Читать книгу The Knight Of Gwynne (Vol. 1&2) - Charles James Lever - Страница 9

Table of Contents

The unhappy event which so suddenly interrupted the conviviality of the party scarcely made a more than momentary impression. Altercations which ended most seriously were neither rare nor remarkable at the dinner-tables of the country gentlemen, and if the present instance caused an unusual interest, it was only because one of the parties was an Englishman.

As for Forester himself, his first burst of anger over, he forgot all in his astonishment that the host was not “the Knight” himself, but only his representative and friend, Bagenal Daly.

“Come, Captain Forester,” said he, “I owe you an amende for the mystification I have practised upon you. You shall have it. Your travelling acquaintance at Kilbeggan was the 'Knight of Gwynne;' and the few lines he sent through your hands contained an earnest desire that your stay here might be sufficiently prolonged to admit of his meeting you at his return.”

“I shall be extremely sorry,” said Forester, in a low voice, “if anything that has occurred to-night shall deprive me of that pleasure.”

“No, no—nothing of the kind,” said Daly, with a significant nod of his head. “Leave that to me.” Then, raising his voice, he added: “What do you say to that claret, Conolly?”

“I agree with you,” replied a rosy-cheeked old squire in a hunting-dress, “it 's too old—there's little spirit left in it.”

“Quite true, Tom. Wine has its dotage, like the rest of us. All that the best can do is to keep longest; and, after all, we scarcely can complain of the vintage that has a taste of its once flavor at our age. It's a long time since we were schoolfellows.”

“It is not an hour less than—”

“Stop, Tom—no more of that. Of all scores to go back upon, that of years past is the saddest.”

“By Jove! I don't think so,” said the hearty old squire, as he tossed off a bumper. “I never remember riding better than I did to-day. Ask Beecham O'Reilly there which of us was first over the double ditch at the red barn.”

“You forget, sir,” said the young gentleman referred to, “that I was on an English-bred mare, and she doesn't understand these fences.”

“Faith, she wasn't worse off, in that respect, than the man on her back,” said old Conolly, with a hearty chuckle. “If to look before you leap be wisdom, you ought to be the shrewdest fellow in the country.”

“Beecham, I believe, keeps a good place in Northamptonshire,” said his father, half proudly.

“Another argument in favor of the Union, I suppose,” whispered a guest in Conolly's ear.

“Well, well,” sighed the old squire, “when I was a young man, we 'd have thought of bringing over a dromedary from Asia as soon as an English horse to cross the country with.”

“Dick French was the only one I ever heard of backing a dromedary,” said a fat old farmer-like man, from the end of the table.

“How was that, Martin?” said Daly, with a look that showed he either knew the story or anticipated something good.

“And by all accounts, it 's the devil to ride,” resumed the old fellow; “now it's the head down and the loins up, and then a roll to one side, and then to the other, and a twist in the small of your back, as if it were coming in two. Oh, by the good day! Dick gave me as bad as a stitch in the side just telling me about it.”

“But where did he get his experience, Martin? I never heard of it before,” said Daly.

“He was a fortnight in Egypt, sir,” said the old farmer. “He was in a frigate, or a man-of-war of one kind or another, off—the devil a one o' me knows well where it was, but there was a consul there, a son of one of his father's tenants—indeed, ould French got him the place from the Government—and when he found out that Dick was on board the ship, what does he do but writes him an invitation to pass a week or ten days with him at his house, and that he 'd show him some sport. 'We 've elegant hunting,' says he; 'not foxes or hares, but a big bird, bigger nor a goose, they call—'By my conscience, I 'll forget my own name next, for I heard Dick tell the story at least twenty times.”

“Was it an ostrich?” said Tom.

“No; nor an oyster either, Mr. Conolly,” said the old fellow, who thought the question was meant to quiz him.

“'T was an ibis, Martin,” cried Daly—“an ibis.”

