Excitement over the news reached its highest point in the steerage, two-thirds of the inmates2 of which hung now lovingly upon the port rail of the forward deck, to gaze with eager eyes at the far-off points of radiance glowing through the soft northern spring night.
Farther down the rail, from the obscurity of the jostling throng3, a stout4 male voice sent up the opening bars of the dear familiar song, “The Cove5 of Cork6.” The ballad7 trembled upon the air as it progressed, then broke into something like sobs8, and ceased.
“Ah, Barney,” a sympathetic voice cried out, “’tis no longer the Cove; ’tis Queenstown they’re after calling it now. Small wandher the song won’t listen to itself be sung!”
“But they haven’t taken the Cove away—God bless it!” the other rejoined, bitterly. “’Tis there, beyant the lights, waitin’ for its honest name to come back to it when—when things are set right once more.”
“Is it the Cove you think you see yonder?” queried9 another, captiously10. “Thim’s the Fastnet and Cape11 Clear lights. We’re fifty miles and more from Cork.”
“Thin if ’twas daylight,” croaked12 an old man between coughs, “we’d be in sight of The O’Mahony’s castles, or what bloody13 Cromwell left of them.”
“It’s mad ye are, Martin,” remonstrated14 a female voice. “The’re laygues beyant on Dunmanus Bay. Wasn’t I born mesilf at Durrus?”
“The O’Mahony of Murrisk is on board,” whispered some one else, “returnin’ to his estates. I had it this day from the cook’s helper. The quantity of mate that same O’Mahony’s been ’atin’! An’ dhrink, is it? Faith, there’s no English nobleman could touch him!”
On the saloon deck, aft, the interest excited by these distant lights was less volubly eager, but it had sufficed to break up the card-games in the smoking-room, and even to tempt15 some malingering passengers from the cabins below. Such talk as passed among the group lounging along the rail, here in the politer quarter, bore, for the most part, upon the record of the Moldavian on this and past voyages, as contrasted with the achievements of other steamships16. No one confessed to reverential sensations in looking at the lights, and no one lamented17 the change of name which sixteen years before, had befallen the Cove of Cork; but there was the liveliest speculation18 upon the probabilities of the Bahama, which had sailed from New York the same day, having beaten them into the south harbor of Cape Clear, where, in those exciting war times, before the cable was laid, every ocean steamer halted long enough to hurl19 overboard its rubber-encased budget of American news, to be scuffled for in the swell20 by the rival oarsmen of the cape, and borne by the successful boat to the island, where relays of telegraph clerks then waited day and night to serve Europe with tidings of the republic’s fight for life.
This concentration of thought upon steamer runs and records, to the exclusion21 of interest in mere22 Europe, has descended23 like a mantle24 upon the first-cabin passengers of our own later generation. But the voyagers in the Moldavian had a peculiar25 warrant for their concern. They had left America on Saturday, April 15, bearing with them the terrible news of Lincoln’s assassination26 in Ford’s Theatre, the previous evening, and it meant life-long distinction—in one’s own eyes at least—to be the first to deliver these tidings to an astounded27 Old World. Eight days’ musing28 on this chance of greatness had brought them to a point where they were prepared to learn with equanimity29 that the rival Bahama had struck a rock outside, somewhere. One of their number, a little Jew diamond merchant, now made himself quite popular by relating his personal recollections of the calamity30 which befel her sister ship, the Anglia, eighteen months ago, when she ran upon Blackrock in Galway harbor.
One of these first-cabin passengers, standing31 for a time irresolutely32 upon the outskirts33 of this gossiping group, turned abruptly34 when the under-sized Hebrew addressed a part of his narrative35 to him, and walked off alone into the shadows of the stern. He went to the very end, and leaned over the taff-rail, looking down upon the boiling, phosphorescent foam36 of the vessel’s wake. He did not care a button about being able to tell Europe of the murder of Lincoln and Seward—for when they left the secretary was supposed, also, to have been mortally wounded. His anxieties were of a wholly different sort.
He, The O’Mahony of Muirisc, was plainly but warmly clad, with a new, shaggy black overcoat buttoned to the chin, and a black slouch hat drawn37 over his eyes. His face was clean shaven, and remarkably38 free from lines of care and age about the mouth and nostrils39, though the eyes were set in wrinkles. The upper part of the face was darker and more weather-beaten, too, than the lower, from which a shrewd observer might have guessed that until very recently he had always worn a beard.
