CHAPTER ELEVEN.
"Ben, my boy, you are approaching the home of your ancestors," exclaimedPat Brady, who was seated on the box of the old battered yellowpost-chaise, on the roof of which I had perched myself, while my poormother sat in solitude inside. "They are an honoured race, and mightyrespected in the country. You will see the top of the ould Castlebefore long if you keep a bright look-out, and a hearty welcome we'll beafter getting when they see us all arrive in this dignified way--justlike a great foreign ambassador going to court. It is a fine counthrythis of ours, Ben, barring the roads, which put us too much in mind ofour run home in the `Porpoise'. But we have mighty fine hills, Ben. Doyou see them there? And lakes and streams full of big trout, andforests. But the bogs, Ben, they beat them all. If it was not for thembogs, where should we all be? Then the roads might be worse, Ben. Holdon there, lad, or you will be sent into the middle of next week. ButBen, my boy, as the song says:--
"`If you'd seen but these roads before they were made, You would have lift up your hands and blessed General Wade'."
Thus Pat continued running on as he had been doing the whole of ourjourney. It was certainly hard work holding on at the top of thechaise, as it went pitching and rolling, and tumbling about over theill-formed path, which scarcely deserved the name of a road. Stillevery now and then I sprang to my feet to look out for the castle whichhe talked about. I had seen of late a good many castles on the coast ofthe Mediterranean, Gibraltar, and Malta besides. I had some idea thatRincurran Castle must be a very fine place.
"Arrah! Ben, and there it is as large as life. Sure it's a grandmansion, barring it's a little out of repair!" shouted Pat, as, turningan angle of the road, we came in sight of a tall, stone, dilapidatedbuilding, with a courtyard in front, and two round pillars on eitherside of the entrance-gate. The pigs had possession of the chief part ofthe yard, which was well littered for their accommodation, leaving but anarrow way up to the entrance-door.
I quickly scrambled down from the roof to assist Pat Brady in helping mymother out of the chaise. Poor dear, overcome by her feelings, she wasleaning back, almost fainting, and scarcely able to move. At length thedoor opened, and an old gentleman appeared in a scratch wig, with anominously red nose, and clothed in a costume which, in its condition,greatly resembled his habitation. An old lady followed him, somewhatmore neatly dressed, who, on seeing my mother, hastened to the door toreceive her.
"What! Is this our daughter Mary?" exclaimed the old gentleman; "andthat young spalpeen, can that be her boy?" he added, looking at me in away which did not seem to argue much affection.
"Of course it is, Mat; and is it you, Mat, the head of the Dwyers, notremembering your childer?" exclaimed the old lady, casting on him ascornful glance. On this my grandfather gave my mother a paternal kiss,a repetition of which I avoided by slipping round on the other side,where Pat caught me, and presented me to the old lady. She then took mein her arms and gave me an affectionate embrace. The tears dropped fromher eyes as she looked at my mother's pale countenance and widow'sdress.
"I don't ask what has happened, Mary," she said; "but though the one forwhom you forsook all is gone, you are welcome back to the old home,child."
"Ay, that you are, Mary!" exclaimed my grandfather, warming up a little."To be sure, grand as it once was, it has been inclined for many a dayto be tumbling about our ears. But it will last my day, and there issmall chance of your brothers, Jim, or Pat, or Terence, ever wishing tocome and stop here, even if it's living they are when I am put under thegreen turf."
