The Absentee (19 page)

'But from no barbarous Scythian!' said Lord Colambre, smiling. The count
looked at Lord Colambre, as at a person worthy his attention; but his
first care was to keep the peace between his loving subjects and his
foreign visitors. It was difficult to dislodge the old settlers, to
make room for the newcomers; but he adjusted these things with admirable
facility; and, with a master's hand and master's eye, compelled each
favourite to retreat into the back settlements. With becoming attention,
he stroked and kept quiet old Victory, his eagle, who eyed Colonel
Heathcock still, as if he did not like him; and whom the colonel eyed,
as if he wished his neck fairly wrung off. The little goat had nestled
himself close up to his liberator, Lord Colambre, and lay perfectly
quiet, with his eyes closed, going very wisely to sleep, and submitting
philosophically to the loss of one half of his beard. Conversation now
commenced, and was carried on by Count O'Halloran with much ability and
spirit, and with such quickness of discrimination and delicacy of taste,
as quite surprised and delighted our hero. To the lady, the count's
attention was first directed: he listened to her as she spoke, bending
with an air of deference and devotion. She made her request for
permission for Major Benson and Captain Williamson to hunt and shoot in
his grounds; this was instantly granted.

'Her ladyship's requests were to him commands,' the count said. 'His
gamekeeper should be instructed to give the gentlemen, her friends,
every liberty, and all possible assistance.'

Then turning to the officers, he said he had just heard that several
regiments of English militia had lately landed in Ireland; that one
regiment was arrived at Killpatrickstown. He rejoiced in the advantages
Ireland, and he hoped he might be permitted to add, England, would
probably derive from the exchange of the militia of both countries;
habits would be improved, ideas enlarged. The two countries have the
same interest; and, from the inhabitants discovering more of each
other's good qualities, and interchanging little good offices in common
life, their esteem and affection for each other would increase, and rest
upon the firm basis of mutual utility.'

To all this Major Benson and Captain Williamson made no reply.

'The major looks so like a stuffed man of straw,' whispered Lady
Dashfort to Lord Colambre; 'and the captain so like the knave of clubs,
putting forth one manly leg.'

Count O'Halloran now turned the conversation to field sports, and then
the captain and major opened at once.

'Pray now, sir?' said the major, 'you fox-hunt in this country, I
suppose; and now do you manage the thing here as we do? Over night, you
know, before the hunt, when the fox is out, stopping up the earths of
the cover we mean to draw, and all the rest for four miles round. Next
morning we assemble at the cover's side, and the huntsman throws in the
hounds. The gossip here is no small part of the entertainment; but as
soon as we hear the hounds give tongue—'

'The favourite hounds,' interposed Williamson.

'The favourite hounds, to be sure,' continued Benson; 'there is a dead
silence, till pug is well out of cover, and the whole pack well in; then
cheer the hounds with tally-ho! till your lungs crack. Away he goes in
gallant style, and the whole field is hard up, till pug takes a stiff
country; then they who haven't pluck lag, see no more of him, and, with
a fine blazing scent, there are but few of us in at the death.'

'Well, we are fairly in at the death, I hope,' said Lady Dashfort; 'I
was thrown out sadly at one time in the chace.'

Lord Colambre, with the count's permission, took up a book in which the
count's pencil lay, PASLEY ON THE MILITARY POLICY OF GREAT BRITAIN; it
was marked with many notes of admiration, and with hands pointing to
remarkable passages.

'That is a book that leaves a strong impression on the mind,' said the
count.

Lord Colambre read one of the marked passages, beginning with, 'All
that distinguishes a soldier in outward appearance from a citizen is so
trifling—' but at this instant our hero's attention was distracted by
seeing in a black-letter book this title of a chapter:

'Burial-place of the Nugents.' 'Pray now, sir,' said Captain Williamson,
'if I don't interrupt you, as you are such a famous fox-hunter, maybe,
you may be a fisherman too; and now in Ireland do you, MR.—'

A smart pinch on his elbow from his major, who stood behind him, stopped
the captain short, as he pronounced the word MR. Like all awkward
people, he turned directly to ask, by his looks, what was the matter?

The major took advantage of his discomfiture, and, stepping before him,
determined to have the fishing to himself, and went on with—

'Count O'Halloran, I presume you understand fishing too, as well as
hunting?'

