve them,” was the calm reply.

Had Lady Dorothea been quick-sighted, she might have detected a glance which the daughter directed towards her father; but she had been more than quick-minded if she could have read its meaning, so strange was the expression it bore.

“In plain words, sir, do you know the offenders? and if so, how can we punish them?”

“Your Leddyship has them all there,” said he, pointing to the list on the table; “but there’s nae sa much to be done wi’ them, as the chief o’ the lot are men o’ mark and means, wi’ plenty o’ siller, and the sperit to spend it.”

“I hear of nothing but defaulters till a moment like this arrives, sir,” said her Ladyship, passionately. “The burden of every song is arrears of rent; and now I am told that the tenantry are so prosperous that they can afford to defy their landlord. Explain this, sir!”

Before Mr. Henderson had completed that hesitating process which with him was the prelude to an answer, the door opened, and Mary Martin entered. She was in a riding-dress, and bore the traces of the road on her splashed costume; but her features were paler than usual, and her lip quivered as she spoke.

“My dear aunt,” cried she, not seeming to notice that others were present, “I have come back at speed from Kyle’s Wood to learn if it be true – but it cannot be true – however the poor creatures there believe it – that they are to be discharged from work, and no more employment given at the quarries. You have n’t seen them, dear aunt – you haven’t beheld them, as I did this morning – standing panic-stricken around the scene of their once labor, not speaking, scarcely looking at each other, more like a shipwrecked crew upon an unknown shore than fathers and mothers beside their own homesteads!”

“It was I gave the order, Miss Martin,” said Lady Dorothea, proudly. “If these people prefer political agitation to an honest subsistence, let them pay the price of it.”

“But who says that they have done so?” replied Mary. “These poor creatures have not a single privilege to exercise; they have n’t a vote amongst them. The laws have forgotten them just as completely as human charity has.”

“If they have no votes to record, they have voices to outrage and insult their natural protectors. Henderson knows that the worst mobs in the borough were from this very district.”

“Let him give the names of those he alludes to. Let him tell me ten – five – ay, three, if he can, of Kyle’s Wood men who took any share in the disturbances. I am well aware that it is a locality where he enjoys little popularity himself; but at least he need not calumniate its people. Come, sir, who are these you speak of?”

Kate Henderson, who sat with bent-down head during this speech, contrived to steal a glance at the speaker so meaningful and so supplicating that Mary faltered, and as a deep blush covered her cheek, she hastily added: “But this is really not the question. This miserable contest has done us all harm; but let us not perpetuate its bitterness! We have been beaten in an election, but I don’t think we ought to be worsted in a struggle of generosity and good feeling. Come over, dear aunt, and see these poor creatures.”

“I shall certainly do no such thing, Miss Martin. In the first place, the fever never leaves that village.”

“Very true, aunt; and it will be worse company if our kindness should desert them. But if you will not come, take my word for the state of their destitution. We have nothing so poor on the whole estate.”

“It is but a moment back I was told that the spirit of resistance to our influence here arose from the wealthy independence of the people; now, I am informed it is their want and destitution suggest the opposition. I wish I could ascertain which of you is right.”

“It’s little matter if our theory does not lead us to injustice,” said Mary, boldly. “Let me only ride back to the quarries, aunt, and tell these poor people that they ‘ve nothing to fear, – that there is no thought of withdrawing from them their labor nor its hire. Their lives are, God knows, not overlaid with worldly blessings; let us not add one drop that we can spare to their cup of sorrow.”

“The young leddy says na mair than the fact; they’re vara poor, and they ‘re vara dangerous!”

“How do you mean dangerous, sir?” asked Lady Dorothea, hastily.

“There’s more out o’ that barony at the assizes, my Leddy, than from any other on the property.”

“Starvation and crime are near relatives all the world over,” said Mary; “nor do I see that the way to cure the one is to increase the other.”

“Then let us get rid of both,” said Lady Dorothea. “I don’t see why we are to nurse pauperism either into fever or rebellion. To feed people that they may live to infect you, or, perhaps, shoot you, is sorry policy. You showed me a plan for getting rid of them, Henderson, – something about throwing down their filthy hovels, or unroofing them, or something of that kind, and then they were to emigrate – I forget where – to America, I believe – and become excellent people, hard-working and quiet. I know it all sounded plausible and nice; tell Miss Martin your scheme, and if it does not fulfil all you calculated, it will at least serve for an example on the estate.”

