Part 4

“He did,” says King John. “’Tis round his neck I’d like to have had the rope, for ’tis an onaisey time of it he gave meself be rescuin’ my brother. I made sure they’d cooked his goose in that Austrian castle, but nothin’ would suit his chum Blondin, if you plaize, except whistlin’ some of his ould circus tunes outside the walls, until the King of Austria let him in. Well, Blondin brought in a thrick lion wud him that he used to be showin’ off at the fairs. ‘Look here,’ says he to the King of Austria, ‘that man you’re keepin’ down in the cellar is a match for a lion.’ ‘Prove it,’ says the King of Austria. ‘I will,’ says Blondin. ‘Well, take the muzzle off yer baste,’ says the King of Austria, ‘an’ let the pair of ’em have a fair stand-up fight; an’ if King Richard bates the lion I’ll give him his liberty.’ ‘Done!’ says Blondin; so wud that he brings the lion down into the cellar, an’ of coorse my brother knew ’twas only an ould painted jackass without a tooth in his head, so he makes wan grab at the unfortunate animal an’ tore the heart clane out of him.”

“Oh, murdher!” says the Mayor. “An’ that’s why they call him the ‘Lion Heart,’ is it?”

“It is,” says King John.

“An’ what’s that they calls yerself?” says the Mayor, who knew well that King John didn’t like to be reminded of the nickname he was known undher in the English Coorts, an’ wanted to take a rise out of him on the quiet.

“I’ll tell you what, my bucko,” says King John, for he felt the Mayor all of a thremble undher him, an’ he knew it was smotherin’ a laugh in his sleeve he was, “I’ll tell you what, my bucko,” says he, “you’d betther give me none of your sauce. Only for the onnathural way I’m placed now, perched up here like a canary-bird, I’d soon let you know who you wor thryin’ to poke your fun at. D’ye mind me now?”

“Begonnies!” says the Mayor, “’tis no fun, I can tell you, to be endeavourin’ to get safe ashore wud such a precious load on me showlders. If yer Majesty thinks ’tis for a lark I’m carryin’ you, let me tell you that you’re intirely mistaken. Oh murdher!” says he, dhroppin’ on wan knee, “but ’tis into a boghole we are!”

Of coorse he knew there wasn’t a boghole wudin a mile of him, but he wanted to divart the King’s mind from what he was afther sayin’ about his nickname, for ’tis in dhread he was that maybe he was carryin’ the joke too far.

“Boghole!” bawls the King, nearly jumpin’ out of his skin wud the fright. “Let me down, you scoundhrel,” says he. “I see now that ’tis a thraisonable plot you have agen me afther all. I wondhered why it was you worn’t makin’ a sthraight coorse for the firm shore.”

An’ sure enough the Mayor had gone a dale out of his road just in ordher to have a rise out of King John, to pay him off for havin’ given his beard the tug.

The pair of ’em wor now standin’ close to the mouth of the pill, an’ the mud all round was as soft as butthermilk, an’ the poor Mayor was more than half-way up to his knees in it; but he knew every inch of the ground, an’ wasn’t in the laiste danger or dhread of himself of coorse, if King John fell from his showlders there ’ud be an end of him, for he’d rowl down into the wathers of the pill before the Mayor could have time to get a grip of him.

“Go straight for the shore this minute, I command you,” says the King.

The Mayor saw that his Majesty was in a fair rage, so he made up his mind not to play any more thricks on him but to make a short cut through the mud to the Corporation.

“Howld your grip now,” says he, givin’ the King a sudden hoist to straighten him on his back; an’ before the words wor well out of his mouth off tumbles King John’s crown an’ down it rowls into the pill.

“Oh murdher!” says the mayor, forgettin’ himself complately, an’ going to dhrop the King into the mud. “’Tis lost the crown is! There’s twenty fut of wather there if there’s an inch, an’ there isn’t a diver on the face of the earth would take a headher into it, the wathers are that filthy!”