There were half a dozen shrewd observers on board the Moldavian among its cabin passengers—men of obvious Irish nationality, whose manner with one another had a certain effect of furtiveness40, and who were described on the ship’s list by distinctively41 English names, like Potter, Cooper and Smith; and they had watched the O’Mahony of Muirisc very closely during the whole voyage, but none of them had had doubts about the beard, much less about the man’s identity. In truth, they looked from day to day for him to give some sign, be it never so slight, that his errand to Ireland was a political one. They were all Fenians—among the advance guard of that host of Irishmen who returned from exile at the close of the American War—and they took it for granted that the solitary42 and silent O’Mahony was a member of the Brotherhood43. The more taciturn he grew, the more he held aloof44, the firmer became their conviction that his rank in the society was exalted45 and his mission important. The very fact that he would not be drawn into conversation and avoided their company was proof conclusive46. They left him alone, but watched him with lynx-like scrutiny47.
The O’Mahony had been conscious of this ceaseless observation, and he mused48 upon it now as he watched the white whirl of churned waters below. The time was close at hand when he should know whether it had meant anything or not; there was comfort in that, at all events. He was less a coward than any other man he knew, but, all the same, this unending espionage49 had worn upon his nerve. Doubtless, that was in part because sea-voyaging was a novelty to him. He had not been ill for a moment. In fact, he could not remember to have ever eaten and drunk more in any eight days of his life. If it had not been for the confounded watchfulness50 of the Irishmen, he would have enjoyed the whole experience immensely. But it was evident that they were all in collusion—“in cahoots,” he phrased it in his mind—and had a common interest in noting all his movements. What could it mean? Strange as it may seem, The O’Mahony had never so much as heard of the Fenian Brotherhood.
He rose from his lounging meditation51 presently, and sauntered forward again along the port deck. The lights from the coast were growing more distinct in the distance, and, as he paused to look, he fancied he could discern a dark line of shore below them.
“I suppose your ancistral estates are lyin’ further west, sir,” spoke52 a voice at his side. The O’Mahony cast a swift half-glance around, and recognized one of the suspected spies.
“Yes, a good deal west,” he growled53, curtly54.
The other took no offense55.
“Sure,” he went on, pleasantly, “the O’Mahonys and the O’Driscolls, not to mintion the McCarthys, chased each other around that counthry yonder at such a divil of a pace it’s hard tellin’ now which belonged to who.”
“Yes, we did hustle56 round considerable,” assented57 The O’Mahony, with frigidity58.
“You’re manny years away from Ireland, sir?” pursued the man.
“Why?”
“I notice you say ‘yes’ and ‘no.’ It takes a long absence to tache an Irishman that.”
“I’ve been away nearly all my life,” said The O’Mahony, sharply—“ever since I was a little boy and turning on his heel, he walked to the companionway and disappeared down the stairs.
“Faith, I’m bettin’ it’s the gineral himself!” said the other, looking after him.
To have one’s waking vision greeted, on a soft, warm April morning, by the sight of the Head of Kinsale in the sunlight—with the dark rocks capped in tenderest verdure and washed below by milkwhite breakers; with the smooth water mirroring the blue of the sky upon its bosom59, yet revealing as well the marbled greens of its own crystalline depths; with the balmy scents60 of fresh blossoms meeting and mingling61 in the languorous62 air of the Gulf63 Stream’s bringing—can there be a fairer finish to any voyage over the waters of the whole terrestrial ball!
The O’Mahony had been up on deck before any of his fellow-passengers, scanning the novel details of the scene before him. The vessel barely kept itself in motion through the calm waters. The soft land breeze just availed to turn the black column of smoke rising from the funnel64 into a sort of carboniferous leaning tower. The pilot had been taken on the previous evening. They waited now for the tug65, which could be seen passing Roche’s Point with a prodigious66 spluttering and splashing of side-paddles. Before its arrival, the Moldavian lay at rest within full view of the wonderful harbor—her deck thronged67 with passengers dressed now in fine shore apparel and bearing bags and rugs, who bade each other good-bye with an enthusiasm which nobody believed in, and edged along as near as possible where the gang-plank68 would be.
The O’Mahony walked alone down the plank, rebuffing the porters who sought to relieve him of his heavy bags. He stood alone at the prow69 of the tug, as it waddled70 and puffed71 on its rolling way back again, watching the superb amphitheatre of terraced stone houses, walls, groves72 and gardens toward which he had voyaged these nine long days, with an anxious, almost gloomy face. The Fenians, still closely observing him, grew nervous with fear that this depression forboded a discovery of contra-brand arms in his baggage.
