Chapter 3

its double meaning. It was impudent and servile; it was impudent, as much as to say to the servants, “why don't you open the door quickly for a man who is so deep in your master's confidence as I am?” while to that master himself, it said, or seemed to say, “I am your creature, your instrument, your slave, ready to execute any oppression, any hardship, or villainy, on which you can employ me.”

It is said, and we believe with truth, that in military life no officer is so severe and oppressive as he who has risen from the ranks, and been most obsequious there. We do not doubt it, for the principle is a strong one in human nature, and is by no means confined to either the army or navy. At all events, shuffling, and cringing, and slinking Darby O'Drive presented himself to Val the Vulture. There was a downcast, cowardly, shy, uneasy, expression in his blank, straggling features, that seemed to say, for God's sake spare my very life--don't annihilate me--here I am--you see through me--heart, spirit, and soul--body, lungs, and lights--could I tell _you_ a lie? No. Could I deceive you--such a man as you, that can look through me as if I was a lanthorn, or a pane of glass without a bull's eye in it. No! only let me live and I'll do your bidding.

“Well,” said Val, in a sharp, imperious;one, “you're punctual for a wonder.”

“God be praised for that,” replied Darby, wiping the top of his nose with the finger and thumb of an old mitten, “heaven be praised that I'm not late.”

“Hold your damned canting, tongue, you knave, what place is this for it?”

“Knave! well I am then.”

“Yes, you know you are--you are all knaves--every bailiff is a knave--ahem--unless, indeed, one in a thousand.”

“It's truth, indeed, plaise your honor.”

“Not but there's worse than you after all, and be damned to you.”

“An' betther, sir, too, i' you please, for sure, God help me, I'm not what I ought to be.”

“Well, mend then, why don't you? for you want it. Come now, no jaw, I tell you, but answer me what I am about to ask you; not a word now.”

“Well, no then, plaise your honor, I won't in throth.”

“Did you warn the townland of Ballymackscud?”

“Yis, plaise your honor.”

“Are they ready--have they the rent?”

“Only some o' them, sir,--an other some is axin' for time, the thieves.”

“Who are asking for time?”

“Why the O'Shaughrans, sir--hopin', indeed, that your honor will let them wait till the markets rises, an not be forced to sell the grain whin the prices is so low now that it would ridin them--but it's wondherful the onraisonableness of some people. Says I, 'his honor, Mr. M'Clutchy, is only doin' his duty; but a betther hearted or a kinder man never bruk the world's bread than he is to them that desarves it at his hands;' so, sir, they began to--but--well, well, it's no matther--I tould them they were wrong--made it plain to them--but they wouldn't be convinced, say what I might.”

“Why, what did they say, were they abusing me--I suppose so?”

“Och! the poor sowls, sure it was only ignorance and foolishness on their part--onraisonable cratures all or most of them is.”

“Let me know at once what they said, you knave, or upon my honor and soul I'll turn you out of the room and bring in Hanlon.”

“Plaise your honor, he wasn't present--I left him outside, in regard that I didn't think he was fit to be trust--a safe with--no matther, 'twas for a raison I had.” He gave a look at M'Clutchy as he spoke, compounded of such far and distant cunning, scarcely perceptible--and such obvious, yet retreating cowardice, scarcely perceptible also---that no language could convey any notion of it.

“Ah!” said Val, “you are a neat lad--but go on--what did they say, for I must have it out of you.”

“That I may die in happiness, your honor, but I'm afeard to tell you--but, sure, if you'd give your promise, sir--your bright word of honor, that you'd not pay me off for it, I'll tell you.”

“Ah! you d----d crawling reptile, out with it--I won't pay you off.”

“Well, then, here it is--oh! the curse o' Cromwell on them this day, for an ungrateful pack! they said, your honor, that--bad luck to them I pray--that there wasn't so black-hearted a scoundrel on the face of the airth as your four quarthers--that the gallows is gapin' for you--and that there's as many curses before you in hell as 'ud blisther a griddle.”

M'Clutchy's face assumed its usual expression of diabolical malignity, whilst, at the same time, he gave a look so piercing at Darby, as if suspecting that the curse, from its peculiar character, was at least partially his own invention,--that the latter, who stood like a criminal, looking towards the floor, felt precisely what was going forward in the other's mind, and knew that he had nothing else for it but to look him steadily in the face, as a mark of his perfect innocence. Gradually, therefore, and slowly he raised his small gray eyes until they met those of M'Clutchy, and thus the gaze continued for nearly a minute between them, and that with such steadiness on both sides, that they resembled a mesmeric doctor and his patient, rather than anything else to which we could compare them. On the part of M'Clutchy the gaze was that of an inquisitor looking into the heart of him whom he suspected; on that of Darby, the eye, unconscious of evil, betrayed nothing but the purest simplicity and candor.

And yet, when we consider that Darby most unquestionably did not only ornament, but give peculiar point to the opinions expressed by the tenantry against the Vulture, perhaps we ought to acknowledge that of the two he possessed a larger share of histrionic talent.

At length M'Clutchy, whose eye, for reasons with which the reader is already acquainted, was never either a firm or a steady one, removed it from Darby, who nevertheless followed it with a simple but pertinacious look, as much as to say, I have told you truth, and am now waiting your leisure to proceed.

“What do you stare at?” said M'Clutchy, strongly disposed to vent his malignity on the next object to him; “and, you beggarly scoundrel, what did you say to that? Tell me, or I'll heave you, head foremost, through the window?”