While Pat was settling with the post-boy, my grandmother conducted mymother and me into the parlour. The more elegant portions of furniture,if they ever existed, had disappeared, and a table, with a number ofwooden-bottomed chairs and a huge ill-stuffed sofa, were all thatremained. A picture of my grandfather in a hunting-suit, and a fewwretched daubs, part of them of sporting scenes and part of saints,adorned the walls. Such was the appearance of the chief room inRincurran Castle. My aunts were not at home, two of them having riddento market, and the others being on a visit to some neighbours. Atlength two of them came riding up on rough, ungroomed ponies, withbaskets on their arms. Having taken off the saddles, they sent theiranimals to find their way by themselves into the open stable, while theyentered the house to greet my mother. They were not ill-looking women,with rather large features, and fine eyes, but as unlike my mother ascould well be. So also were my other two aunts, who shortly after camein. They all, however, gave their sister Mary a hearty welcome, and,with better tact than might have been expected, made no inquiries abouther husband, her dress showing them that he was gone. I found that shehad been brought up by a sister of her mother's--a good Protestantwoman, residing near Cork, where my father had met her. My grandfatherwas a Romanist, though my grandmother still remained as she hadoriginally been, a Protestant. The rest of her daughters attended theRomish chapel. My mother had not been at home since she was quite agirl, and I soon found had entirely forgotten her family's way ofliving, and their general habits and customs. She therefore very soonbegan to regret that she had not accepted Lieutenant Schank's invitationto visit his family. Pat Brady made himself very agreeable to hiscousins, and had such wonderful stories to tell them that he was a greatfavourite. I had plenty to amuse me; but there seemed very littleprobability of my getting the education which Captain Oliver hadrecommended. The castle also was not over well provisioned, potatoesand buttermilk forming the staple of our meals, with an over-abundanceof pork whenever a pig was killed; but as it was necessary to sell thebetter portions of each animal to increase the family income, the supplywas only of an intermittent character. My grandfather made up for thedeficiency by copious potations of whisky; but as my mother objected tomy following his example, I was frequently excessively hungry. I wasnot surprised therefore that my uncles did not often pay the paternalmansion a visit; they all considering themselves above manual labour, inconsequence of being sons of a squireen, were living on their wits invarious parts of the world, so I concluded from the bits of informationI picked up about them.
I could not help remarking the contrast between Rincurran Castle and MrSchank's neat little cottage in Lincolnshire--the cleanliness andcomfort of one, and the dirt and disorder and discomfort of mygrandfather's abode. My mother, who had sufficient means to livecomfortably by herself, had had no intention of remaining long with herparents, but had purposed taking a cottage in the neighbourhood. Whenshe discovered the state of things at home she had offered to assist inthe household expenses, and having done this her family were doublyanxious to retain her. As however, she found it impossible to mendmatters, she resolved to carry out her original intention. The searchfor a house was an object of interest. In a short time she discoveredone at the further end of Ballybruree, which, if not perfection, wassufficient to satisfy her wishes. Here, at the end of a couple ofmonths, she removed, in spite of the disinterested entreaties of herrelatives that she should take up her permanent abode with them. Herhealth soon improved, and I grew fatter than I had been since I landedon the shores of old Ireland.
Our new abode, though very much smaller than Rincurran Castle, wasconsiderably neater, yet not altogether such as would be considered tidyin England. The roof was water-tight, and the chimneys answered theirobject of carrying up the smoke from the fire beneath. The view fromthe front window was extensive, ranging down the broad and unpavedstreet, along which I could watch the boys chasing their pigs to market,seated on the hinder parts of donkeys, urging them forward by the blowsof their shillalahs. Now and then we enjoyed the spectacle of amarriage party returning from the chapel, at the further end of thestreet, or still more boisterous funeral procession; when, of course, asPat Brady observed, "It 'ud be showing small honour to the decased ifall the mourners weren't respectably drunk, barring the praist, and badluck to him if he could not stand up steady at the end of the grave.Sure he couldn't have a head for his office."
Such,
however, as was our new house, my poor mother was glad to get it.We had been located there two or three weeks, and my mother had now timeto give me some instruction in the arts of reading and writing. She wasthus engaged, leaning over the book placed on her lap by the side ofwhich I stood, when we were startled by a voice which said, "Top of themorning to you, Mistress Burton."
We looked up, and there stood in the doorway a rubicund-nosed gentleman,in a green coat and huge wonderfully gay coloured cravat, leatherbreeches, and top-boots, with a hunting-whip under his arm, a peony inhis buttonhole, and a white hat which he flourished in his right hand,while he kept scraping with his feet, making his spurs jingle.
"Your servant, Mistress Burton. It is mighty touching to the heart tosee a mother engaged as you are, and faith I would not have missed thesight for a thousand guineas, paid down on the nail. Ah! MistressBurton, it reminds me of days gone by, but I won't say I have no hopesthat they will ever return," and our visitor twisted his eyes about inwhat I thought a very queer way, trying to look sentimental.
