The Poacher; Or, Joseph Rushbrook. Фредерик МарриетЧитать онлайн книгу.
do now?”
“Anything I can to earn my bread.”
“What can you do—besides poaching, of course? Can you read and write?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Would you like to be a servant—clean boots, brush clothes, stand behind a cab, run messages, carry notes, and hold your tongue?”
“I could do all that, I think—I am twelve years old.”
“The devil you are! Well then, for your father’s sake, I’ll see what I can do for you, till you can do better. I’ll fit you out as a tiger, and what’s more, unless I am devilish hard up, I won’t sell you. So come along. What’s your name?”
“Joey.”
“Sure that was your father’s name before you, I now recollect and should any one take the trouble to ask you what may be the name of your master, you may reply, with a safe conscience, that it’s Captain O’Donahue. Now come along. Not close after me—you may as well keep open file just now, till I’ve made you look a little more decent.”
Chapter Eight.
A Dissertation upon Pedigree.
Our readers will not perhaps be displeased if we introduce Captain O’Donahue more particularly to their notice: we shall therefore devote this chapter to giving some account of his birth, parentage, and subsequent career. If the father of Captain O’Donahue was to be believed, the race of the O’Donahues were kings in Ireland long before the O’Connors were ever heard of. How far this may be correct we cannot pretend to offer an opinion, further than that no man can be supposed to know so much of a family’s history as the descendant himself. The documents were never laid before us, and we have only the positive assertion of the Squireen O’Donahue, who asserted not only that they were kings in Ireland before the O’Connors, whose pretensions to ancestry he treated with contempt, but further, that they were renowned for their strength, and were famous for using the longest bows in battle that were ever known or heard of. Here we have circumstantial evidence, although not proof. If strong, they might have been kings in Ireland, for there “might has been right” for many centuries; and certainly their acquirements were handed down to posterity, as no one was more famous for drawing the long bow than the Squireen O’Donahue. Upon these points, however, we must leave our readers to form their own opinions. Perhaps some one more acquainted with the archives of the country may be able to set us right if we are wrong, or to corroborate our testimony if we are right. In his preface to “Anne of Geierstein,” Sir Walter Scott observes, that “errors, however trivial, ought, in his opinion, never to be pointed out to the author without meeting with a candid and respectful acknowledgement.” Following the example of so great a man, we can only say, that if any gentleman can prove or disprove the assertion of the Squireen O’Donahue, to wit, that the O’Donahues were kings of Ireland long before the O’Connors were heard of; we shall be most happy to acknowledge the favour, and insert his remarks in the next edition. We should be further obliged to the same party, or indeed, any other, it they would favour us with an idea of what was implied by a king of Ireland in those days; that is to say, whether he held a court, taxed his subjects, collected revenue, kept up a standing army, sent ambassadors to foreign countries, and did all which kings do nowadays? or whether his shillelagh was his sceptre, and his domain some furze-crowned hills and a bog, the intricacies of which were known only to himself? whether he was arrayed in jewelled robes, with a crown of gold weighing on his temples? or whether he went bare-legged and bare-armed, with his bare locks flowing in luxurious wildness to the breeze? We request an answer to this in full simplicity. We observe that even in Ireland now, a fellow six feet high, and stout in proportion, is called a “prince of a fellow,” although he has not wherewithal to buy a paper of tobacco to supply his dhudeen: and, arguing from this fact, we are inclined to think that a few more inches in stature, and commensurate muscular increase of power, would in former times have raised the “heir-apparent” to the dignity of the Irish throne. But these abstruse speculations have led us from our history, which we must now resume.
Whatever may once have been the importance of the house of O’Donahue, one thing is certain, that there are many ups and downs in this world; every family in it has its wheel of fortune, which revolves faster or slower as the fates decree, and the descendant of kings before the O’Connor’s time was now descended into a species of Viceroy, Squireen O’Donahue being the steward of certain wild estates in the county of Galway, belonging to a family who for many years had shown a decided aversion to the natural beauties of the country, and had thought proper to migrate to where, if people were not so much attached to them, they were at all events more civilised. These estates were extensive, but not lucrative. They abounded in rocks, brushwood, and woodcocks during the season; and although the Squireen O’Donahue did his best, if not for his employer, at least for himself; it was with some difficulty that he contrived to support, with anything like respectability (which in that part of the country means “dacent clothes to wear”), a very numerous family, lineally descended from the most ancient of all the kings of Ireland.
Before the squireen had obtained his employment, he had sunk his rank and travelled much—as a courier—thereby gaining much knowledge of the world. If, therefore, he had no wealth to leave his children, at all events he could impart to them that knowledge which is said to be better than worldly possessions. Having three sons and eight daughters, all of them growing up healthy and strong, with commensurate appetites, he soon found that it was necessary to get rid of them as fast as he could. His eldest, who, strange to say, for an O’Donahue, was a quiet lad, he had as a favour lent to his brother, who kept a small tobacconist and grocer’s shop in Dublin, and his brother was so fond of him, that eventually O’Carroll O’Donahue was bound to him as an apprentice. It certainly was a degradation for the descendant of such ancient kings to be weighing out pennyworths of sugar, and supplying halfpenny papers of tobacco to the old apple and fish women; but still there we must leave the heir-apparent while we turn to the second son, Mr. Patrick O’Donahue, whose history we are now relating, having already made the reader acquainted with him by an introduction in Saint James’s Park.
Chapter Nine.
In which the Advice of a Father deserves Peculiar Attention.
It may be supposed that, as steward of the estates, Squireen O’Donahue had some influence over the numerous tenants on the property, and this influence he took care to make the most of. His assistance in a political contest was rewarded by the offer of an ensigncy for one of his sons, in a regiment then raising in Ireland, and this offer was too good to be refused. So, one fine day, Squireen O’Donahue came home from Dublin, well bespattered with mud, and found his son Patrick also well bespattered with mud, having just returned home from a very successful expedition against the woodcocks.
“Patrick, my jewel,” said the Squireen, taking a seat and wiping his face, for he was rather warm with his ride, “you’re a made man.”
“And well made too, father, if the girls are anything of judges,” replied Patrick.
“You put me out,” replied the Squireen; “you’ve more to be vain of than your figure.”
“And what may that be that you’re discoursing about father?”
“Nothing more nor less, nor better nor worse, but you’re an ensign in his Majesty’s new regiment—the number has escaped my memory.”
“I’d rather be a colonel, father,” replied Patrick, musing.
“The colonel’s to come, you spalpeen,” said the Squireen.
“And the fortune