“An example!” cried Mary. “Take care, my Lady. It’s a dangerous precept you are about to inculcate, and admits of a terrible imitation!”

“Now you have decided me, Miss Martin,” said Lady Dorothea, haughtily.

“And, good Heavens! is it for a rash word of mine – for a burst of temper that I could not control – you will turn out upon the wide world a whole village, – the old that have grown gray there, – the infant that clings to its mother in her misery, and makes a home for her by its very dependence – ”

“Every one of them, sir,” said Lady Dorothea, addressing herself to Henderson, who had asked some question in a low whisper. “They ‘re cottiers all; they require no delays of law, and I insist upon it peremptorily.”

“Not till my uncle hears of it!” exclaimed Mary, passionately. “A cruel wrong like this shall not be done in mad haste.” And with these words, uttered in all the vehemence of great excitement, she rushed from the room in search of Martin.

CHAPTER XXIII. A CHARACTERISTIC LETTER

It may save the reader some time, and relieve him from the weary task of twice listening to the same story, if we steal some passages from a letter which, about this time, Jack Massingbred addressed to his former correspondent. He wrote from the inn at Oughterard, and, although still under the influence of the excitement of the late contest, expressed himself with much of his constitutional calm and frankness. We shall not recapitulate his narrative of the election, but proceed at once to what followed on that description.

“I see, Harry, the dubious projection of your nether lip, I appreciate the slow nod of your head, and I fancy I can hear the little half-sigh of deprecation with which you hear all this. Worse again, I don’t seek to defend myself. I think my case a bad one; but still I feel there is something to be said in mitigation. You need not trouble yourself to draw up an indictment: I plead guilty – entirely guilty – to all you can say. I have broken with ‘the gentlemen’ to cast my lot with the canaille. Why have n’t we a good wholesome word of our own for a home-made article? I have deserted the ranks where, whatever fortune befell, it was honor to fight; I have given up association with the well-bred and the well-mannered, to rub shoulders with the coarse-minded, the rough-hearted, and the vulgar. There is not a reproach you can make me on this score that I have n’t already addressed to myself. I feel all the indignity of my situation, – I experience all the insult of their companionship; but, as the lady detected in possession of her lover’s picture pleaded in her defence that it was not like him, so I hope to arrest judgment against me by the honest avowal that I detest and despise my party. I don’t talk to you about their principles – still less do I say anything of my own – but merely advert here to the miserable compromise a gentleman is driven to make with every sentiment of his nature who once enlists under their flag. As Travers told us one evening – you were of the party, and must remember it – he was speaking of the Peninsular campaign, in which he served as a volunteer – ‘So long as you were fighting,’ said he, ‘it was all very well; the fellows were stout-hearted and full of spirit, and you felt that you couldn’t ask for better comrades; but when the struggle was over – when it came to associating, living with them, hearing their sentiments, sharing their opinions, hopes, fears, wishes, and so on – then it became downright degradation!’ Not, as he remarked, that they were one jot more vicious or more corrupt than their betters, but that every vice and every corruption amongst them seemed doubly offensive by the contact with their coarse natures. Now, my friends, the Liberals, are somewhat in the same category. They do their work right well on the field of battle; they fight, swear, slander, and perjure themselves just like gentlemen; or rather better of the two. They even come down handsomely with their cash, – the last best evidence any man can tender of his honesty in a cause; but then, Harry, the struggle over, it is sorry work to become their companion and their friend! Oh! if you had but seen the dinners I have eaten, and the women I have handed down to them! – if you could have but heard the sentiments I have cheered, – ay, and even uttered, – only listened to the projects we have discussed, and the plans matured as we sat over our whiskey-punch, – you ‘d say, ‘Jack must have the ambition of the Evil One himself in his heart, since he pays this price for the mere glimpse of the goal before him!’