“The devil a doubt of it—that's the name. A crayture with legs as long as Mr. Beecham O'Reilly's, and a way of going—half-flying, half-walking—almost impossible to catch; and they hunt him on dromedaries. Dick liked the notion well, and as he was a favorite on board, he got lave for three days to go on shore and have his fun; though the captain said, at parting, 'It's not many dromedaries you'll see, Dick, for the Pasha has them all up the country at this time.' This was true enough; sorra a bit of a camel or dromedary could be seen for miles round. But however it was, the consul kept his word, and had one for Dick the next morning—a great strapping baste, all covered with trappings of one kind or other; elegant shawls and little hearthrugs all over him.

“The others were mounted on mules or asses, any way they could, and away they went to look after the goose—the 'ibis,' I mean. Well, to be short with it, they came up with one on the bank of the river, and soon gave chase; he was a fine strong fellow, and well able to run. I wish you heard Dick tell this part of it; never was there such sport in the world, blazing away all together as fast as they could prime and load, at one time at the goose, more times at each other; the mules kicking, the asses braying, and Dick cantering about on his dromedary, upsetting every one near him, and shouting like mad. At last he pinned the goose up in a narrow corner among some old walls, and Dick thought he 'd have the brush; but sorra step the dromedary would stir; he spurred and kicked, and beat away with a stick as hard as he could, but it was all no good—it was the carpets maybe, that saved him; for there he stood fast, just for all the world as if he was made of stone.

“Dick pulled out a pistol and fired a shot in his ear, but all to no use; he minded it no more than before. 'Bad luck to you for a baste,' says Dick, 'what ails you at all—are you going to die on me? Get along now.' The divil receave the step I 'll go till I get some spirits and wather!' says the dromedary, 'for I 'm clean smothered with them b———y blankets;' and with them same words the head of the baste fell off, and Dick saw the consul's own man wiping the perspiration off his face, and blowing like a porpoise. 'How the divil the hind legs bears it I can't think,' says he; 'for I 'm nigh dead, though I had a taste of fresh air.'

“The murther was out, gentlemen, for ye see the consul could n't get a raal dromedary, and was obliged to make one out of a Christian and a black fellow he had for a cook, and sure enough in the beginning of the day Dick says he went like a clipper; 'twas doubling after the goose destroyed him.”

Whether the true tale had or had not been familiar to most of the company before, it produced the effect Bagenal Daly desired, by at first creating a hearty roar of laughter, and then, as seems the consequence in all cases of miraculous narrative, set several others upon recounting stories of equal credibility. Daly encouraged this new turn of conversation with all the art of one who knew how to lead men's thoughts into a particular channel without exciting suspicion of his intentions by either abruptness or over zeal: to any ordinary observer, indeed, he would have now appeared a mere enjoyer of the scene, and not the spirit who gave it guidance and direction.

In this way passed the hours long after midnight, when, one by one, the guests retired to their rooms; Forester remaining at the table in compliance with a signal which Daly had made him, until at length Hickman O'Reilly stood up to go, the last of all, save Daly and the young guardsman.

Passing round the table, he leaned over Forester's chair, and in a low, cautious whisper, said, “You have put down the greatest bully in this country, Captain Forester; do not spoil your victory by being drawn into a disreputable quarrel! Good night, gentlemen both,” said he, aloud, and with a polite bow left the room.

“What was that he whispered?” said Daly, as the door closed and they were left alone together.

Forester repeated the words.

“Ah, I guessed why he sat so late; he sees the game clearly enough. You, sir, have taken up the glaive that was thrown down for his son's acceptance, and he knows the consequence—clever fellow that he is! Had you been less prompt, Beecham's poltroonery might have escaped notice; and even now, if you were to decline a meeting—”

“But I have no intention of doing any such thing.”

“Of course, I never supposed you had; but were you to be swayed by wrong counsels and do so, Master Beecham would be saved even yet. Well, well, I am sorry, Captain Forester, you should have met such a reception amongst us, and my friend Darcy will be deeply grieved at it. However, we have other occupation now than vain regret, so to bed as fast as you can, and to sleep; the morning is not very far off, and we shall have some one from MacDonough here by daybreak.”