“What are you doin’, you ruffian?” screams the King, catchin’ a grip of the Mayor’s whisker wud wan hand an’ of the goold chain wud the other. “Dhrop me at the peril of your life, you onnathural mousther,” says he.

“An’ what about the crown?” says the Mayor, thryin’to take the King’s fist out of his whiskers.

“Let it go to Jericho!” says King John.

“’Twouldn’t be the first time ’twas there, anyhow” says the Mayor, who was fond of his joke.

“’Tis a quare man you are,” says King John, thryin’ to smother a laugh; “but go on, you bla’guard,” says he, “an’ put me on dhry land at wance, an’ no more of your thricks.”

“Never fear!” says the Mayor; “an’ I hopes we’re none the worst frinds afther all’s said an’ done.”

“None the worse,” says King John, “only we’ll be betther frinds as soon as you land me in a hard spot.”

So the Mayor put his best fut forward an’ in a few minutes himself an’ the King were shakin’ hands wud the Corporation.

“You’ll catch your death of cowld,” says the Mayor to King John, “if you stand there much longer wudout your crown. Have you any objection,” says he, “to wearin’ my hat for a spell until they have time to forge a new figure-head for you?”

“Not the laiste objection in life,” says King John, fixin’ the Mayor’s hat on his head. “But ’tis dhry work, shakin’ hands, boys,” says he, addhressin’ the crowd assembled on the quay; “so the sooner we shapes our coorse for the nearest _shebeen_ the betther I’ll like it, at any rate.”

“Bravo!” says the Corporation, startin’ a procession wud King John at the head of ’em an’ a fife an’ dhrum band from Ballybricken follyin’ up in the rear.

Well, to cut a long story short, King John whin he was laivin’ Watherford made a present of his borrowed _caubeen_ to the Corporation; an’ if you doubts my word you can go down to the Town Hall any day an’ ax to see King John’s hat, an’ the Mayor’s secrethary will show you the self-same wan that King John got the loan of from the ould anshent Mayor—an’ a very dilapidated speciment of head gear it is too.

That’s the true story of how King John lost his crown in the wash of the Pill, as the little sthrame is called; an’ sure ’tis known as John’s Pill to this day.

It was a little before the dawn of a July mornin’ many year ago, when Jimmy Murphy, a thin, spare man that kept the enthrance gates of the bridge of Watherford, at the County Kilkenny side, was roused out of a sound sleep by a terrible clatther.

He jumped up off his bed an’ came out of the toll-house rubbin’ his eyes, an’ the first thing he caught a glimpse of was the flash of steel. There wasn’t much light in the sky, an’ it tuk little Jimmy the best part of a minute before he spied a horseman outside, who was runnin’ his swoord back and for’a’d along the bars of the gates just like a little scamp of a boy when he’s passin’ a set of railin’s wud a stick in his hand.

“Howld your row, will you?” shouts Jimmy at the horseman.

“Open! open! quick!” shouts the horseman back at him. “I’m in a desperate hurry, my good man.”

“Take it aisy!” says Jimmy. “I’m not hard of hearin’, thanks be to Heaven! What’s your business at this time of night?”

“I’m James the Second,” says the man on the horse, “an’ King Billy’s sogers are hot fut afther me.”

“Ah thin,” says Jimmy, undher his breath, “so ’tis to ‘dirty Shamus’ I’m spaykin’!”

“What’s that you’re muttherin’?” says King James.

“_Naboclish!_” says Jimmy Murphy.

“Thranslate that,” says King James, “for I’m a poor hand at the Irish.”

“So I’ve heard,” says Jimmy. “It manes God save the King.”

“Which King?” axes James the Second.

“Yerself, of coorse,” says Jimmy.

“If that’s your mind,” says King James, “you’d betther let me through at wance, for if the Orangemen catches me ’tis mince-mate they’ll make of me.”

“I’ll turn the lock for you,” says Jimmy, “wud a heart an’ a half; but what am I to say to the sogers when they comes up an’ axes me if you passed through these gates?”

“Tell ’em a lie, of coorse,” says King James.

