“The thing’s forbidden, Eustace; it always has and always will be, I say, and thereby10 ’tis wrong.”
“Well, if ever I doos anything wrong I allus feel glad of it next morning.”
“’Tis against law, Eustace, and to be against law is the downfall of mankind. What I mean to say—I’m a national man.”
“The law! Foo! That’s made by them as don’t care for my needs, and don’t understand my rights. Is it fair to let them control your mind as haven’t got a grip of their own? I worked for yon farmer a matter of fourteen years, hard, I tell you, I let my back sweat....”
The dog at his side was restless; he cuffed11 it impatiently: “and twice a week my wife she had to108 go to farmhouse12; twice a week; doing up their washing and their muck—‘Lie down!’” he interjected sternly to the querulous dog—“two days in every seven. Then the missus says to my wife, ‘I shall want you to come four days a week in future, Mrs. Cocking; the house is too much of a burden for me.’ My wife says: ‘I can’t come no oftener, ma’am; I’d not have time to look after my own place, my husband, and the six children, ma’am.’ Then missus flew into a passion. ‘Oh, so you won’t come, eh!’
“‘I’d come if I could, ma’am,’ my wife says, ‘and gladly, but it ain’t possible, you see.’
“‘Oh, very well!’ says the missus. And that was the end of that, but come Saturday, when the boss pays me: ‘Cocking,’ he says, ‘I shan’t want you no more arter next week.’ No explanation, mind you, and I never asked for none. I know’d what ’twas for, but I don’t give a dam. What meanness, Mordecai! Of course I don’t give a dam whether I goes or whether I stops; you know my meaning—I’d much rather stop; my home’s where I be known; but I don’t give a dam. ’Tain’t the job I minds so much as to let him have that power to spite me so at a moment after fourteen years because of his wife’s temper. ’Tis not decent. ’Tis under-grading a man.’”
There was no comment from the shepherd. Eustace continued: “If that’s your law, Mordecai, I don’t want it. I ignores it.”
“If He be willing to take the disgrace of it, Mordecai Stavely, let Him.”
The men were silent for a long time, until the younger cheerfully asked: “How be poor old Harry14 Mixen?”
“Just alive.”
Eustace leaned back, munching16 a strig of grass reflectively and looking at the sky: “Don’t seem no sign of rain, however?”
“No.”
The old man who said “No” hung his melancholy17 head, and pondered; he surveyed his boots, which were of harsh hard leather with deep soles. He then said: “We ought to thank God we had such mild weather at the back end of the year. If you remember, it came a beautiful autumn and a softish winter. Things are growing now; I’ve seen oats as high as my knee; the clover’s lodged19 in places. It will be all good if we escape the east winds—hot days and frosty nights.”
The downs, huge and bare, stretched in every direction, green and grey, gentle and steep, their vast confusion enlightened by a small hanger21 of beech2 or pine, a pond, or more often a derelict barn; for among the downs there are barns and garners22 ever empty, gone into disuse and abandoned. They are built of flint and red brick, with a roof of tiles. The rafters often bear an eighteenth-century date. Elsewhere in this emptiness even a bush will have a name, and an old stone becomes a track mark. Upon the soft tufts and among the triumphant23 furze live a few despised birds, chats and finches and that blithe110 screamer the lark24, but above all, like veins25 upon the down’s broad breast, you may perceive the run-way of the hare.
“Why can’t a man live like a hare?” broke out the younger man. “I’d not mind being shot at a time and again. It lives a free life, anyway, not like a working man with a devil on two legs always cracking him on.”
“Because,” said Mordecai, “a hare is a vegetarian26 creature, what’s called a rubinant, chewing the cud and dividing not the hoof27. And,” he added significantly, “there be dogs.”
“It takes a mazin’ good dog to catch ever a hare on its own ground. Most hares could chase any dog ever born, believe you me, if they liked to try at that.”
“There be traps and wires!”
“Well, we’ve no call to rejoice, with the traps set for a man, and the wires a choking him.”
At that moment two mating hares were roaming together on the upland just below the men. The doe, a small fawn28 creature, crouched29 coyly before the other, a large nut-brown hare with dark ears. Soon she darted30 away, sweeping31 before him in a great circle, or twisting and turning as easily as a snake. She seemed to fly the faster, but when his muscular pride was aroused he swooped32 up to her shoulder, and, as if in loving derision, leaped over her from side to side as she ran. She stopped as sharply as a shot upon its target and faced him, quizzing him gently with her nose. As they sat thus the dark-eared one perceived not far off a squatting33 figure; it was another hare, a tawny34 buck35, eyeing their dalliance.111 The doe commenced to munch15 the herbage; the nut-brown one hobbled off to confront this wretched, rash, intruding36 fool. When they met both rose upon their haunches, clawing and scraping and patting at each other with as little vigour37 as mild children put into their quarrels—a rigmarole of slapping hands. But, notwithstanding the delicacy39 of the treatment, the interloper, a meek40 enough fellow, succumbed41, and the conqueror42 loped back to his nibbling43 mistress.