“Throughout the whole of your last letter I can detect a sense of apprehension lest, ‘with all my tact,’ as you phrase it, these people are not really duping we, – using me for a present purpose, with the foregone resolve to get rid of me when it be accomplished. To be sure they are, Harry. I never doubted it for a moment. The only question is, which of us shall trip up the other! They desire to show the world that the operation of the Relief Bill will not be of that exclusive character its opponents proclaimed, – that a Catholic constituency would choose a Protestant, – even prefer one, – as Mr. O’Connell said. The opportunity was a good one to display this sentiment, and so they took me! Now, my notion is, that every great measure can have only one real importance, by throwing weight into the scale of one or other of the two great Parliamentary parties. Do what you will, – agitate, write, speak, pamphleteer, and libel, – but all resolves itself to some question of a harm to one side and good to the other, the country the while being wonderfully little the better or the worse for all the legislation. We used to have a Constitution in England: we have now only got a Parliament, and to be anything in the nation a man must make himself felt there! This, ‘if I have the stuff in me,’ as old Sherry said, I mean to do —et nous verrons!

“The fatigues of this new life are very great. I ‘m up before it is well day, writing and revising newspaper articles, answering letters, and replying to ‘queries.’ I have my whole mornings taken up in audiences of my constituents, swallowing pledges, and recording promises; and later on I go to dinner, ‘with what appetite I may,’ to some one of my faithful supporters, – some corn-chandler who spouts ‘foreign politics,’ or a grocer who ought to be Colonial Secretary! But still I ‘m thankful for all this bustle and occupation: it averts reflection, it raises a barrier against thought, and muffles the clapper of that small hand-bell in the human heart men call their conscience! They say few men would have courage for either a battle or a wedding if it were not for the din of the trumpets and the joy-bells; and I’m convinced that noise – mere noise – has no small share in determining the actions of mankind!

“And now, Harry, for a confession. I ‘m heartily sorry for the whole of this business, and were it to be done again, nothing would tempt me to play the same part in it. I was leading the jolliest life imaginable at Cro’ Martin. I had made the place and the people my own. It was a kind of existence that suited me, – sufficient of occupation, and enough of leisure. There were oddities to laugh at, eccentricities to quiz, an old lawyer to sharpen one’s wits upon, and a governess – such a governess – to flirt with! Don’t mistake me, Harry; it was not one of those hand-pressing, downcast-gazing, low-speaking cases in which you are such a proficient. It was far more like the approaches one might be supposed to make to a young tigress in a cage, – a creature with whom a mistake would be your ruin, and whom you always caressed with a sense of impending peril.

“I told you how ably she aided me in this contest, – how she labored to obtain information – secret information – for me as to every voter in the borough. What prompted her to this course I cannot fathom. She does not appear to bear any grudge against the Martins, – she had been but a few weeks amongst them, – and is, all things considered, well treated and well received. As little was it any special favor towards myself. Indeed, on that head she will not permit me to fall into any error. I cannot suppose that with her foreign education and foreign habits she cares a jot for the small schemes and intriguings of home politics, – so what can it possibly mean? Help me to the solution of this riddle, and I ‘ll be more deeply your debtor than I can well say. Brought up as she has been, – and as I have told you in my last letter, – nothing would be more natural than her adoption of every prejudice of the class by whom she has been so singularly distinguished; and in this light I have always viewed her. Under the calm reserve of a most polished manner you can still detect a shrinking horror of all the vulgar association of the rank she came from. Her quiet deference, haughtier by far than the domination of those above her; the humility that no flatteries ever breached; a self-possession that never seemed so strong as when resisting the blandishments of praise, – these are strange gifts in a young girl with beauty enough to turn half the heads of half the fools we know of, and more than enough to make crazy that of him who writes this.

“I tried twenty things to resist this tendency on my part. I laughed at myself for the absurdity it would lead to. I ridiculed to my own heart all the extravagance of such a project. I even wrote a paragraph for the ‘Times’ announcing the marriage of Jack Massingbred with Kate Henderson, the only daughter of Paul Henderson, the Land Steward, and pasted it above my chimney to shock and outrage me. I did more. I made love to Miss Martin – as an alterative, as the doctors would call it – but I fell at a stone wall, got laughed at, and cured of my passion; and, lastly, I climbed that lofty tree of my family, and sat high among the branches of defunct barons and baronets, to get a bird’s-eye view of the small mushrooms that grow on the earth beneath, but hang me, Harry, if the agarics did n’t seem better company, and I was glad to get down amongst them again, meaning thereby to sit beside that one dear specimen of the class I allude to!

“I see that you are curious to know how all these late events have modified my relations with my father, and really I cannot answer your inquiry. It is more than likely that my obtaining a seat in Parliament will embarrass rather than serve him with his party, since he will be expected to control a vote over which he can exert no influence.

