The Romany Rye Part 31

"I did not say Herod's a.s.s," said I, "but Herodotus, a very genteel writer, I a.s.sure you, who wrote a history about very genteel people, in a language no less genteel than Greek, more than two thousand years ago.

There was a dispute as to who should be king amongst certain imperious chieftains. At last they agreed to obey him whose horse should neigh first on a certain day, in front of the royal palace, before the rising of the sun; for you must know that they did not wors.h.i.+p the person who made the sun as we do, but the sun itself. So one of these chieftains, talking over the matter to his groom, and saying he wondered who would be king, the fellow said, 'Why you, master, or I don't know much about horses.' So the day before the day of trial, what does the groom do, but take his master's horse before the palace and introduce him to a mare in the stable, and then lead him forth again. Well, early the next day all the chieftains on their horses appeared in front of the palace before the dawn of day. Not a horse neighed but one, and that was the horse of him who had consulted with his groom, who, thinking of the animal within the stable, gave such a neigh that all the buildings rang. His rider was forthwith elected king, and a brave king he was. So this shows what seemingly wonderful things may be brought about by a little preparation."

"It doth," said the jockey; "what was the chap's name?"

"His name--his name--Darius Hystaspes."

"And the groom's?"

"I don't know."

"And he made a good king?"

"First-rate."

"Only think! well, if he made a good king, what a wonderful king the groom would have made, through whose knowledge of 'orses he was put on the throne. And now another question, Mr. Romany Rye, have you particular words which have power to soothe or aggravate horses?"

"You should ask me," said I, "whether I have horses that can be aggravated or soothed by particular words. No words have any particular power over horses or other animals who have never heard them before--how, should they? But certain animals connect ideas of misery or enjoyment with particular words which they are acquainted with. I'll give you an example. I knew a cob in Ireland that could be driven to a state of kicking madness by a particular word, used by a particular person, in a particular tone; but that word was connected with a very painful operation which had been performed upon him by that individual, who had frequently employed it at a certain period whilst the animal had been under his treatment. The same cob could be soothed in a moment by another word, used by the same individual in a very different kind of tone; the word was deaghblasda, or sweet tasted. Some time after the operation, whilst the cob was yet under his hands, the fellow--who was what the Irish call a fairy smith--had done all he could to soothe the creature, and had at last succeeded by giving it gingerbread-b.u.t.tons, of which the cob became pa.s.sionately fond. Invariably, however, before giving it a b.u.t.ton, he said, 'Deaghblasda,' with which word the cob by degrees a.s.sociated an idea of unmixed enjoyment: so if he could rouse the cob to madness by the word which recalled the torture to its remembrance, he could as easily soothe it by the other word, which the cob knew would be instantly followed by the b.u.t.ton, which the smith never failed to give him after using the word deaghblasda."

"There is nothing wonderful to be done," said the jockey, "without a good deal of preparation, as I know myself. Folks stare and wonder at certain things which they would only laugh at if they knew how they were done; and to prove what I say is true, I will give you one or two examples. Can either of you lend me a handkerchief? That won't do," said he, as I presented him with a silk one. "I wish for a delicate white handkerchief. That's just the kind of thing," said he, as the Hungarian offered him a fine white cambric handkerchief, beautifully worked with gold at the hems; "now you shall see me set this handkerchief on fire."

"Don't let him do so by any means," said the Hungarian, speaking to me in German, "it is the gift of a lady whom I highly admire, and I would not have it burnt for the world." "He has no occasion to be under any apprehension," said the jockey, after I had interpreted to him what the Hungarian had said, "I will restore it to him uninjured, or my name is not Jack Dale." Then sticking the handkerchief carelessly into the left side of his bosom, he took the candle, which by this time had burnt very low, and holding his head back, he applied the flame to the handkerchief, which instantly seemed to catch fire. "What do you think of that?" said he to the Hungarian. "Why, that you have ruined me," said the latter.

"No harm done, I a.s.sure you," said the jockey, who presently, clapping his hand on his bosom, extinguished the fire, and returned the handkerchief to the Hungarian, asking him if it was burnt. "I see no burn upon it," said the Hungarian; "but in the name of Gott, how could you set it on fire without burning it?" "I never set it on fire at all,"

said the jockey; "I set this on fire," showing us a piece of half-burnt calico. "I placed this calico above it, and lighted not the handkerchief, but the rag. Now I will show you something else. I have a magic s.h.i.+lling in my pocket, which I can make run up along my arm. But, first of all, I would gladly know whether either of you can do the like."