Yet, whenever they rested from their wooing flights, the tawny interloper was still to be seen near by. Hapless mourning seemed to involve his hunched44 figure; he had the aspect of a deferential45, grovelling46 man; but the lover saw only his provocative47, envious48 eye—he swept down upon him. Standing38 up again, he slammed and basted49 him with puny50 velvet51 blows until he had salved his indignation, satisfied his connubial52 pride, or perhaps merely some strange fading instinct—for it seemed but a mock combat, a ritual to which they conformed.
Away the happy hare would prance53 to his mate, but as often as he came round near that shameless spy he would pounce54 upon him and beat him to the full, like a Turk or like a Russian. But though he could beat him and disgrace him, he could neither daunt55 nor injure him. The vanquished56 miscreant57 would remain watching their wooing with the eye of envy—or perhaps of scorn—and hoping for a miracle to happen.
And a miracle did happen. Cocking, unseen, near the beeches released his dog. The doe shot away over the curve of the hill and was gone. She did not112 merely gallop58, she seemed to pass into ideal flight, the shadow of wind itself. Her fawn body, with half-cocked ears and unperceivable convulsion of the leaping haunches, soared across the land with the steady swiftness of a gull59. The interloping hare, in a blast of speed, followed hard upon her traces. But Cocking’s hound had found at last the hare of its dreams, a nut-brown, dark-eared, devil-guided, eluding60 creature, that fled over the turf of the hill as lightly as a cloud. The long leaping dog swept in its track with a stare of passion, following in great curves the flying thing that grew into one great throb61 of fear all in the grand sunlight on the grand bit of a hill. The lark stayed its little flood of joy and screamed with notes of pity at the protracted62 flight; and bloodless indeed were they who could view it unmoved, nor feel how sweet a thing is death if you be hound, how fell a thing it is if you be hare. Too long, O delaying death, for this little heart of wax; and too long, O delaying victory, for that pursuer with the mouth of flame. Suddenly the hound faltered63, staggered a pace or two, then sunk to the grass, its lips dribbling64 blood. When Cocking reached him the dog was dead. He picked the body up.
“It’s against me, like everything else,” he muttered.
But a voice was calling “Oi! Oi!” He turned to confront a figure rapidly and menacingly approaching.
“I shall want you, Eustace Cocking,” cried the gamekeeper, “to come and give an account o’ yourself.”
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The Man from Kilsheelan
If you knew the Man from Kilsheelan it was no use saying you did not believe in fairies and secret powers; believe it or no, but believe it you should; there he was. It is true he was in an asylum65 for the insane, but he was a man with age upon him so he didn’t mind; and besides, better men than himself have been in such places, or they ought to be, and if there is justice in the world they will be.
“A cousin of mine,” he said to old Tom Tool one night, “is come from Ameriky. A rich person.”
He lay in the bed next him, but Tom Tool didn’t answer so he went on again: “In a ship,” he said.
“I hear you,” answered Tom Tool.
Tom Tool kept quiet.
“If,” said the Man from Kilsheelan, “if I’d the trusty comrade I’d make a break from this and go seek him.”
“Was he asking you to do that?”
“How could he an’ all and he in a ship?”
“Was he writing fine letters to you then?”
“How could he, under the Lord? Would he give them to a savage67 bird or a herring to bring to me so?”
“How did he let on to you?”
“He did not let on,” said the Man from Kilsheelan.
Tom Tool lay long silent in the darkness; he had a mistrust of the Man, knowing him to have a forgetful mind; everything slipped through it like rain114 through the nest of a pigeon. But at last he asked him: “Where is he now?”
“He’ll be at Ballygoveen.”
“You to know that and you with no word from him?”
“O, I know it, I know; and if I’d a trusty comrade I’d walk out of this and to him I would go. Bags of diamonds!”
Then he went to sleep, sudden; but the next night he was at Tom Tool again: “If I’d a trusty comrade,” said he; and all that and a lot more.
“’Tis not convenient to me now,” said Tom Tool, “but to-morrow night I might go wid you.”
The next night was a wild night, and a dark night, and he would not go to make a break from the asylum, he said: “Fifty miles of journey, and I with no heart for great walking feats68! It is not convenient, but to-morrow night I might go wid you.”
The night after that he said: “Ah, whisht wid your diamonds and all! Why would you go from the place that is snug69 and warm into a world that is like a wall for cold dark, and but the thread of a coat to divide you from its mighty clasp, and only one thing blacker under the heaven of God and that’s the road you walk on, and only one thing more shy than your heart and that’s your two feet worn to a tissue tramping in dung and ditches....”
“If I’d a trusty comrade,” said the Man from Kilsheelan, “I’d go seek my rich cousin.”
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“ ... stars gaping70 at you a few spans away, and the things that have life in them, but cannot see or speak, begin to breathe and bend. If ever your hair stood up it is then it would be, though you’ve no more than would thatch71 a thimble, God help you.”
“Bags of gold he has,” continued the Man, “and his pockets stuffed with the tobacca.”
“Tobacca!”
“They were large pockets and well stuffed.”
“Do you say, now!”
“And the gold! large bags and rich bags.”
