Charles O'Malley, The Irish Dragoon, Volume 1

“We are to cross the bridge of Portumna. They won the ground, and it seems Bodkin likes the spot; he shot Peyton there three years ago. Worse luck now, Charley, you know; by all the rule of chance, he can’t expect the same thing twice, – never four by honors in two deals. Didn’t say that, though. A sweet meadow, I know it well; small hillocks, like molehills; all over it. Caught him at breakfast; I don’t think he expected the message to come from us, but said it was a very polite attention, – and so it was, you know.”

So he continued to ramble on as we once more took our seats in the tax-cart and set out for the ground.

“What are you thinking of, Charley?” said the count, as I kept silent for some minutes.

“I’m thinking, sir, if I were to kill him, what I must do after.”

“Right, my boy; nothing like that, but I’ll settle all for you. Upon my conscience, if it wasn’t for the chance of his getting into another quarrel and spoiling the election, I’d go back for Godfrey; he’d like to see you break ground so prettily. And you say you’re no shot?”

“Never could do anything with the pistol to speak of, sir,” said I, remembering his rebuke of the morning.

“I don’t mind that. You’ve a good eye; never take it off him after you’re on the ground, – follow him everywhere. Poor Callaghan, that’s gone, shot his man always that way. He had a way of looking without winking that was very fatal at a short distance; a very good thing to learn, Charley, when you have a little spare time.”

Half-an-hour’s sharp driving brought us to the river side, where a boat had been provided by Considine to ferry us over. It was now about eight o’clock, and a heavy, gloomy morning. Much rain had fallen overnight, and the dark and lowering atmosphere seemed charged with more. The mountains looked twice their real size, and all the shadows were increased to an enormous extent. A very killing kind of light it was, as the count remarked.

CHAPTER VIII

THE DUEL

As the boatmen pulled in towards the shore we perceived, a few hundred yards off, a group of persons standing, whom we soon recognized as our opponents. “Charley,” said the count, grasping my arm tightly, as I stood up to spring on the land, – “Charley, although you are only a boy, as I may say, I have no fear for your courage; but still more than that is needful here. This Bodkin is a noted duellist, and will try to shake your nerve. Now, mind that you take everything that happens quite with an air of indifference; don’t let him think that he has any advantage over you, and you’ll see how the tables will be turned in your favor.”

“Trust to me, Count” said I; “I’ll not disgrace you.”

He pressed my hand tightly, and I thought that I discerned something like a slight twitch about the corners of his grim mouth, as if some sudden and painful thought had shot across his mind; but in a moment he was calm, and stern-looking as ever.

“Twenty minutes late, Mr. Considine,” said a short, red-faced little man, with a military frock and foraging cap, as he held out his watch in evidence.

“I can only say, Captain Malowney, that we lost no time since we parted. We had some difficulty in finding a boat; but in any case, we are here now, and that, I opine, is the important part of the matter.”

“Quite right, – very just indeed. Will you present me to your young friend. Very proud to make your acquaintance, sir; your uncle and I met more than once in this kind of way. I was out with him in ‘92, – was it? no, I think it was ‘93, – when he shot Harry Burgoyne, who, by-the-bye, was called the crack shot of our mess; but, begad, your uncle knocked his pistol hand to shivers, saying, in his dry way, ‘He must try the left hand this morning.’ Count, a little this side, if you please.”

While Considine and the captain walked a few paces apart from where I stood, I had leisure to observe my antagonist, who stood among a group of his friends, talking and laughing away in great spirits. As the tone they spoke in was not of the lowest, I could catch much of their conversation at the distance I was from them. They were discussing the last occasion that Bodkin had visited this spot, and talking of the fatal event which happened then.

“Poor devil,” said Bodkin, “it wasn’t his fault; but you see some of the – th had been showing white feathers before that, and he was obliged to go out. In fact, the colonel himself said, ‘Fight, or leave the corps.’ Well, out he came; it was a cold morning in February, with a frost the night before going off in a thin rain. Well, it seems he had the consumption or something of that sort, with a great cough and spitting of blood, and this weather made him worse; and he was very weak when he came to the ground. Now, the moment I got a glimpse of him, I said to myself, ‘He’s pluck enough, but as nervous as a lady;’ for his eye wandered all about, and his mouth was constantly twitching. ‘Take off your great-coat, Ned,’ said one of his people, when they were going to put him up; ‘take it off, man.’ He seemed to hesitate for an instant, when Michael Blake remarked, ‘Arrah, let him alone; it’s his mother makes him wear it, for the cold he has.’ They all began to laugh at this; but I kept my eye upon him, and I saw that his cheek grew quite livid and a kind of gray color, and his eyes filled up. ‘I have you now,’ said I to myself, and I shot him through the lung.”

