The Poacher; Or, Joseph Rushbrook

“You must present me to your wife, McShane.”

“That I will with pleasure. She’s like her rounds of beef—it’s cut and come again; but her heart is a beauty, and so is her beefsteak-pie—when you taste it.”

Chapter Eleven

In which an Interchange and Confidence take place

“And now, O’Donahue,” said McShane, “if you are not yet tired of my company, I should like to hear what you have been doing since we parted: be quite as explicit, but not quite so long-winded, as myself; for I fear that I tired you.”

“I will be quite as explicit, my good fellow; but I have no such marvellous adventures to relate, and not such a fortunate wind up. I have been to Bath, to Cheltenham, to Harrogate, to Brighton, and everywhere else where people meet, and people are met with, who would not meet or be met with elsewhere. I have seen many nice girls; but the nice girls were, like myself, almost penniless; and I have seen many ill-favoured, who had money: the first I could only afford to look at—the latter I have had some dealings with. I have been refused by one or two, and I might have married seven or eight; but, somehow or other, when it came near the point, the vision of a certain angel, now in heaven, has risen before me, and I have not had the heart or the heartlessness to proceed. Indeed, I may safely say that I have seen but one person since we parted who ever made the least impression on me, or whom I could fancy in any degree to replace her whom I have lost, and she, I fear, is lost also; so we may as well say no more about it. I have determined to marry for money, as you well know; but it appears to me as if there was something which invariably prevents the step being taken; and, upon my honour, fortune seems so inclined to balk me in my wishes, that I begin to snap my fingers at her, and am becoming quite indifferent. I suffer now under the evil of poverty; but it is impossible to say what other evils may be in store if I were to change my condition, as the ladies say. Come what will, in one thing I am determined—that if I marry a girl for money, I will treat her well, and not let her find it out; and as that may add to the difficulty of a man’s position when he is not in love with his wife, why, all I can say is, Captain O’Donahue doesn’t go cheap—that’s decided.”

“You’re right, my jewel; there’s not such a broth of a boy to be picked up every day in the week. Widows might bid for you, for without flattery, I think you a moral of a man, and an honour to Old Ireland. But O’Donahue, begging your pardon, if it’s not a secret, who may have been this lady who appears to have bothered your brains not a little, since she could you forget somebody else?”

“I met her at the Lakes of Cumberland, and being acquainted with some of the party, was invited to join them. I was ten days in her company at Windermere, Ambleside, Derwentwater, and other places. She was a foreigner, and titled.”

“Murder and Irish! you don’t say so?”

“Yes; and moreover, as I was informed by those who were with her, has large property in Poland. She was, in fact, everything that I could desire—handsome, witty, speaking English and several other languages, and about two or three and twenty years old.”

“And her name, if it’s no offence to ask it?”

“Princess Czartorinski.”

“And a princess in the bargain? And did you really pretend to make love to a princess?”

“Am not I an Irishman, McShane? and is a princess anything but a woman, after all? By the powers! I’d make love to, and run away with, the Pope himself; if he were made of the same materials as Pope Joan is said to have been.”

“Then, upon my faith, O’Donahue, I believe you—so now go on.”

“I not only made love to her, but in making love to her, I got most terribly singed myself; and I felt, before I quitted her, that if I had ten thousand a-year, and she was as poor as my dear Judith was, that she should have taken her place—that’s the truth. I thought that I never could love again, and that my heart was as flinty as a pawnbroker’s; but I found out my mistake when it was too late.”

“And did she return you the compliment?”

“That I was not indifferent to her, I may without vanity believe. I had a five minutes alone with her just before we parted, and I took that opportunity of saying how much pain it was to part with her, and for once I told the truth, for I was almost choking when I said it. I’m convinced that there was sincerity in my face, and that she saw that it was there; so she replied, ‘If what you say is true, we shall meet at Saint Petersburg next winter; good-bye, I shall expect you.’”

“Well, that was as much as to say, come, at all events.”

“It was; I stammered out my determination so to do, if possible; but I felt at the time that my finances rendered it impossible—so there was an end of that affair. By my hopes of salvation, I’d not only go to Saint Petersburg, but round the whole world, and to the north pole afterwards, if I had the means only to see her once more.”

