Chapter III: Part 3

Simpson again held up _two brace of snipe_, and again plunged them into his bag; nor would he gratify the justifiable longings of our gamekeeper by as much as a peep at them.

"This is capital sport. Why, this place is swarming with snipe," cried my guest, whilst his gun was being reloaded. "Depend upon it, it's a mistake to take dogs. The birds smell them. I'll try that bit of bog now."

"Ye'll have to mind yer futtin'," observed Billy. "It's crukked an' crass enough in some spots; I'd betther be wid ye."

"Certainly not," said my guest. "I always shoot alone."

"Och, folly yer own wish, sir; only mind yer futtin'."

Mr Simpson disappeared into the hollow in which the bog was situated, and, as before, bang! bang! we heard the report of both barrels.

"Be jabers, I'm bet intirely. Thim snipes must have been dhruv from the say, an' have come here unknownst to any wan. Ay, bawl away! Whisht! be the hokey, he's into the bog!"

A dismal wailing, accompanied by cries for help, arose from out the bog, where we found poor Simpson almost up to his chin, and endeavouring to support himself by his elbows.

"Ugh! ugh! lift me out, for heaven's sake! My new clothes--this coat that I never put on before" (his whaling garment)--"why did I come to this infernal hole. Ugh! ugh!"

We dragged him up, leaving his patent boots and stockings behind him. Billy bore him on his back to the house, where he was stripped and arrayed in evening costume.

From the pockets of his ulster, which it was found necessary to turn out for drying purposes, Mr William Doyle extracted no less than _six brace of snipe_. Unfortunately for Mr Simpson the bill was attached to the leg of one of the birds. They had been purchased at a poulterer's in Dublin.

* * * * *

Mr Simpson did not remain to dine or to sleep. He pleaded a business engagement which he had completely overlooked, and left by the 4.50 train.

"Av all th' imposthors! and his tigers an' elephants no less, an' bears an' algebras! An' goin' for to cod me into believin' there was snipes growin' in a clover-field, an' thin never to gi' me a shillin'! Pah! the naygur!" and Billy Doyle's resentment recognised no limits.

It is scarcely necessary to observe that I was _not_ invited to meet Lord Mulligatawny, Sir Percy Whiffler, and Colonel Owlfinch of Her Majesty's Guards, and that my wife holds Simpson over me whenever I hint at the probability of a visit to the metropolis.

PODGER'S POINTER

I am not a sporting man--I never possessed either a dog or a gun--I never fired a shot in my life, and the points of a canine quadruped are as unknown to me as those of the sea-serpent. The 12th of August is a mystery, and the 1st of September a sealed book. I have been regarded with well-merited contempt at the club by asking for grouse in the month of June, and for woodcock in September. I think it is just as well to mention these matters, lest it should be supposed that I desire to sail under false colours. I am acquainted with several men who shoot, and also with some who have shooting to give away. The former very frequently invite me to join their parties at the moors, turnip-fields, and woods; the latter press their shooting on me, especially when I decline on the grounds of disinclination and incapacity.

"I wish I had your chances, Brown," howls poor little Binks, who can bring down any known bird at any given distance. "You're always getting invitations because you _can't_ shoot; and I cannot get one because I _can_. It's too bad, by George!--it's too bad!"

One lovely morning in the month of September I was sauntering along the shady side of Sackville Street, Dublin, when a gentleman, encased in a coat of a resounding pattern, all over pockets, and whose knickerbockers seemed especially constructed to meet the requirements of the coat, suddenly burst upon, and clutched me.

"The very man I wanted," he exclaimed. "I've been hunting you the way O'Mulligan's pup hunted the fourpenny bit through the bonfire."

"What can I do for you, Mr Podgers?" I asked.

"I want a day's shooting at O'Rooney's of Ballybawn," responded Podgers.

Now, I was not intimate with Mr O'Rooney. We had met at the club; but as he was a smoking man, and as I, after a prolonged and terrific combat with a very mild cigar (what must the strong ones be!), had bidden a long farewell to the Indian weed, it is scarcely necessary to mention that, although Mr O'Rooney and myself were very frequently beneath the same roof, we very seldom encountered one another, save in a casual sort of way.

"I assure you, Mr Podgers, that I----"

"Pshaw! that's all gammon," he burst in anticipatingly. "You can do it if you like. Sure we won't kill _all_ the game. And I have the loveliest dog that ever stood in front of a bird. I want to get a chance of showing him off. He'll do you credit."

I was anxious to oblige Podgers. He had stood by me in a police-court case once upon a time, and proved an _alibi_ such as must have met the approval even of the immortal Mr Weller himself; so I resolved upon soliciting the required permission, and informed Podgers that I would acquaint him with the result of my application.

"That's a decent fellow. Come back to my house with me now, and I'll give you a drop of John Jameson that will make your hair curl."

Declining to have my hair curled through the instrumentality of Mr Jameson's unrivalled whisky, I wended my way towards the club, and, as luck would have it, encountered O'Rooney lounging on the steps enjoying a cigar.

After the conventional greetings, I said, "By the way, you have some capital partridge shooting at Ballybawn."

"Oh, pretty good," was the reply, in that self-satisfied, complacent tone in which a crack billiard-player refers to the spot-stroke, or a rifleman to his score when competing for the Queen's Prize.

"I'm no shot myself--I never fired a gun in my life; but there's a particular friend of mine who is most anxious to have _one_ day's shooting at Ballybawn. Do you think you could manage to let him have it?"

I emphasised the word "one" in the most impressive way.

