The O'Ruddy: A Romance

by Stephen Crane

  CHAPTER XV

  As we ambled our way agreeably out of Bath, Paddy and I employedourselves in worthy speech. He was not yet a notable horseman, but hisIrish adaptability was so great that he was already able to think hewould not fall off so long as the horse was old and tired.

  "Paddy," said I, "how would you like to be an Englishman? Look attheir cities. Sure, Skibbereen is a mud-pond to them. It might be fineto be an Englishman."

  "I would not, your honour," said Paddy. "I would not be an Englishmanwhile these grand--But never mind; 'tis many proud things I will sayabout the English considering they are our neighbours in one way; Imean they are near enough to come over and harm us when they wish. Butany how they are a remarkable hard-headed lot, and in time they maycome to something good."

  "And is a hard head such a qualification?" said I.

  Paddy became academic. "I have been knowing two kinds of hard heads,"he said. "Mickey McGovern had such a hard skull on him no stick in thesouth of Ireland could crack it, though many were tried. And whathappened to him? He died poor as a rat. 'Tis not the kind of hard headI am meaning. I am meaning the kind of hard head which believes itcontains all the wisdom and honour in the world. 'Tis what I mean. Ifyou have a head like that, you can go along blundering into ditchesand tumbling over your own shins, and still hold confidence inyourself. 'Tis not very handsome for other men to see; but devil a bitcare you, for you are warm inside with complacence."

  "Here is a philosopher, in God's truth," I cried. "And where were youlearning all this? In Ireland?"

  "Your honour," said Paddy firmly, "you yourself are an Irishman. Youare not for saying there is no education in Ireland, for it educates aman to see burning thatches and such like. One of them was my aunt's,Heaven rest her!"

  "Your aunt?" said I. "And what of your aunt? What have the English todo with your aunt?"

  "That's what she was asking them," said Paddy; "but they burned herhouse down over a little matter of seventeen years' rent she owed to afull-blooded Irishman, may the devil find him!"

  "But I am for going on without an account of your burnt-thatcheducation," said I. "You are having more than two opinions about theEnglish, and I would be hearing them. Seldom have I seen a man whocould gain so much knowledge in so short a space. You are interestingme."

  Paddy seemed pleased. "Well, your honour," said he confidentially,"'tis true for you. I am knowing the English down to their toes."

  "And if you were an Englishman, what kind of an Englishman would youlike to be?" said I.

  "A gentleman," he answered swiftly. "A big gentleman!" Then he beganto mimic and make gestures in a way that told me he had made good useof his eyes and of the society of underlings in the various inns."Where's me man? Send me man! Oh, here you are! And why didn't youknow I wanted you? What right have you to think I don't want you?What? A servant dead? Pah! Send it down the back staircase at once andget rid of it. Bedad!" said Paddy enthusiastically, "I could do thatfine!" And to prove what he said was true, he cried "Pah!" severaltimes in a lusty voice.

  "I see you have quickly understood many customs of the time," said I."But 'tis not all of it. There are many quite decent people alivenow."

  "'Tis strange we have never heard tell of them," said Paddy musingly."I have only heard of great fighters, blackguards, and beautifulladies, but sure, as your honour says, there must be plenty of quietdecent people somewhere."

  "There is," said I. "I am feeling certain of it, although I am notknowing exactly where to lay my hand upon them."

  "Perhaps they would be always at mass," said Paddy, "and in that caseyour honour would not be likely to see them."

  "Masses!" said I. "There are more masses said in Ireland in one hourthan here in two years."

  "The people would be heathens, then?" said Paddy, aghast.

  "Not precisely," said I. "But they have reformed themselves severaltimes, and a number of adequate reformations is a fine thing toconfuse the Church. In Ireland we are all for being true to theancient faith; here they are always for improving matters, and theirlearned men study the Sacred Book solely with a view to making neededchanges."

  "'Tis heathen they are," said Paddy with conviction. "I was knowingit. Sure, I will be telling Father Corrigan the minute I put a foot onIreland, for nothing pleases him so much as a good obstinate heathen,and he very near discourses the hair off their heads."

  "I would not be talking about such matters," said I. "It merely makesmy head grow an ache. My father was knowing all about it; but he wasalways claiming that if a heathen did his duty by the poor he was asgood as anybody, and that view I could never understand."

  "Sure, if a heathen gives to the poor, 'tis poison to them," saidPaddy. "If it is food and they eat it, they turn black all over anddie the day after. If it is money, it turns red-hot and burns a holein their hand, and the devil puts a chain through it and drags themdown to hell, screeching."

  "Say no more," said I. "I am seeing you are a true theologian of thetime. I would be talking on some more agreeable topic, something aboutwhich you know less."

  "I can talk of fishing," he answered diffidently. "For I am a greatfisherman, sure. And then there would be turf-cutting, and the deadlystings given to men by eels. All these things I am knowing well."

  "'Tis a grand lot to know," said I, "but let us be talking of London.Have you been hearing of London?"

  "I have been hearing much about the town," said Paddy. "FatherCorrigan was often talking of it. He was claiming it to be full ofloose women, and sin, and fighting in the streets during mass."

  "I am understanding something of the same," I replied. "It must be anevil city. I am fearing something may happen to you, Paddy,--you withyour red head as conspicuous as a clock in a tower. The gay peoplewill be setting upon you and carrying you off. Sure there has neverbeen anything like you in London."

  "I am knowing how to be dealing with them. It will be all a matter ofreligious up-bringing, as Father Corrigan was saying. I have but to goto my devotions, and the devil will fly away with them."

  "And supposing they have your purse?" said I. "The devil might flyaway with them to an ill tune for you."

  "When they are flying away with my purse," he replied suggestively,"they will be flying away with little of what could be called myancestral wealth."

  "You are natural rogues," said I, "you and Jem Bottles. And you hadbest not be talking of religion."

  "Sure a man may take the purse of an ugly old sick monkey like him,and still go with an open face to confession," rejoined Paddy, "and Iwould not be backward if Father Corrigan's church was a mile beyond."

  "And are you meaning that Father Corrigan would approve you in thisrobbery?" I cried.

  "Devil a bit he would, your honour," answered Paddy indignantly. "Hewould be saying to me: 'Paddy, you limb of Satan, and how much did youget?' I would be telling him. 'Give fifteen guineas to the Church, youmortal sinner, and I will be trying my best for you,' he would besaying. And I would be giving them."

  "You are saved fifteen guineas by being in England, then," said I,"for they don't do that here. And I am thinking you are traducing yourclergy, you vagabond."

  "Traducing?" said he. "That would mean giving them money. Aye, I wasdoing it often. One year I gave three silver shillings."

  "You're wrong," said I. "By 'traducing' I mean speaking ill of yourpriest."

  "'Speaking ill of my priest'?" cried Paddy, gasping with amazement."Sure, my own mother never heard a word out of me!"

  "However," said I, "we will be talking of other things. The Englishland seems good."

  Paddy cast his eye over the rainy landscape. "I am seeing no turf forcutting," he remarked disapprovingly, "and the potatoes would not begrowing well here. 'Tis a barren country."

  At nightfall we came to a little inn which was ablaze with light andringing with exuberant cries. We gave up our horses and entered. Tothe left was the closed door of the taproom, which now seemed tofurnish all the noise. I asked the landlord to tell me t
he cause ofthe excitement.

  "Sir," he answered, "I am greatly honoured to-night. Mr. O'Ruddy, thecelebrated Irish swordsman, is within, recounting a history of hismarvellous exploits."

  "Indeed!" said I.

  "Bedad!" said Paddy.