A BARRISTER BESIEGED.
Dinner-party at the Rev. Mr. Thomas’s—The author among the guests, in company with John Philpot Curran—General punctuality of the latter at dinner-time—His mysterious non-appearance—Speculations and reports—Diver, from Newfoundland—His simultaneous absence—The house searched—Discovery of a ghost, and its metamorphosis into Curran—A curious blockade—Its relief, and accompanying circumstances—Comments of the author.
The late Mr. Curran was certainly one of the most distinguished of Irishmen, not only in wit and eloquence, but in eccentricity: of this quality in him, one or two traits have been presented to the reader in the former part of this work; and the following incident will still further illustrate it.
The Reverend Mr. Thomas, whosesobriquetin his neighbourhood was “Long Thomas,” he being nearly six feet and a half high, resided near Carlow, and once invited Curran and myself to spend a day and sleep at his house on our return from the assizes. We accepted the invitation with pleasure, as he was an old college companion of mine—ajoyous, good-natured, hospitable, hard-going divine as any in his county.
The Reverend Jack Read, a three-bottle parson of Carlow, with several other jolly neighbours, were invited to meet us, and to be treated with the wit and pleasantry of the celebrated Counsellor Curran, who was often extremely fond of shining in that class of society.
We all arrived in due time;—dinner was appointed for fiveprecisely, as Curran always stipulated (wherever he could make so free) for the punctuality of the dinner-bell to a single minute. The very best cheer was provided by our host: at the proper time, the dishes lay basking before the fire, in readiness to receive the several provisions all smoking for the counsellor, &c. The clock, which, to render the cook more punctual, had been that very noon regulated by the sundial, did not on its part vary one second. Its hammer and bell melodiously soundedfive, and announced the happy signal for the banquet. All the guests assembled in the dining-room, which was, in honest Thomas’s house, that apartment which the fine people of our day would call a drawing-room—the latter being then by no means regarded as indispensable in the dwelling-house of a moderate gentlemen. The family parlour, in fact, answered its purpose mighty well.
Every guest of the reverend host having now decided on his chair, and turned down his plate,in order to be as near as possible to Counsellor Curran, proceeded to whet his knife against the edge of his neighbour’s, to give it a due keenness for the most tempting side of the luscious sirloin, which by anticipation frizzed upon its pewter dish. Veal, mutton, turkey, ham, duck, and partridge, all “piping hot,” were ready and willing to leap from their pots and spits into their respective dishes, and to take a warm bath each in its proper gravy. The cork-screw was busily employed: the wine-decanters ornamented the four corners of the well-dressed table, and the punch, jugged, and bubbling hot upon the hearth-stone, perfumed the whole room with its aromatic potsheen odour.
Every thing bespoke a most joyous and protracted banquet;—but, meanwhile, where was the great object of the feast?—the wheedler of the petty juries, and the admonisher of the grand ones? Where was the great orator, in consequence of whose brilliant reputation such a company was collected? The fifth hour had long passed, and impatience became visible on every countenance. Each guest, who had a watch, gave his fob no tranquillity, and never were timekeepers kept on harder duty. The first half-hour surprised the company; the next quarterastonished, and the lastalarmedit. The clock, bysixsolemn notes, set the whole party surmising, and the host appeared nearly in a state of stupefaction. Day had departed, and twilight was rapidly following itsexample, yet no tidings of the orator: never had the like been known with regard to Curran—punctuality at dinner being a portion of his very nature. There are not more days in a leap year than there were different conjectures broached as to the cause of my friend’s non-appearance. The people about the house were sent out on the several roads to reconnoitre. He had been seen, certainly, in the garden at four o’clock, but never after;—yet every now and then a message came in to announce, that “an old man had seena counsellor, as he verily believed, walking very quick on the road to Carlow.” Another reported that “a woman who was driving home her cow met one of the counsellors going leisurely toward Athy, and that he seemed verymelancholy; that she had seen him at the ’sizes that blessed morning, and the people towld her it was the great law preacher that was in it.” Another woman who was bringing home some turf from the bog, declared before the Virgin and all the Saints that she saw “a little man in black with a stick in his hand going toward the Barrow;” and a collough sitting at her own cabin door feeding thechilder, positively saw a “black gentleman going down to the river, and soon afterward heard a great splash of water at the said river; whereupon, she wenthot-footto her son, Ned Coyle, to send him thither to see if the gentleman was in the water; but that Ned said, sure enuff nothing natural would be aftergoing at that time of the deep dusk to the place where poor Armstrong’s corpse lay the night he was murthered; and he’d see all the gentlemen in the county to the devil (God bless them!) before he’d go to the said place till morning early.”