"I would give one or two days, Mr Brown, with the greatest pleasure; but the fact is, I have lent my dogs to Sir Patrick O'Houlahan."

"Oh, as to that, my friend has a splendid dog--a most remarkable dog. I hear it's a treat to see him in front of a bird."

I stood manfully by Podgers' exact words, adding some slight embellishments, in order to increase O'Rooney's interest in the animal.

"In that case, there can be no difficulty, Mr Brown. I leave for Ballybawn on Saturday--will you kindly name Monday, as I would, in addition to the pleasure of receiving you and your friend, like to witness the performance of this remarkable dog; and I _must_ be in Galway on Wednesday."

Having settled the preliminaries so satisfactorily, I wrote the following note to Podgers:--

"DEAR PODGERS,

"It's all right. Mr O'Rooney has named Monday. _Be sure to bring
the dog, as his dogs are away._ Come and breakfast with me at
eight o'clock, as the train starts from the King's Bridge Terminus
at nine o'clock.--Yours,

"BENJAMIN B. BROWN.

"P.S.--_I praised the dog sky high._ O'R. is most anxious to see
him in front of the birds."

I received a gushing note in reply, stating that he would breakfast with me, and bring the dog, adding, "It's some time since he was shot over; but that makes no difference, as he is the finest dog in Leinster."

Knowing Podgers to be a very punctual sort of person, I had ordered breakfast for eight o'clock sharp, and consequently felt somewhat surprised when the timepiece chimed the quarter past.

I consulted his letter--day, date, and time were recapitulated in the most businesslike way. Some accident might have detained him. Perhaps he preferred meeting me at the station. I had arrived at this conclusion, and had just made the first incision into a round of buttered toast, when a very loud, jerky, uneven knocking thundered at the hall door, and the bell was tugged with a violence that threatened to drag the handle off.

I rushed to the window, and perceived Podgers clinging frantically to the area railings with one hand, whilst with the other he held a chain, attached to which, at the utmost attainable distance, stood, or stretched, in an attitude as if baying the moon, the fore legs planted out in front, the hind legs almost _clutching_ the granite step, the eyes betraying an inflexible determination not to budge one inch from the spot--a bony animal, of a dingy white colour, with dark patches over the eyes, imparting a mournfully dissipated appearance--the redoubtable dog which was to afford us a treat "in front of the birds."

"Hollo, Podgers!" I cried, "you're late!"

"This cursed animal," gasped Podgers; "he got away from me in Merrion Square after a cat. The cat climbed up the Prince Consort statue. This brute, somehow or other got up after her. She was on the head, and he was too high for me to reach him, when I got the hook of this umbrella and----"

At this moment the hall-door opened, and the dog being animated with an energetic desire to explore the interior of the house, suddenly relaxed the pull upon the chain, which utterly unexpected movement sent Podgers flying into the hall as though he had been discharged from a catapult. My maid-of-all-work, an elderly lady with proclivities in the direction of "sperrits," happened to stand right in the centre of the doorway when Podgers commenced his unpremeditated bound. He cannoned against her, causing her to reel and stagger against the wall, and to clutch despairingly at the nearest available object to save herself from falling. That object happened to be the curly hair of my acrobatic friend, to which her five fingers clung as the suckers of the octopus cling to the crab. By the aid of this substantial support she had just righted herself, when the dog, finding himself comparatively free, made one desperate plunge into the hall, entwining his chain round the limbs of the lady in one dexterous whirl which levelled her, with a very heavy thud, on the body of the prostrate Podgers. Now, whether she was animated with the idea that she was in bodily danger from both master and dog, and that it behoved her to defend herself to the uttermost extent of her power, I cannot possibly determine; but she commenced a most vigorous onslaught upon both, bestowing a kick and a cuff alternately with an impartiality that spoke volumes in favour of her ideas upon the principles of even--and indeed I may add, heavy-handed justice.

I arrived upon the scene in time to raise the prostrate form of my friend, and to administer such words of consolation and sympathy as, under the circumstances, were his due. His left eye betrayed symptoms of incipient inflammation, and his mouth gave evidence of the violence with which Miss Bridget Byrne (the lady in the case) had brought her somewhat heavy knuckle-dusters into contact with it.

"Bringin' wild bastes into a gintleman's dacent house, as if it was a barn, that's manners!" she muttered. "Av I can get a clout at that dog, I'll lave him as bare as a plucked thrush!"

At this instant a violent crash of crockery-ware was heard in the regions of the kitchen.

"Holy Vargin! but the baste is on the dhresser! _I'll_ dhress the villian!" and seizing upon a very stout ash stick which stood in the hall, she darted rapidly in the direction from whence the dire sounds were proceeding.

"Hold hard, woman!" cried Podgers. "He's a very valuable animal. I'll make good any damage. Use your authority, Brown," he added, appealing to me. "She's a terrible person this; she'd stop at nothing."

Ere I could interpose, a violent skirmishing took place, in which such exclamations as "Take that, ye divvle! Ye'll brake me chaney, will ye? There's chaney for ye!" followed by very audible whacks, which, if they had fulfilled their intended mission, would very speedily have sent the dog to the happy hunting-grounds of his race. One well-directed blow, however, made its mark, and was succeeded by a whoop of triumph from Miss Byrne and a yell of anguish from her vanquished foe.

"Gelang, ye fireside spaniel! Ye live on the neighbours. How dar' ye come in here? Ye'll sup sorrow. I'll give a couple more av I can get at ye."