Thereupon the Hungarian and myself, putting our hands into our pockets, took out s.h.i.+llings, and endeavoured to make them run up our arms, but utterly failed; both s.h.i.+llings, after we had made two or three attempts, falling to the ground. "What noncomposses you both are," said the jockey; and placing a s.h.i.+lling on the end of the fingers of his right hand he made strange faces to it, drawing back his head, whereupon the s.h.i.+lling instantly began to run up his arm, occasionally hopping and jumping as if it were bewitched, always endeavouring to make towards the head of the jockey.

"How do I do that?" said he, addressing himself to me. "I really do not know," said I, "unless it is by the motion of your arm." "The motion of my nonsense," said the jockey, and, making a dreadful grimace, the s.h.i.+lling hopped upon his knee, and began to run up his thigh and to climb up his breast. "How is that done?" said he again. "By witchcraft, I suppose," said I. "There you are right," said the jockey; "by the witchcraft of one of Miss Berners' hairs; the end of one of her long hairs is tied to that s.h.i.+lling by means of a hole in it, and the other end goes round my neck by means of a loop; so that, when I draw back my head, the s.h.i.+lling follows it. I suppose you wish to know how I got the hair," said he, grinning at me. "I will tell you. I once, in the course of my ridings, saw Miss Berners beneath a hedge, combing out her long hair, and, being rather a modest kind of person, what must I do but get off my horse, tie him to a gate, go up to her, and endeavour to enter into conversation with her. After giving her the sele of the day, and complimenting her on her hair, I asked her to give me one of the threads; whereupon she gave me such a look, and, calling me fellow, told me to take myself off. 'I must have a hair first,' said I, making a s.n.a.t.c.h at one. I believe I hurt her; but, whether I did or not, up she started, and, though her hair was unbound, gave me the only drubbing I ever had in my life. Lor! how, with her right hand, she fibbed me whilst she held me round the neck with her left arm; I was soon glad to beg her pardon on my knees, which she gave me in a moment, when she saw me in that condition, being the most placable creature in the world, and not only her pardon, but one of the hairs which I longed for, which I put through a s.h.i.+lling, with which I have on evenings after fairs, like this, frequently worked what seemed to those who looked on downright witchcraft, but which is nothing more than pleasant deception. And now, Mr. Romany Rye, to testify my regard for you, I give you the s.h.i.+lling and the hair. I think you have a kind of respect for Miss Berners; but whether you have or not, keep them as long as you can, and whenever you look at them think of the finest woman in England, and of John Dale, the jockey of Horncastle. I believe I have told you my history," said he--"no, not quite; there is one circ.u.mstance I had pa.s.sed over. I told you that I have thriven very well in business, and so I have, upon the whole; at any rate, I find myself comfortably off now. I have horses, money, and owe n.o.body a groat; at any rate, nothing but what I could pay to-morrow. Yet I have had my dreary day, ay, after I had obtained what I call a station in the world. All of a sudden, about five years ago, everything seemed to go wrong with me--horses became sick or died, people who owed me money broke or ran away, my house caught fire, in fact, everything went against me; and not from any mismanagement of my own. I looked round for help, but--what do you think?--n.o.body would help me. Somehow or other it had got abroad that I was in difficulties, and everybody seemed disposed to avoid me, as if I had got the plague. Those who were always offering me help when I wanted none, now, when they thought me in trouble, talked of arresting me. Yes; two particular friends of mine, who had always been offering me their purses when my own was stuffed full, now talked of arresting me, though I only owed the scoundrels a hundred pounds each; and they would have done so, provided I had not paid them what I owed them; and how did I do that? Why, I was able to do it because I found a friend--and who was that friend? Why, a man who has since been hung, of whom everybody has heard, and of whom everybody for the next hundred years will occasionally talk.

