Читать книгу Charles O'Malley, The Irish Dragoon, Volume 1 - Lever Charles James - Страница 12

THE RETURN

O’Malley Castle lay about four miles from the spot we landed at, and thither accordingly we bent our steps without loss of time. We had not, however, proceeded far, when, before us on the road, we perceived a mixed assemblage of horse and foot, hurrying along at a tremendous rate. The mob, which consisted of some hundred country people, were armed with sticks, scythes, and pitchforks, and although not preserving any very military aspect in their order of march, were still a force quite formidable enough to make us call a halt, and deliberate upon what we were to do.

“They’ve outflanked us, Charley,” said Considine; “however, all is not yet lost. But see, they’ve got sight of us; here they come.”

At these words, the vast mass before us came pouring along, splashing the mud on every side, and huzzaing like so many Indians. In the front ran a bare-legged boy, waving his cap to encourage the rest, who followed him at about fifty yards behind.

“Leave that fellow for me,” said the count, coolly examining the lock of his pistol; “I’ll pick him out, and load again in time for his friends’ arrival. Charley, is that a gentleman I see far back in the crowd? Yes, to be sure it is? He’s on a large horse – now he’s pressing forward; so let – no – oh – ay, it’s Godfrey O’Malley himself, and these are our own people.” Scarcely were the words out when a tremendous cheer arose from the multitude, who, recognizing us at the same instant, sprang from their horses and ran forward to welcome us. Among the foremost was the scarecrow leader, whom I at once perceived as poor Patsey, who, escaping in the morning, had returned at full speed to O’Malley Castle, and raised the whole country to my rescue. Before I could address one word to my faithful followers I was in my uncle’s arms.

“Safe, my boy, quite safe?”

“Quite safe, sir.”

“No scratch anywhere?”

“Nothing but a hat the worse, sir,” said I, showing the two bullet-holes in my headpiece.

His lip quivered as he turned and whispered something into Considine’s ear, which I heard not; but the count’s reply was, “Devil a bit, as cool as you see him this minute.”

“And Bodkin, what of him?”

“This day’s work’s his last,” said Considine; “the ball entered here. But come along, Godfrey; Charley’s new at this kind of thing, and we had better discuss matters in the house.”

Half-an-hour’s brisk trot – for we were soon supplied with horses – brought us back to the Castle, much to the disappointment of our cortege, who had been promised a scrimmage, and went back in very ill-humor at the breach of contract.

The breakfast-room, as we entered, was filled with my uncle’s supporters, all busily engaged over poll-books and booth tallies, in preparation for the eventful day of battle. These, however, were immediately thrown aside to hasten round me and inquire all the details of my duel. Considine, happily for me, however, assumed all the dignity of an historian, and recounted the events of the morning so much to my honor and glory, that I, who only a little before felt crushed and bowed down by the misery of my late duel, began, amidst the warm congratulations and eulogiums about me, to think I was no small hero, and in fact, something very much resembling “the man for Galway.” To this feeling a circumstance that followed assisted in contributing. While we were eagerly discussing the various results likely to arise from the meeting, a horse galloped rapidly to the door and a loud voice called out, “I can’t get off, but tell him to come here.” We rushed out and beheld Captain Malowney, Mr. Bodkin’s second, covered with mud from head to foot, and his horse reeking with foam and sweat. “I am hurrying on to Athlone for another doctor; but I’ve called to tell you that the wound is not supposed to be mortal, – he may recover yet.” Without waiting for another word, he dashed spurs into his nag and rattled down the avenue at full gallop. Mr. Bodkin’s dearest friend on earth could not have received the intelligence with more delight; and I now began to listen to the congratulations of my friends with a more tranquil spirit. My uncle, too, seemed much relieved by the information, and heard with great good temper my narrative of the few days at Gurt-na-Morra. “So then,” said he, as I concluded, “my opponent is at least a gentleman; that is a comfort.”

“Sir George Dashwood,” said I, “from all I have seen, is a remarkably nice person, and I am certain you will meet with only the fair and legitimate opposition of an opposing candidate in him, – no mean or unmanly subterfuge.”

“All right, Charley. Well, now, your affair of this morning must keep you quiet for a few days, come what will; by Monday next, when the election takes place, Bodkin’s fate will be pretty clear, one way or the other, and if matters go well, you can come into town; otherwise, I have arranged with Considine to take you over to the Continent for a year or so; but we’ll discuss all this in the evening. Now I must start on a canvass. Boyle expects to meet you at dinner to-day; he is coming from Athlone on purpose. Now, good-by!”

When my uncle had gone, I sank into a chair and fell into a musing fit over all the changes a few hours had wrought in me. From a mere boy whose most serious employment was stocking the house with game or inspecting the kennel, I had sprung at once into man’s estate, was complimented for my coolness, praised for my prowess, lauded for my discretion, by those who were my seniors by nearly half a century; talked to in a tone of confidential intimacy by my uncle, and, in a word, treated in all respects as an equal, – and such was all the work of a few hours. But so it is; the eras in life are separated by a narrow boundary, – some trifling accident, some casual rencontre impels us across the Rubicon, and we pass from infancy to youth, from youth to manhood, from manhood to age, less by the slow and imperceptible step of time than by some one decisive act or passion which, occurring at a critical moment, elicits a long latent feeling, and impresses our existence with a color that tinges us for many a long year. As for me, I had cut the tie which bound me to the careless gayety of boyhood with a rude gash. In three short days I had fallen deeply, desperately in love, and had wounded, if not killed, an antagonist in a duel. As I meditated on these things, I was aroused by the noise of horses’ feet in the yard beneath. I opened the window and beheld no less a person than Captain Hammersley. He was handing a card to a servant, which he was accompanying by a verbal message; the impression of something like hostility on the part of the captain had never left my mind, and I hastened down-stairs just in time to catch him as he turned from the door.

“Ah, Mr. O’Malley!” said he, in a most courteous tone. “They told me you were not at home.”

I apologized for the blunder, and begged of him to alight and come in.

“I thank you very much, but, in fact, my hours are now numbered here. I have just received an order to join my regiment; we have been ordered for service, and Sir George has most kindly permitted my giving up my staff appointment. I could not, however, leave the country without shaking hands with you. I owe you a lesson in horsemanship, and I’m only sorry that we are not to have another day together.”

“Then you are going out to the Peninsula?” said I.

“Why, we hope so; the commander-in-chief, they say, is in great want of cavalry, and we scarcely less in want of something to do. I’m sorry you are not coming with us.”

“Would to Heaven I were!” said I, with an earnestness that almost made my brain start.

“Then, why not?”

“Unfortunately, I am peculiarly situated. My worthy uncle, who is all to me in this world, would be quite alone if I were to leave him; and although he has never said so, I know he dreads the possibility of my suggesting such a thing to him: so that, between his fears and mine, the matter is never broached by either party, nor do I think ever can be.”

“Devilish hard – but I believe you are right; something, however, may turn up yet to alter his mind, and if so, and if you do take to dragooning, don’t forget George Hammersley will be always most delighted to meet you; and so good-by, O’Malley, good-by.”

He turned his horse’s head and was already some paces off, when he returned to my side, and in a lower tone of voice said, —

“I ought to mention to you that there has been much discussion on your affair at Blake’s table, and only one opinion on the matter among all parties, – that you acted perfectly right. Sir George Dashwood, – no mean judge of such things, – quite approves of your conduct, and, I believe, wishes you to know as much; and now, once more, good-by.”