Podgers rushed to the rescue, and, after a very protracted and exciting chase, during which a well-directed blow, intended by Bridget for the sole use and benefit of the dog, had alighted on the head of its master, succeeded in effecting a capture. This, too, was done under embarrassing circumstances; for the dog had sought sanctuary within the sacred precincts of Miss Byrne's sleeping apartment, beneath the very couch upon which it was the habit of that lady to repose her virgin form after the labours of the day; and her indignation knew no bounds when Podgers, utterly unmindful of the surroundings, hauled forth the dog.

"There's no dacency in man nor baste. They're all wan, sorra a lie in it!"

At this crisis Podgers must have developed his pecuniary resources, for her tone changed with marvellous rapidity, and her anger was melted into a well-feigned contrition for having used her fists so freely.

"Poor baste! shure it's frightened he is. I wudn't hurt a fly, let alone an illigant tarrier like that. Thry a bit o' beefsteak in regard o' yer eye, sir. Ye must have hot it agin somethin' hard; it will be as black as a beetle in tin minits."

Podgers uttered full-flavoured language. I looked at my watch and found that we could only "do" the train. Having hailed an outside car, the breakfastless Podgers seated himself upon one side, whilst I took the other, and after a very considerable expenditure of hard labour and skilful strategy, in which we were aided by the carman and Miss Byrne, we succeeded in forcing Albatross (the pointer) into the well in the middle. I am free to confess that I sat with my back to that animal with considerable misgivings. He looked hungry and vicious, and as though a piece of human flesh would prove as agreeable to his capacious maw as any other description of food. It was his habit, too, during our journey, to elevate his head in the air, and to give utterance to a series of the most unearthly howlings, which could only be partially interrupted, not by any means stopped, by Podgers' hat being pressed closely over the mouth, whilst Podgers punched him _a tergo_ with no very light hand.

"That's the quarest dog I ever seen," observed the driver. "He ought to be shupayrior afther badgers. He has a dhrop in his eye like a widdy's pig, and it's as black as a Christian's afther a ruction."

"He's a very fine dog, sir," exclaimed Podgers, in a reproving tone.

"He looks as if he'd set a herrin'," said the cab-man jocosely.

"Mind your horse, sir!" said Podgers angrily.

The driver, who was a jovial-tempered fellow, finding that his advances towards "the other side" were rejected, turned towards mine.

"Are you goin' huntin' wid the dog, sir?" he asked.

"We're going to shoot," I replied, in a dignified way.

"To shoot! Thin, begorra, yez may as well get off the car an' fire away at wanst. There's an illigant haystack foreninst yez, and--but here we are"--and he jerked up at the entrance to the station.

The jerk sent Albatross flying off the car, and his chain being dexterously fastened to the back rail of the driver's seat, the luckless animal remained suspended whilst his collar was being unfastened, in order to prevent the not very remote contingency of strangulation. Finding himself at liberty, he bounded joyously away, and, resisting all wiles and blandishments on the part of his master, continued to bound, gambol, frisk, bark, and yowl in a most reckless and idiotic way. It would not be acting fairly towards Podgers were I to chronicle his language during this festive outbreak. If the dog was in a frolicsome mood, Podgers was not, and his feelings got considerably the better of him when the bell rang to announce the departure of the train within three minutes of that warning.

Finding that all hopes of securing the animal in the ordinary way were thin as air, Podgers offered a reward of half-a-crown to any of the grinning bystanders who would bring him the dog dead or alive. This stimulus to exertion sent twenty corduroyed porters and as many amateurs in full pursuit of Albatross, who ducked and dived, and twisted and twined, and eluded detention with the agility of a greased sow; and it was only when one very corpulent railway official fell upon him in a squashing way, and during a masterly struggle to emerge from beneath the overwhelming weight, that he was surrounded and led in triumph, by as many of his pursuers as could obtain a handful of his hair, up to his irate and wrathful master. Each of the captors who were in possession of Albatross claimed a half-crown, refusing to give up the animal unless it was duly ransomed; and it was during a fierce and angry discussion upon this very delicate question that the last bell rang. With one despairing tug, Podgers pulled the dog inside the door of the station, which was then promptly closed, and through the intervention of a friendly guard our _bête noire_ was thrust into the carriage with us.

Having kicked the cause of our chagrin beneath one of the seats, I ventured to remark that in all probability the dog, instead of being a credit to us, was very likely to prove the reverse.

"It's only his liveliness, and be hanged to him," said Podgers. "He has been shut up for some time, and is as wild as a deer."

He would not admit a diminished faith in the dog; but his tone was irresolute, and he eyed the animal in a very doubting way.

"His liveliness ought to be considerably toned down after the rough handling he received from my servant, and----"

"By the way," Podgers went on, "that infernal woman isn't safe to have in the house; she'll be tried for murder some day, and the coroner will be sitting upon _your_ body. Is my eye very black?"

"Not very," I replied. It had reached a disreputable greenish hue, tinged with a tawny red.

At Ballybricken Station we found a very smart trap awaiting us, with a servant in buckskin breeches, and in top-boots polished as brightly as the panels of the trap.

"You've a dog, sir?" said the servant.

"Yes, yes," replied Podgers, in a hurried and confused sort of way.

"In the van, sir?"

"No; he is here--under the seat. Come out, Albatross!--come out, good fellow!" And Podgers chirruped and whistled in what was meant to be a seductive and blandishing manner.

Albatross stirred not.

"Hi! hi! Here, good fellow!"

Albatross commenced to growl.

"Dear me, this is very awkward!" cried Podgers, poking at the animal in a vigorous and irritated way.

"Time's up, sir," shouted the guard, essaying to close the door.

"Hold hard, sir! I can't get my dog out!" cried Podgers.