“Well, I might do it to-morrow.”
And the next day Tom Tool and the Man from Kilsheelan broke from the asylum and crossed the mountains and went on.
Four little nights and four long days they were walking; slow it was for they were oldish men and lost they were, but the journey was kind and the weather was good weather. On the fourth day Tom Tool said to him: “The Dear knows what way you’d be taking me! Blind it seems, and dazed I am. I could do with a skillet of good soup to steady me and to soothe72 me.”
“Hard it is, and hungry it is,” sighed the Man; “starved daft I am for a taste of nourishment73, a blind man’s dog would pity me. If I see a cat I’ll eat it; I could bite the nose off a duck.”
They did not converse74 any more for a time, not until Tom Tool asked him what was the name of his grand cousin, and then the Man from Kilsheelan was in a bedazement, and he was confused.
“I declare, on my soul, I’ve forgot his little name. Wait now while I think of it.”
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“Was it McInerney then?”
“No, not it at all.”
“Kavanagh? the Grogans? or the Duffys?”
“Wait, wait while I think of it now.”
Tom Tool waited; he waited and all until he thought he would burst.
“Ah, what’s astray wid you? Was it Phelan—or O’Hara—or Clancy—or Peter Mew?”
“No, not it at all.”
“The Murphys. The Sweeneys. The Moores.”
“Divil a one. Wait while I think of it now.”
And the Man from Kilsheelan sat holding his face as if it hurt him, and his comrade kept saying at him: “Duhy, then? Coman? McGrath?” and driving him distracted with his O this and O that, his Mc he—s and Mc she—s.
Well, he could not think of it; but when they walked on they had not far to go, for they came over a twist of the hills and there was the ocean, and the neat little town of Ballygoveen in a bay of it below, with the wreck75 of a ship lying sunk near the strand76. There was a sharp cliff at either horn of the bay, and between them some bullocks stravaiging on the beach.
“Truth is a fortune,” cried the Man from Kilsheelan, “this it is.”
They went down the hill to the strand near the wreck, and just on the wing of the town they saw a paddock full of hemp77 stretched drying, and a house near it, and a man weaving a rope. He had a great cast of hemp around his loins, and a green apron78. He walked backwards79 to the sea, and a young girl stood turning a little wheel as he went away from her.
“God save you,” said Tom Tool to her,117 “for who are you weaving this rope?”
“For none but God himself and the hangman,” said she.
Turning the wheel she was, and the man going away from it backwards, and the dead wreck in the rocky bay; a fine sweet girl of good dispose and no ways drifty.
“Long life to you then, young woman,” says he. “But that’s a strong word, and a sour word, the Lord spare us all.”
At that the rope walker let a shout to her to stop the wheel; then he cut the rope at the end and tied it to a black post. After that he came throwing off his green apron and said he was hungry.
“Denis, avick!” cried the girl. “Come, and I’ll get your food.” And the two of them went away into the house.
“Brother and sister they are,” said the Man from Kilsheelan, “a good appetite to them.”
“Very neat she is, and clean she is, and good and sweet and tidy she is,” said Tom Tool. They stood in the yard watching some white fowls80 parading and feeding and conversing81 in the grass; scratch, peck, peck, ruffle82, quarrel, scratch, peck, peck, cock a doodle doo.
“What will we do now, Tom Tool? My belly83 has a scroop and a screech84 in it. I could eat the full of Isknagahiny Lake and gape85 for more, or the Hill of Bawn and not get my enough.”
Beyond them was the paddock with the hemp drying across it, long heavy strands86, and two big stacks of it beside, dark and sodden87, like seaweed. The girl came to the door and called:118 “Will ye take a bite?” They said they would, and that she should eat with spoons of gold in the heaven of God and Mary. “You’re welcome,” she said, but no more she said, for while they ate she was sad and silent.
The young man Denis let on that their father, one Horan, was away on his journeys peddling88 a load of ropes, a long journey, days he had been gone, and he might be back to-day, or to-morrow, or the day after.
“A great strew89 of hemp you have,” said the Man from Kilsheelan. The young man cast down his eyes; and the young girl cried out: “’Tis foul90 hemp, God preserve us all!”
“Do you tell me of that now,” he asked; but she would not, and her brother said: “I will tell you. It’s a great misfortune, mister man. ’Tis from the wreck in the bay beyant, a good stout91 ship, but burst on the rocks one dark terror of a night and all the poor sailors tipped in the sea. But the tide was low and they got ashore92, ten strong sailor men, with a bird in a cage that was dead drowned.”
“The Dear rest its soul,” said Tom Tool.
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“There was no rest in the ocean for a week, the bay was full of storms, and the vessel93 burst, and the big bales split, and the hemp was scattered and torn and tangled94 on the rocks, or it did drift. But at last it soothed95, and we gathered it and brought it to the field here. We brought it, and my father did buy it of the salvage96 man for a price; a Mexican valuer he was, but the deal was bad, and it lies there; going rotten it is, the rain wears it, and the sun’s astray, and the wind is gone.”
“That’s a great misfortune. What is on it?” said the Man from Kilsheelan.