"One day, whilst in trouble, I was visited by a person I had occasionally met at sporting-dinners. He came to look after a Suffolk Punch, the best horse, by the bye, that anybody can purchase to drive, it being the only animal of the horse kind in England that will pull twice at a dead weight. I told him that I had none at that time that I could recommend; in fact, that every horse in my stable was sick. He then invited me to dine with him at an inn close by, and I was glad to go with him, in the hope of getting rid of unpleasant thoughts. After dinner, during which he talked nothing but slang, observing I looked very melancholy, he asked me what was the matter with me, and I, my heart being opened by the wine he had made me drink, told him my circ.u.mstances without reserve. With an oath or two for not having treated him at first like a friend, he said he would soon set me all right; and pulling out two hundred pounds, told me to pay him when I could. I felt as I never felt before; however, I took his notes, paid my sneaks, and in less than three months was right again, and had returned him his money. On paying it to him, I said that I had now a Punch which would just suit him, saying that I would give it to him--a free gift--for nothing. He swore at me;--telling me to keep my Punch, for that he was suited already. I begged him to tell me how I could requite him for his kindness, whereupon, with the most dreadful oath I ever heard, he bade me come and see him hanged when his time was come. I wrung his hand, and told him I would, and I kept my word. The night before the day he was hanged at H---, I harnessed a Suffolk Punch to my light gig, the same Punch which I had offered to him, which I have ever since kept, and which brought me and this short young man to Horncastle, and in eleven hours I drove that Punch one hundred and ten miles. I arrived at H--- just in the nick of time. There was the ugly jail--the scaffold--and there upon it stood the only friend I ever had in the world. Driving my Punch, which was all in a foam, into the midst of the crowd, which made way for me as if it knew what I came for, I stood up in my gig, took off my hat, and shouted, 'G.o.d Almighty bless you, Jack!' The dying man turned his pale grim face towards me--for his face was always somewhat grim, do you see--nodded and said, or I thought I heard him say, 'All right, old chap.' The next moment--my eyes water. He had a high heart, got into a sc.r.a.pe whilst in the marines, lost his half- pay, took to the turf, ring, gambling, and at last cut the throat of a villain who had robbed him of nearly all he had. But he had good qualities, and I know for certain that he never did half the bad things laid to his charge; for example, he never bribed Tom Oliver to fight cross, as it was said he did on the day of the awful thunder-storm. Ned Flatnose fairly beat Tom Oliver, for though Ned was not what's called a good fighter, he had a particular blow, which if he could put in he was sure to win. His right shoulder, do you see, was two inches farther back than it ought to have been, and consequently his right fist generally fell short; but if he could swing himself round, and put in a blow with that right arm, he could kill or take away the senses of anybody in the world. It was by putting in that blow in his second fight with Spring that he beat n.o.ble Tom. Spring beat him like a sack in the first battle, but in the second Ned Painter--for that was his real name--contrived to put in his blow, and took the senses out of Spring; and in like manner he took the senses out of Tom Oliver.

"Well, some are born to be hanged, and some are not; and many of those who are not hanged are much worse than those who are. Jack, with many a good quality, is hanged, whilst that fellow of a lord, who wanted to get the horse from you at about two-thirds of his value, without a single good quality in the world, is not hanged, and probably will remain so.

You ask the reason why, perhaps. I'll tell you; the lack of a certain quality called courage, which Jack possessed in abundance, will preserve him; from the love which he bears his own neck he will do nothing which can bring him to the gallows. In my rough way I'll draw their characters from their childhood, and then ask whether Jack was not the best character of the two. Jack was a rough, audacious boy, fond of fighting, going a birds'-nesting, but I never heard he did anything particularly cruel save once, I believe, tying a canister to a butcher's dog's tail; whilst this fellow of a lord was by nature a savage beast, and when a boy would in winter pluck poor fowls naked, and set them running on the ice and in the snow, and was particularly fond of burning cats alive in the fire. Jack, when a lad, gets a commission on board a s.h.i.+p as an officer of horse marines, and in two or three engagements behaves quite up to the mark--at least of a marine; the marines having no particular character for courage, you know--never having run to the guns and fired them like madmen after the blue jackets had had more than enough. Oh, dear me, no!