“’Deed an’ I won’t, my good man,” says Jimmy.

“What!” says James the Second. “Not tell a lie to save a king!”

“No,” says Jimmy; “nor to save my own immortal sowl would I say a word that wasn’t gospel thruth, on the face of it.”

“Thin what’s to be done?” says King James. “Couldn’t you tell ’em a white lie if your conscience won’t stretch to a black wan?”

“Well,” says Jimmy, “I might tell a weeny wan on a pinch. I have it!” says he, for the little man had as many twists an’ turns in him as a corkscrew. “There’s a small private enthrance at the side of the gate here, wud just room enough for a man to pass through, an’ if you gets off your horse I’ll let you in by this private enthry, an’ then I can go outside meself an’ lade the baste in by the big gate, an’, of coorse, I can tell the Orangemen wud an aisy conscience that you didn’t come through the main enthrance.”

“Begor,” says King James, “if I had a hundhred ginerals as full of sthrategy as yerself ’tisn’t here I’d be this blessed an’ holy night. What’s your name?” says he.

“Jimmy Murphy,” says the little man, puttin’ the kay to his mouth an’ blowin’ some crumbs of dirt out of it.

“I’ll not forget it,” says King James; an’ wud that he jumps off his horse an ties the reins to wan of the bars.

Then Jimmy went to the little wicket an began to feel for the kayhole in the darkness. “You’ll have to stoop here,” says he, “or you’ll knock the crown off your head.”

“Begor,” says King James, “’tis wudout a crown I am. I rode away in such a hurry that I clane forgot it, an’ I have no doubt the Orangemen have made a futball of it by this an’ kicked it into the Boyne water.”

“An’ is it from the Boyne you’re afther comin’?” axes Jimmy, humourin’ the kay in the lock.

“’Tis,” says King James. “I’m afther ridin’ at a full gallop straight from the battle of the Boyne.”

“An’ are you afther losing the battle?” axes Jimmy.

“I am, bad luck to it!” says King James.

“I’m sorry for your throuble,” says Jimmy, for although he wasn’t over partial to James the Second, still he couldn’t help feelin’ for him because of his belongin’ to the ould faith, an’ moreover bein’ a namesake.

“Well you’d best come through, anyhow,” says he, openin’ the little gate by main force, for the hinges wor mighty rusty.

“You ought to put a dhrop of sweet oil on them hinges,” says King James, settin’ his teeth an’ entherin’ on the bridge. “They’re in want of moisture,” says he, wud a laugh, “as much as my own throat, an’ that’s rusty enough this minute. Have you a taste of anything handy, Jimmy?”

“Well,” says the little man, “I think there’s a small dhrop of rum in a bottle in the toll-house—if that’s to your likin’.”

“Anything is in saison now,” says the King, smackin’ his lips, “though I’m partly a teetotaller.”

So Jimmy went into the toll-house and brought out a small black bottle an’ handed it to King James.

“I’ll go out an’ lade in the horse,” says he, “while you’re clearin’ the cobwebs out of your throat,” an’ sayin’ the words he went out to the horse, which was all covered wud foam an’ sweat, an’ he led the poor baste in by the big enthrance-gate. Then he closed the gate afther him, an’ King James walked over to the horse an’ handed Jimmy back his bottle.

“Good-bye now, Jimmy,” says the King, mountin’ into the saddle, “an’ I’ll laive it to yerself how to put King Billy’s sogers off the scent; an’ if ever I comes into my rights again I’ll make a mimber of Parlyment of you.”

“I’ll do my best, you may depind,” says Jimmy.

“Good-bye, again,” says King James, “for the best of frinds must part.”

“Stop a minute, my good man!” says Jimmy. “You’re forgettin’ something.”

“I know what you’re dhrivin’ at,” says King James, “but I haven’t got any small change about me.”

“Is it a bribe you think I wants?” says Jimmy, nearly losin’ his temper, for ’tis a proud little man in his way he was, though his wages worn’t very handsome. “Do you think,” says he, catchin’ a grip of the bridle, “that I’d soil my hands wud your dirty money except what was due to me in a way of business?”