“It is a great misfortune, mister man. Laid out it is, turned it is, hackled it is, but faith it will not dry or sweeten, never a hank of it worth a pig’s eye.”
“’Tis the devil and all his injury,” said Kilsheelan.
The young girl, her name it was Christine, sat grieving. One of her beautiful long hands rested on her knee, and she kept beating it with the other. Then she began to speak.
“The captain of that ship lodged in this house with us while the hemp was recovered and sold; a fine handsome sport he was, but fond of the drink, and very friendly with the Mexican man, very hearty97 they were, a great greasy98 man with his hands covered with rings that you’d not believe. Covered! My father had been gone travelling a week or a few days when a dark raging gale99 came off the bay one night till the hemp was lifted all over the field.”
“It would have lifted a bullock,” said Denis, “great lumps of it, like trees.”
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“And we sat waiting the captain, but he didn’t come home and we went sleeping. But in the morning the Mexican man was found dead murdered on the strand below, struck in the skull100, and the two hands of him gone. ’Twas not long when they came to the house and said he was last seen with the captain, drunk quarrelling; and where was he? I said to them that he didn’t come home at all and was away from it. ‘We’ll take a peep at his bed,’ they said, and I brought them there, and my heart gave a strong twist in me when I see’d the captain stretched on it, snoring to the world and his face and hands smeared101 with the blood. So he was brought away and searched, and in his pocket they found one of the poor Mexican’s hands, just the one, but none of the riches. Everything to be so black against him and the assizes just coming on in Cork102! So they took him there before the judge, and he judged him and said it’s to hang he was. And if they asked the captain how he did it, he said he did not do it at all.”
“But there was a bit of iron pipe beside the body,” said Denis.
“And if they asked him where was the other hand, the one with the rings and the mighty jewels on them, and his budget of riches, he said he knew nothing of that nor how the one hand got into his pocket. Placed there it was by some schemer. It was all he could say, for the drink was on him and nothing he knew.
“‘You to be so drunk,’ they said, ‘how did you get home to your bed and nothing heard?’
“‘I don’t know,’ says he. Good sakes, the poor lamb, a gallant103 strong sailor he was! His mind was a blank, he said. ‘’Tis blank,’ said the judge, ‘if it’s as blank as the head of himself with a gap like that in it, God rest him!’”
“You could have put a pound of cheese in it,” said Denis.
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“And Peter Corcoran cried like a loony man, for his courage was gone, like a stream of water. To hang him, the judge said, and to hang him well, was their intention. It was a pity, the judge said, to rob a man because he was foreign, and destroy him for riches and the drink on him. And Peter Corcoran swore he was innocent of this crime. ‘Put a clean shirt to me back,’ says he, ‘for it’s to heaven I’m going.’”
“And,” added Denis, “the peeler at the door said ‘Amen.’”
“That was a week ago,” said Christine, “and in another he’ll be stretched. A handsome sporting sailor boy.”
“Peter Corcoran, the poor lamb,” said Christine.
“Begod,” he cried out as if he was choking, “’tis me grand cousin from Ameriky!”
True it was, and the grief on him so great that Denis was after giving the two of them a lodge20 till the execution was over. “Rest here, my dad’s away,” said he, “and he knowing nothing of the murder, or the robbery, or the hanging that’s coming, nothing. Ah, what will we tell him an’ all? ’Tis a black story on this house.”
“The blessing105 of God and Mary on you,” said Tom Tool. “Maybe we could do a hand’s turn for you; me comrade’s a great wonder with the miracles, maybe he could do a stroke would free an innocent man.”
“Is it joking you are?” asked Christine sternly.
The next day the young girl gave them jobs to do, but the Man from Kilsheelan was destroyed with122 trouble and he shook like water when a pan of it is struck.
“What is on you?” said Tom Tool.
“Vexed107 and waxy108 I am,” says he, “in regard of the great journey we’s took, and sorra a help in the end of it. Why couldn’t he do his bloody109 murder after we had done with him?”
“Maybe he didn’t do it at all.”
“Ah, what are you saying now, Tom Tool? Wouldn’t anyone do it, a nice, easy, innocent crime. The cranky gossoon to get himself stretched on the head of it, ’tis the drink destroyed him! Sure’s there’s no more justice in the world than you’d find in the craw of a sick pullet. Vexed and waxy I am for me careless cousin. Do it! Who wouldn’t do it?”
He went up to the rope that Denis and Christine were weaving together and he put his finger on it.
“Is that the rope,” says he, “that will hang my grand cousin?”
“No,” said Denis, “it is not. His rope came through the post office yesterday. For the prison master it was, a long new rope—saints preserve us—and Jimmy Fallon the postman getting roaring drunk showing it to the scores of creatures would give him a drink for the sight of it. Just coiled it was, and no way hidden, with a label on it, ‘O.H.M.S.’”
“The wind’s rising, you,” said Christine. “Take a couple of forks now, and turn the hemp in the field. Maybe ’twill scour110 the Satan out of it.”
“Stormy it does be, and the bay has darkened in broad noon,” said Tom Tool.