My lord gets into the valorous British army, where cowardice--Oh, dear me!--is a thing almost entirely unknown; and being on the field of Waterloo the day before the battle, falls off his horse, and, pretending to be hurt in the back, gets himself put on the sick list--a pretty excuse--hurting his back--for not being present at such a fight. Old Benbow, after part of both his legs had been shot away in a sea-fight, made the carpenter make him a cradle to hold his b.l.o.o.d.y stumps, and continued on deck, cheering his men till he died. Jack returns home, and gets into trouble, and having nothing to subsist by but his wits, gets his living by the ring and the turf, doing many an odd kind of thing, I dare say, but not half those laid to his charge. My lord does much the same without the excuse for doing so which Jack had, for he had plenty of means, is a leg, and a black, only in a more polished way, and with more cunning, and I may say success, having done many a rascally thing never laid to his charge. Jack at last cuts the throat of a villain who had cheated him of all he had in the world, and who, I am told, was in many points the counterpart of this screw and white feather, is taken up, tried, and executed; and certainly taking away a man's life is a dreadful thing; but is there nothing as bad? Whitefeather will cut no person's throat--I will not say who has cheated him, for, being a cheat himself, he will take good care that n.o.body cheats him, but he'll do something quite as bad; out of envy to a person who never injured him, and whom he hates for being more clever and respected than himself, he will do all he possibly can, by backbiting and every unfair means, to do that person a mortal injury. But Jack is hanged, and my lord it not. Is that right?

My wife, Mary Fulcher--I beg her pardon, Mary Dale--who is a Methodist, and has heard the mighty preacher, Peter Williams, says some people are preserved from hanging by the grace of G.o.d. With her I differs, and says it is from want of courage. This Whitefeather, with one particle of Jack's courage, and with one t.i.the of his good qualities, would have been hanged long ago, for he has ten times Jack's malignity. Jack was hanged because, along with his bad qualities, he had courage and generosity; this fellow is not, because with all Jack's bad qualities, and many more, amongst which is cunning, he has neither courage nor generosity. Think of a fellow like that putting down two hundred pounds to relieve a distressed fellow-creature; why he would rob, but for the law and the fear it fills him with, a workhouse child of its breakfast, as the saying is--and has been heard to say that he would not trust his own father for sixpence, and he can't imagine why such a thing as credit should be ever given. I never heard a person give him a good word--stay, stay, yes! I once heard an old parson, to whom I sold a Punch, say that he had the art of receiving company gracefully and dismissing them without refreshment.

I don't wish to be too hard with him, and so let him make the most of that compliment. Well! he manages to get on, whilst Jack is hanged; not quite enviably, however; he has had his rubs, and pretty hard ones--everybody knows he slunk from Waterloo, and occasionally checks him with so doing; whilst he has been rejected by a woman--what a mortification to the low pride of which the scoundrel has plenty! There's a song about both circ.u.mstances, which may, perhaps, ring in his ears on a dying bed. It's a funny kind of song, set to the old tune of the Lord- Lieutenant or Deputy, and with it I will conclude my discourse, for I really think it's past one." The jockey then, with a very tolerable voice, sung the following song:--

THE JOCKEY'S SONG.

Now list to a ditty both funny and true!-- Merrily moves the dance along-- A ditty that tells of a coward and screw, My Lord-Lieutenant so free and young.

Sir Plume, though not liking a bullet at all,-- Merrily moves the dance along-- Had yet resolution to go to a _ball_, My Lord-Lieutenant so free and young.

"Woulez wous danser, mademoiselle?"-- Merrily moves the dance along;-- Said she, "Sir, to dance I should like very well,"

My Lord-Lieutenant so free and young.

They danc'd to the left, and they danc'd to the right,-- Merrily moves the dance along;-- And her troth the fair damsel bestow'd on the knight, My Lord-Lieutenant so free and young.

"Now what shall I fetch you, mademoiselle?"-- Merrily moves the dance along;-- Said she, "Sir, an ice I should like very well,"

My Lord-Lieutenant so free and young.

But the ice, when he'd got it, he instantly ate,-- Merrily moves the dance along;-- Although his poor partner was all in a fret, My Lord-Lieutenant so free and young.

He ate up the ice like a prudent young lord,-- Merrily moves the dance along;-- For he saw 't was the very last ice on the board,-- My Lord-Lieutenant so free and young.