The count bowed: 'I do not presume to say that, sir.'

'But pray, count, in this country, do you arm your hook this ways? Give
me leave;' taking the whip from Williamson's reluctant hand, 'this ways,
laying the outermost part of your feather this fashion next to your
hook, and the point next to your shank, this wise, and that wise; and
then, sir,—count, you take the hackle of a cock's neck—'

'A plover's topping's better,' said Williamson.

'And work your gold and silver thread,' pursued Benson, 'up to your
wings, and when your head's made, you fasten all.'

'But you never showed how your head's made,' interrupted Williamson.

'The gentleman knows how a head's made; any man can make a head, I
suppose; so, sir, you fasten all.'

'You'll never get your head fast on that way, while the world stands,'
cried Williamson.

'Fast enough for all purposes; I'll bet you a rump and dozen, captain;
and then, sir,—count, you divide your wings with a needle.'

'A pin's point will do,' said Williamson.

The count, to reconcile matters, produced from an Indian cabinet, which
he had opened for the lady's inspection, a little basket containing a
variety of artificial flies of curious construction, which, as he spread
them on the table, made Williamson and Benson's eyes almost sparkle
with delight. There was the DUN-FLY, for the month of March; and the
STONE-FLY, much in vogue for April; and the RUDDY-FLY, of red wool,
black silk, and red capon's feathers.

Lord Colambre, whose head was in the burial-place of the Nugents, wished
them all at the bottom of the sea.

'And the GREEN-FLY, and the MOORISH-FLY!' cried Benson, snatching them
up with transport; 'and, chief, the SAD-YELLOW-FLY, in which the fish
delight in June; the SAD-YELLOW-FLY, made with the buzzard's wings,
bound with black braked hemp, and the SHELL-FLY for the middle of July,
made of greenish wool, wrapped about with the herle of a peacock's tail,
famous for creating excellent sport.' All these and more were spread
upon the table before the sportsmen's wondering eyes.

'Capital flies! capital, faith!' cried Williamson.

'Treasures, faith, real treasures, by G—!' cried Benson.

'Eh! 'pon honour! re'lly now,' were the first words which Heathcock had
uttered since his battle with the goat.

'My dear Heathcock, are you alive still?' said Lady Dashfort; 'I had
really forgotten your existence.'

So had Count O'Halloran, but he did not say so.

'Your ladyship has the advantage of me there,' said Heathcock,
stretching himself; 'I wish I could forget my existence, for, in my
mind, existence is a horrible BORE.'

'I thought you WAS a sportsman,' said Williamson.

'Well, sir?'

'And a fisherman?'

'Well, sir?'

'Why, look you there, sir,' pointing to the flies, 'and tell a body
life's a bore.'

'One can't ALWAYS fish, or shoot, I apprehend, sir,' said Heathcock.

'Not always—but sometimes,' said Williamson, laughing; 'for I suspect
shrewdly you've forgot some of your sporting in Bond Street.'

'Eh! 'pon honour! re'lly now!' said the colonel, retreating again to
his safe entrenchment of affectation, from which he never could venture
without imminent danger.

"Pon honour,' cried Lady Dashfort, 'I can swear for Heathcock, that
I have eaten excellent hares and ducks of his shooting, which, to my
knowledge,' added she, in a loud whisper, 'he bought in the market.'

EMPTUM APRUM!' said Lord Colambre to the count, without danger of being
understood by those whom it concerned.

The count smiled a second time; but politely turning the attention of
the company from the unfortunate colonel by addressing himself to the
laughing sportsmen, 'Gentlemen, you seem to value these,' said he,
sweeping the artificial flies from the table into the little basket
from which they had been taken; 'would you do me the honour to accept
of them? They are all of my own making, and consequently of Irish
manufacture.' Then, ringing the bell, he asked Lady Dashfort's
permission to have the basket put into her carriage.

Benson and Williamson followed the servant, to prevent them from being
tossed into the boot. Heathcock stood still in the middle of the room
taking snuff.

Count O'Halloran turned from him to Lord Colambre, who had just got
happily to THE BURIAL-PLACE OF THE NUGENTS, when Lady Dashfort, coming
between them, and spying the title of the chapter, exclaimed—

'What have you there?—Antiquities! my delight!—but I never look at
engravings when I can see realities.'

