So fill the brim, and here's to him
Who'd drink in punch the Solway,
With debts galore, but fun far more,--
Oh, that's "the man for Galway."
CHORUS: With debts, etc.

I much fear that the reception of this very classic ode would not be as
favorable in general companies as it was on the occasion I first heard it;
for certainly the applause was almost deafening, and even Sir George, the
defects of whose English education left some of the allusions out of his
reach, was highly amused, and laughed heartily.

The conversation once more reverted to the election; and although I was too
far from those who seemed best informed on the matter to hear much, I could
catch enough to discover that the feeling was a confident one. This was
gratifying to me, as I had some scruples about my so long neglecting my
uncle's cause.

"We have Scariff to a man," said Bodkin.

"And Mosey's tenantry," said another. "I swear, though there's not a
freehold registered on the estate, that they'll vote, every mother's son
of them, or devil a stone of the court-house they'll leave standing on
another."

"And may the Lord look to the returning officer!" said a third, throwing up
his eyes.

"Mosey's tenantry are droll boys; and like their landlord, more by token,
they never pay any rent."

"And what for shouldn't they vote?" said a dry-looking little old fellow in
a red waistcoat; "when I was the dead agent--"

"The dead agent!" interrupted Sir George, with a start.

"Just so," said the old fellow, pulling down his spectacles from his
forehead, and casting a half-angry look at Sir George, for what he had
suspected to be a doubt of his veracity.

"The general does not know, may be, what that is," said some one.

"You have just anticipated me," said Sir George; "I really am in most
profound ignorance."

"It is the dead agent," says Mr. Blake, "who always provides substitutes
for any voters that may have died since the last election. A very important
fact in statistics may thus be gathered from the poll-books of this county,
which proves it to be the healthiest part of Europe,--a freeholder has not
died in it for the last fifty years."

"The 'Kiltopher boys' won't come this time; they say there's no use trying
to vote when so many were transported last assizes for perjury."

"They're poor-spirited creatures," said another.

"Not they,--they are as decent boys as any we have; they're willing to
wreck the town for fifty shillings' worth of spirits. Besides, if they
don't vote for the county, they will for the borough."

This declaration seemed to restore these interesting individuals to favor;
and now all attention was turned towards Bodkin, who was detailing the plan
of a grand attack upon the polling-booths, to be headed by himself. By this
time, all the prudence and guardedness of the party had given way; whiskey
was in the ascendant, and every bold stroke of election policy, every
cunning artifice, every ingenious device, was detailed and applauded in
a manner which proved that self-respect was not the inevitable gift of
"mountain dew."

The mirth and fun grew momentarily more boisterous, and Miles Bodkin, who
had twice before been prevented proposing some toast by a telegraphic
signal from the other end of the table, now swore that nothing should
prevent him any longer, and rising with a smoking tumbler in his hand,
delivered himself as follows:--

"No, no, Phil Blake, ye needn't be winkin' at me that way; it's little I
care for the spawn of the ould serpent. [Here great cheers greeted the
speaker, in which, without well knowing why, I heartily joined.] I'm going
to give a toast, boys,--a real good toast, none of your sentimental things
about wall-flowers or the vernal equinox, or that kind of thing, but a
sensible, patriotic, manly, intrepid toast,--toast you must drink in the
most universal, laborious, and awful manner: do ye see now? [Loud cheers.]
If any man of you here present doesn't drain this toast to the bottom [here
the speaker looked fixedly at me, as did the rest of the company]--then, by
the great-gun of Athlone, I'll make him eat the decanter, glass-stopper and
all, for the good of his digestion: d'ye see now?"