"Now, when shall we marry?" the gentleman cried;-- Merrily moves the dance along;-- "Sir, get you to Jordan," the damsel replied, My Lord-Lieutenant so free and young.

"I never will wed with the pitiful elf"-- Merrily moves the dance along-- "Who ate up the ice which I wanted myself,"

My Lord-Lieutenant so free and young.

"I'd pardon your backing from red Waterloo,"-- Merrily moves the dance along-- "But I never will wed with a coward and screw,"

My Lord-Lieutenant so free and young.

CHAPTER XLIII

The Church.

The next morning I began to think of departing; I had sewed up the money which I had received for the horse in a portion of my clothing, where I entertained no fears for its safety, with the exception of a small sum in notes, gold, and silver, which I carried in my pocket. Ere departing, however, I determined to stroll about and examine the town, and observe more particularly the humours of the fair than I had hitherto an opportunity of doing. The town, when I examined it, offered no object worthy of attention but its church--an edifice of some antiquity; under the guidance of an old man, who officiated as s.e.xton, I inspected its interior attentively, occasionally conversing with my guide, who, however, seemed much more disposed to talk about horses than the church.

"No good horses in the fair this time, measter," said he; "none but one brought hither by a chap whom n.o.body knows, and bought by a foreigneering man, who came here with Jack Dale. The horse fetched a good swinging price, which is said, however, to be much less than its worth; for the horse is a regular clipper; not such a one, 'tis said, has been seen in the fair for several summers. Lord Whitefeather says that he believes the fellow who brought him to be a highwayman, and talks of having him taken up, but Lord Whitefeather is only in a rage because he could not get him for himself. The chap would not sell it to un; Lord Screw wanted to beat him down, and the chap took huff, said he wouldn't sell it to him at no price, and accepted the offer of the foreigneering man, or of Jack, who was his 'terpreter, and who scorned to higgle about such a hanimal, because Jack is a gentleman, though bred a d.i.c.key-boy, whilst t'other, though bred a lord, is a screw and a whitefeather. Every one says the cove was right, and I says so too; I likes spirit, and if the cove were here, and in your place, measter, I would invite him to drink a pint of beer. Good horses are scarce now, measter, ay, and so are good men, quite a different set from what there were when I was young; that was the time for men and horses. Lord bless you, I know all the breeders about here; they are not a bad set, and they breed a very fairish set of horses, but they are not like what their fathers were, nor are their horses like their fathers' horses. Now there is Mr. --- the great breeder, a very fairish man, with very fairish horses; but, Lord bless you, he's nothing to what his father was, nor his steeds to his father's; I ought to know, for I was at the school here with his father, and afterwards for many a year helped him to get up his horses; that was when I was young, measter--those were the days. You look at that monument, measter," said he, as I stopped and looked attentively at a monument on the southern side of the church near the altar; "that was put up for a rector of this church, who lived a long time ago, in Oliver's time, and was ill-treated and imprisoned by Oliver and his men; you will see all about it on the monument. There was a grand battle fought nigh this place, between Oliver's men and the Royal party, and the Royal party had the worst of it, as I'm told they generally had; and Oliver's men came into the town, and did a great deal of damage, and ill-treated the people. I can't remember anything about the matter myself, for it happened just one hundred years before I was born, but my father was acquainted with an old countryman, who lived not many miles from here, who said he remembered perfectly well the day of the battle; that he was a boy at the time, and was working in a field near the place where the battle was fought; and heard shouting, and noise of firearms, and also the sound of several b.a.l.l.s, which fell in the field near him. Come this way, measter, and I will show you some remains of that day's field."