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“Why wouldn’t the whole world be dark and a man to be hung?” said she.
They went to the hemp so knotted and stinking111, and begun raking it and raking it. The wind was roaring from the bay, the hulk twitching112 and tottering113; the gulls114 came off the wave, and Christine’s clothes stretched out from her like the wings of a bird. The hemp heaved upon the paddock like a great beast bursting a snare115 that was on it, and a strong blast drove a heap of it upon the Man from Kilsheelan, twisting and binding116 him in its clasp till he thought he would not escape from it and he went falling and yelping117. Tom Tool unwound him, and sat him in the lew of the stack till he got his strength again, and then he began to moan of his misfortune.
“Stint118 your shouting,” said Tom Tool, “isn’t it as hard to cure as a wart119 on the back of a hedgehog?”
But he wouldn’t stint it. “’Tis large and splendid talk I get from you, Tom Tool, but divil a deed of strength. Vexed and waxy I am. Why couldn’t he do his murder after we’d done with him. What a cranky cousin. What a foolish creature. What a silly man, the devil take him!”
“Let you be aisy,” the other said, “to heaven he is going.”
“And what’s the gain of it, he to go with his neck stretched?”
“Indeed, I did know a man went to heaven once,” began Tom Tool, “but he did not care for it.”
“That’s queer,” said the Man,124 “for it couldn’t be anything you’d not want, indeed to glory.”
“Well, he came back to Ireland on the head of it. I forget what was his name.”
“Was it Corcoran, or Tool, or Horan?”
“No, none of those names. He let on it was a lonely place, not fit for living people or dead people, he said; nothing but trees and streams and beasts and birds.”
“What beasts and birds?”
“Rabbits and badgers120, the elephant, the dromedary, and all those ancient races; eagles and hawks121 and cuckoos and magpies122. He wandered in a thick forest for nights and days like a flea123 in a great beard, and the beasts and the birds setting traps and hooks and dangers for a poor feller; the worst villains124 of all was the sheep.”
“The sheep! What could a sheep do then?” asked Kilsheelan.
“I don’t know the right of it, but you’d not believe me if I told you at all. If you went for the little swim you was not seen again.”
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“I never heard the like of that in Roscommon.”
“Not another holy soul was in it but himself, and if he was taken with the thirst he would dip his hand in a stream that flowed with rich wine and put it to his lips, but if he did it turned into air at once and twisted up in a blue cloud. But grand wine to look at, he said. If he took oranges from a tree he could not bite them, they were chiny oranges, hard as a plate. But beautiful oranges to look at they were. To pick a flower it burst on you like a gun. What was cold was too cold to touch, and what was warm was too warm to swallow, you must throw it up, or die.”
“High it may be, low it may be, it may be here, it may be there.”
“What could the like of a sheep do? A sheep!”
“A devouring126 savage creature it is there, the most hard to come at, the most difficult to conquer, with the teeth of a lion and a tiger, the strength of a bear and a half, the deceit of two foxes, the run of a deer, the...”
“Is it heaven you call it! I’d not look twice at a place the like of that.”
“No, you would not, no.”
“Well, I will not wait then,” said Tom Tool sternly. “When the sinners of the world are called to their judgment, scatter9 they will all over the face of the earth, running like hares till they come to the sea, and there they will perish.”
“Ah, the love of God on the world!”
They went raking and raking, till they came to a great stiff hump of it that rolled over, and they could see sticking from the end of it two boots.
“O, what is it, in the name of God?” asks Kilsheelan.
“Sorra and all, but I’d not like to look,” says Tom Tool, and they called the girl to come see what was it.
“A dead man!” says Christine, in a thin voice with a great tremble coming on her, and she white126 as a tooth. “Unwind him now.” They began to unwind him like a tailor with a bale of tweed, and at last they came to a man black in the face. Strangled he was. The girl let a great cry out of her. “Queen of heaven, ’tis my dad; choked he is, the long strands have choked him, my good pleasant dad!” and she went with a run to the house crying.
“What has he there in his hand?” asked Kilsheelan.
“’Tis a chopper,” says he.
“Do you see what is on it, Tom Tool?”
“Sure I see, and you see, what is on it; blood is on it, and murder is on it. Go fetch a peeler, and I’ll wait while you bring him.”
When his friend was gone for the police Tom Tool took a little squint128 around him and slid his hand into the dead man’s pocket. But if he did he was nearly struck mad from his senses, for he pulled out a loose dead hand that had been chopped off as neat as the foot of a pig. He looked at the dead man’s arms, and there was a hand to each; so he looked at the hand again. The fingers were covered with the rings of gold and diamonds. Covered!
“Glory be to God!” said Tom Tool, and he put his hand in another pocket and fetched a budget full of papers and banknotes.
“Glory be to God!” he said again, and put the hand and the budget back in the pockets, and turned his back and said prayers until the peelers came and took them all off to the court.
It was not long, two days or three, until an inquiry129 was held; grand it was and its judgment was good.127 And the big-Wig asked: “Where is the man that found the body?”
“There are two of him,” says the peeler.