The cheering at this mild determination prevented my hearing what followed;
but the peroration consisted in a very glowing eulogy upon some person
unknown, and a speedy return to him as member for Galway. Amidst all the
noise and tumult at this critical moment, nearly every eye at the table was
turned upon me; and as I concluded that they had been drinking my uncle's
health, I thundered away at the mahogany with all my energy. At length the
hip-hipping over, and comparative quiet restored, I rose from my seat to
return thanks; but, strange enough, Sir George Dashwood did so likewise.
And there we both stood, amidst an uproar that might well have shaken the
courage of more practised orators; while from every side came cries of
"Hear, hear!"--"Go on, Sir George!"--"Speak out, General!"--"Sit down,
Charley!"--"Confound the boy!"--"Knock the legs from under him!" etc. Not
understanding why Sir George should interfere with what I regarded as my
peculiar duty, I resolved not to give way, and avowed this determination in
no very equivocal terms. "In that case," said the general, "I am to suppose
that the young gentleman moves an amendment to your proposition; and as the
etiquette is in his favor, I yield." Here he resumed his place amidst a
most terrific scene of noise and tumult, while several humane proposals as
to my treatment were made around me, and a kind suggestion thrown out to
break my neck by a near neighbor. Mr. Blake at length prevailed upon the
party to hear what I had to say,--for he was certain I should not detain
them above a minute. The commotion having in some measure subsided, I
began: "Gentlemen, as the adopted son of the worthy man whose health you
have just drunk--" Heaven knows how I should have continued; but here my
eloquence was met by such a roar of laughing as I never before listened to.
From one end of the board to the other it was one continued shout, and went
on, too, as if all the spare lungs of the party had been kept in reserve
for the occasion. I turned from one to the other; I tried to smile, and
seemed to participate in the joke, but failed; I frowned; I looked savagely
about where I could see enough to turn my wrath thitherward,--and, as it
chanced, not in vain; for Mr. Miles Bodkin, with an intuitive perception of
my wishes, most suddenly ceased his mirth, and assuming a look of frowning
defiance that had done him good service upon many former occasions, rose
and said:--

"Well, sir, I hope you're proud of yourself. You've made a nice beginning
of it, and a pretty story you'll have for your uncle. But if you'd like to
break the news by a letter the general will have great pleasure in franking
it for you; for, by the rock of Cashel, we'll carry him in against all the
O'Malley's that ever cheated the sheriff."

Scarcely were the words uttered, when I seized my wineglass, and hurled it
with all my force at his head; so sudden was the act, and so true the aim,
that Mr. Bodkin measured his length upon the floor ere his friends could
appreciate his late eloquent effusion. The scene now became terrific;
for though the redoubted Miles was _hors-de-combat_, his friends made a
tremendous rush at, and would infallibly have succeeded in capturing me,
had not Blake and four or five others interposed. Amidst a desperate
struggle, which lasted for some minutes, I was torn from the spot, carried
bodily up-stairs, and pitched headlong into my own room; where, having
doubly locked the door on the outside, they left me to my own cool and not
over-agreeable reflections.




CHAPTER VII.


THE FLIGHT FROM GURT-NA-MORRA.

It was by one of those sudden and inexplicable revulsions which
occasionally restore to sense and intellect the maniac of years standing,
that I was no sooner left alone in my chamber than I became perfectly
sober. The fumes of the wine--and I had drunk deeply--were dissipated at
once; my head, which but a moment before was half wild with excitement, was
now cool, calm, and collected; and stranger than all, I, who had only an
hour since entered the dining-room with all the unsuspecting freshness of
boyhood, became, by a mighty bound, a man,--a man in all my feelings of
responsibility, a man who, repelling an insult by an outrage, had resolved
to stake his life upon the chance. In an instant a new era in life had
opened before me; the light-headed gayety which fearlessness and youth
impart was replaced by one absorbing thought,--one all-engrossing,
all-pervading impression, that if I did not follow up my quarrel with
Bodkin, I was dishonored and disgraced, my little knowledge of such matters
not being sufficient to assure me that I was now the aggressor, and that
any further steps in the affair should come from his side.