With a cordial shake-hands, like men who already knew and felt kindly towards each other, they separated for the night.

While Forester was thus sensible of the manliness and straightforward resolution that marked Bagenal Daly's character, he was very far from feeling satisfied with the position in which he found himself placed. A duel under any circumstances is scarcely an agreeable incident in one's life; but a meeting whose origin is at a drinking-bout, and where the antagonist is a noted fire-eater, and by that very reputation discreditable, is still a great aggravation of the evil.

To have embroiled himself in a quarrel of this kind would, he well knew, greatly prejudice him in the estimation of his cold-tempered relative, Lord Castlereagh, who would not readily forgive an indiscretion that should mar his own political views. As he sat in his dressing-room revolving such unpleasant reflections, there came a gentle tap at the door; he had but time to say, “Come in,” when Mr. Hickman O'Reilly entered.

“Will you excuse this intrusion, Captain Forester?” said he, with an accent in which the blandest courtesy was mingled with a well-affected cordiality; “but I really could not lay my head on a pillow in tranquillity until I had seen and spoken to you in confidence. This foolish altercation—”

“Oh, pray don't let that give you a moment's uneasiness! I believe I understand the position the gentleman you allude to occupies in your country society: that license is accorded him, and freedoms taken with him, not habitually the case in the world at large.”

“You are quite right, your views are strictly accurate. MacDonough is a low fellow of very small fortune, no family—indeed, what pretension he has to associate with the gentry I am unable to guess, nor would you have ever seen him under this roof had the Knight been at home; Mr. Daly, however, who, being an old schoolfellow and friend of Darcy's, does the honors here in his absence, is rather indiscriminate in his hospitalities. You may have remarked around the table some singular-looking guests—in fact, he not only invites the whole hunting-field, but half the farmers over whose ground we 've ridden, and, were it not that they have sense and shame enough to see their own place with truer eyes, we should have an election mob here every day of the week; but this is not exactly the topic which led to my intruding upon you. I wished, in the first place, to rest assured that you had no intention of noticing the man's impertinence, or of accepting any provocation on his part; in fact, were he admissible to such a privilege, my son Beecham would have at once taken the whole upon himself, it being more properly his quarrel than yours.”

Forester, with all his efforts, was unable to repress a slight smile at these words. O'Reilly noticed it, and colored up, while he added: “Beecham, however, knew the impossibility of such a course—in fact, Captain Forester, I may venture to say, without any danger of being misunderstood by you, that my son has imbibed more correct notions of the world and its habits at your side of St. George's Channel than could have fallen to him had his education been merely Irish.”

This compliment, if well meant, was scarcely very successful, for Forester bit his lip impatiently, but never made any answer. Whether O'Reilly perceived the cause of this, or that, like a skilful painter, he knew when to take his brush off the canvas, he arose at once and said, “I leave you, then, with a mind much relieved. I feared that a mistaken estimate of MacDonough's claims in society, and probably some hot-brained counsels of Mr. Bagenal Daly—”

“You are quite in error there; let me assure you, sir, his view of the matter is exactly my own,” interrupted Forester, calmly.

“I am delighted to hear it, and have now only one request: will you favor us with a few days' visit at Mount O'Reilly? I may say, without vanity, that my son is more likely to be a suitable companion to you than the company here may afford; we 've some good shooting and—”

“I must not suffer you to finish the catalogue of temptations,” said Forester, smiling courteously; “my hours are numbered already, and I must be back in Dublin within a few days.”

“Beecham will be sorely disappointed; in fact, we came back here to-day for no other reason than to meet you at dinner. Daly told us of your arrival. May we hope to see you at another opportunity? are your engagements formed for Christmas yet?”

“I believe so—Dorsetshire, I think,” muttered Forester, with a tone that plainly indicated a desire to cushion the subject at once; and Mr. O'Reilly, with a ready tact, accepted the hint, and, wishing him a most cordial goodnight, departed.