“Swear ’em,” says he, and Kilsheelan stepped up to a great murdering joker of a clerk, who gave him a book in his hand and roared at him: “I swear by Almighty130 God....”
“Yes,” says Kilsheelan.
“Swear it,” says the clerk.
“Indeed I do.”
“You must repeat it,” says the clerk.
“I will, sir.”
“Well, repeat it then,” says he.
“And what will I repeat?”
So he told him again and he repeated it. Then the clerk goes on: “... that the evidence I give....”
“Yes,” says Kilsheelan.
“Say those words, if you please.”
“The words! Och, give me the head of ’em again!”
So he told him again and he repeated it. Then the clerk goes on: “ ... shall be the truth....”
“It will,” says Kilsheelan.
“ ... and nothing but the truth....”
“Yes, begod, indeed!”
“Say ‘nothing but the truth,’” roared the clerk.
“No!” says Kilsheelan.
“Say ‘nothing.’”
“All right,” says Kilsheelan.
“Can’t you say ’nothing but the truth'?”
“Yes,” he says.
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“Well, say it!”
“I will, so,” says he, “the scrapings of sense on it all!”
So they swore them both, and their evidence they gave.
“Very good,” his lordship said, “a most important and opportune131 discovery, in the nick of time, by the tracing of God. There is a reward of fifty pounds offered for the finding of this property and jewels: fifty pounds you will get in due course.”
They said they were obliged to him, though sorrow a one of them knew what he meant by a due course, nor where it was.
Then a lawyer man got the rights of the whole case; he was the cunningest man ever lived in the city of Cork; no one could match him, and he made it straight and he made it clear.
Old Horan must have returned from his journey unbeknown on the night of the gale when the deed was done. Perhaps he had made a poor profit on his toil132, for there was little of his own coin found on his body. He saw the two drunks staggering along the bay—he clove18 in the head of the one with a bit of pipe—he hit the other a good whack133 to still or stiffen134 him—he got an axe135 from the yard—he shore off the Mexican’s two hands, for the rings were grown tight and wouldn’t be drawn136 from his fat fingers. Perhaps he dragged the captain home to his bed—you couldn’t be sure of that—but put the hand in the captain’s pocket he did, and then went to the paddock to bury the treasure. But a blast of wind whipped and wove some of the hemp strand around his limbs, binding him sudden. He was all huffled and hogled129 and went mad with the fear struggling, the hemp rolling him and binding him till he was strangled or smothered137.
And that is what happened him, believe it or no, but believe it you should. It was the tracing of God on him for his dark crime.
Within a week of it Peter Corcoran was away out of gaol138, a stout walking man again, free in Ballygoveen. But on the day of his release he did not go near the ropewalker’s house. The Horans were there waiting, and the two old silly men, but he did not go next or near them. The next day Kilsheelan said to her: “Strange it is my cousin not to seek you, and he a sneezer for gallantry.”
“’Tis no wonder at all,” replied Christine, “and he with his picture in all the papers.”
“But he had a right to have come now and you caring him in his black misfortune,” said Tom Tool.
“Well, he will not come then,” Christine said in her soft voice, “in regard of the red murder on the soul of my dad. And why should he put a mark on his family, and he the captain of a ship.”
In the afternoon Tom Tool and the other went walking to try if they should see him, and they did see him at a hotel, but he was hurrying from it; he had a frieze139 coat on him and a bag in his hand.
“Well, who are you at all?” asks Peter Corcoran.
“You are my cousin from Ameriky,” says Kilsheelan.
“Is that so? And I never heard it,” says Peter.130 “What’s your name?”
The Man from Kilsheelan hung down his old head and couldn’t answer him, but Tom Tool said: “Drifty he is, sir, he forgets his little name.”
“Astray is he? My mother said I’ve cousins in Roscommon, d’ye know ’em? the Twingeings....”
“Twingeing! Owen Twingeing it is!” roared Kilsheelan. “’Tis my name! ’Tis my name! ’Tis my name!” and he danced about squawking like a parrot in a frenzy140.
“If it’s Owen Twingeing you are, I’ll bring you to my mother in Manhattan.” The captain grabbed up his bag. “Haste now, come along out of it. I’m going from the cunning town this minute, bad sleep to it for ever and a month! There’s a cart waiting to catch me the boat train to Queenstown. Will you go? Now?”
“Holy God contrive141 it,” said Kilsheelan; his voice was wheezy as an old goat, and he made to go off with him. “Good-day to you, Tom Tool, you’ll get all the reward and endure a rich life from this out, fortune on it all, a fortune on it all!”
And the two of them were gone in a twink.
Tom Tool went back to the Horans then; night was beginning to dusk and to darken. As he went up the ropewalk Christine came to him from her potato gardens and gave him signs, he to be quiet and follow her down to the strand. So he followed her down to the strand and told her all that happened, till she was vexed and full of tender words for the old fool.
131
“Aren’t you the spit of misfortune? It would daunt a saint, so it would, and scrape a tear from silky Satan’s eye. Those two deluderers, they’ve but the drainings of half a heart between ’em. And he not willing to lift the feather of a thought on me? I’d not forget him till there’s ten days in a week and every one of ’em lucky. But ... but ... isn’t Peter Corcoran the nice name for a captain man, the very pattern?”