“Why,” replied Darby, in a quiet, confident, and insinuating tone, “I raisoned wid them--raisoned wid them like a Christian. 'Now, Sheemus O'Shaughran,' says I, 'you've said what I know to be a lie. I'm not the man to put ill between you and his honor, Mr. M'Clutchy, but at the same time,' says I, 'I'm his sarvint, and as an honest man I must do my duty. I don't intend to mintion a syllable of what you said this day; but as his sarvint, and gettin' bread through him, and undher him, I can't, nor I won't, suffer his honor to be backbitten before his own face--for it's next to that. Now,' says I, 'be guided by me, and all will be right. In the first place, you know, he's entitled to _duty-fowl_*--in the next place, he's entitled to _duty-work_.' 'Ay, the landlord is,' said they, 'but not the Vul----' 'Whisht,' says I, in a friendly whisper, puttin' my hand across Dan's mouth, an' winkin' both my eyes at him; 'send his honor down a pair of them fine fat turkeys--I know his honor's fond o' them; but that's not all,' says I--'do you wish to have a friend in coort? I know you do. Well and good--he's drawing gravel to make a new avenue early next week, so, Sheemus O'Shaughran, if you wish to have two friends in coort--a great one and a little one'--manin' myself, God pardon me, for the little one, your honor--'you will,' says I 'early on next Monday mornin', send down a pair of horses and carts, and give him a week's duty work. Then,' says I, 'lave the rest to _somebody_, for I won't name names.'--No, your honor, I did'nt bring Hanlon in.--By the same token, as a proof of it, there's young Bandy Shaughran, the son, wid a turkey under aich arm, comin'up to the hall door.”

* These were iniquitous exactions, racked from the poor tenantry by the old landlords or their agents.

“Well,” proceeded M'Clutchy, without a single observation, “did you call on the Slevins?”

“Yes, sir; they're ready.”

“The Magonnels?”

“Not ready, sir; but a pair of geese, and two men on next Thursday and Saturday. On Friday they must go to market to buy two _slips_.” (* young pigs).

“Widow Gaffney?”

“Not ready, sir; but that I may never die in sin, a 'cute shaver.”

“Why so--what did she say?”

“Oh, Mr. Hickman, sir, the head agent, your honor; that's the go. Throth, the same Mr. Hickman is--but, God forbid, sir, I'd spake a word against the absent; but any way, he's a good round thrifle, one way or the other, out of your pocket, from Jinny-warry to December.”

“Darby, my good man, and most impertinent scoundrel, if you wish to retain your present situation, never open your lips against that excellent gentleman, Mr. Hickman. Mark my words--out you go, if I ever discover that you mention him with disrespect.”

“Well, I won't then; and God forgive me for spakin' the truth--when it's not right.”

“Did you see the Mulhollands?”

“Mr. Hickman again, sir, an' bad luck to---- Beg pardon, sir, I forgot. Throth, sir, when I mentioned the duty work an' the new aveny, they whistled at you.”

“Whistled at me!”

“Yes, sir; an' said that Mr. Hickman tould them to give you neither duty fowl nor duty work, but to do their own business, and let you do yours. Ay, and 'twas the same from all the rest.”

“Well,” said Val, going to the window and looking abroad for a minute or two,--“well--so much for Ballymackscud; now for its next neighbor, Ballymackfud.”

“Mr. Hickman again, sir. The divil sweep the same Hickman, any way,” said Darby, in an aside, which he knew the other could easily hear. “Out of the whole townland, sir, all I got was two men for the aveny--a goose from Barney Scadden, and her last ten, along wid half-a-dozen eggs, from that dacent creature, widow M'Murt. Throth four fine little clildre she has, if they had anything on them, or anything to keep body and sowl together.”

“You warned them all, of course?”

“Every sowl in the townland of Ballymackt 'ud; and there's the upshot. But it's all Mr. Hickman, sir; for he tould them--'I will have none of this work,' says he; 'the tenants musn't be harrished and fleeshed in this manner,' says he. Yes, your honor, that's the upshot from Ballymackfud--two day's work--a sick goose (for I disremembered to mention that Barney said, wid a wink, that she'd require great attintion, as she was in a delicate state of health)--one ould hen, and a half-a-dozen eggs; which wouldn't be the case, only for Hickman--not but he's a very respectable gentleman--by all accounts.”

“I told you before, sirra, that I will have nothing offensive to him mentioned in my presence. Give this letter to Mr. M'Slime, and bring me an answer as soon as you can. Will you have a glass of spirits?”

“Would it be intherfairin' wid my duty, sir?”

“If you think so, don't take it; you ought to know best.”

“Well, then, for this one time, in regard of a _Lhin-roe_* or the red wather in my stomach, I'll try it. I drank bog-bine last night goin' to bed, but divil a morsel o' good it did me.”

* Lhin-roe, or red water--the Irish name for heart-burn.

M'Clutchy handed him a full glass, which he held steadily before his eye, till the other put up the decanter.

“Your honor's health, sir,” said he, “and fireside; and if you war to throw me out o' fifty windies, I'll add to that--here's wishin' that the divil had his own, and I know where you'd soon be.”

“How, you villainous scoundrel,” said Val, starting with rising wrath, “what do you mean by that?”

Darby made no reply, but hastily tossing off the glass, he seized his hat, bolted outside the door, and putting in his head, said in a kind of loud but confidential whisper--

“IN HICKMAN'S PLACE, your honor!”