"I'll get him out," volunteered the guard; and, seizing upon the whip which the smart driver of the smart trap held in inviting proximity, he proceeded to thrust and buffet beneath the seat where Albatross lay concealed. The dog uttered no sound, gave no sign.

"There ain't no dog there at all," panted the guard, whose exertions rendered him nearly apoplectic, proceeding to explore the recesses of the carriage--"there ain't no dog here."

A shout of terror, and the guard flung himself out of the carriage, the dog hanging on not only to his coat-tails, but to a portion of the garment which their drapery concealed. "Take off your dog--take off your dog. I'll be destroyed. Police! police! I'll have the law of you!" he yelled, in an extremity of the utmost terror.

Podgers, who was now nearly driven to his wits' end, caught Albatross by the neck, and, bestowing a series of well-directed kicks upon the devoted animal, sent him howling off the platform, but right under the train.

The cry of "The dog will be killed!" was raised by a chorus of voices both from the carriages and the platform. Happily, however, the now wary Albatross lay flat upon the ground, and the train went puffing on its way; not, however, until the guard had taken Podgers' name and address, with a view to future proceedings through the medium of the law.

"I had no idea that the O'Rooneys were such swells," observed my companion as we entered, through the massive and gilded gates, to the avenue which sweeps up to Ballybawn House. "Somehow or other, I wish I hadn't fetched Albatross, or that you hadn't spoken about him;" and Podgers threw a gloomy glance in the direction of the pointer, who lay at our feet in the bottom of the trap, looking as if he had been on the rampage for the previous month, or had just emerged from the asylum for the destitute of his species.

"He won't do us much credit as regards his appearance," I said; "but if he is all that you say as a sporting dog--of which I have my doubts--it will make amends for anything."

Podgers muttered something unintelligible, and I saw dismal forebodings written in every line of his countenance.

Mr O'Rooney received us at the hall-door. Beside him crouched two magnificent setters, with coats as glossy as mirrors, and a bearing as aristocratic as that of Bethgellart.

"Where's the dog?" asked our host, after a warm greeting. "I hope that you have brought him."

I must confess that I would have paid a considerable sum of money to have been enabled to reply in the negative. I muttered that we had indeed fetched him, but that owing to his having met with some accidents _en voyage_, his personal appearance was considerably diminished; but that we were not to judge books by their covers.

As if to worry, vex, and mortify us, Albatross declined to stir from the bottom of the trap, from whence he was subsequently rooted out in a most undignified and anti-sporting way.

The expression upon Mr O'Rooney's face, when at length the animal, badger-like, was drawn, was that of an intense astonishment, combined with a mirth convulsively compressed. The servants commenced to titter, and the smart little gentleman who tooled us over actually laughed outright.

Albatross was partly covered with mud and offal. His eyes were watery, and the lids were of a dull pink, imparting a sort of maudlin idiotcy to their expression. His right ear stood up defiantly, whilst his left lay flat upon his jowl, and his tail seemed to have disappeared altogether, so tightly had he, under the combined influence of fear and dejection, secured it between his legs.

"He's not very handsome," observed our host laughingly, "but I dare say he will take the shine out of York and Lancaster, by-and-by," pointing to the two setters as he spoke.

This hint was enough for Albatross, as no sooner had the words escaped the lips of O'Rooney than, with a yowl which sent the rooks whirling from their nests, he darted from the trap, and, making a charge at York, sent that aristocratic animal flying up the avenue in a paroxysm of terror and despair; whilst Lancaster, paralysed by the suddenness of the onslaught, allowed himself to be seized by the neck, and worried, as a cat worries a mouse, without as much as moving a muscle in self-defence.

This was too much. I had borne with this hideous animal too long. My patience was utterly exhausted, and all the bad temper in my composition began to boil up. I had placed myself under an obligation to a comparative stranger for the purpose of beholding his magnificent and valuable dogs scared and worried by a worthless cur. Seizing upon a garden-rake that lay against the wall, I dealt at Albatross what ought to have proved a crushing blow, which he artfully eluded. It only grazed him, and fell, with almost its full swing and strength, upon the passive setter, who set up a series of unearthly shrieks, almost human in their painful shrillness.

"Chain up that dog at once!" shouted O'Rooney in fierce and angry tones, "and look to Lancaster. I fear that his ribs are broken. This is very unfortunate," he added, addressing himself to me.

"I don't know what's come over the animal!" exclaimed Podgers. "I wish to heaven I had never seen him. I'll part with him to-morrow, if I have to give him to the Zoological Gardens for the bears."

Luckily, it turned out, upon examination, that Lancaster was not in any way seriously injured. This put us into somewhat better spirits, so that by the time breakfast was concluded we were on good terms with each other, and even with the wretched Albatross, in whom we still maintained a sort of sickly confidence. Later on we started for the turnips, Mr O'Rooney and Podgers in front--the latter hauling Albatross along as if he was a sack of wheat; whilst I brought up the rear with a gamekeeper and York.

"I don't think that animal is used to be out at all, at all," observed the keeper.

"I'm afraid you are quite right," I replied; "but I hear that he is a very good sporting dog."

"Sportin'! Begorra, he'll give yez sport enough before the day is half over," said the keeper, with a gloomy grin.

"There is always a covey to be found in this field," observed our host to Podgers, "so we'll give your dog the first chance."

"I--I--I'd rather you'd let him see what your dog will do," blurted Podgers.

"Oh, dear no!" returned Mr O'Rooney. "Let him go now. You'll take the first shot."