But no scandal arose. The custom officers searched fruitlessly through the long platforms covered with luggage, with a half perfunctory and wholly whimsical air, as if they knew perfectly73 well that the revolvers they pretended to be looking for were really in the pockets of the passengers. Then other good-byes, distinctly less enthusiastic, were exchanged, and the last bonds of comradeship which life on the Moldavian had enforced snapped lightly as the gates were opened.
Everybody else seemed to know where to go. The O’Mahony stood for so long a time just outside the gates, with his two big valises at his feet and helpless hesitation74 written all over his face, that even some of the swarm75 of beggars surrounding him could not wait any longer, and went away giving him up. To the importunities of the others, who buzzed about him like blue-bottles on a sunny window-pane, he paid no heed76; but he finally beckoned77 to the driver of the solitary remaining outside car, who had been flicking78 his broker79, whip invitingly80 at him, and who now turned his vehicle abruptly round and drove it, with wild shouts of factitious warning, straight through the group of mendicants, overbearing their loud cries of remonstrance81 with his superior voice, and cracking his whip like mad. He drew up in front of the bags with the air of a lord mayor’s coachman, and took off his shapeless hat in salutation.
“I want to go to the law office of White & Carmody,” The O’Mahony said, brusquely.
0055
“Right, your honor,” the carman answered, dismounting and lifting the luggage to the well of the car, and then officiously helping82 his patron to mount to his sidelong seat. He sprang up on the other side, screamed “Now thin, Maggie!” to his poor old horse, flipped83 his whip derisively84 at the beggars, and started off at a little dog-trot, clucking loudly as he went.
He drove through all the long ascending85 streets of Queenstown at this shambling pace, traversing each time the whole length of the town, until finally they gained the terraced pleasure-road at the top. Here the driver drew rein86, and waved his whip to indicate the splendid scope of the view below—the gray roof of the houses embowered in trees, the river’s crowded shipping87, the castellated shore opposite, the broad, island-dotted harbor beyond.
“L’uk there, now!” he said, proudly. “Have yez annything like that in Ameriky?”
The O’Mahony cast only an indifferent glance upon the prospect88,
“Yes—but where’s White & Carmody’s office?” he asked. “That’s what I want.”
“Right, your honor,” was the reply; and with renewed clucking and cracking of the dismantled89 whip, the journey was resumed. That is to say, they wound their way back again down the hill, through all the streets, until at last the car stopped in front of the Queen’s Hotel.
“Is it thrue what they tell me, sir, that the Prisidint is murdhered?” the jarvey asked, as they came to a halt.
“Yes—but where the devil is that law-office?”
“Sure, your honor, there’s no such names here at all,” the carman replied, pleasantly. “Here’s the hotel where gintleman stop, an’ I’ve shown ye the view from the top, an’ it’s plased I am ye had such a clear day for it—and wud ye like to see Smith-Barry’s place, after lunch?”
The stranger turned round on his seat to the better comment upon this amazing impudence90, beginning a question harsh of purpose and profane91 in form.
Then the spectacle of the ragged92 driver’s placidly93 amiable94 face and roguish eye; of the funny old horse, like nothing so much in all the world as an ancient hair-trunk with legs at the corners, yet which was driven with the noise and ostentation95 of a six-horse team; of the harness tied up with ropes; the tumble-down car; the broken whip; the beggars—all this, by a happy chance, suddenly struck The O’Mahony in a humorous light. Even as his angered words were on the air he smiled in spite of himself. It was a gaunt, reluctant smile, the merest curling of the lips at their corners; but it sufficed in a twinkling to surround him with beaming faces. He laughed aloud at this, and on the instant driver and beggars were convulsed with merriment.
The O’Mahony jumped off the car.
“I’ll run into the hotel and find out where I want to go,” he said. “Wait here.”
Two minutes passed.
“These lawyers live in Cork,” he explained on his return. “It seems this is only Queenstown. I want you to go to Cork with me.”
“Right, your honor,” said the driver, snapping his whip in preparation.
“But I don’t want to drive; it’s too much like a funeral. We ain’t a-buryin’ anybody.”
“Is it Maggie your honor manes? Sure, there’s no finer quality of a mare96 in County Cork, if she only gets dacent encouragement.”
“Yes; but we ain’t got time to encourage her. Go and put her out, and hustle back here as quick as you can. I’ll pay you a good day’s wages. Hurry, now; we’ll go by train.”
The O’Mahony distributed small silver among the beggars the while he waited in front of the hotel.
“That laugh was worth a hundred dollars to me,” he said, more to himself than to the beggars. “I hain’t laughed before since Linsky spilt the molasses over his head.”