Leaving the monument, on which was inscribed an account of the life and sufferings of the Royalist Rector of Horncastle, I followed the s.e.xton to the western end of the church, where, hanging against the wall, were a number of scythes stuck in the ends of poles. "Those are the weapons, measter," said the s.e.xton, "which the great people put into the hands of the country folks, in order that they might use them against Oliver's men; ugly weapons enough; however, Oliver's men won, and Sir Jacob Ashley and his party were beat. And a rare time Oliver and his men had of it, till Oliver died, when the other party got the better, not by fighting, 'tis said, but through a General Monk, who turned sides. Ah, the old fellow that my father knew, said he well remembered the time when General Monk went over and proclaimed Charles the Second. Bonfires were lighted everywhere, oxen roasted, and beer drunk by pailfuls; the country folks were drunk with joy, and something else; sung scurvy songs about Oliver to the tune of Barney Banks, and pelted his men, wherever they found them, with stones and dirt." "The more ungrateful scoundrels they," said I. "Oliver and his men fought the battle of English independence against a wretched king and corrupt lords. Had I been living at the time, I should have been proud to be a trooper of Oliver." "You would, measter, would you? Well, I never quarrels with the opinions of people who come to look at the church, and certainly independence is a fine thing. I like to see a chap of an independent spirit, and if I were now to see the cove that refused to sell his horse to my Lord Screw and Whitefeather, and let Jack Dale have him, I would offer to treat him to a pint of beer--e'es, I would, verily. Well, measter, you have now seen the church, and all there's in it worth seeing--so I'll just lock up, and go and finish digging the grave I was about when you came, after which I must go into the fair to see how matters are going on. Thank ye, measter," said he, as I put something into his hand; "thank ye kindly; 'tis not every one who gives me a s.h.i.+lling now-a-days who comes to see the church, but times are very different from what they were when I was young; I was not s.e.xton then, but something better; helped Mr. --- with his horses, and got many a broad crown. Those were the days, measter, both for men and horses--and I say, measter, if men and horses were so much better when I was young than they are now, what, I wonder, must they have been in the time of Oliver and his men?"

CHAPTER XLIV

An Old Acquaintance.

Leaving the church, I strolled through the fair, looking at the horses, listening to the chaffering of the buyers and sellers, and occasionally putting in a word of my own, which was not always received with much deference; suddenly, however, on a whisper arising that I was the young cove who had brought the wonderful horse to the fair which Jack Dale had bought for the foreigneering man, I found myself an object of the greatest attention; those who had before replied with stuff! and nonsense! to what I said, now listened with the greatest eagerness to any nonsense I wished to utter, and I did not fail to utter a great deal; presently, however, becoming disgusted with the beings about me, I forced my way, not very civilly, through my crowd of admirers; and pa.s.sing through an alley and a back street, at last reached an outskirt of the fair, where no person appeared to know me. Here I stood, looking vacantly on what was going on, musing on the strange infatuation of my species, who judge of a person's words, not from their intrinsic merit, but from the opinion--generally an erroneous one--which they have formed of the person. From this reverie I was roused by certain words which sounded near me, uttered in a strange tone, and in a strange cadence--the words were, "them that finds, wins; and them that can't find, loses."

Turning my eyes in the direction from which the words proceeded, I saw six or seven people, apparently all countrymen, gathered round a person standing behind a tall white table of very small compa.s.s. "What!" said I, "the thimble-engro of --- Fair here at Horncastle." Advancing nearer, however, I perceived that though the present person was a thimble-engro, he was a very different one from my old acquaintance of --- Fair. The present one was a fellow about half-a-foot taller than the other. He had a long, haggard, wild face, and was dressed in a kind of jacket, something like that of a soldier, with dirty hempen trousers, and with a foreign-looking peaked hat on his head. He spoke with an accent evidently Irish, and occasionally changed the usual thimble formule, "them that finds wins, and them that can't--och, sure!--they loses;"

saying also frequently, "your honour," instead of "my lord." I observed, on drawing nearer, that he handled the pea and thimble with some awkwardness, like that which might be expected from a novice in the trade. He contrived, however, to win several s.h.i.+llings, for he did not seem to play for gold, from "their honours." Awkward, as he was, he evidently did his best, and never flung a chance away by permitting any one to win. He had just won three s.h.i.+llings from a farmer, who, incensed at his loss, was calling him a confounded cheat, and saying that he would play no more, when up came my friend of the preceding day, Jack, the jockey. This worthy, after looking at the thimble-man a moment or two, with a peculiarly crafty glance, cried out, as he clapped down a s.h.i.+lling on the table, "I will stand you, old fellow!" "Them that finds wins; and them that can't--och, sure!--they loses," said the thimble-man. The game commenced, and Jack took up the thimble without finding the pea; another s.h.i.+lling was produced, and lost in the same manner; "this is slow work,"