She gave him a little bundle into his hands. “There’s a loaf and a cut of meat. You’d best be stirring from here.”
“Yes,” he said, and stood looking stupid, for his mind was in a dream. The rock at one horn of the bay had a red glow on it like the shawl on the neck of a lady, but the other was black now. A man was dragging a turf boat up the beach.
“Listen, you,” said Christine. “There’s two upstart men in the house now, seeking you and the other. There’s trouble and damage on the head of it. From the asylum they are. To the police they have been, to put an embargo142 on the reward, and sorra a sixpence you’ll receive of the fifty pounds of it: to the expenses of the asylum it must go, they say. The treachery! Devil and all, the blood sweating on every coin of it would rot the palm of a nigger. Do you hear me at all?”
She gave him a little shaking for he was standing stupid, gazing at the bay which was dying into grave darkness except for the wash of its broken waves.
“Do you hear me at all? It’s quit now you should, my little old man, or they’ll be taking you.”
132
“Ah, yes, sure, I hear you, Christine; thank you kindly143. Just looking and listening I was. I’ll be stirring from it now, and I’ll get on and I’ll go. Just looking and listening I was, just a wee look.”
“Then good-bye to you, Mr. Tool,” said Christine Horan, and turning from him she left him in the darkness and went running up the ropewalk to her home.
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1
beeches
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| n.山毛榉( beech的名词复数 )；山毛榉木材 | |
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beech
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| n.山毛榉；adj.山毛榉的 | |
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admonishing
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| v.劝告( admonish的现在分词 )；训诫；（温和地）责备；轻责 | |
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leash
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| n.牵狗的皮带，束缚；v.用皮带系住 | |
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brindled
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| adj.有斑纹的 | |
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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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randomly
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| adv.随便地，未加计划地 | |
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8
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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scatter
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| vt.撒，驱散，散开；散布/播；vi.分散，消散 | |
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10
thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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cuffed
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| v.掌打，拳打( cuff的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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farmhouse
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| n.农场住宅（尤指主要住房） | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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14
harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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munch
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| v.用力嚼，大声咀嚼 | |
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munching
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| v.用力咀嚼（某物），大嚼( munch的现在分词 ) | |
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17
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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18
clove
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| n.丁香味 | |
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19
lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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20
lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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21
hanger
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| n.吊架，吊轴承；挂钩 | |
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22
garners
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| v.收集并（通常）贮藏（某物），取得，获得( garner的第三人称单数 ) | |
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23
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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24
lark
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| n.云雀，百灵鸟；n.嬉戏，玩笑；vi.嬉戏 | |
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25
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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26
vegetarian
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| n.素食者；adj.素食的 | |
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hoof
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| n.(马，牛等的)蹄 | |
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fawn
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| n.未满周岁的小鹿；v.巴结，奉承 | |
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29
crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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30
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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31
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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32
swooped
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| 俯冲，猛冲( swoop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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33
squatting
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的现在分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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34
tawny
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| adj.茶色的，黄褐色的；n.黄褐色 | |
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35
buck
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| n.雄鹿，雄兔；v.马离地跳跃 | |
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36
intruding
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| v.侵入，侵扰，打扰( intrude的现在分词)；把…强加于 | |
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37
vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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38
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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39
delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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40
meek
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| adj.温顺的，逆来顺受的 | |
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41
succumbed
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| 不再抵抗（诱惑、疾病、攻击等）( succumb的过去式和过去分词 )； 屈从； 被压垮； 死 | |
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42
conqueror
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| n.征服者，胜利者 | |
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43
nibbling
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| v.啃，一点一点地咬（吃）( nibble的现在分词 )；啃出（洞），一点一点咬出（洞）；慢慢减少；小口咬 | |
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44
hunched
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| （常指因寒冷、生病或愁苦）耸肩弓身的，伏首前倾的 | |
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45
deferential
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| adj. 敬意的，恭敬的 | |
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46
grovelling
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| adj.卑下的，奴颜婢膝的v.卑躬屈节，奴颜婢膝( grovel的现在分词 )；趴 | |
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47
provocative
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| adj.挑衅的，煽动的，刺激的，挑逗的 | |
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48
envious
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| adj.嫉妒的，羡慕的 | |
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49
basted
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| v.打( baste的过去式和过去分词 )；粗缝；痛斥；（烤肉等时）往上抹[浇]油 | |
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50
puny
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| adj.微不足道的，弱小的 | |
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51
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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52
connubial
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| adj.婚姻的，夫妇的 | |
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53
prance
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| v.（马）腾跃，(人)神气活现地走 | |
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54
pounce
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| n.猛扑；v.猛扑，突然袭击，欣然同意 | |
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55
daunt
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| vt.使胆怯，使气馁 | |
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56
vanquished
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| v.征服( vanquish的过去式和过去分词 )；战胜；克服；抑制 | |
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57
miscreant
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| n.恶棍 | |
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58
gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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59
gull
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| n.鸥；受骗的人；v.欺诈 | |
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60
eluding
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| v.（尤指机敏地）避开( elude的现在分词 )；逃避；躲避；使达不到 | |
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61
throb
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| v.震颤，颤动；(急速强烈地)跳动，搏动 | |
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62
protracted
