The Romany Rye

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"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 sexton, 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 nobody 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 dickey-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 balls, 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 sexton 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
sexton, "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 shilling 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 sexton 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 passing
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 compass. "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 shillings, 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 shillings 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 shilling 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 shilling 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 lordship," 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!" sail 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 shillings 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 shillings 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 shillings, 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 shillings; 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, God 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, tit 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 ashore 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 ashore in his
box. Well, the giant looked at the child, and being filled with
compassion 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. Now the salmon, Shorsha, was nearly done, and the flesh
thoroughly hot, so Finn's thumb was scalt, and he, clapping it to
his mouth, sucked it, in order to draw out the pain, and in a
moment--hubbuboo!--became imbued with all the wisdom of the world.

Myself. Stop, Murtagh! stop!

Murtagh. All the witchcraft, Shorsha.

Myself. How wonderful!

Murtagh. Was it not, Shorsha? The salmon, do you see, was a fairy
salmon.

Myself. What a strange coincidence

Murtagh. A what, Shorsha?

Myself. Why, that the very same tale should be told of Finn-ma-
Coul, which is related of Sigurd Fafnisbane.

"What thief was that, Shorsha?"

"Thief! 'Tis true, he took the treasure of Fafnir. Sigurd was the
hero of the North, Murtagh, even as Finn is the great hero of
Ireland. He, too, according to one account, was an exposed child,
and came floating in a casket to a wild shore, where he was suckled
by a hind, and afterwards found and fostered by Mimir, a fairy
blacksmith; he, too, sucked wisdom from a burn. According to the
Edda, he burnt his finger whilst feeling of the heart of Fafnir,
which he was roasting, and putting it into his mouth in order to
suck out the pain, became imbued with all the wisdom of the world,
the knowledge of the language of birds, and what not. I have heard
you tell the tale of Finn a dozen times in the blessed days of old,
but its identity with the tale of Sigurd never occurred to me till
now. It is true, when I knew you of old, I had never read the tale
of Sigurd, and have since almost dismissed matters of Ireland from
my mind; but as soon as you told me again about Finn's burning his
finger, the coincidence struck me. I say, Murtagh, the Irish owe
much to the Danes--"

"Devil a bit, Shorsha, do they owe to the thaives, except many a
bloody bating and plundering, which they never paid them back.
Och, Shorsha! you, edicated in ould Ireland, to say that the Irish
owes anything good to the plundering villains--the Siol Loughlin."

"They owe them half their traditions, Murtagh, and amongst others,
Finn-ma-Coul and the burnt finger; and if ever I publish the
Loughlin songs, I'll tell the world so."

"But, Shorsha, the world will never believe ye--to say nothing of
the Irish part of it."

"Then the world, Murtagh--to say nothing of the Irish part of it--
will be a fool, even as I have often thought it; the grand thing,
Murtagh, is to be able to believe oneself, and respect oneself.
How few whom the world believes believe and respect themselves."

"Och, Shorsha! shall I go on with the tale of Finn?"

"I'd rather you should not, Murtagh; I know all about it already."

"Then why did you bother me to tell it at first, Shorsha? Och, it
was doing my ownself good, and making me forget my own sorrowful
state, when ye interrupted me with your thaives of Danes! Och,
Shorsha! let me tell you how Finn, by means of sucking his thumb,
and the witchcraft he imbibed from it, contrived to pull off the
arm of the ould wagabone, Darmod David Odeen, whilst shaking hands
with him--for Finn could do no feat of strength without sucking his
thumb, Shorsha, as Conan the Bald told the son of Oisin in the song
which I used to sing ye in Dungarvon times of old;" and here
Murtagh repeated certain Irish words to the following effect: -

"O little the foolish words I heed
O Oisin's son, from thy lips which come;
No strength were in Finn for valorous deed,
Unless to the gristle he suck'd his thumb."

"Enough is as good as a feast, Murtagh, I am no longer in the cue
for Finn. I would rather hear your own history. Now tell us, man,
all that has happened to ye since Dungarvon times of old?"

"Och, Shorsha, it would be merely bringing all my sorrows back upon
me!"

"Well, if I know all your sorrows, perhaps I shall be able to find
a help for them. I owe you much, Murtagh; you taught me Irish, and
I will do all I can to help you."

"Why, then, Shorsha, I'll tell ye my history. Here goes!"

CHAPTER XLV

Murtagh's Tale.

"Well, Shorsha, about a year and a half after you left us--and a
sorrowful hour for us it was when ye left us, losing, as we did,
your funny stories of your snake--and the battles of your military-
-they sent me to Paris and Salamanca, in order to make a saggart of
me."

"Pray excuse me," said I, "for interrupting you, but what kind of
place is Salamanca?"

"Divil a bit did I ever see of it, Shorsha!"

"Then why did ye say ye were sent there? Well, what kind of place
is Paris? Not that I care much about Paris."

"Sorrow a bit did I ever see of either them, Shorsha, for no one
sent me to either. When we says at home a person is going to Paris
and Salamanca, it manes that he is going abroad to study to be a
saggart, whether he goes to them places or not. No, I never saw
either--bad luck to them--I was shipped away from Cork up the
straits to a place called Leghorn, from which I was sent to--to a
religious house, where I was to be instructed in saggarting till
they had made me fit to cut a dacent figure in Ireland. We had a
long and tedious voyage, Shorsha; not so tedious, however, as it
would have been had I been fool enough to lave your pack of cards
behind me, as the thaif, my brother Denis, wanted to persuade me to
do, in order that he might play with them himself. With the cards
I managed to have many a nice game with the sailors, winning from
them ha'pennies and sixpences until the captain said I was ruining
his men, and keeping them from their duty; and, being a heretic and
a Dutchman, swore that unless I gave over he would tie me up to the
mast and give me a round dozen. This threat obliged me to be more
on my guard, though I occasionally contrived to get a game at
night, and to win sixpennies and ha'pennies.

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