Very reluctantly indeed did Podgers unloose his pointer, uttering into the dog's ear in a low tone the most terrific and appalling threats should he fail to prove himself all that my fancy had painted him. With a loud bark of defiance Albatross darted away, scurrying through the turnips at the rate of fifteen miles an hour, utterly unmindful of whistle, call, blandishment, or threat, appearing now in one direction, now in another, and barking as though it had been part of its training.

"Stop that dog," cried our host, "he won't leave us a bird," as covey after covey of partridges rose beyond range and flew away, Albatross joyously barking after them.

"You said I was to have the first shot, Mr O'Rooney," said Podgers, in a tone full of solemnity.

"Certainly, if you can get it; which I doubt," was the curt reply.

Albatross had dashed within twenty yards of us, and was plunging off in another direction, when Podgers ran forward, raised his gun. Bang!

Albatross was sent to the happy hunting-grounds of his race.

"He frightened the partridge," observed Podgers, proceeding to reload; "_let him frighten the crows now_."

THE DEAD HEAT

No, never had there been such a state of excitement in any ball-room before, when it became known that Captain O'Rooney had entrapped Lieutenant Charles Fortescue, of the Stiffshire Regiment, into a thousand guineas match P.P., owners up, twelve stone each, and four miles over the stiffest country in Galway.

The match had been made at the supper-table, after the ladies had left; but nevertheless, the news had been carried to them, and they were furious.

"Fancy," said one, a tall, handsome brunette, "that that little wretched bandy-legged O'Rooney should have got round our handsome friend in such a mean way. He is jealous and disgusted with Fortescue's waltzing, and he _is_ the best waltzer in Ireland."

"I'll make him a set of colours to ride in," returned the toast of five counties, the beautiful Alice Gwynne. "I never made any before, but 'there's luck in odd numbers, says Rory O'More,' and so he is sure to win in them."

"Too bad," exclaimed the gray-haired Colonel of Fortescue's regiment to some gentlemen standing by him at the supper-table, "to have hounded the lad into it. O'Rooney is a noted steeplechase rider, and my boy" (he always called the youngsters of his regiment his boys), "though a workman across country, never rode a race in his life; but I hear that Captain O'Rooney has the character of looking up the Griffs."

"Faith, Colonel, ye are about right there," said a jolly-looking young Irishman; "he is just the boy that can do that same; he is mad now because Fortescue's English horse cut him down to-day, and pounded him--a thing that has never been done before."

"Bedad, you're out there, Mat," put in another; "I'd be after thinking it is because the Leaftenent has been making mighty strong running entirely with Alice Gwynne all this blessed night. O'Rooney, by my faith, does not like _that_, devil a hap'orth; he considers himself the favoured one--the consated spalpeen."

"He the favoured one!" remarked big H----, of Fortescue's regiment; "why, he cannot suppose he would have a ghost of a chance with that pug nose and whisky-toddy countenance of his against Fortescue of ours. Why, Old Nick himself could not boast of an uglier face than Pat Rooney. Fortescue is about the handsomest and nicest fellow in the service, and though only a poor man, yet there are devilish few girls, at least of any taste, who would give him the 'cold shoulder.'"

The conversation was put an end to by the redoubtable Captain O'Rooney they were descanting on, and with whom all seemed to be on such bad terms, walking towards them.

"I will make one endeavour now," said the Colonel, "to put a stop to this match."

"Captain O'Rooney," said he, as that gentleman joined them, "I am sorry to hear of this proposed steeplechase, and for such a sum. Mr Fortescue is a young man, and has acted very foolishly; moreover, though he holds the post of adjutant, he has little, I know, but his pay, and such a loss as a thousand pounds would seriously inconvenience him. Let me recommend, Captain O'Rooney, that Fortescue give you a hundred pounds to-morrow morning and draw the bet. What say you, gentlemen all, is the proposal fair?"

"Nothing fairer," they exclaimed.

"See now, Colonel," said Captain O'Rooney, "let us hear what Mr Fortescue says: he is not here; he'll be found in the ball-room, I'm after thinking."

"True for ye, Captain dear," said the jolly-looking young Irishman before alluded to. "Divil a bit," he continued, with a sly and malicious twinkle of his blue eye, "is Fortescue in the ball. Be jabers, he is seated in the card-room alone by Alice Gwynne, playing with her bouquet and fan. I'll go and fetch him; but it's a pity to disturb him. I'd almost take my oath he has been asking her to be Mrs Fortescue, and by my soul I don't think she has said no." So saying, the young man, without giving the other time to answer, vanished from the room.

"What is it, Colonel?" said Fortescue, coming in almost immediately after.

"See now," said O'Rooney, interrupting him; "the Colonel says this is a foolish match we have entered into, and proposes that ye should pay me a hundred down to-morrow to let ye off. What d'ye say?"

"What do I say?" replied the young man; "why, I'll do anything the Colonel likes. I think it is a foolish match. I was excited and out of humour when I made it. I'm better now, and if you like to take a hundred and draw, why I'll send you a cheque to-morrow morning for the amount, or run you for a hundred, which you like."

"See, now," said the Captain, his naturally red face getting purple with anger and excitement. "I've heard ye both--the Colonel and yourself; now both of ye hear me. If ye were to offer me nine hundred and ninety-nine pounds, d--n me if I'd take it, for by the Rock of Cashel, I'll lick ye and break your heart and neck over the country; and see now, Fortescue," he continued, "steer clear of the heiress."

"What do you mean, sir," retorted the young man, firing up. "Steer clear of the heiress? you forget yourself; do you presume to put a lady in the question?" and saying this, he turned away.

