St. Patrick's Eve

At these meetings the whisky-bottle was never forgotten; and while some were under a pledge not to take more than a certain quantity – a vow they kept most religiously – others drank deeply. Among these was Owen. The few moments of reckless forgetfulness he then enjoyed were the coveted minutes of his long dreary day, and he wished for night to come as the last solace that was left him.

His companions knew him too well, to endeavour by any active influence to implicate him in their proceedings. They cunningly left the work to time and his own gloomy thoughts; watching, however, with eager anxiety, how, gradually he became more and more interested in all their doings; how, by degrees he ceased even the half-remonstrance against some deed of unnecessary cruelty; and listened with animation where before he but heard with apathy, if not repugnance. The weeds of evil grow rankest in the rich soil of a heart whose nature, once noble, has been perverted and debased. Ere many weeks passed over, Owen, so far from disliking the theme of violence and outrage, became half-angry with his comrades, that they neither proposed any undertaking to him, nor even asked his assistance amongst them.

This spirit grew hourly stronger in him; offended pride worked within his heart during the tedious days he spent alone, and he could scarcely refrain from demanding what lack of courage and daring they saw in him, that he should be thus forgotten and neglected.

In this frame of mind, irresolute as to whether he should not propose himself for some hazardous scheme, or still remain a mere spectator of others, he arrived one evening in the old churchyard. Of late, “the boys,” from preconcerted arrangements among themselves, had rather made a show of cold and careless indifference in their manner to Owen – conduct which deeply wounded him.

As he approached now the little crypt, he perceived that a greater number than usual were assembled through the churchyard, and many were gathered in little knots and groups, talking eagerly together; a half-nod, a scarcely muttered “Good even,” was all the salutation he met, as he moved towards the little cell, where, by the blaze of a piece of bog-pine, a party were regaling themselves – the custom and privilege of those who had been last out on any marauding expedition. A smoking pot of potatoes and some bottles of whisky formed the entertainment, at which Owen stood a longing and famished spectator.

“Will yez never be done there eatin’ and crammin’ yerselves?” said a gruff voice from the crowd to the party within; “and ye know well enough there’s business to be done to-night.”

“And ain’t we doing it?” answered one of the feasters. “Here’s your health, Peter!” and so saying, he took a very lengthened draught from the “poteen” bottle.

“‘Tis the thrade ye like best, anyhow,” retorted the other. “Come, boys; be quick now!”

The party did not wait a second bidding, but arose from the place, and removing the big pot to make more room, they prepared the little cell for the reception of some other visitors.

“That’s it now! We’ll not be long about it. Larry, have yez the deck,’ my boy?”

“There’s the book, darlint,” said a short, little, de-crepid creature, speaking with an asthmatic effort, as he produced a pack of cards, which, if one were to judge from the dirt, made the skill of the game consist as much in deciphering as playing them.

“Where’s Sam M’Guire?” called out the first speaker, in a voice loud enough to be heard over the whole space around; and the name was repeated from voice to voice, till it was replied to by one who cried —

“Here, sir; am I wanted?”

“You are, Sam; and ‘tis yourself is always to the fore when we need yez.”

“I hope so indeed,” said Sam, as he came forward, a flush of gratified pride on his hardy cheek. He was a young, athletic fellow, with a fine manly countenance, expressive of frankness and candour.

“Luke Heffernan! where’s Luke?” said the other.

“I’m here beside ye,” answered a dark-visaged, middle-aged man, with the collar of his frieze coat buttoned high on his face; “ye needn’t be shouting my name that way – there may be more bad than good among uz.

“There’s not an informer, any way – if that’s what ye mean,” said the other quickly. “Gavan Daly! Call Gavan Daly, will ye, out there?” And the words were passed from mouth to mouth in a minute, but no one replied to the summons.

“He’s not here – Gavan’s not here!” was the murmured answer of the crowd, given in a tone that hoded very little in favour of its absent owner.

“Not here!” said the leader, as he crushed the piece of paper, from which he read, in his hand; “not here! Where is he, then? Does any of yez know where’s Gavan Daly?”

But there was no answer.

“Can no body tell? – is he sick? – or is any belonging to him sick and dying, that he isn’t here this night, as he swore to be?”