So thoroughly did my own griefs occupy me, that I had no thought for the
disappointment my poor uncle was destined to meet with in hearing that the
Blake interest was lost to him, and the former breach between the families
irreparably widened by the events of the evening. Escape was my first
thought; but how to accomplish it? The door, a solid one of Irish oak,
doubly locked and bolted, defied all my efforts to break it open; the
window was at least five-and-twenty feet from the ground, and not a tree
near to swing into. I shouted, I called aloud, I opened the sash, and tried
if any one outside were within hearing; but in vain. Weary and exhausted,
I sat down upon my bed and ruminated over my fortunes. Vengeance--quick,
entire, decisive vengeance--I thirsted and panted for; and every moment
I lived under the insult inflicted on me seemed an age of torturing and
maddening agony. I rose with a leap; a thought had just occurred to me.
I drew the bed towards the window, and fastening the sheet to one of the
posts with a firm knot, I twisted it into a rope, and let myself down to
within about twelve feet of the ground, when I let go my hold, and dropped
upon the grass beneath safe and uninjured. A thin, misty rain was falling,
and I now perceived, for the first time, that in my haste I had forgotten
my hat; this thought, however, gave me little uneasiness, and I took my way
towards the stable, resolving, if I could, to saddle my horse and get off
before any intimation of my escape reached the family.

When I gained the yard, all was quiet and deserted; the servants were
doubtless enjoying themselves below stairs, and I met no one on the way. I
entered the stable, threw the saddle upon "Badger," and before five minutes
from my descent from the window, was galloping towards O'Malley Castle at a
pace that defied pursuit, had any one thought of it.

It was about five o'clock on a dark, wintry morning as I led my horse
through the well-known defiles of out-houses and stables which formed the
long line of offices to my uncle's house. As yet no one was stirring; and
as I wished to have my arrival a secret from the family, after
providing for the wants of my gallant gray, I lifted the latch of the
kitchen-door--no other fastening being ever thought necessary, even at
night--and gently groped my way towards the stairs; all was perfectly
still, and the silence now recalled me to reflection as to what course I
should pursue. It was all-important that my uncle should know nothing of my
quarrel, otherwise he would inevitably make it his own, and by treating
me like a boy in the matter, give the whole affair the very turn I most
dreaded. Then, as to Sir Harry Boyle, he would most certainly turn the
whole thing into ridicule, make a good story, perhaps a song out of it, and
laugh at my notions of demanding satisfaction. Considine, I knew, was my
man; but then he was at Athlone,--at least so my uncle's letter mentioned.
Perhaps he might have returned; if not, to Athlone I should set off at
once. So resolving, I stole noiselessly up-stairs, and reached the door of
the count's chamber; I opened it gently and entered; and though my step
was almost imperceptible to myself, it was quite sufficient to alarm the
watchful occupant of the room, who, springing up in his bed, demanded
gruffly, "Who's there?"

"Charles, sir," said I, shutting the door carefully, and approaching his
bedside. "Charles O'Malley, sir. I'm come to have a bit of your advice; and
as the affair won't keep, I have been obliged to disturb you."

"Never mind, Charley," said the count; "sit down, there's a chair somewhere
near the bed,--have you found it? There! Well now, what is it? What news of
Blake?"

"Very bad; no worse. But it is not exactly _that_ I came about; I've got
into a scrape, sir."

"Run off with one of the daughters," said Considine. "By jingo, I knew what
those artful devils would be after."

"Not so bad as that," said I, laughing. "It's just a row, a kind of
squabble; something that must come--"

"Ay, ay," said the count, brightening up; "say you so, Charley? Begad, the
young ones will beat us all out of the field. Who is it with,--not old
Blake himself; how was it? Tell me all."

I immediately detailed the whole events of the preceding chapter, as well
as his frequent interruptions would permit, and concluded by asking what
farther step was now to be taken, as I was resolved the matter should be
concluded before it came to my uncle's ears.

"There you are all right; quite correct, my boy. But there are many points
I should have wished otherwise in the conduct of the affair hitherto."