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| adj.拖延的；延长的v.拖延“protract”的过去式和过去分词 | |
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63
faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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64
dribbling
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| n.（燃料或油从系统内）漏泄v.流口水( dribble的现在分词 )；（使液体）滴下或作细流；运球，带球 | |
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65
asylum
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| n.避难所，庇护所，避难 | |
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66
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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67
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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68
feats
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| 功绩，伟业，技艺( feat的名词复数 ) | |
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69
snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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70
gaping
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| adj.口的；张口的；敞口的；多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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71
thatch
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| vt.用茅草覆盖…的顶部；n.茅草(屋) | |
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72
soothe
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| v.安慰；使平静；使减轻；缓和；奉承 | |
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73
nourishment
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| n.食物，营养品；营养情况 | |
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74
converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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75
wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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76
strand
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| vt.使（船）搁浅，使（某人）困于（某地） | |
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77
hemp
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| n.大麻；纤维 | |
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78
apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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79
backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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80
fowls
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| 鸟( fowl的名词复数 )； 禽肉； 既不是这； 非驴非马 | |
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81
conversing
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的现在分词 ) | |
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82
ruffle
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| v.弄皱，弄乱；激怒，扰乱；n.褶裥饰边 | |
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83
belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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84
screech
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| n./v.尖叫；(发出)刺耳的声音 | |
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85
gape
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| v.张口，打呵欠，目瞪口呆地凝视 | |
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86
strands
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| n.（线、绳、金属线、毛发等的）股( strand的名词复数 )；缕；海洋、湖或河的)岸；（观点、计划、故事等的）部份v.使滞留，使搁浅( strand的第三人称单数 ) | |
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87
sodden
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| adj.浑身湿透的；v.使浸透；使呆头呆脑 | |
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88
peddling
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| 忙于琐事的，无关紧要的 | |
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89
strew
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| vt.撒；使散落；撒在…上，散布于 | |
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90
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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92
ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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93
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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94
tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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95
soothed
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| v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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96
salvage
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| v.救助，营救，援救；n.救助，营救 | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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smeared
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| 弄脏； 玷污； 涂抹； 擦上 | |
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cork
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| n.软木，软木塞 | |
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gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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waxy
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| adj.苍白的；光滑的 | |
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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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scour
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| v.搜索；擦，洗，腹泻，冲刷 | |
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stinking
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| adj.臭的，烂醉的，讨厌的v.散发出恶臭( stink的现在分词 )；发臭味；名声臭；糟透 | |
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twitching
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| n.颤搐 | |
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tottering
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| adj.蹒跚的，动摇的v.走得或动得不稳( totter的现在分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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gulls
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| n.鸥( gull的名词复数 )v.欺骗某人( gull的第三人称单数 ) | |
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snare
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| n.陷阱，诱惑，圈套；（去除息肉或者肿瘤的）勒除器；响弦，小军鼓；vt.以陷阱捕获，诱惑 | |
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binding
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| 有约束力的，有效的，应遵守的 | |
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yelping
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| v.发出短而尖的叫声( yelp的现在分词 ) | |
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stint
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| v.节省，限制，停止；n.舍不得化，节约，限制；连续不断的一段时间从事某件事 | |
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wart
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| n.疣，肉赘；瑕疵 | |
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badgers
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| n.獾( badger的名词复数 )；獾皮；（大写）獾州人（美国威斯康星州人的别称）；毛鼻袋熊 | |
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hawks
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| 鹰( hawk的名词复数 )； 鹰派人物，主战派人物 | |
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magpies
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| 喜鹊（magpie的复数形式） | |
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flea
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| n.跳蚤 | |
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villains
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| n.恶棍( villain的名词复数 )；罪犯；（小说、戏剧等中的）反面人物；淘气鬼 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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devouring
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| 吞没( devour的现在分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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squint
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| v. 使变斜视眼, 斜视, 眯眼看, 偏移, 窥视; n. 斜视, 斜孔小窗; adj. 斜视的, 斜的 | |
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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almighty
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| adj.全能的，万能的；很大的，很强的 | |
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opportune
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| adj.合适的，适当的 | |
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toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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whack
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| v.敲击，重打，瓜分；n.重击，重打，尝试，一份 | |
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stiffen
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| v.(使)硬，(使)变挺，(使)变僵硬 | |
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axe
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| n.斧子；v.用斧头砍，削减 | |
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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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smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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gaol
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| n.(jail)监狱；(不加冠词)监禁；vt.使…坐牢 | |
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139
frieze
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| n.(墙上的)横饰带，雕带 | |
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frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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contrive
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| vt.谋划，策划；设法做到；设计，想出 | |
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embargo
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| n.禁运（令）；vt.对...实行禁运，禁止（通商） | |
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143
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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