"All devilish fine," said O'Rooney, sticking his hands in his pockets and sauntering away from the supper-table, humming a verse of Harry Lorrequer's well-known song:--

"The King of Oude
Is mighty proud,
And so were onst the Caysars (Cæsars);
But ould Giles Eyre
Would make them stare,
Av he had them with the Blazers.

"To the devil I'd fling--ould Runjeet Singh
He's only a prince in a small way;
And knows nothing at all of a six-foot wall,
Oh! he'd never do for Galway."

"Won't he?" muttered Fortescue to himself, as he caught the last words, "perhaps I'll show you he will." If the Captain had not been so blind with passion, he might have heard the gallant Adjutant singing _sotto voce_ a verse of a song from the same author, as he strode carelessly from the room:--

"Put his arm round her waist,
Gave ten kisses at laste,
'Oh!' says he, 'you're my Molly Malone,
'My own,
'Oh!' says he, 'you're my Molly Malone!'"

What did he mean?

"By the great gun of Athlone, I'm mighty glad entirely they're both gone from the room," said a hard-riding Galway squire, as the illustrious Captain O'Rooney disappeared from sight. "I thought there was an illigant row brewing. Better as it is. Where O'Rooney is to get the coin from if he loses, divil a one of me knows. He's in 'Quare Street' long ago. Never mind, boys; let us have the groceries. 'O Punch! you are my darling,' and the devil fly away with dull care. Now Colonel," he continued, "upon my conscience, as O'Rooney won't listen to reason, you must look after Fortescue's interests. O'Rooney will endeavour to pick out a country. I mean he will go building up walls, and so on. You must have your own way a little, or, begorra, he'll do as he likes entirely. Now, there is one thing that will beat him if anything will--you must insist on that, or I would not give a trauneen for Fortescue's chance--and that is" (he dropped his voice to a whisper) _one_ if not _two_ WATER-jumps; if anything will stop Mad Moll it is WATER."

"It shall be done," said the Colonel; "I'll see that the lad is not taken advantage of." And the old field-officer kept his word, as will be seen in the sequel.

O'Rooney was greatly disturbed when he knew there were to be one or more water-jumps. He fought hard and gallantly against it; but the Colonel was obdurate. "By Gad, sir," said he, "you do not want it entirely your own way, do you? I have not interfered with the country in any way. I have said nothing as to the six-foot wall you have built up, and others equally dangerous, and now you cavil at a paltry ditch."

"Ditch do ye call it, Colonel? fifteen feet of water, hurdled and staked, a ditch, and another of eleven. By my troth, no such like ditches are found between this and Ballinasloe. But never mind. Glory be to Moses, I'll get over them. And then, h--ll to my soul, if the English horse will ever come near Mad Moll's girths again."

"We think nothing of nineteen feet, sir," said the Colonel. "In England, fifteen feet is nothing; but my youngster shall have a chance."

Great was the excitement throughout the country--indeed, in all parts of Ireland. Such a match had not been known for years--"a thousand pounds!" What could the English soldier have been thinking of! The nags went on well in their training, closely guarded by their respective admirers. The English horse took to wall-jumping beautifully; but it was doubted whether, even with his great turn of speed, he had the foot of the Irish mare--a clipper. Then again, though Fortescue was a cool and daring horseman, he had not the experience of the Captain, who had ridden many a hard-contested race before, across country and over the flat.

The stakes had been made good and deposited according to agreement with the Colonel. The Captain had found friends to share in the bet, for though he was generally disliked, yet they had confidence in his horse and his horsemanship. Fortescue, too, had friends, nor had his commanding officer been idle. Men from his own regiment had come forward, so all he stood to lose was two hundred and fifty; this and other matters made him sanguine and light-hearted. In addition to all, he had received a beautiful cap and jacket from Miss Gwynne.

The sporting papers, English and Irish, teemed with the forthcoming match. "Lieut. Charles Fortescue's bay horse Screwdriver, aged, against Capt. O'Rooney's chestnut mare Mad Moll, six years old, for ONE THOUSAND guineas a side," appeared in the _County Chronicle_.

The excitement was intense. Such a stiff bit of country had not been seen or ridden over for years. The betting would have been decidedly in favour of the Captain, but his mare's well-known dislike to water prevented anything like odds being laid--so they were both about equal favourites.

"By George, old fellow!" said one of Fortescue's chums to him one morning, some six days previous to the race, "I really think your chance is becoming more rosy every hour. The more O'Rooney's mare sees the water the less she likes it. A sergeant in my company, a Galway man, has a country cousin in the barracks who knows all about it. Just go to Sergeant Blake," he said, turning to a bugler passing by, "and tell him to come here, and bring his cousin with him. Mr Fortescue wishes to see him."

The man soon appeared. "Salute your supareor," said the Sergeant, as he squared his heels. "Touch your caubeen."

"Arrah, now, Patrick, wasn't I after doing it?"

"Well, do it at onst, ye murdering ruffian, and tell all ye know."

"Yes, sir, yer honour," commenced the man, "Faix, the Captain 'av' been trying the mare day after day at the water. Onst she jumped finely. The Captain made a brook close by our cabin, and is often wid her there. Sometimes she jumps and sometimes she won't; and when she won't, mille murther! maybe don't he larrup her! Long life to your honour! but I don't think the mare likes water, at all, at all. And by my troth, there's many a man thinks the same. The devil's luck to him! he's been all over the fresh-planted praties, and cut them to smithereens, bad cess to him! But av course, Leiftenent, ye won't tell on a poor boy, more by token as he is after doing yer honour a little sarvice. I wouldn't give a handful of prayers for my life if he found me out; for sorra a one knows the Captain better than myself, death to his sowl! Tear-an-ages! he's a terrible bad man entirely, is the Captain. The top of the morning, and long life to your honour!" said the gossoon, as the Sergeant led him away, pocketing half a crown.