“An’ what is it you requires?” axes King James.

“The toll,” says Jimmy, as short as you plaize.

“Is this a toll-bridge?” says King James.

“You know well it is,” says Jimmy.

“An’ what would you say, my fine man,” says King James, “if I wor to give your fist a smack of my swoord an’ gallop across the bridge?”

“I’d say you worn’t the first king that broke the law,” says Jimmy.

Begor, that answer staggered James the Second, an’ says he, “How much is the toll?”

“Sixpence ha’penny to you,” says Jimmy, “an’ a good riddance at the money.”

“How dar’ you spake like that, you bla’guard?” says the King, hotly.

“Oh don’t let us be argufyin’ or squabblin’,” says Jimmy, “or ’tis down atop of you King Billy’ll be.”

Faix, James the Second cooled down all of a sudden at the mention of King Billy, so he puts his hand in his throuser’s pocket and says he,—

“How do you make it sixpence ha’penny?—’tis a most onnathural charge!”

“Sixpence for the horse, an’ a ha’penny for the man,” says Jimmy. “That’s the rate by special Act of Parlyment.”

“I thought ye passed man an’ horse for sixpence,” says King James.

“So we do,” says Jimmy, “if the rider sticks to his saddle.”

“Well, I suppose there’s no use in hagglin’ about it,” says King James, “though I regard the ha’penny as extortion.”

“Divil a use of arguin’,” says Jimmy, “an’ I despises your slandhers.”

So the King hands over the sixpence ha’penny, copper by copper, as if he wor partin’ wud his life’s blood, for ’tis very near in his daylin’s he was.

“Maybe you’d like a resate for this,” says Jimmy, who was fairly disgusted wud the way the King grumbled an’ growled over a few ha’pence.

“You can send it afther me to France,” says James the Second, not seein’ it was humbuggin’ him Jimmy was, an’ wud that he dug his spurs into his horse an’ away he galloped over the bridge.

“Ah!” says Jimmy, lookin’ afther him as he rethrated, “’tis no wondher they call you ‘dirty Shamus’! However,” says he, “I’ve passed my word to put King Billy off the scent, an’ Jimmy Murphy never broke a promise to man or mortial.”

An’ puttin’ King James’s coppers into his pocket, Jimmy went back into the toll-house, an’ was soon fast asleep.

About four o’clock—broad daylight, of coorse—he was started out of a dhrame of himself sittin’ in Parlyment wud a crown on his head, by a tunderin’ rattle of horse hoofs; an’ goin’ out from the toll-house he saw a great sighth of horse-sogers, all dhressed in yellow clothes, pressin’ up to the gates.

“Open, quick!” cried a big man, wud a crown on the back of his poll, givin’ the bars a backhanded wipe of his swoord.

“What’s your business, if you plaize?” says Jimmy. “We don’t open here till six o’clock, unless on an emergency.”

“Do you know who I am?” says the big chap on the horse.

“I partly guess you’re King William the Orangeman,” says Jimmy.

“That’s a good guess,” says the horseman, “for that’s my name an’ occupation sure enough, an’ I give you my word it’s a rale case of emergency that brings me here. Tell me,” says he, “did James the Second pass through this gate this mornin’ or last night?”

“He did not,” says Jimmy.

“Maybe,” says King William, “he climbed over it.”

“No, nor undher it aither,” says Jimmy.

“Well, that puzzles me,” says King William, “for ’twas only at Kilmacow beyant we lost the scent of him, an’ I made sure ’twas for Watherford he was flyin’.”

“Perhaps,” says little Jimmy, “’tis to New Ross he went.”

“Perhaps,” says King William, “but I have my doubts of it. Are you sure he didn’t pass through this gate?”

“Sartin,” says Jimmy.

“Well then,” says King William, “he must aither have gone on to New Ross or swum across the river.”