"To what cause do I owe this visit, Mr Gillooly?" asked my mother,perhaps not altogether liking his looks, for I rather think his feelingshad been excited by a few sips of potheen. Her natural politeness,however, induced her to rise and offer him a chair, into which, after afew more scrapes and flourishes of the hat, he sank down, placing hisbeaver and his whip upon it by his side.
"It is mightily you bring to my mind my dear departed MistressGillooly," he exclaimed, looking very strangely I thought at my mother."She was the best of wives, and if she was alive she would be aftertelling you that I was the best of husbands, but she has gone to glory,and the only little pledge of our affection has gone after her; and so,Mistress Burton, I am left a lone man in this troublesome world. Andsure, Mrs Burton, the same is your lot I am after thinking, but thereis an old saying, `Off with the old love and on with the new;' and, oh!Mistress Burton, it would be a happy thing if that could come truebetween two people I am thinking of."
My mother might have thought this very plain speaking, but she pretendednot to understand Mr Gillooly, and made no answer.
"Is it silence gives consent?" he exclaimed at last with one of thosequeer turns of his eyes, stretching out his hands towards my mother.
"Really, Mr Gillooly, seeing I have been a widow scarcely a year, andhave seen but little of you at my father's house, I cannot help thinkingthis is strange language for you to use. I loved my husband, and I onlywish to live for the sake of our boy, and I hope this answer willsatisfy you."
"But when you have seen more of me, Mistress Burton, ye'll be aftergiving a different answer," exclaimed our visitor. "Ye'll be aftermaking a sweet mistress for Ballyswiggan Hall, and it's there I'd liketo see ye, in the place of the departed Molly Gillooly. It was the lastwords she said to me--`Ye'll be after getting another partner when I'mgone, Dominic, won't ye now?' and I vowed by all the holy saints that Iwould obey her wishes, though to be plain with you, Mistress Burton, Ilittle thought I could do so to my heart's content, as I did when Ifirst set my eyes on your fair countenance."
Much more to the same effect did Mr Gillooly utter, without, however, Ihave reason to believe, making any impression on my mother's heart.Without rudeness she could not get rid of him; and he, believing that hewas making great way in her affection, was in no wise inclined todepart. Mr Gillooly, I may remark, was a friend of my grandfather's, asquireen, with a mansion of similar description to Rincurran Castle,though somewhat less dilapidated. His property enabled him to keep agood horse, drink whisky, wear decent clothes, attend all wakes,marriages, and fairs, and other merrymakings, and otherwise lead acompletely idle life. Mr Gillooly's visit had extended to a somewhatunconscionable length, when a rap was heard at the door, and my mothertold me to run and open it; observing as she did so, "It's not allpeople who so want manners as not to knock before they intrude into alone woman's house."
This severe remark of my gentle mother showed me that she was by thistime considerably annoyed by our visitor's continued presence. Theperson who now entered wore a brown suit, with a low crowned hat on thetop of his curled wig. I recognised him as Mr Timothy Laffan, one ofthe lawyers of Ballybruree. Though short, he was a broad-shouldered,determined-looking man, with a nose which could scarcely be moreflattened than it was, and twinkling grey eyes which looked outknowingly from under his shaggy eyebrows. He cast an inquisitive glanceround, and then, paying his respects to my mother, took the seat which Ihad brought him.
"A good boy, Ben," he said, patting my head. "I came to see how youwere getting on in your new house, Mrs Burton, as is my duty as aneighbour. Your servant, Mr Gillooly. I was after thinking that thenext time you came into Ballybruree ye would be giving me a call tosettle about that little affair. There's nothing like the present time,and may be you will stop at my office as you go by, and arrange thematter offhand."
The lawyer's eyes twinkled as he spoke. Mr Gillooly began to fidget inhis chair, and his countenance grew redder and redder. He cast a glanceat his whip and hat. Suddenly seizing them, he paid a hurried adieu tomy mother, and turning to the lawyer, added, "Your servant, Tim Laffan.I will be after remembering what you say"; and away he bolted out of thedoor.
I almost expected to hear the lawyer utter a crow of victory, for hiscomical look of triumph clearly showed his feelings. I had reason tobelieve that he also was a suitor for the hand of my mother, but I donot think he gained much by his stratagem. Her feelings were arousedand irritated, and at length he also took his departure, afterexpressing a tender interest in her welfare.
Ben Burton: Born and Bred at Sea Page 11