“You’re in a bad way, O’Donahue; your heart’s gone and your money too. Upon my soul, I pity you; but it’s always the case in this world. When I was a boy, the best and ripest fruit was always on the top of the wall, and out of my reach. Shall I call to-morrow, and then, if you please, I’ll introduce you to Mrs McShane?”

“I will be happy to see you and your good wife, McShane; health and happiness to you. Stop, while I ring for my little factotum to let you out.”

“By the bye, a sharp boy that, O’Donahue, with an eye as bright as a hawk. Where did you pick him up?”

“In Saint James’s Park.”

“Well, that’s an odd place to hire a servant in.”

“Do you recollect Rushbrook in my company?”

“To be sure I do—your best soldier, and a famous caterer he was at all times.”

“It is his son.”

“And, now I think of it, he’s very like him, only somewhat better-looking.”

O’Donahue then acquainted McShane with the circumstances attending his meeting with Joey, and they separated.

The next day, about the same time, McShane came to see his friend, and found O’Donahue dressed, and ready to go out with him.

“Now, O’Donahue, you mustn’t be in such a hurry to see Mrs McShane, for I have something to tell you which will make her look more pretty in your eyes than she otherwise might have done upon first introduction. Take your chair again, and don’t be putting on your gloves yet, while you listen to a little conversation which took place between us last night, just before we dropped into the arms of Murfy. I’ll pass over all the questions she asked about you, and all the compliments I paid you behind your back: because, if I didn’t, it would make you blush, Irishman as you are; but this she did say,—that it was great kindness on your part to lend me that money, and that she loved you for it; upon which I replied, I was sorry you were not easy in your mind, and so very unhappy: upon which she, in course, like every woman, asked me why; and then I told her merely that it was a love-affair, and a long story, as if I wished to go to sleep. This made her more curious, so, to oblige her, I stayed awake, and told her just what you told me, and how the winter was coming on and you not able to keep your appointment. And what d’ye think the good soul said? ‘Now,’ says she, ‘McShane, if you love me, and have any gratitude to your friend for his former kindness, you will to-morrow take him money enough, and more than enough, to do as he wishes, and if he gains his wife he can repay you; if not, the money is not an object.’ ‘That’s very kind of you, dearest,’ said I; ‘but then will you consent to another thing? for this may prove a difficult affair, and he may want me with him; and would you have any objection to that, dearest?’ for you see, O’Donahue, I took it into my head that I might be of the greatest use to you: and, moreover, I should like the trip, just by way of a little change. ‘Couldn’t he do without you?’ replied she, gravely. ‘I’m afraid not; and although I thought I was in barracks for life, and never to leave you again, yet still for his sake, poor fellow, who has been such a generous fellow to me—’ ‘An’ how long would you be away?’ said she. ‘Why, it might be two months at the most,’ replied I; ‘but who can tell it to a day?’ ‘Well,’ said she, ‘I don’t like that part of the concern at all; but still, if it is necessary, as you say, things shouldn’t be done by halves,’ and then she sighed, poor soul. ‘Then I won’t go,’ says I. ‘Yes,’ says she, after a pause; ‘I think it’s your duty, and therefore you must.’ ‘I’ll do just what you wish, my soul,’ replied I; ‘but let’s talk more about it to-morrow.’ This morning she brought up the subject, and said that she had made up her mind, and that it should be as we had said last night; and she went to the drawer and took out three hundred pounds in gold and notes, and said that if it was not enough, we had only to write for more. Now ain’t she a jewel, O’Donahue? and here’s the money.”

“McShane, she is a jewel, not because she has given me money, but because her heart’s in the right place, and always will be. But I really do not like taking you away with me.”

“Perhaps you don’t think I’d be of any use?”

“Yes; I do not doubt but that you will be, although at present I do not know how.”

“But I do, for I’ve thought upon it, and I shall take it very unkind if you don’t let me go with you. I want a little divarsion; for you see, O’Donahue, one must settle down to domestic happiness by degrees.”

“Be it so, then; all I fear is, I shall occasion pain to your excellent wife.”