“And this poor fellow,” thought I, “was the only son of a widowed mother.” I walked from the spot to avoid hearing further, and felt, as I did so, something like a spirit of vengeance rising within me, for the fate of one so untimely cut off.

“Here we are, all ready,” said Malowney, springing over a small fence into the adjoining field. “Take your ground, gentlemen.”

Considine took my arm and walked forward. “Charley,” said he, “I am to give the signal; I’ll drop my glove when you are to fire, but don’t look at me at all. I’ll manage to catch Bodkin’s eye; and do you watch him steadily, and fire when he does.”

“I think that the ground we are leaving behind us is rather better,” said some one.

“So it is,” said Bodkin; “but it might be troublesome to carry the young gentleman down that way, – here all is fair and easy.”

The next instant we were placed; and I well remember the first thought that struck me was, that there could be no chance of either of us escaping.

“Now then,” said the count, “I’ll walk twelve paces, turn and drop this glove; at which signal you fire, and together mind. The man who reserves his shot falls by my hand.” This very summary denunciation seemed to meet general approbation, and the count strutted forth. Notwithstanding the advice of my friend, I could not help turning my eyes from Bodkin to watch the retiring figure of the count. At length he stopped; a second or two elapsed; he wheeled rapidly round, and let fall the glove. My eye glanced towards my opponent; I raised my pistol and fired. My hat turned half round upon my head, and Bodkin fell motionless to the earth. I saw the people around me rush forward; I caught two or three glances thrown at me with an expression of revengeful passion; I felt some one grasp me round the waist, and hurry me from the spot; and it was at least ten minutes after, as we were skimming the surface of the broad Shannon, before I could well collect my scattered faculties to remember all that was passing, as Considine, pointing to the two bullet-holes in my hat, remarked, “Sharp practice, Charley; it was the overcharge saved you.”

“Is he killed, sir?” I asked.

“Not quite, I believe, but as good. You took him just above the hip.”

“Can he recover?” said I, with a voice tremulous from agitation, which I vainly endeavored to conceal from my companion.

“Not if the doctor can help it,” said Considine; “for the fool keeps poking about for the ball. But now let’s think of the next step, – you’ll have to leave this, and at once, too.”

Little more passed between us. As we rowed towards the shore, Considine was following up his reflections, and I had mine, – alas! too many and too bitter to escape from.

As we neared the land a strange spectacle caught our eye. For a considerable distance along the coast crowds of country people were assembled, who, forming in groups and breaking into parties of two and three, were evidently watching with great anxiety what was taking place at the opposite side. Now, the distance was at least a mile, and therefore any part of the transaction which had been enacting there must have been quite beyond their view. While I was wondering at this, Considine cried out suddenly, “Too infamous, by Jove! We’re murdered men!”

“What do you mean?” said I.

“Don’t you see that?” said he, pointing to something black which floated from a pole at the opposite side of the river.

“Yes; what is it?”

“It’s his coat they’ve put upon an oar to show the people he’s killed, – that’s all. Every man here’s his tenant; and look – there! They’re not giving us much doubt as to their intention.”

Here a tremendous yell burst forth from the mass of people along the shore, which rising to a terrific cry sunk gradually down to a low wailing, then rose and fell again several times as the Irish death-cry filled the air and rose to Heaven, as if imploring vengeance on a murderer.

The appalling influence of the keen, as it is called, had been familiar to me from my infancy; but it needed the awful situation I was placed in to consummate its horrors. It was at once my accusation and my doom. I knew well – none better – the vengeful character of the Irish peasant of the west, and that my death was certain I had no doubt. The very crime that sat upon my heart quailed its courage and unnerved my arm. As the boatmen looked from us towards the shore and again at our faces, they, as if instinctively, lay upon their oars, and waited for our decision as to what course to pursue.