“Wisha!” says Jimmy, fearin’ King James’s fat would be in the fire if the Orangemen tuk it into their heads to hunt for him in Watherford. “Wisha! how could an exhausted man swim three-quarthers of a mile in the cowld of the airly mornin’?”

“Maybe,” says King William, “he made a raft an’ crossed on it.”

“A raft!” says Jimmy. “I suppose you think he’s a descindant of Robinson Crusoe?”

“There’s no knowin’ what thricks he’d be up to,” says King Billy. “Anyhow, I have my notions that ’tis in the city of Watherford we’ll nab him; but to be on the safe side, I’ll divide my min.”

Begor, Jimmy feared it was all over with King James thin, an’ he was sore vexed to think that all his sthrategy had gone for nothing so far, an’ ’twas more aiger than ever he was now to put the sogers off the thrack.

“Come here, Rawhead!” says King William to a big lump of an Orange throoper. “Take a hundhred min wud you into the city, an’ I’ll go on to New Ross wud the rest. Search every public-house for him,” says he, “an’ every ship at the quay.”

Then King William blew a few blasts out of a silver-mounted bugle, an’ the min divided themselves into two lots.

“Now thin,” says he to Jimmy Murphy, “throw open the gates, an’ let Captain Rawhead an’ his throopers pass!”

“You must pay full toll, you know, before I puts a kay in the lock,” says Jimmy, thinkin’ that the big sum of money might frighten the Orangemen off.

“How much do you make it?” says King William.

“It’s sixpence a horse,” says Jimmy—“a heavy charge, but there’s a special Act of Parlyment for it.”

“That’s two pound ten,” says King William. “Will you take my note of hand for the amount?”

“I won’t,” says Jimmy, “for I’m not allowed to dale in anything but coin of the realm.”

“You can charge it agen the Naational Debt,” says King William. “I’m rather short of change at the moment.”

“That seems to be a general complaint,” says Jimmy.

“’Tis,” says King William. “Are you agreeable? I give you my word we charges everything agen the Naational Debt.”

“I’m only a sarvint,” says Jimmy, “an’ my ordhers are to take nothing but money, an’ good money too.”

“’Tis a rock of obstinacy you are,” says King William; “but I’ll thry what I can do” says he, for he was a perseverin’ man at any rate, an’ had his mind fixed on gettin’ his follyers through the gates at any sacrifice.

So he rode his horse about through the sogers, an’ between ’em all they made up the two pound ten, an’ King William passed the money through the bars of the gate into Jimmy’s fist.

Of coorse poor Jimmy hadn’t a word more to say then, so he tuk his kays out of his pocket, an’ wud a sore heart he opened the gates for Captain Rawhead an’ his hundhred min.

“At any rate,” says he to himself, “I’ve dodged King Billy about for a long spell, an’ if poor James the Second has any gumption in him he’ll be half-way down the river by the time the sogers gets into the city.”

Well, when King William had galloped away on the road to New Ross an’ Captain Rawhead had started to cross the bridge, poor Jimmy went back into the toll-house an’ fell fast asleep again. He was awoke this time by a man shoutin’ into his ear,—

“Jimmy! Jimmy, _avic_! get up!”

Little Jimmy started off the stretcher he was dozin’ on, an’ rubbed his eyes, an’ who did he see standin’ alongside him but an ould frind of his, Mick Gorman by name, that kept the “Royal Oak” in the city of Watherford!

“Good morra, Mick,” says Jimmy; “an’ what brings you here at this time of day?”

“Begor, wan ’ud think ’twas a dormouse you wor,” says Mick, “for ’tis bawlin’ at you I’ve been for the past five minutes, an’ every minute is worth its weight in goold now.”

“What time is it?” axes Jimmy, yawnin’.

“On the sthroke of five,” says Mick Gorman.

“Thin ’tis about an hour since the sogers went over the bridge. Did you see any Orangemen in the city?”

“Indeed an’ I did,” says Mick; “an’ ’tis by raison of that I’ve made such an airly visit to yerself.”

“Is that so?” says Jimmy.