The faithful clock now announcedseven, and the matter became too serious to admit of any doubt as to poor Curran having met his catastrophe. I was greatly shocked; our only conjectures now being, notwhether, buthow, he had lost his life. As Curran was known every day to strip naked and wash himself all over with a sponge and cold water, I conjectured, as most rational, that he had, in lieu of his usual ablution, gone to the Barrow to bathe before dinner, and thus unfortunately perished. All agreed in my hypothesis, and hooks and a draw-net were sent for immediately to Carlow, to scour the river for his body. Nobody, whatever might have been their feelings,saida word about dinner. The beef, mutton, and veal, as if in grief, had either turned into broth, or dropped piecemeal from the spit; the poultry fell from their strings, and were seen broiling in the dripping-pan. The cook had forgotten her calling, and gone off to make inquiries. The stable-boy left his horses; indeed, all the domestics, with one accord, dispersed with lanterns to search for Counsellor Curran in the Barrow. The Irish cry was let loose, and the neighbourhood soon collected; and the good-natured parson, our host,literally wept like an infant. I never saw so much confusion at anydinner-table. Such of the guests as were gifted by Nature with keen appetites, suffered all the tortures of hunger, of which, nevertheless, they could not in humanity complain; but a stomachic sympathy of woe was very perceptible in their lamentations for the untimely fate of so great an orator.
It was at length suggested by our reverend host that his great Newfoundland dog, who was equally sagacious, if not more so, with many of the parishioners, and rivalled, in canine proportion, the magnitude of his master, was not unlikely, by diving in the Barrow, to discover where the body lay deposited—and thus direct the efforts of the nets and hookers from Carlow. This idea met with universal approbation; and every body took up his hat, to go down to the river. Mary, a young damsel, the only domestic who remained in the house, was ordered to call Diver, the dog;—but Diver was absent, and did not obey the summons. Every where resounded, “Diver! Diver!” but in vain.
New and multifarious conjectures now crossed the minds of the different persons assembled:—the mystery thickened: all the old speculations went for nothing; it was clear that Curran and Diver had absconded together.
At length, a gentleman in company mentioned the circumstance of a friend of his having beendrowned while bathing, whose dog never left his clothes, on the bank, till discovered nearly dead with hunger. The conjecture founded hereon was, however, but momentary, since it soon appeared that suchcould notbe the case with Curran. I knew that he both feared and hated big dogs;[15]andbesides, there was noacquaintancebetween him and the one in question. Diver had never seen the counsellor before that day, and therefore could have no personal fondness for him, not to say, that those animals have a sort of instinctive knowledge as to who likes or dislikes them, and it was more probable that Diver, if either, would be an enemy instead of a friend to so great a stranger. But the creature’s absence, at any rate, was unaccountable, and the more so, inasmuch as he never before had wandered from his master’s residence.