Conceiving that he was displeased at my petulance and boldness, I was about
to commence a kind of defence, when he added,--

"Because, you see," said he, assuming an oracular tone of voice, "throwing
a wine-glass, with or without wine, in a man's face is merely, as you may
observe, a mark of denial and displeasure at some observation he may have
made,--not in any wise intended to injure him, further than in the wound to
his honor at being so insulted, for which, of course, he must subsequently
call you out. Whereas, Charley, in the present case, the view I take
is different; the expression of Mr. Bodkin, as regards your uncle, was
insulting to a degree,--gratuitously offensive,--and warranting a blow.
Therefore, my boy, you should, under such circumstances, have preferred
aiming at him with a decanter: a cut-glass decanter, well aimed and low, I
have seen do effective service. However, as you remark it was your first
thing of the kind, I am pleased with you--very much pleased with you. Now,
then, for the next step." So saying, he arose from his bed, and striking a
light with a tinder-box, proceeded to dress himself as leisurely as if for
a dinner party, talking all the while.

"I will just take Godfrey's tax-cart and the roan mare on to Meelish, put
them up at the little inn,--it is not above a mile from Bodkin's; and I'll
go over and settle the thing for you. You must stay quiet till I come
back, and not leave the house on any account. I've got a case of old broad
barrels there that will answer you beautifully; if you were anything of
a shot, I'd give you my own cross handles, but they'd only spoil your
shooting."

"I can hit a wine-glass in the stem at fifteen paces," said I, rather
nettled at the disparaging tone in which he spoke of my performance.

"I don't care sixpence for that; the wine-glass had no pistol in his hand.
Take the old German, then; see now, hold your pistol thus,--no finger on
the guard there, these two on the trigger. They are not hair-triggers; drop
the muzzle a bit; bend your elbow a trifle more; sight your man outside
your arm,--outside, mind,--and take him in the hip, and if anywhere higher,
no matter."

By this time the count had completed his toilet, and taking the small
mahogany box which contained his peace-makers under his arm, led the way
towards the stables. When we reached the yard, the only person stirring
there was a kind of half-witted boy, who, being about the house, was
employed to run of messages from the servants, walk a stranger's horse, or
to do any of the many petty services that regular domestics contrive always
to devolve upon some adopted subordinate. He was seated upon a stone step
formerly used for mounting, and though the day was scarcely breaking, and
the weather severe and piercing, the poor fellow was singing an Irish song,
in a low monotonous tone, as he chafed a curb chain between his hands with
some sand. As we came near he started up, and as he pulled off his cap to
salute us, gave a sharp and piercing glance at the count, then at me,
then once more upon my companion, from whom his eyes were turned to the
brass-bound box beneath his arm,--when, as if seized with a sudden impulse,
he started on his feet, and set off towards the house with the speed of a
greyhound, not, however, before Considine's practised eye had anticipated
his plan; for throwing down the pistol-case, he dashed after him, and in an
instant had seized him by the collar.

"It won't do, Patsey," said the count; "you can't double on me."

"Oh, Count, darlin', Mister Considine avick, don't do it, don't now," said
the poor fellow, falling on his knees, and blubbering like an infant.

"Hold your tongue, you villain, or I'll cut it out of your head," said
Considine.

"And so I will; but don't do it, don't for the love of--"

"Don't do what, you whimpering scoundrel? What does he think I'll do?"

"Don't I know very well what you're after, what you're always after too?
Oh, wirra, wirra!" Here he wrung his hands, and swayed himself backwards
and forwards, a true picture of Irish grief.

"I'll stop his blubbering," said Considine, opening the box and taking out
a pistol, which he cocked leisurely, and pointed at the poor fellow's head;
"another syllable now, and I'll scatter your brains upon that pavement."

"And do, and divil thank you; sure, it's your trade."

The coolness of the reply threw us both off our guard so completely that we
burst out into a hearty fit of laughing.

"Come, come," said the count, at last, "this will never do; if he goes on
this way, we'll have the whole house about us. Come, then, harness the roan
mare; and here's half a crown for you."

"I wouldn't touch the best piece in your purse," said the poor boy; "sure
it's blood-money, no less."