"There, Fortescue, what do you think of that?" said his friend, as they sauntered away to the anteroom for a whiskey and soda. "It's evident Mad Moll is no water jumper. By Jupiter! I think you will pull through. Quite fair my giving the lad half-a-crown. O'Rooney's friends have been doing the same--fair play is a jewel!"

Somehow the public at last began to lean towards the English horse. He did his work quietly and openly, without any attempt at concealment.

But what is this excitement in the barrack yard? Officers are rushing to the mess-room. Two gentlemen have been driven up there in a car. Lord Plunger and his friend Bradon have arrived. They are old friends of the Stiffshire battalion.

"By George! Plunger and Bradon, I'm delighted to see you," said the warm-hearted Colonel, hastening in, while endeavouring to make his sword-belt meet about his somewhat bulky waist. "I did not tell the boys I had written for you both. Lunch ready in ten minutes--glass of sherry first to wet your mouths. Now, Fortescue will have a little good advice. You will ride the last gallop to-morrow morning, Bradon, and give us your opinion. Dammee, I'm so glad to see you both in the wild west. Here, some one tell the captain of the day I won't have another roll-call. Obliged to do this kind of thing here, Bradon--never know what's going to happen from one minute to another. Shooting landlords like the devil. Potted Lambert last week; five shots in him, and the only one that did no harm was the one that took him in the forehead. Rest his sowl, as the Irishmen say, a near escape for him. Lucky dog! Here is the sherry!" In this way did the popular Colonel rattle on.

The gallop is over, and Screwdriver has been tried at even weights against a good one. George Bradon had thought it better that Fortescue should ride his own horse in the trial, which he did. "By Jove, you've got a clipper, Fortescue!" said the former, as they pulled up; "you don't know how good. I deceived you all when I told you I had borrowed this nag to try you. Keep your mouth shut, hermetically sealed, old fellow, and I'll tell you something you will care to know. It is no commoner you have galloped against to-day. Mind, on your life, not a word to your dearest friend. It's my own horse, GUARDSMAN, you have had a spin with--the winner of the Cheltenham Grand Annual!"

The young man thus addressed sat like one in a dream, at this revelation.

"It's all old Mason's doing, Fortescue," said he. "He advised me to bring him over. I'm off now. Look at that knot of people coming over the hill; there are some who crossed the Channel yesterday with me who would know my old pet, and I would not have it blown upon for a trifle--the horse has been in Ireland for a week on the quiet. I'm now off, across country to Athenry, where Mason is, and has a stable for him. The horse will leave by the late train to-night for England with a lad; so no one will be a bit the wiser. My old stud-groom will come to your diggings this evening with me to give you a help. So _au revoir_ till mess-time, when you will see yours truly;" and putting his horse at a five-foot wall, he sent him over, hurling the loose stones behind him in a cloud, and was quickly out of sight.

"So your friend has gone," said the gallant Colonel, as Fortescue walked his horse up to a host of his brother-officers and friends assembled in a knot on the hill, amongst which several strangers were distinguishable.

"Yes," replied Fortescue, carelessly, "he will be with us at mess. Here, take the horse home, Forester"--to his man--"see no one comes near him."

"That's a horse to back," said a sly-looking little man in a large drab overcoat; and coming up to Fortescue he whispered quietly to him: "I'm on your nag for a plumper. I keep my own counsel, and shall not split. I never come except with a rush at the last minute. My glasses are good. You've had a spin with one of the best cross-country horses in England. Clever and fast as that nag is, he can't give you seven pounds. You ran him to a length or two. I know George Bradon and Guardsman well. I've won a pot full of money on them before. There, don't look scared; you are a youngster. Sit well down on Screwdriver, hold him together, don't give a lead over the water, and you will land him a winner. I know more than you think; but for my own sake I'm MUM!"

"News for you all!" said the Colonel of Fortescue's regiment, bursting into the mess-room, where some nine or ten officers were at breakfast, amongst whom were Lord Plunger and Bradon. "Here, Fortescue," continued the excited old gentleman, "this letter"--holding out one--"concerns you more immediately. Read it out."

The young man thus addressed took the letter and read the following:--

"DEAR COLONEL,

"As you all know, this is the morning of the race. Something has
happened. For God's sake ride over and see me at once.--

"Yours faithfully,

"P. O'ROONEY.

"Clough-bally-More Castle, Friday morning."

"There, gentlemen, what do you think of that?" cried the Colonel, as Fortescue slowly folded up the letter and returned it to him. "Something in that--no race for a guinea."

"Race or no race," said Lord Plunger, "the money is lodged with you. It is a p.p. bet, and must be paid."

"Mare gone amiss," put in Bradon. "I knew he was giving her too much of it. This is a hard, stony country; horses won't stand much continued work. Poor brutes! they are galloped shin sore--all the life and energy taken out of them--sweated to death, and made as thin as whipping-posts, and they are said to be in condition. Serves him right."

"Hold, Bradon, my boy," interrupted Lord Plunger, "you do not know that such is the case. The mare was all right last night, that I am certain of. She is about six miles from here, at a Mr Blake's. I am inclined to think O'Rooney has got into trouble."