“She has plenty to do, and that drives care away; besides, only consider the pleasure you’ll occasion to her when I come back.”

“I forgot that. Now, if you please, I’ll call and pay my respects, and also return my grateful thanks.”

“Then, come along.”

Captain O’Donahue found Mrs McShane very busily employed supplying her customers. She was, as McShane had said, a very good-looking woman, although somewhat corpulent: and there was an amiability, frankness, and kindness of disposition so expressed in her countenance, that it was impossible not to feel interested with her. They dined together. O’Donahue completely established himself in her good graces, and it was agreed that on that day week the gentlemen should embark for Hamburg, and proceed on to Petersburg, Joey to go with them as their little valet.

Chapter Twelve

An Expedition, as of Yore, across the Waters for a Wife

The first step taken by O’Donahue was to obtain a passport for himself and suit; and here there was a controversy, McShane having made up his mind that he would sink the officer, and travel as O’Donahue’s servant, in which capacity he declared that he would not only be more useful, but also swell his friend’s dignity. After a long combat on the part of O’Donahue, this was consented to, and the passport was filled up accordingly.

“But, by Saint Patrick! I ought to get some letters of introduction,” said O’Donahue; “and how is that to be managed—at all events to the English ambassador? Let me see—I’ll go to the Horse Guards.”

O’Donahue went accordingly, and, as was always the case there, was admitted immediately to an audience with the Commander of the Forces. O’Donahue put his case forward, stating that he was about to proceed on a secret mission to Russia, and requested his Royal Highness to give him a few letters of introduction. His Royal Highness very properly observed, that if sent on a secret mission, he would, of course, obtain all the necessary introductions from the proper quarters, and then inquired of O’Donahue what his rank was, where he had served, etcetera. To the latter questions O’Donahue gave a very satisfactory reply, and convinced the Duke that he was an officer of merit. Then came the question as to his secret mission, which his Royal Highness had never heard of. “May it please your Royal Highness, there’s a little mistake about this same secret mission; it’s not on account of government that I’m going, but on my own secret service;” and O’Donahue, finding himself fairly in for it, confessed that he was after a lady of high rank, and that if he did not obtain letters of introduction, he should not probably find the means of entering the society in which she was to be found, and that as an officer who had served faithfully, he trusted that he should not be refused.

His Royal Highness laughed at his disclosure, and, as there was no objection to giving O’Donahue a letter or two, with his usual good-nature he ordered them to be written, and having given them to him, wished him every success. O’Donahue bowed to the ground, and quitted the Horse Guards, delighted with the success of his impudent attempt.

Being thus provided, the party set off in a vessel bound to Hamburg, where they arrived without any accident, although very sea-sick; from Hamburg they proceeded to Lübeck, and re-embarked at Travemünde in a brig, which was bound for Riga; the wind was fair, and their passage was short. On their arrival they put up at an hotel, and finding themselves in a country where English was not understood, O’Donahue proceeded to the house of the English consul, informing him that he was going on a secret mission to Petersburg, and showing, as evidences of his respectability and the truth of his assertions, the letters given him by his Royal Highness. These were quite sufficient for the consul, who immediately offered his services. Not being able to procure at Riga a courier who could speak French or English, the consul took a great deal of trouble to assist them in their long journey to Petersburg. He made out a list of the posts, the number of versts, and the money that was to be paid; he changed some of O’Donahue’s gold into Russian paper-money, and gave all the necessary instructions. The great difficulty was to find any carriage to carry them to the capital, but at last they found an old cabriolet on four wheels which might answer, and, bidding adieu to the consul, they obtained horses, and set off.

“Now, McShane, you must take care of the money, and pay the driver,” said O’Donahue, pulling out several pieces of thick paper, some coloured red, some blue, and others of a dirty white.

“Is this money?” said McShane, with astonishment.

“Yes, that’s roubles.”

“Roubles, are they? I wonder what they’d call them in Ireland; they look like soup-tickets.”

“Never mind. And now, McShane, there are two words which the consul has told me to make use of: one is Scoro, and when you say that, it means ‘Go fast,’ and you hold up a small bit of money at the same time.”

“Scoro! well, that’s a word I sha’n’t forget.”