The words were scarcely spoken, when Considine seized him by the collar
with one hand, and by the wrist with the other, and carried him over the
yard to the stable, where, kicking open the door, he threw him on a heap of
stones, adding, "If you stir now, I'll break every bone in your body;" a
threat that seemed certainly considerably increased in its terrors, from
the rough gripe he had already experienced, for the lad rolled himself up
like a ball, and sobbed as if his heart were breaking.

Very few minutes sufficed us now to harness the mare in the tax-cart, and
when all was ready, Considine seized the whip, and locking the stable-door
upon Patsey, was about to get up, when a sudden thought struck him.
"Charley," said he, "that fellow will find some means to give the alarm; we
must take him with us." So saying, he opened the door, and taking the poor
fellow by the collar, flung him at my feet in the tax-cart.

We had already lost some time, and the roan mare was put to her fastest
speed to make up for it. Our pace became, accordingly, a sharp one; and as
the road was bad, and the tax-cart no "patent inaudible," neither of us
spoke. To me this was a great relief. The events of the last few days had
given them the semblance of years, and all the reflection I could muster
was little enough to make anything out of the chaotic mass,--love,
mischief, and misfortune,--in which I had been involved since my leaving
O'Malley Castle.

"Here we are, Charley," said Considine, drawing up short at the door of a
little country ale-house, or, in Irish parlance, _shebeen_, which stood at
the meeting of four bleak roads, in a wild and barren mountain tract beside
the Shannon. "Here we are, my boy! Jump out and let us be stirring."

"Here, Patsey, my man," said the count, unravelling the prostrate and
doubly knotted figure at our feet; "lend a hand, Patsey." Much to my
astonishment, he obeyed the summons with alacrity, and proceeded to
unharness the mare with the greatest despatch. My attention was, however,
soon turned from him to my own more immediate concerns, and I followed my
companion into the house.

"Joe," said the count to the host, "is Mr. Bodkin up at the house this
morning?"

"He's just passed this way, sir, with Mr. Malowney of Tillnamuck, in the
gig, on their way from Mr. Blake's. They stopped here to order horses to go
over to O'Malley Castle, and the gossoon is gone to look for a pair."

"All right," said Considine, and added, in a whisper, "we've done it well,
Charley, to be beforehand, or the governor would have found it all out and
taken the affair into his own hands. Now all you have to do is to stay
quietly here till I come back, which will not be above an hour at farthest.
Joe, send me the pony; keep an eye on Patsey, that he doesn't play us a
trick. The short way to Mr. Bodkin's is through Scariff. Ay, I know it
well; good-by, Charley. By the Lord, we'll pepper him!"

These were the last words of the worthy count as he closed the door behind
him, and left me to my own not very agreeable reflections. Independently of
my youth and perfect ignorance of the world, which left me unable to form
any correct judgment on my conduct, I knew that I had taken a great deal
of wine, and was highly excited when my unhappy collision with Mr. Bodkin
occurred. Whether, then, I had been betrayed into anything which could
fairly have provoked his insulting retort or not, I could not remember; and
now my most afflicting thought was, what opinion might be entertained of me
by those at Blake's table; and above all, what Miss Dashwood herself would
think, and what narrative of the occurrence would reach her. The great
effort of my last few days had been to stand well in her estimation, to
appear something better in feeling, something higher in principle, than the
rude and unpolished squirearchy about me; and now here was the end of
it! What would she, what could she, think, but that I was the same
punch-drinking, rowing, quarrelling bumpkin as those whom I had so lately
been carefully endeavoring to separate myself from? How I hated myself for
the excess to which passion had betrayed me, and how I detested my opponent
as the cause of all my present misery. "How very differently," thought
I, "her friend the captain would have conducted himself. His quiet and
gentlemanly manner would have done fully as much to wipe out any insult on
his honor as I could do, and after all, would neither have disturbed the
harmony of a dinner-table, nor made himself, as I shuddered to think I
had, a subject of rebuke, if not of ridicule." These harassing, torturing
reflections continued to press on me, and I paced the room with my hands
clasped and the perspiration upon my brow. "One thing is certain,--I can
never see her again," thought I; "this disgraceful business must, in some
shape or other, become known to her, and all I have been saying these
last three days rise up in judgment against this one act, and stamp me an
impostor! I that decried--nay, derided--our false notion of honor. Would
that Considine were come! What can keep him now?" I walked to the door; a
boy belonging to the house was walking the roan before the door. "What had,
then, become of Pat?" I inquired; but no one could tell. He had disappeared
shortly after our arrival, and had not been seen afterwards. My own
thoughts were, however, too engrossing to permit me to think more of this
circumstance, and I turned again to enter the house, when I saw Considine
advancing up the road at the full speed of his pony.