"At any rate we shall soon know," returned the Colonel; "for here is my horse coming round. I shall be back in an hour or a little more. I'll look after your interests, Fortescue," he continued. "It is only half-past ten now. The race is not till three. Keep cool, and don't take too many brandy-and-sodas, till you see me again." And so saying, he took his departure.

What was up? Had the mare broken down? Was O'Rooney arrested? It must be one or the other. It could not be about the stakes, for these were lodged to the Colonel's credit in the Bank of Ireland. What could it be then?

"I cannot help thinking, Fortescue," said Lord Plunger, "that somehow or other you will have to don the new colours, doeskins, and tops, and give us a sight of your way of crossing the Galway country." As he was speaking, one of the mess waiters came in and said a few words to Fortescue, which made that gentleman immediately leave the room. On reaching his quarters he found seated there a sly-looking little man in a large drab overcoat.

"I beg your pardon," said the stranger to the officer as he entered. "You know me, I think?"

Fortescue slightly inclined his head.

"The object of my coming," continued the sly-looking little man, "is to tell you that there is a writ out against Captain O'Rooney for four hundred pounds. He will not show up to-day. He is a _Sunday man_: now the race is ours--yours I ought to say--you will only have to go over the course. Good-morning."

But he was not allowed to depart in that way. He was soon in the mess-room, and all were put in possession of the facts.

In the meantime the good Colonel rode on at a rapid pace, wondering at the contents of the note, and conjuring up all sorts of things. Five-and-twenty minutes brought him to the gate, or what should have been the gate, of Clough-bally-More Castle, but it was gone. Cantering up the neglected wilderness-like avenue, he was soon in front of a ruinous-looking pile. This was Clough-bally-More Castle--a place best described by a quotation from Hood's beautiful poem of "The Haunted House"--

"Unhinged the iron gates half open hung,
Jarr'd by the gusty gales of many winters,
That from its crumbled pedestal had flung
One marble globe in splinters.

* * * * *

"With shatter'd panes the grassy court was starr'd;
The time-worn coping-stone had tumbled after;
And through the ragged roof the sky shone, barr'd
With naked beam and rafter."

Getting off his horse and walking up the broken, moss-covered steps, the Colonel rang the bell, which gave forth a melancholy sound that scared a colony of jackdaws who had established themselves unmolested for many a year in the chimneys and uninhabited rooms.

On the second summons a shock head was cautiously poked out of an upper window. "Sure now, it's no use at all, at all, av yer ringing away like that: the master's gone abroad these six months; he told me to say so last night. Divil a writ can you serve him wid, my honey; av ye don't be off the master will be after shooting ye for a thafe from the hall windy."

"I'm no writ server," returned the Colonel. "I come in consequence of a note I received from Captain O'Rooney this morning."

"Troth, then, ye are the English soldier colonel. His honour the master will be wid ye at onst," and the head disappeared.

Presently that of the Captain protruded.

"See now, Colonel," said he, "ould Mat thought you were a Bum. I'm sorry to say I'm a _Sunday man_ now. The thundering thieves they've been about the place all the morning to serve me. I wish they may get it. Nabocklish! catch a weasel asleep. I'll let you in."

In a minute or so the front door was slowly and cautiously unchained, and the Colonel found himself in the hall of Clough-bally-More Castle. It was a perfect ruin, and, if possible, more ghastly and miserable-looking on the inside than the outside. The Captain's room was, however, pretty cosy, and in decent repair. A bright turf fire burnt on the hearth; a couple of guns adorned the walls; rods, fishing-tackle, and various other sporting paraphernalia were scattered about the room in indescribable confusion.

"Be seated, Colonel," said the steeple-chase rider; "I may as well come to the point at once. D----, of Galway, has a writ out against my person for four hundred pounds. They tried to serve it on me last night, and again this morning, the divil fly away with them! May the flames of----"

"What is to be done, Capt. O'Rooney?" interrupted the Colonel. "You know it is a p.p. bet, and out of my power to do anything. Mr Fortescue has only two hundred and fifty on it. The rest is made up by gentlemen who will insist on the terms of the bet being adhered to. You ridiculed our offer of scratching the bet for a hundred: far better for yourself had you done so. I should not like any advantage taken of you, and you ought to have a run for your money. What is it you propose?"

"See, now, Colonel; the only way is, that if you do not hold me to the day, we can run it off on Sunday."

"Sir! Captain O'Rooney!" hotly interrupted the Colonel; "you must be mad! Ride a steeple-chase on a Sunday! Do you suppose, sir, any of my officers would be guilty of such a thing, or that I would allow it?"

"See, now, Colonel," interposed the Captain, "then there is no other way but Mr Fortescue letting me off altogether. I've five hundred on it on my own account. I'll give a hundred and scratch it."

"Quite impossible," said the Colonel; "you know I can't do it. I am really very sorry for you, but stay, there is yet one way, and if I can manage it the race may yet come off. D----, who has the writ out against you, does the wine for the mess. Now, will you agree to this--that if you win, I pay him the four hundred and the balance to yourself? If you do not win you shall be exactly in the same position you are now, namely, locked up in your own house."

"Tare an' ages, a capital idea! Colonel, I agree." And it was forthwith signed and sealed between them.

"I'll send out to you in an hour," said the Colonel, as he took his departure. "I will write and tell you how it is to be, race or no race. Depend on me; I'll do all I can."

The Colonel succeeded, and the terms he mentioned were acceded to by D----, who thought it was his only chance of ever getting a farthing.

"Hang it, gentlemen," said the light-hearted old officer, "we could have got the money without a race; but I should not have liked it said of the regiment that we took any advantage. Now, win or lose, everyone must say that we have behaved pluckily in this matter."