“Rig the spritsail, my boys,” said Considine, “and let her head lie up the river; and be alive, for I see they’re bailing a boat below the little reef there, and will be after us in no time.”

The poor fellows, who, although strangers to us, sympathizing in what they perceived to be our imminent danger, stepped the light spar which acted as mast, and shook out their scanty rag of canvas in a minute. Considine meanwhile went aft, and steadying her head with an oar, held the small craft up to the wind till she lay completely over, and as she rushed through the water, ran dipping her gun-wale through the white foam.

“Where can we make without tacking, boys?” inquired the count.

“If it blows on as fresh, sir, we’ll run you ashore within half a mile of the Castle.”

“Put an oar to leeward,” said Considine, “and keep her up more to the wind, and I promise you, my lads, you will not go home fresh and fasting if you land us where you say.”

“Here they come,” said the other boatman, as he pointed back with his finger towards a large yawl which shot suddenly from the shore, with six sturdy fellows pulling at their oars, while three or four others were endeavoring to get up their rigging, which appeared tangled and confused at the bottom of the boat; the white splash of water which fell each moment beside her showing that the process of bailing was still continued.

“Ah, then, may I never – av it isn’t the ould ‘Dolphin’ they have launched for the cruise,” said one of our fellows.

“What’s the ‘Dolphin,’ then?”

“An ould boat of the Lord’s [Lord Clanricarde’s] that didn’t see water, except when it rained, these four years, and is sun-cracked from stem to stern.”

“She can sail, however,” said Considine, who watched with a painful anxiety the rapidity of her course through the water.

“Nabocklish, she was a smuggler’s jolly-boat, and well used to it. Look how they’re pulling. God pardon them, but they’re in no blessed humor this morning.”

“Lay out upon your oars, boys; the wind’s failing us,” cried the count, as the sail flapped lazily against the mast.

“It’s no use, yer honor,” said the elder. “We’ll be only breaking our hearts to no purpose. They’re sure to catch us.”

“Do as I bade you, at all events. What’s that ahead of us there?”

“The Oat Rock, sir. A vessel with grain struck there and went down with all aboard, four years last winter. There’s no channel between it and the shore, – all sunk rocks, every inch of it. There’s the breeze.”

The canvas fell over as he spoke, and the little craft lay down to it till the foaming water bubbled over her lee bow.

“Keep her head up, sir; higher – higher still.”

But Considine little heeded the direction, steering straight for the narrow channel the man alluded to.

“Tear and ages, but you’re going right for the cloch na quirka!”

“Arrah, an’ the devil a taste I’ll be drowned for your devarsion!” said the other, springing up.

“Sit down there, and be still,” roared Considine, as he drew a pistol from the case at his feet, “if you don’t want some leaden ballast to keep you so! Here, Charley, take this, and if that fellow stirs hand or foot – you understand me.”