“But, then, there’s another, which is Scorae.”

“And what may be the English of that?”

“Why, that means ‘Go faster,’ and with that you hold up a larger piece of money.”

“Why, then, it’s no use remembering Scoro at all, for Scorae will do much better; so we need not burden ourselves with the first at all. Suppose we try the effect of that last word upon our bear-skin friend who is driving!”

McShane held up a rouble, and called out to the driver—“Scorae!” The fellow turned his head, smiled, and lashed his horses until they were at the full speed, and then looked back at them for approval.

“By the powers, that’s no fool of a word! it will take us all the way to Saint Petersburg as fast as we wish.”

“We do not sleep on the road, but travel night and day,” said O’Donahue, “for there is no place worth sleeping at.”

“And the ’ating, O’Donahue?”

“We must get that by signs, for we have no other means.”

On that point they soon found they had no difficulty; and thus they proceeded, without speaking a word of the language, day and night, until they arrived at the capital.

At the entrance their passports were demanded, and the officer at the guard-house came out and told them that a Cossack would accompany them. A Cossack, with a spear as long as a fir-tree, and a beard not quite so long, then took them in charge, and trotted before the carriage, the driver following him at a slow pace.

“An’t we prisoners?” inquired McShane.

“I don’t know, but it looks very like it,” replied O’Donahue.

This, however, was not the case. The carriage drove to a splendid street called the Neffsky Perspective, and as soon as it stopped at the entrance of an hotel, the Cossack, after speaking to the landlord, who came out, took his departure.

A journey of four hundred miles, day and night, is no joke: our travellers fell fast asleep in their spacious apartment, and it was not till the next day that they found themselves clean and comfortable, Joey being dressed in a rich livery, as a sort of page, and McShane doing duty as valet when others were present, and when sitting alone with O’Donahue, taking his fair share of the bottle.

Two days after their arrival, the landlord procured for O’Donahue a courier who could speak both English and French as well as Russian, and almost every other language. It was resolved by O’Donahue and McShane, in council, to dress him up in a splendid uniform; and a carriage having been hired for the month, O’Donahue felt that he was in a position to present his credentials to the English ambassador and the other parties for whom he had received letters of introduction.

Chapter Thirteen

In which there is some Information Relative to the City of St. Petersburg

For 300 roubles a month, O’Donahue had procured a drosky, very handsomely fitted up; the shaft horse was a splendid trotter, and the other, a beautiful-shaped animal, capered about curving his neck, until his nose almost touched his knee, and prancing, so as to be the admiration of the passers-by. His coachman, whose name was Athenasis, had the largest beard in Saint Petersburg; Joey was the smallest tiger; Dimitri, one of the tallest and handsomest yägers. Altogether, Captain O’Donahue had laid out his money well; and on a fine, sunny day he set off to present his letters to the English ambassador and other parties. Although the letters were very short, it was quite sufficient that they were written by so distinguished and so universally beloved a person as his Royal Highness. The ambassador, Lord Saint H, immediately desired O’Donahue to consider his house open to him, requesting the pleasure of his company to dinner on the following day, and offered to present him to the Emperor at the first levee. O’Donahue took his leave, delighted with his success, and then drove to the hotel of the Princess Woronzoff, Count Nesselrode, and Prince Gallitzin, where he found himself equally well received. After his visits were all paid, O’Donahue sported his handsome equipage on the English and Russian quays, and up and down the Neffsky Perspective for an hour or two, and then returned to the hotel.

“I am very sorry,” said O’Donahue, after he had narrated to McShane all that had taken place, “that I permitted you to put yourself down on the passport as valet in the foolish way you have. You would have enjoyed yourself as much as I probably shall, and have been in your proper position in society.”

“Then I’m not sorry at all, O’Donahue, and I’ll tell you why. I should have enjoyed myself, I do not doubt—but I should have enjoyed myself too much; and, after dining with ambassadors, and princes, and counts, and all that thing—should I ever have gone back comfortable and contented to Mrs McShane, and the cook’s shop? No, no—I’m not exactly reconciled, as it is; and if I were to be drinking champagne, and ’ating French kickshaws with the Russian nobility for three or four months, dancing perhaps with princesses, and whispering in the ears of duchesses, wouldn’t my nose turn up with contempt at the beefsteak pie, and poor Mrs McShane, with all her kind smiles, look twice as corpulent as ever? No, no, I’m better here, and I’m a wise man, although I say it myself.”