"Out with the mare, Charley! Be alive, my boy!--all's settled." So saying,
he sprang from the pony and proceeded to harness the roan with the greatest
haste, informing me in broken sentences, as he went on with all the
arrangements.

"We are to cross the bridge of Portumna. They won the ground, and it seems
Bodkin likes the spot; he shot Peyton there three years ago. Worse luck
now, Charley, you know; by all the rule of chance, he can't expect the same
thing twice,--never four by honors in two deals. Didn't say that, though. A
sweet meadow, I know it well; small hillocks, like molehills; all over it.
Caught him at breakfast; I don't think he expected the message to come from
us, but said it was a very polite attention,--and so it was, you know."

So he continued to ramble on as we once more took our seats in the tax-cart
and set out for the ground.

"What are you thinking of, Charley?" said the count, as I kept silent for
some minutes.

"I'm thinking, sir, if I were to kill him, what I must do after."

"Right, my boy; nothing like that, but I'll settle all for you. Upon my
conscience, if it wasn't for the chance of his getting into another quarrel
and spoiling the election, I'd go back for Godfrey; he'd like to see you
break ground so prettily. And you say you're no shot?"

"Never could do anything with the pistol to speak of, sir," said I,
remembering his rebuke of the morning.

"I don't mind that. You've a good eye; never take it off him after you're
on the ground,--follow him everywhere. Poor Callaghan, that's gone, shot
his man always that way. He had a way of looking without winking that was
very fatal at a short distance; a very good thing to learn, Charley, when
you have a little spare time."

Half-an-hour's sharp driving brought us to the river side, where a boat
had been provided by Considine to ferry us over. It was now about eight
o'clock, and a heavy, gloomy morning. Much rain had fallen overnight, and
the dark and lowering atmosphere seemed charged with more. The mountains
looked twice their real size, and all the shadows were increased to
an enormous extent. A very killing kind of light it was, as the count
remarked.




CHAPTER VIII.


THE DUEL.

As the boatmen pulled in towards the shore we perceived, a few hundred
yards off, a group of persons standing, whom we soon recognized as our
opponents. "Charley," said the count, grasping my arm tightly, as I stood
up to spring on the land,--"Charley, although you are only a boy, as I may
say, I have no fear for your courage; but still more than that is needful
here. This Bodkin is a noted duellist, and will try to shake your nerve.
Now, mind that you take everything that happens quite with an air of
indifference; don't let him think that he has any advantage over you, and
you'll see how the tables will be turned in your favor."

"Trust to me, Count" said I; "I'll not disgrace you."

He pressed my hand tightly, and I thought that I discerned something like
a slight twitch about the corners of his grim mouth, as if some sudden and
painful thought had shot across his mind; but in a moment he was calm, and
stern-looking as ever.

"Twenty minutes late, Mr. Considine," said a short, red-faced little
man, with a military frock and foraging cap, as he held out his watch in
evidence.

"I can only say, Captain Malowney, that we lost no time since we parted. We
had some difficulty in finding a boat; but in any case, we are here _now_,
and that, I opine, is the important part of the matter."