Lord Colambre was then compelled to follow, as she led the way into
the hall, where the count took down golden ornaments, and brass-headed
spears, and jointed horns of curious workmanship, that had been found on
his estate; and he told of spermaceti wrapped in carpets, and he showed
small urns, enclosing ashes; and from among these urns he selected one,
which he put into the hands of Lord Colambre, telling him that it had
been lately found in an old abbey-ground in his neighbourhood, which had
been the burial-place of some of the Nugent family.

'I was just looking at the account of it, in the book which you saw open
on my table.—And as you seem to take an interest in that family, my
lord, perhaps,' said the count, 'you may think this urn worth your
acceptance.'

Lord Colambre said, 'It would be highly valuable to him—as the Nugents
were his near relations.'

Lady Dashfort little expected this blow; she, however, carried him
off to the moose-deer, and from moose-deer to round-towers, to various
architectural antiquities, and to the real and fabulous history of
Ireland, on all which the count spoke with learning and enthusiasm. But
now, to Colonel Heathcock's great joy and relief, a handsome collation
appeared in the dining-room, of which Ulick opened the folding-doors.

'Count, you have made an excellent house of your castle,' said Lady
Dashfort.

'It will be, when it is finished,' said the count. 'I am afraid,' added
he, smiling, 'I live like many other Irish gentlemen, who never are, but
always to be, blest with a good house. I began on too large a scale, and
can never hope to live to finish it.'

"Pon honour! here's a good thing, which I hope we shall live to
finish,' said Heathcock, sitting down before the collation; and heartily
did he eat of grouse pie, and of Irish ortolans, which, as Lady Dashfort
observed, 'afforded him indemnity for the past, and security for the
future.'

'Eh! re'lly now! your Irish ortolans are famous good eating,' said
Heathcock.

'Worth being quartered in Ireland, faith! to taste 'em,' said Benson.

The count recommended to Lady Dashfort some of 'that delicate sweetmeat,
the Irish plum.'

'Bless me, sir—count!' cried Williamson, 'it's by far the best thing of
the kind I ever tasted in all my life: where could you get this?'

'In Dublin, at my dear Mrs. Godey's; where ONLY, in his Majesty's
dominions, it is to be had,' said the count. The whole dish vanished in
a few seconds. "Pon honour! I do believe this is the thing the queen's
so fond of,' said Heathcock.

Then heartily did he drink of the count's excellent Hungarian wines;
and, by the common bond of sympathy between those who have no other
tastes but eating and drinking, the colonel, the major, and the captain
were now all the best companions possible for one another.

Whilst 'they prolonged the rich repast,' Lady Dashfort and Lord Colambre
went to the window to admire the prospect; Lady Dashfort asked the count
the name of some distant hill.

'Ah!' said the count, 'that hill was once covered with fine wood; but it
was all cut down two years ago.'

'Who could have been so cruel?' said her ladyship.

'I forget the present proprietor's name,' said the count; 'but he is one
of those who, according to THE CLAUSE OF DISTRESS in their leases, LEAD,
DRIVE, AND CARRY AWAY, but never ENTER their lands; one of those enemies
to Ireland—these cruel absentees!' Lady Dashfort looked through her
glass at the mountain; Lord Colambre sighed, and, endeavouring to pass
it off with a smile, said frankly to the count—

'You are not aware, I am sure, count, that you are speaking to the son
of an Irish absentee family.—Nay, do not be shocked, my dear sir; I
tell you only, because I thought it fair to do so; but let me
assure you, that nothing you could say on that subject could hurt me
personally, because I feel that I am not, that I never can be, an enemy
to Ireland. An absentee, voluntarily, I never yet have been; and as to
the future, I declare—'

'I declare you know nothing of the future,' interrupted Lady Dashfort,
in a half-peremptory, half-playful tone—'you know nothing; make no rash
vows, and you will break none.'

The undaunted assurance of Lady Dashfort's genius for intrigue gave
her an air of frank imprudence, which prevented Lord Colambre from
suspecting that more was meant than met the ear. The count and he took
leave of one another with mutual regard; and Lady Dashfort rejoiced to
have got our hero out of Halloran Castle.