“’Tis,” says Mick Gorman. “I must tell you,” says he, “how matthers stand, an’ then we’ll howld a council of war.”

“All right,” says Jimmy, “fire ahead, an I’ll keep listenin’.”

“Well,” says Mick, “about two hour ago I was woke out of bed by a double knock at the hall door, an’ puttin’ on my throwsers, I went downstairs an’ opened the premises. ‘I wants refreshment for man an’ baste,’ says a sthranger that was standin’ outside howldin’ a horse by the bridle. ‘Are you a bony fidy?’ says I. ‘I am,’ says he. ‘I’ve thravelled hundhreds of miles since I went to bed last.’ ‘All right,’ says I. ‘What’s your name?’ ‘Well,’ says he, ‘I must ax you a queshthion first.’ ‘What’s that,’ says I. ‘Are you an Orangeman?’ says he. ‘Is it jokin’ you are?’ says I. ‘No,’ says he, ‘I’m in fair airnist.’ ‘Arrah! my good man,’ says I, ‘there was never wan of my breed or generation that ’ud have inthercourse wud an Orangeman except to take his money.’ ‘Very well,’ says the sthranger. ‘Thin I’ll tell you my name, if you’ll promise to keep it to yerself.’ ‘I’ll pass my word so far,’ says I. ‘Well,’ says he, ‘my name is King James the Second.’

“Begor, Jimmy,” says Mick Gorman, “I was sthruck all of a heap when I found ’twas the King of all England I was spaykin’ to, so says I, ‘If you’ll step into the parlour, Sir, I’ll attend to you meself as soon as I’ve put up the royal horse.’ So King James came in, an’ as soon as I’d given the horse a mash of bran and a few dabs of a wisp, I went into the parlour to the King. ‘I hope you’ll pardon me for keepin’ your Majesty standin’ at the door,’ says I. ‘Hush!’ says he. ‘Call me plain Misther Stuart, if you plaize, for no wan must know who I am at all. An’ if you’ll cook me a rasher an’ some eggs at wance I’ll feel obliged.’ So I makes off for the kitchen an’ got the fire lit an’ the rasher an’ the eggs cooked in a quarther of an hour, which is quick work I can tell you, Jimmy Murphy. Then I takes the male in to King James, an’ as soon as he had swallyed the grub he says: ‘Now I’m placin’ myself in your hands complately. I see you’re an honest man,’ says he.”

“How did he see that?” says Jimmy, intherruptin’ Mick.

“I suppose most kings is judges of characther,” says Mick Gorman.

“I hope he’s not a judge of noses,” says Jimmy, wud a grin; “for there’s ‘twenty per sint over proof’ marked on yours as plain as print.”

“Do you mane to insult me?” says Mick, lookin’ as black as a hearse-horse.

“Ah! it’s only my joke,” says Jimmy. “Sure there isn’t much to choose, from a gauger’s point of view, between your nose an’ my own.”

“Begor, I believe not,” says Mick Gorman, rubbin’ a brand new grog blossom on the left side of his nostril. “At any rate ’tis King James’s own words I’m afther tellin’ you, an’ you can believe me or not just as you like. ‘I see you’re an honest man,’ says the King of all England to me; ‘an’ the likes of you is as scarce as blackberries at this time of year. What I want you to do,’ says he, ‘is to get me aboord of a ship that’s sailin’ for France immajertly, an’ not to let a sowl know who I am. Can you do that?’ says he! ‘I think I can,’ says I, ‘for there’s a brother of mine the captain of a lugger, an’ he’ll be startin’ from the quay on the high wather.’ ‘When is that?’ says King James. ‘A thrifle before seven o’clock,’ says I. ‘That’ll do,’ says he, ‘an’ if you manages the job for me, I’ll make a Mimber of Parlyment of you when I comes into my rights again!’”

“Is that what he promised you?” says Jimmy.

“’Tis,” says Mick. “It’s his Majesty’s own words I’m tellin’ you. What makes you ax the queshtion?”

“Just for information,” says Jimmy—“but go on wud your story, Mick Gorman, M.P.”