"Quite right,--very just indeed. Will you present me to your young friend.
Very proud to make your acquaintance, sir; your uncle and I met more than
once in this kind of way. I was out with him in '92,--was it? no, I think
it was '93,--when he shot Harry Burgoyne, who, by-the-bye, was called the
crack shot of our mess; but, begad, your uncle knocked his pistol hand to
shivers, saying, in his dry way, 'He must try the left hand this morning.'
Count, a little this side, if you please."

While Considine and the captain walked a few paces apart from where I
stood, I had leisure to observe my antagonist, who stood among a group of
his friends, talking and laughing away in great spirits. As the tone they
spoke in was not of the lowest, I could catch much of their conversation at
the distance I was from them. They were discussing the last occasion that
Bodkin had visited this spot, and talking of the fatal event which happened
then.

"Poor devil," said Bodkin, "it wasn't his fault; but you see some of the
--th had been showing white feathers before that, and he was obliged to go
out. In fact, the colonel himself said, 'Fight, or leave the corps.' Well,
out he came; it was a cold morning in February, with a frost the night
before going off in a thin rain. Well, it seems he had the consumption or
something of that sort, with a great cough and spitting of blood, and this
weather made him worse; and he was very weak when he came to the ground.
Now, the moment I got a glimpse of him, I said to myself, 'He's pluck
enough, but as nervous as a lady;' for his eye wandered all about, and his
mouth was constantly twitching. 'Take off your great-coat, Ned,' said one
of his people, when they were going to put him up; 'take it off, man.' He
seemed to hesitate for an instant, when Michael Blake remarked, 'Arrah, let
him alone; it's his mother makes him wear it, for the cold he has.' They
all began to laugh at this; but I kept my eye upon him, and I saw that his
cheek grew quite livid and a kind of gray color, and his eyes filled up. 'I
have you now,' said I to myself, and I shot him through the lung."

"And this poor fellow," thought I, "was the only son of a widowed mother."
I walked from the spot to avoid hearing further, and felt, as I did so,
something like a spirit of vengeance rising within me, for the fate of one
so untimely cut off.

"Here we are, all ready," said Malowney, springing over a small fence into
the adjoining field. "Take your ground, gentlemen."

Considine took my arm and walked forward. "Charley," said he, "I am to give
the signal; I'll drop my glove when you are to fire, but don't look at me
at all. I'll manage to catch Bodkin's eye; and do you watch him steadily,
and fire when he does."

"I think that the ground we are leaving behind us is rather better," said
some one.

"So it is," said Bodkin; "but it might be troublesome to carry the young
gentleman down that way,--here all is fair and easy."

The next instant we were placed; and I well remember the first thought that
struck me was, that there could be no chance of either of us escaping.

"Now then," said the count, "I'll walk twelve paces, turn and drop this
glove; at which signal you fire, and _together_ mind. The man who reserves
his shot falls by my hand." This very summary denunciation seemed to meet
general approbation, and the count strutted forth. Notwithstanding the
advice of my friend, I could not help turning my eyes from Bodkin to watch
the retiring figure of the count. At length he stopped; a second or two
elapsed; he wheeled rapidly round, and let fall the glove. My eye glanced
towards my opponent; I raised my pistol and fired. My hat turned half round
upon my head, and Bodkin fell motionless to the earth. I saw the people
around me rush forward; I caught two or three glances thrown at me with an
expression of revengeful passion; I felt some one grasp me round the waist,
and hurry me from the spot; and it was at least ten minutes after, as we
were skimming the surface of the broad Shannon, before I could well collect
my scattered faculties to remember all that was passing, as Considine,
pointing to the two bullet-holes in my hat, remarked, "Sharp practice,
Charley; it was the overcharge saved you."

"Is he killed, sir?" I asked.

"Not quite, I believe, but as good. You took him just above the hip."

"Can he recover?" said I, with a voice tremulous from agitation, which I
vainly endeavored to conceal from my companion.

"Not if the doctor can help it," said Considine; "for the fool keeps poking
about for the ball. But now let's think of the next step,--you'll have to
leave this, and at once, too."