“Well, perhaps you are, McShane; but still I do not like that I should be spending your money in this way without your having your share of it at least.”

“My share of it—now, O’Donahue, suppose I had come over here on my own account, where should I have been? I could not have mustered up the amiable impudence you did, to persuade the commander-in-chief to give me letters to the ambassador: nor could I have got up such a turn-out, nor have fitted the turn-out so well as you do. I should have been as stupid as an owl, just doing what I have done the whole of the blessed morning for want of your company—looking after one of the floating bridges across the river, and spitting into the stream, just to add my mite to the Baltic Sea.”

“I’m sorry you were not better amused.”

“I was amused; for I was thinking of the good-humoured face of Mrs McShane, which was much better than being in high company, and forgetting her entirely. Let me alone for amusing myself after my own fashion, O’Donahue, and that’s all I wish. I suppose you have heard nothing in your travels about your Powlish princess?”

“Of course not; it will require some tact to bring in her name—I must do it as if by mere accident.”

“Shall I ask the courier if she is an acquaintance of his?”

“An acquaintance, McShane?”

“I don’t mean on visiting terms; but if he knows anything about the family, or where they live?”

“No, McShane, I think you had better not; we do not know much of him at present. I shall dine at the ambassador’s tomorrow, and there will be a large party.”

During the day invitations for evening parties were brought in from the Prince Gallitzin and Princess Woronzoff.

“The plot thickens fast, as the saying is,” observed McShane; “you’ll be certain to meet your fair lady at some of these places.”

“That is what I trust to do,” replied O’Donahue; “if not, as soon as I’m intimate, I shall make inquiries about her; but we must first see how the land lies.”

O’Donahue dined at the ambassador’s, and went to the other parties, but did not meet with the object of his search. Being a good musician, he was much in request in so musical a society as that of Saint Petersburg. The emperor was still at his country palace, and O’Donahue had been more than a fortnight at the capital without there being an opportunity for the ambassador to present him at court.

Dimitri, the person whom O’Donahue engaged as courier, was a very clever, intelligent fellow; and as he found that O’Donahue had all the liberality of an Irishman, and was in every respect a most indulgent master, he soon had his interest at heart. Perhaps the more peculiar intimacy between O’Donahue and McShane, as a valet, assisted Dimitri in forming a good opinion of the former, as the hauteur and distance generally preserved by the English towards their domestics are very displeasing to the Continental servants, who, if permitted to be familiar, will not only serve you more faithfully, but be satisfied with more moderate wages. Dimitri spoke English and French pretty well, German and Russian of course perfectly. He was a Russian by birth, had been brought up at the Foundling Hospital, at Moscow, and therefore was not a serf. He soon became intimate with McShane: and as soon as the latter discovered that there was no intention on the part of Dimitri to be dishonest, he was satisfied, and treated him with cordiality.

“Tell your master this,” said Dimitri, “never to give his opinion on political matters before any one while in Petersburg, or he will be reported to the government, and will be looked upon with suspicion. All the servants and couriers here, indeed every third person you meet, is an agent of police.”

“Then it’s not at all unlikely that you are one yourself,” replied McShane.

“I am so,” replied Dimitri, coolly, “and all the better for your master. I shall be ordered to make my report in a few days, and I shall not fail to do so.”

“And what will they ask you?” said McShane.

“They will ask me first who and what your master is? Whether I have discovered from you, if he is of family and importance in his own country? whether he has expressed any political opinions? and whether I have discovered the real business which brought him here?”

“And what will you reply to all this?” answered McShane.

“Why, I hardly know. I wish I knew what he wishes me to say, for he is a gentleman whom I am very fond of, and that’s the truth; perhaps you can tell me?”

“Why, yes, I know a good deal about him, that’s certain. As for his family, there’s not a better in Ireland or England, for he’s royal if he had his right.”