The two men sat sulkily in the bottom of the boat, which now was actually flying through the water. Considine’s object was a clear one. He saw that in sailing we were greatly overmatched, and that our only chance lay in reaching the narrow and dangerous channel between Oat Rock and the shore, by which we should distance the pursuit, the long reef of rocks that ran out beyond requiring a wide berth to escape from. Nothing but the danger behind us could warrant so rash a daring. The whole channel was dotted with patches of white and breaking foam, – the sure evidence of the mischief beneath, – while here and there a dash of spurting spray flew up from the dark water, where some cleft rock lay hid below the flood. Escape seemed impossible; but who would not have preferred even so slender a chance with so frightful an alternative behind him? As if to add terror to the scene, Considine had scarcely turned the boat ahead of the channel when a tremendous blackness spread over all around, the thunder pealed forth, and amidst the crashing of the hail and the bright glare of lightning a squall struck us and laid us nearly keel uppermost for several minutes. I well remember we rushed through the dark and blackened water, our little craft more than half filled, the oars floating off to leeward, and we ourselves kneeling on the bottom planks for safety. Roll after roll of loud thunder broke, as it were, just above our heads; while in the swift dashing rain that seemed to hiss around us every object was hidden, and even the other boat was lost to our view. The two poor fellows – I shall never forget their expression. One, a devout Catholic, had placed a little leaden image of a saint before him in the bow, and implored its intercession with a torturing agony of suspense that wrung my very heart. The other, apparently less alive to such consolations as his Church afforded, remained with his hands clasped, his mouth compressed, his brows knitted, and his dark eyes bent upon me with the fierce hatred of a deadly enemy; his eyes were sunken and bloodshot, and all told of some dreadful conflict within. The wild ferocity of his look fascinated my gaze, and amidst all the terrors of the scene I could not look from him. As I gazed, a second and more awful squall struck the boat; the mast went over, and with a loud report like a pistol-shot smashed at the thwart and fell over, trailing the sail along the milky sea behind us. Meanwhile the water rushed clean over us, and the boat seemed settling. At this dreadful moment the sailor’s eye was bent upon me, his lips parted, and he muttered, as if to himself, “This it is to go to sea with a murderer.” Oh, God! the agony of that moment! the heartfelt and accusing conscience that I was judged and doomed! that the brand of Cain was upon my brow! that my fellow-men had ceased forever to regard me as a brother! that I was an outcast and a wanderer forever! I bent forward till my forehead fell upon my knees, and I wept. Meanwhile the boat flew through the water, and Considine, who alone among us seemed not to lose his presence of mind, cut away the mast and sent it overboard. The storm began now to abate; and as the black mass of cloud broke from around us we beheld the other boat, also dismasted, far behind us, while all on board of her were employed in bailing out the water with which she seemed almost sinking. The curtain of mist that had hidden us from each other no sooner broke than they ceased their labors for a moment, and looking towards us, burst forth into a yell so wild, so savage, so dreadful, my very heart quailed as its cadence fell upon my ear.

“Safe, my boy,” said Considine, clapping me on the shoulder, as he steered the boat forth from its narrow path of danger, and once more reached the broad Shannon, – “safe, Charley; though we’ve had a brush for it.” In a minute more we reached the land, and drawing our gallant little craft on shore, set out for O’Malley Castle.

CHAPTER IX

THE RETURN

O’Malley Castle lay about four miles from the spot we landed at, and thither accordingly we bent our steps without loss of time. We had not, however, proceeded far, when, before us on the road, we perceived a mixed assemblage of horse and foot, hurrying along at a tremendous rate. The mob, which consisted of some hundred country people, were armed with sticks, scythes, and pitchforks, and although not preserving any very military aspect in their order of march, were still a force quite formidable enough to make us call a halt, and deliberate upon what we were to do.

“They’ve outflanked us, Charley,” said Considine; “however, all is not yet lost. But see, they’ve got sight of us; here they come.”

At these words, the vast mass before us came pouring along, splashing the mud on every side, and huzzaing like so many Indians. In the front ran a bare-legged boy, waving his cap to encourage the rest, who followed him at about fifty yards behind.

“Leave that fellow for me,” said the count, coolly examining the lock of his pistol; “I’ll pick him out, and load again in time for his friends’ arrival. Charley, is that a gentleman I see far back in the crowd? Yes, to be sure it is? He’s on a large horse – now he’s pressing forward; so let – no – oh – ay, it’s Godfrey O’Malley himself, and these are our own people.” Scarcely were the words out when a tremendous cheer arose from the multitude, who, recognizing us at the same instant, sprang from their horses and ran forward to welcome us. Among the foremost was the scarecrow leader, whom I at once perceived as poor Patsey, who, escaping in the morning, had returned at full speed to O’Malley Castle, and raised the whole country to my rescue. Before I could address one word to my faithful followers I was in my uncle’s arms.

“Safe, my boy, quite safe?”

“Quite safe, sir.”

“No scratch anywhere?”

“Nothing but a hat the worse, sir,” said I, showing the two bullet-holes in my headpiece.

His lip quivered as he turned and whispered something into Considine’s ear, which I heard not; but the count’s reply was, “Devil a bit, as cool as you see him this minute.”

“And Bodkin, what of him?”

“This day’s work’s his last,” said Considine; “the ball entered here. But come along, Godfrey; Charley’s new at this kind of thing, and we had better discuss matters in the house.”

Half-an-hour’s brisk trot – for we were soon supplied with horses – brought us back to the Castle, much to the disappointment of our cortege, who had been promised a scrimmage, and went back in very ill-humor at the breach of contract.