Little more passed between us. As we rowed towards the shore, Considine
was following up his reflections, and I had mine,--alas! too many and too
bitter to escape from.

As we neared the land a strange spectacle caught our eye. For a
considerable distance along the coast crowds of country people were
assembled, who, forming in groups and breaking into parties of two and
three, were evidently watching with great anxiety what was taking place at
the opposite side. Now, the distance was at least a mile, and therefore any
part of the transaction which had been enacting there must have been quite
beyond their view. While I was wondering at this, Considine cried out
suddenly, "Too infamous, by Jove! We're murdered men!"

"What do you mean?" said I.

"Don't you see that?" said he, pointing to something black which floated
from a pole at the opposite side of the river.

"Yes; what is it?"

"It's his coat they've put upon an oar to show the people he's
killed,--that's all. Every man here's his tenant; and look--there! They're
not giving us much doubt as to their intention."

Here a tremendous yell burst forth from the mass of people along the shore,
which rising to a terrific cry sunk gradually down to a low wailing, then
rose and fell again several times as the Irish death-cry filled the air and
rose to Heaven, as if imploring vengeance on a murderer.

The appalling influence of the _keen_, as it is called, had been familiar
to me from my infancy; but it needed the awful situation I was placed in to
consummate its horrors. It was at once my accusation and my doom. I knew
well--none better--the vengeful character of the Irish peasant of the west,
and that my death was certain I had no doubt. The very crime that sat upon
my heart quailed its courage and unnerved my arm. As the boatmen
looked from us towards the shore and again at our faces, they, as if
instinctively, lay upon their oars, and waited for our decision as to what
course to pursue.

"Rig the spritsail, my boys," said Considine, "and let her head lie up the
river; and be alive, for I see they're bailing a boat below the little reef
there, and will be after us in no time."

The poor fellows, who, although strangers to us, sympathizing in what they
perceived to be our imminent danger, stepped the light spar which acted
as mast, and shook out their scanty rag of canvas in a minute. Considine
meanwhile went aft, and steadying her head with an oar, held the small
craft up to the wind till she lay completely over, and as she rushed
through the water, ran dipping her gun-wale through the white foam.

"Where can we make without tacking, boys?" inquired the count.

"If it blows on as fresh, sir, we'll run you ashore within half a mile of
the Castle."

"Put an oar to leeward," said Considine, "and keep her up more to the wind,
and I promise you, my lads, you will not go home fresh and fasting if you
land us where you say."

"Here they come," said the other boatman, as he pointed back with his
finger towards a large yawl which shot suddenly from the shore, with six
sturdy fellows pulling at their oars, while three or four others were
endeavoring to get up their rigging, which appeared tangled and confused at
the bottom of the boat; the white splash of water which fell each moment
beside her showing that the process of bailing was still continued.

"Ah, then, may I never--av it isn't the ould 'Dolphin' they have launched
for the cruise," said one of our fellows.

"What's the 'Dolphin,' then?"

"An ould boat of the Lord's [Lord Clanricarde's] that didn't see water,
except when it rained, these four years, and is sun-cracked from stem to
stern."

"She can sail, however," said Considine, who watched with a painful anxiety
the rapidity of her course through the water.

"Nabocklish, she was a smuggler's jolly-boat, and well used to it. Look
how they're pulling. God pardon them, but they're in no blessed humor this
morning."

"Lay out upon your oars, boys; the wind's failing us," cried the count, as
the sail flapped lazily against the mast.

"It's no use, yer honor," said the elder. "We'll be only breaking our
hearts to no purpose. They're sure to catch us."

"Do as I bade you, at all events. What's that ahead of us there?"

"The Oat Rock, sir. A vessel with grain struck there and went down with
all aboard, four years last winter. There's no channel between it and the
shore,--all sunk rocks, every inch of it. There's the breeze."

The canvas fell over as he spoke, and the little craft lay down to it till
the foaming water bubbled over her lee bow.

"Keep her head up, sir; higher--higher still."