said Jack, banging down a guinea on the table; "can you cover that, old fellow?" The man of the thimble looked at the gold, and then at him who produced it, and scratched his head. "Come, cover that, or I shall be off," said the jockey. "Och, sure, my lord!--no, I mean your honour--no, sure, your lords.h.i.+p," said the other, "if I covers it at all, it must be with silver, for divil a bit of gold have I by me." "Well, then, produce the value in silver," said the jockey, "and do it quickly, for I can't be staying here all day." The thimble-man hesitated, looked at Jack with a dubious look, then at the gold, and then scratched his head. There was now a laugh amongst the surrounders, which evidently nettled the fellow, who forthwith thrust his hand into his pocket, and pulling out all his silver treasure, just contrived to place the value of the guinea on the table. "Them that finds wins, and them that can't find--_loses_,"

interrupted Jack, lifting up a thimble, out of which rolled a pea.

"There, paddy, what do you think of that?" said he, seizing the heap of silver with one hand, whilst he pocketed the guinea with the other. The thimble-engro stood, for some time, like one transfixed, his eyes glaring wildly, now at the table, and now at his successful customers; at last he said, "Arrah, sure, master!--no, I manes my lord--you are not going to ruin a poor boy!" "Ruin you!" said the other; "what! by winning a guinea's change? a pretty small dodger you--if you have not sufficient capital, why do you engage in so deep a trade as thimbling? come, will you stand another game?" "Och, sure, master, no! the twenty s.h.i.+llings and one which you have cheated me of were all I had in the world."

"Cheated you," said Jack, "say that again, and I will knock you down."

"Arrah! sure, master, you knows that the pea under the thimble was not mine; here is mine, master; now give me back my money." "A likely thing," said Jack; "no, no, I know a trick worth two or three of that; whether the pea was yours or mine, you will never have your twenty s.h.i.+llings and one again; and if I have ruined you, all the better; I'd gladly ruin all such villains as you, who ruin poor men with your dirty tricks, whom you would knock down and rob on the road, if you had but courage; not that I mean to keep your s.h.i.+llings, with the exception of the two you cheated from me, which I'll keep. A scramble, boys! a scramble!" said he, flinging up all the silver into the air, with the exception of the two s.h.i.+llings; and a scramble there instantly was, between the rustics who had lost their money and the urchins who came running up; the poor thimble-engro tried likewise to have his share; and though he flung himself down, in order to join more effectually in the scramble, he was unable to obtain a single sixpence; and having in his rage given some of his fellow-scramblers a cuff or two, he was set upon by the boys and country fellows, and compelled to make an inglorious retreat with his table, which had been flung down in the scuffle, and had one of its legs broken. As he retired, the rabble hooted, and Jack, holding up in derision the pea with which he had outmanoeuvred him, exclaimed, "I always carry this in my pocket in order to be a match for vagabonds like you."

The tumult over, Jack gone, and the rabble dispersed, I followed the discomfited adventurer at a distance, who, leaving the town, went slowly on, carrying his dilapidated piece of furniture; till coming to an old wall by the roadside, he placed it on the ground, and sat down, seemingly in deep despondency, holding his thumb to his mouth. Going nearly up to him, I stood still, whereupon he looked up, and perceiving I was looking steadfastly at him, he said, in an angry tone, "Arrah! what for are you staring at me so? By my shoul, I think you are one of the thaives who are after robbing me. I think I saw you among them, and if I were only sure of it, I would take the liberty of trying to give you a big bating."