“As yet, nothing has occurred to draw us any closer, and my only communications to him have been certain recommendatory letters, which my constituents here have somewhat peremptorily demanded at my hands. I gave them freely, for, after all, application is an easier task than refusing, and besides, Harry, it is very difficult to persuade your election friends that you cannot be a patriot and a patron at the same time, and that, in the luxurious pastime of badgering a government, a man surrenders some of the pretensions to place. I gave them, therefore, all the letters they asked for; and if the Chief Secretary but answer one half of my appeals, Galway – or at least that small portion of it called Oughter-ard – will have no cause of complaint on the score of its claims to office.

“You are, I perceive, astonished that I continue to remain here. So am I, Harry. The place is detestable in almost every way. I am beset with entreaties, persecuted with vulgar attentions, bored to death by the insolent familiarity of people I cannot – do all that I will – grow intimate with; and yet I stay on, pretexting this, that, and t’ other to myself, and shrinking even to my own heart to avow the real reason of my delay!

“I want once again, if only for a few moments, to see her. I want to try if by any ingenuity I could discover the mystery of her conduct with regard to myself; and I want also, if there should be the need to do so, to justify to her eyes many things which I have been forced by circumstances to do in this contest.

“I have not the slightest suspicion as to how she views all that has occurred here. Two notes which I addressed to her, very respectful, businesslike epistles, have not been answered, though I entreated for a few words to acknowledge their receipt. The Martins, since the election, seem to have quarantined the whole town and neighborhood. They suffer none of their people to enter here. They have sent eight miles further off to market, and even changed the post-town for their letters. Their policy is, so far, shortsighted, as it has called into an exaggerated importance all that small fry – like the Nelligans – who have hitherto been crushed under the greater wealth of the rich proprietor. But I am again drifting into that tiresome tideway of politics which I have sworn to myself to avoid, if only for a few days; in pursuance of which wise resolve I shall betake myself to the mountains, under the pretext of shooting. A gun is an idler’s passport, and a game-bag and a shot-pouch are sufficient to throw a dignity over vagabondism. You will therefore divine that I am not bent on snipe slaughter, but simply a good excuse to be alone!

“I mean to go to-morrow, and shall first turn my steps towards the coast, which, so far as I have seen, is singularly bold and picturesque. If nothing occurs to alter my determination, I ‘ll leave this unclosed till I can tell you that I have come back here, which in all probability will be by the end of the week.

“Once more here, my dear Harry, I sit down to add a few lines to this already over-lengthy epistle. Wishing to give you some notion of the scenery, I set out with all the appliances of a sketcher, and have really contrived to jot down some spots which, for general wildness and grandeur, it would be difficult to surpass within the bounds of our country. Nor is it alone the forms that are so striking, although I could show you outlines here perfectly Alpine in their fantastic extravagance; but the colors are finer than anything I have seen north of the Alps, – heaths and lichens grouped over rugged masses of rock, with shades of purple and gold such as no diadem ever equalled. The sunsets, too, were gorgeous! You remember how struck we both were at the moment when the dome and aisle of St. Peter’s burst into light, and from the darkness of midnight every column and every statue became illuminated in a second; but a thousand times beyond this in grandeur of effect was the moment of the sun’s decline below the horizon. The instant before, the great sullen sea was rolling and heaving with its leaden blue surface, slightly traced here and there with foam, but no sooner had the sun touched the horizon, than a flood of purple glory spread over the whole ocean, so that it became like a sea of molten gold and amber. The dark cliffs and rugged crags, the wave-beaten rocks, and the rude wild islands, darksome and dismal but a moment back, were now all glittering and glowing, every pinnacle and every peak in deep carbuncle red. How suggestive to him who would describe an enchanted land or region of magic splendor! and what a hint for your scene-painter, who, with all his devices of Bengal and blue light, with every trick that chemistry and optics could aid in, never fancied anything so splendid or so gorgeous.

“I have half filled a sketch-book for you, and more than half filled my game-bag with mosses and ferns, and such-like gear, which, knowing your weakness, I have gathered, but, not understanding their virtues, may, for aught I know, be the commonest things in creation. I can only vouch for their being very beautiful, and very unlike anything else I ever saw before; fragments of marble, too, and specimens of Irish jasper and onyx, are amidst my rubbish, or my treasures, whichever you shall pronounce them to be.