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1
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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inmates
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| n.囚犯( inmate的名词复数 ) | |
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throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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cove
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| n.小海湾，小峡谷 | |
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cork
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| n.软木，软木塞 | |
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7
ballad
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| n.歌谣，民谣，流行爱情歌曲 | |
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sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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9
queried
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| v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的过去式和过去分词 )；询问 | |
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captiously
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cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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12
croaked
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| v.呱呱地叫( croak的过去式和过去分词 )；用粗的声音说 | |
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13
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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remonstrated
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| v.抗议( remonstrate的过去式和过去分词 )；告诫 | |
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tempt
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| vt.引诱，勾引，吸引，引起…的兴趣 | |
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steamships
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| n.汽船，大轮船( steamship的名词复数 ) | |
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17
lamented
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| adj.被哀悼的，令人遗憾的v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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19
hurl
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| vt.猛投，力掷，声叫骂 | |
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swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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21
exclusion
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| n.拒绝，排除，排斥，远足，远途旅行 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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mantle
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| n.斗篷，覆罩之物，罩子；v.罩住，覆盖，脸红 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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assassination
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| n.暗杀；暗杀事件 | |
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astounded
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| v.使震惊(astound的过去式和过去分词)；愕然；愕；惊讶 | |
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musing
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| n. 沉思，冥想 adj. 沉思的, 冥想的 动词muse的现在分词形式 | |
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29
equanimity
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| n.沉着，镇定 | |
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30
calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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irresolutely
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| adv.优柔寡断地 | |
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outskirts
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| n.郊外，郊区 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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furtiveness
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| 偷偷摸摸，鬼鬼祟祟 | |
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distinctively
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| adv.特殊地，区别地 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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43
brotherhood
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| n.兄弟般的关系，手中情谊 | |
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aloof
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| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
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exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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conclusive
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| adj.最后的，结论的；确凿的，消除怀疑的 | |
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scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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48
mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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espionage
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| n.间谍行为，谍报活动 | |
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50
watchfulness
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| 警惕，留心； 警觉（性） | |
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51
meditation
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| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
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52
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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53
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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54
curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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55
offense
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| n.犯规，违法行为；冒犯，得罪 | |
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56
hustle
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| v.推搡；竭力兜售或获取；催促；n.奔忙(碌) | |
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57
assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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58
frigidity
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| n.寒冷；冷淡；索然无味；（尤指妇女的）性感缺失 | |
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59
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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60
scents
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| n.香水( scent的名词复数 )；气味；（动物的）臭迹；（尤指狗的）嗅觉 | |
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61
mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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62
languorous
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| adj.怠惰的，没精打采的 | |
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63
gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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64
funnel
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| n.漏斗；烟囱；v.汇集 | |
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65
tug
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| v.用力拖(或拉)；苦干；n.拖；苦干；拖船 | |
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66
prodigious
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| adj.惊人的，奇妙的；异常的；巨大的；庞大的 | |
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67
thronged
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| v.成群，挤满( throng的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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68
plank
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| n.板条，木板，政策要点，政纲条目 | |
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prow
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| n.(飞机)机头，船头 | |
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waddled
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| v.（像鸭子一样）摇摇摆摆地走( waddle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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71
puffed
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| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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groves
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| 树丛，小树林( grove的名词复数 ) | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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75
swarm
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| n.(昆虫)等一大群；vi.成群飞舞；蜂拥而入 | |
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heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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beckoned
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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flicking
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| （尤指用手指或手快速地）轻击( flick的现在分词 )； （用…）轻挥； （快速地）按开关； 向…笑了一下（或瞥了一眼等） | |
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broker
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| n.中间人，经纪人；v.作为中间人来安排 | |
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invitingly
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| adv. 动人地 | |
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81
remonstrance
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| n抗议，抱怨 | |
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82
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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83
flipped
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| 轻弹( flip的过去式和过去分词 )； 按（开关）； 快速翻转； 急挥 | |
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derisively
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| adv. 嘲笑地，嘲弄地 | |
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85
ascending
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| adj.上升的，向上的 | |
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rein
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| n.疆绳，统治，支配；vt.以僵绳控制，统治 | |
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shipping
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| n.船运（发货，运输，乘船） | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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dismantled
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| 拆开( dismantle的过去式和过去分词 )； 拆卸； 废除； 取消 | |
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impudence
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| n.厚颜无耻；冒失；无礼 | |
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profane
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| adj.亵神的，亵渎的；vt.亵渎，玷污 | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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placidly
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| adv.平稳地，平静地 | |
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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ostentation
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| n.夸耀，卖弄 | |
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mare
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| n.母马，母驴 | |
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