"You have had enough of trying to give people a beating," said I; "you had better be taking your table to some skilful carpenter to get it repaired. He will do it for sixpence." "Divil a sixpence did you and your thaives leave me," said he; "and if you do not take yourself off, joy, I will be breaking your ugly head with the foot of it." "Arrah, Murtagh!" said I, "would ye be breaking the head of your friend and scholar, to whom you taught the blessed tongue of Oilien nan Naomha, in exchange for a pack of cards?" Murtagh, for he it was, gazed at me for a moment with a bewildered look; then, with a gleam of intelligence in his eye, he said, "Shorsha! no, it can't be--yes, by my faith it is!" Then, springing up, and seizing me by the hand, he said, "Yes, by the powers, sure enough it is Shorsha agra! Arrah, Shorsha! where have you been this many a day? Sure, you are not one of the spalpeens who are after robbing me?" "Not I," I replied, "but I saw all that happened. Come, you must not take matters so to heart; cheer up; such things will happen in connection with the trade you have taken up." "Sorrow befall the trade, and the thief who taught it me," said Murtagh; "and yet the trade is not a bad one, if I only knew more of it, and had some one to help and back me. Och! the idea of being cheated and bamboozled by that one-eyed thief in the horseman's dress." "Let bygones be bygones, Murtagh," said I; "it is no use grieving for the past; sit down, and let us have a little pleasant gossip. Arrah, Murtagh! when I saw you sitting under the wall, with your thumb to your mouth, it brought to my mind tales which you used to tell me all about Finn-ma-Coul. You have not forgotten Finn-ma-Coul, Murtagh, and how he sucked wisdom out of his thumb." "Sorrow a bit have I forgot about him, Shorsha," said Murtagh, as we sat down together, "nor what you yourself told me about the snake. Arrah, Shorsha! what ye told me about the snake, bates anything I ever told you about Finn. Ochone, Shorsha! perhaps you will be telling me about the snake once more? I think the tale would do me good, and I have need of comfort, G.o.d knows, ochone!" Seeing Murtagh in such a distressed plight, I forthwith told him over again the tale of the snake, in precisely the same words as I have related it in the first part of this history. After which, I said, "Now, Murtagh, t.i.t for tat; ye will be telling me one of the old stories of Finn-ma-Coul." "Och, Shorsha! I haven't heart enough," said Murtagh.

"Thank you for your tale, but it makes me weep; it brings to my mind Dungarvon times of old--I mean the times we were at school together."

"Cheer up, man," said I, "and let's have the story, and let it be about Ma-Coul and the salmon and his thumb." "Arrah, Shorsha! I can't. Well, to oblige you, I'll give it you. Well, you know Ma-Coul was an exposed child, and came floating over the salt sea in a chest which was cast ash.o.r.e at Veintry Bay. In the corner of that bay was a castle, where dwelt a giant and his wife, very respectable and decent people, and this giant, taking his morning walk along the bay, came to the place where the child had been cast ash.o.r.e in his box. Well, the giant looked at the child, and being filled with compa.s.sion for his exposed state, took the child up in his box, and carried him home to his castle, where he and his wife, being dacent respectable people, as I telled ye before, fostered the child and took care of him, till he became old enough to go out to service and gain his livelihood, when they bound him out apprentice to another giant, who lived in a castle up the country, at some distance from the bay.

"This giant, whose name was Darmod David Odeen, was not a respectable person at all, but a big old vagabond. He was twice the size of the other giant, who, though bigger than any man, was not a big giant; for, as there are great and small men, so there are great and small giants--I mean some are small when compared with the others. Well, Finn served this giant a considerable time, doing all kinds of hard and unreasonable service for him, and receiving all kinds of hard words, and many a hard knock and kick to boot--sorrow befall the old vagabond who could thus ill- treat a helpless foundling. It chanced that one day the giant caught a salmon, near a salmon-leap upon his estate--for, though a big ould blackguard, he was a person of considerable landed property, and high sheriff for the county Cork. Well, the giant brings home the salmon by the gills, and delivers it to Finn, telling him to roast it for the giant's dinner; 'but take care, ye young blackguard,' he added, 'that in roasting it--and I expect ye to roast it well--you do not let a blister come upon its nice satin skin, for if ye do, I will cut the head off your shoulders.' 'Well,' thinks Finn, 'this is a hard task; however, as I have done many hard tasks for him, I will try and do this too, though I was never set to do anything yet half so difficult.' So he prepared his fire, and put his gridiron upon it, and lays the salmon fairly and softly upon the gridiron, and then he roasts it, turning it from one side to the other just in the nick of time, before the soft satin skin could be blistered. However, on turning it over the eleventh time--and twelve would have settled the business--he found he had delayed a little bit of time too long in turning it over, and that there was a small, tiny blister on the soft outer skin. Well, Finn was in a mighty panic, remembering the threats of the ould giant; however, he did not lose heart, but clapped his thumb upon the blister in order to smooth it down.