“I got through – don’t fancy that the phrase denotes weariness or ennui– I got through four days in these pursuits, and then I took boat, and for three more I paddled about the coast, dipping in amongst the cliffs and creeks and caves of this wonderful coast, gathering shells and seaweed, and shooting curlews and eating lobsters, and, in fact, to all intents and purposes, suffering a ‘sea change’ over myself and my spirit as unearthlike as well may be imagined; and at last I bethought me of my new openiug career, and all that I ought to be doing in preparation of St. Stephen’s, and so I turned my steps landward and towards ‘my borough.’ I like to say ‘my borough;’ it sounds feudal and insolent and old Torylike; it smacks of the day when people received their representative thankfully, as an alms, and your great proprietor created his nominee as the consul ennobled his horse!

“Revolving very high thoughts, reciting Edmund Burke’s grandest perorations, and picturing very vividly before me the stunning triumphs of my own eloquence in the House, I plodded along, this time at least wonderfully indifferent to the scenery, and totally oblivious of where I was, when suddenly I perceived the great trees of Cro’ Martin demesne shadowing the road I travelled, and saw that I was actually within a mile or so of the Castle! You, Harry, have contrived, some way or other, to have had a very rose-colored existence. I never heard that you had been jilted by a mistress, ‘cut’ by a once friend, or coldly received by the rich relative from whom you derived all your expectations. I am not even aware that the horse you backed ever went wrong, or that the bill you endorsed for another ever came back protested. In fact, you are what the world loves best, cherishes most, and lavishes all its blandishments on, – a devilish lucky fellow! Lucky in a capital fortune, abundance of good gifts, good looks, and an iron constitution, – one of those natures that can defy duns, blue-devils, and dyspepsia! Being, therefore, all this, well received everywhere, good company where pheasants are to be shot, Burgundy to be drunk, or young ladies to be married, – for you are a good shot, a good wine-taster, and a good parti, – with such gifts, I say, it will be very difficult to evoke your sympathy on the score of a misfortune which no effort of your imagination could compass. In fact, to ask you to feel what I did, as I found myself walking along outside of those grounds within which, but a few days back, I was the cherished visitor, and in sight of that smoke which denoted a hearth beside which I was never to sit again, and from which I was banished with something not very unlike disgrace! No sophistry I could summon was sufficient to assuage the poignancy of this sentiment. I feel certain that I could stand any amount of open public abuse, any known or unknown quantity of what is genteelly called ‘slanging,’ but I own to you that the bare thought of how my name might at that moment be mentioned beneath that roof, or even the very reserve that saved it from mention, caused me unutterable bitterness, and it was in a state of deep humiliation of spirit that I took the very first path that led across the fields and away from Cro’ Martin.

“They tell me that a light heart makes easy work of a day’s journey. Take my word for it, that to get over the ground without a thought of the road, there’s nothing like a regular knock-down affliction. I walked eight hours, and at a good pace, too, without so much as a few minutes’ halt, so overwhelmed was I with sensations that would not admit of my remembering anything else. My first moment of consciousness – for really it was such – came on as I found myself breasting a steep stony ascent, on the brow of which stood the bleak residence of my friend Mr. Magennis, of Barnagheela. I have already told you of my visit to his house, so that I need not inflict you with any new detail of the locality, but I confess, little as it promised to cheer or rally the spirits, I was well pleased to find myself so near a roof under which I might take refuge. I knocked vigorously at the door, but none answered my summons. I repeated my demand for admittance still more loudly, and at last went round to the back of the house, which I found as rigidly barred as the front. While still hesitating what course to take, I spied Joan Landy – you remember the girl I spoke of in a former letter – ascending the hill at a brisk pace. In a moment I was beside her. Poor thing, she seemed overjoyed at our meeting, and warmly welcomed me to her house. ‘Tom is away,’ said she, ‘in Dublin, they tell me, but he ‘ll be back in a day or two, and there ‘s nobody he ‘d be so glad to see as yourself when he comes.’ In the world, Harry, – that is, in your world and mine, – such a proposition as Joan’s would have its share of embarrassments. Construe it how one might, there would be at least some awkwardness in accepting such hospitality. So I certainly felt it, and, as we walked along, rather turned the conversation towards herself, and whither she had been.