“I saw him wid a new coat on him this morning early in Oughterarde, and he said he was going to see a cousin of his down below Oranmore,” said a young lad from the outside of the crowd, and the speaker was in a moment surrounded by several, anxious to find out some other particulars of the absent man. It was evident that the boy’s story was far from being satisfactory, and the circumstance of Daly’s wearing a new coat, was one freely commented on by those who well knew how thoroughly they were in the power of any who should betray them.

“He’s in the black list this night,” said the leader, as he motioned the rest to be silent; “that’s where I put him now; and see, all of yez – mind my words – if any of uz comes to harm, it will go hard but some will be spared; and if there was only one remaining, he wouldn’t be the cowardly villain not to see vengeance on Gavan Daly, for what he’s done.”

A murmur of indignation at the imputed treachery of the absent man buzzed through the crowd; while one fellow, with a face flushed by drink, and eyes bleared and bloodshot, cried out: “And are ye to stop here all night, calling for the boy that’s gone down to bethray yez? Is there none of yez will take his place?”

“I will! I will! I’m ready and willin’!” were uttered by full twenty, in a breath.

“Who will ye have with yez? take your own choice!” said the leader, turning towards M’Quire and Heffernan, who stood whispering eagerly together.

“There’s the boy I’d take out of five hundred, av he was the same I knew once,” said M’Guire, laying his hand on Owen’s shoulder.

“Begorra then, I wondher what ye seen in him lately to give you a consate out of him,” cried Heffernan, with a rude laugh. “‘Tisn’t all he’s done for the cause anyway.”

Owen started, and fixed his eyes first on one, then on the other of the speakers; but his look was rather the vacant stare of one awakening from a heavy sleep, than the expression of any angry passion – for want and privation had gone far to sap his spirit, as well as his bodily strength.

“There, avich, taste that,” said a man beside him, who was struck by his pale and wasted cheek, and miserable appearance.

Owen almost mechanically took the bottle, and drank freely, though the contents was strong poteen.

“Are ye any betther now?” said Heffernan, with a sneering accent.

“I am,” said Owen, calmly, for he was unconscious of the insolence passed off on him; “I’m a deal better.”

“Come along, ma bouchal!” cried M’Guire; “come into the little place with us, here.”

“What do ye want with me, boys?” asked Owen, looking about him through the crowd.

“‘Tis to take a hand at the cards, divil a more,” said an old fellow near, and the speech sent a savage laugh among the rest.

“I’m ready and willin’,” said Owen; “but sorra farthen I’ve left me to play; and if the stakes is high – ”

“Faix, that’s what they’re not,” said Heffernan; “they’re the lowest ever ye played for.”

“Tell me what it is, anyway,” cried Owen.

“Just, the meanest thing at all – the life of the blaguard that turned yerself out of yer holdin’ – Lucas the agent.”

“To kill Lucas?”

“That same; and if ye don’t like the game, turn away and make room for a boy that has more spirit in him.”

“Who says I ever was afeard?” said Owen, on whom now the whisky was working. “Is it Luke Heffernan dares to face me down? – come out here, fair, and see will ye say it again.”

“If you won’t join the cause, you mustn’t be bringing bad blood among us,” cried the leader, in a determined tone; “there’s many a brave boy here to-night would give his right hand to get the offer you did.”

“I’m ready – here I am, ready now,” shouted Owen wildly; “tell me what you want me to do, and see whether I will or no.”

A cheer broke from the crowd at these words, and all within his reach stretched out their hands to grasp Owen’s; and commendations were poured on him from every side.

Meanwhile Heffernan and his companion had cleared the little crypt of its former occupants, and having heaped fresh wood upon the fire, sat down before the blaze, and called out for Owen to join them. Owen took another draught from one of the many bottles offered by the bystanders, and hastened to obey the summons.

“Stand back now, and don’t speak a word,” cried the leader, keeping off the anxious crowd that pressed eagerly forward to witness the game; the hushed murmuring of the voices shewing how deeply interested they felt.

The three players bent their heads forward as they sat, while Heffernan spoke some words in a low whisper, to which the others responded by a muttered assent. “Well, here’s success to the undhertakin’ anyhow,” cried he aloud, and filling out a glass of whisky, drank it off; then passing the liquor to the two others, they followed his example.