The breakfast-room, as we entered, was filled with my uncle’s supporters, all busily engaged over poll-books and booth tallies, in preparation for the eventful day of battle. These, however, were immediately thrown aside to hasten round me and inquire all the details of my duel. Considine, happily for me, however, assumed all the dignity of an historian, and recounted the events of the morning so much to my honor and glory, that I, who only a little before felt crushed and bowed down by the misery of my late duel, began, amidst the warm congratulations and eulogiums about me, to think I was no small hero, and in fact, something very much resembling “the man for Galway.” To this feeling a circumstance that followed assisted in contributing. While we were eagerly discussing the various results likely to arise from the meeting, a horse galloped rapidly to the door and a loud voice called out, “I can’t get off, but tell him to come here.” We rushed out and beheld Captain Malowney, Mr. Bodkin’s second, covered with mud from head to foot, and his horse reeking with foam and sweat. “I am hurrying on to Athlone for another doctor; but I’ve called to tell you that the wound is not supposed to be mortal, – he may recover yet.” Without waiting for another word, he dashed spurs into his nag and rattled down the avenue at full gallop. Mr. Bodkin’s dearest friend on earth could not have received the intelligence with more delight; and I now began to listen to the congratulations of my friends with a more tranquil spirit. My uncle, too, seemed much relieved by the information, and heard with great good temper my narrative of the few days at Gurt-na-Morra. “So then,” said he, as I concluded, “my opponent is at least a gentleman; that is a comfort.”

“Sir George Dashwood,” said I, “from all I have seen, is a remarkably nice person, and I am certain you will meet with only the fair and legitimate opposition of an opposing candidate in him, – no mean or unmanly subterfuge.”

“All right, Charley. Well, now, your affair of this morning must keep you quiet for a few days, come what will; by Monday next, when the election takes place, Bodkin’s fate will be pretty clear, one way or the other, and if matters go well, you can come into town; otherwise, I have arranged with Considine to take you over to the Continent for a year or so; but we’ll discuss all this in the evening. Now I must start on a canvass. Boyle expects to meet you at dinner to-day; he is coming from Athlone on purpose. Now, good-by!”

When my uncle had gone, I sank into a chair and fell into a musing fit over all the changes a few hours had wrought in me. From a mere boy whose most serious employment was stocking the house with game or inspecting the kennel, I had sprung at once into man’s estate, was complimented for my coolness, praised for my prowess, lauded for my discretion, by those who were my seniors by nearly half a century; talked to in a tone of confidential intimacy by my uncle, and, in a word, treated in all respects as an equal, – and such was all the work of a few hours. But so it is; the eras in life are separated by a narrow boundary, – some trifling accident, some casual rencontre impels us across the Rubicon, and we pass from infancy to youth, from youth to manhood, from manhood to age, less by the slow and imperceptible step of time than by some one decisive act or passion which, occurring at a critical moment, elicits a long latent feeling, and impresses our existence with a color that tinges us for many a long year. As for me, I had cut the tie which bound me to the careless gayety of boyhood with a rude gash. In three short days I had fallen deeply, desperately in love, and had wounded, if not killed, an antagonist in a duel. As I meditated on these things, I was aroused by the noise of horses’ feet in the yard beneath. I opened the window and beheld no less a person than Captain Hammersley. He was handing a card to a servant, which he was accompanying by a verbal message; the impression of something like hostility on the part of the captain had never left my mind, and I hastened down-stairs just in time to catch him as he turned from the door.

“Ah, Mr. O’Malley!” said he, in a most courteous tone. “They told me you were not at home.”

I apologized for the blunder, and begged of him to alight and come in.

“I thank you very much, but, in fact, my hours are now numbered here. I have just received an order to join my regiment; we have been ordered for service, and Sir George has most kindly permitted my giving up my staff appointment. I could not, however, leave the country without shaking hands with you. I owe you a lesson in horsemanship, and I’m only sorry that we are not to have another day together.”

“Then you are going out to the Peninsula?” said I.

“Why, we hope so; the commander-in-chief, they say, is in great want of cavalry, and we scarcely less in want of something to do. I’m sorry you are not coming with us.”