15.Curran had told me, with infinite humour, of an adventure between him and a mastiff when he was a boy. He had heard somebody say, that any person throwing the skirts of his coat over his head, stooping low, holding out his arms and creeping along backward, might frighten the fiercest dog and put him to flight. He accordingly made the attempt on a miller’s animal in the neighbourhood, whowould never letthe boysrob the orchard; but found to his sorrow that he had a dog to deal with who did not care which end of a boy went foremost, so as he could get a good bite out of it. “I pursued the instructions,” said Curran; “and, as I had no eyes save those in front, fancied the mastiff was in full retreat: but I was confoundedly mistaken; for at the very moment I thought myself victorious, the enemy attacked my rear, and having got a reasonably good mouthful out of it, was fully prepared to take another before I was rescued. Egad, I thought for a time the beast had devoured my entirecentre of gravity, and that I never should go on a steady perpendicular again.” “Upon my word, Curran,” said I, “the mastiff may have left you yourcentre, but he could not have left muchgravitybehind him, among the bystanders.”I had never recollected this story until the affair of Diver at Parson Thomas’s, and I told it that night to the country gentlemen before Curran, and for a moment occasioned a hearty laugh against him; but he soonflooredme, in our social converse, which whiled away as convivial an evening as I ever experienced.
15.Curran had told me, with infinite humour, of an adventure between him and a mastiff when he was a boy. He had heard somebody say, that any person throwing the skirts of his coat over his head, stooping low, holding out his arms and creeping along backward, might frighten the fiercest dog and put him to flight. He accordingly made the attempt on a miller’s animal in the neighbourhood, whowould never letthe boysrob the orchard; but found to his sorrow that he had a dog to deal with who did not care which end of a boy went foremost, so as he could get a good bite out of it. “I pursued the instructions,” said Curran; “and, as I had no eyes save those in front, fancied the mastiff was in full retreat: but I was confoundedly mistaken; for at the very moment I thought myself victorious, the enemy attacked my rear, and having got a reasonably good mouthful out of it, was fully prepared to take another before I was rescued. Egad, I thought for a time the beast had devoured my entirecentre of gravity, and that I never should go on a steady perpendicular again.” “Upon my word, Curran,” said I, “the mastiff may have left you yourcentre, but he could not have left muchgravitybehind him, among the bystanders.”
I had never recollected this story until the affair of Diver at Parson Thomas’s, and I told it that night to the country gentlemen before Curran, and for a moment occasioned a hearty laugh against him; but he soonflooredme, in our social converse, which whiled away as convivial an evening as I ever experienced.
Mary, the maid, was now desired to searchallthe rooms and offices for Diver, while we sat pensive and starving in the parlour. We were speedily alarmed by a loud shriek, immediately after which Mary rushed tottering into the room, just able to articulate:—
“O, holy Virgin! holy Virgin! yes, gentlemen! the counsellorisdead, sure enough. And I’ll die too, gentlemen! I’ll never recover it!” and she crossed herself twenty times over in the way the priest had taught her.
We all now flocked round, and asked her simultaneously how sheknewthe counsellor was dead?
Crossing herself again, “I saw hisghost, please your reverence!” cried poor Mary, “and a frightful ghost it was! just out of the river, and not evendecentitself. I’m willing to take my affidavy that I saw his ghost, quiteindecent, straight forenent me.”
“Where? where?” cried every body, as if with one breath.
“In the double-bedded room next your reverence’s,” stammered the terrified girl.
We waited for no more to satisfy us either that she was mad, or that robbers were in the house: each person seized something by way of a weapon: one took a poker, another a candlestick, a third a knife or fire-shovel, and up stairs we rushed. Only one could go in, conveniently, abreast; and I was among the first who entered. The candles had been forgotten; but the moon was rising, and we certainly saw what, in the opinion of some present, corroborated the statement of Mary. Two or three instantly drew back in horror, and attempted to retreat, but others pressed behind; and lights being at length produced, an exhibition far more ludicrous than terrific presented itself. In a far corner of the room stood, erect and formal, andstark naked(as aghostshould be), John Philpot Curran, one of his majesty’s counsel, learned in the law,—trembling as if in the ague, and scarce able to utter a syllable, through the combination of cold and terror. Three or four paces in his front lay Diver, from Newfoundland, stretching out his immense shaggy carcase, his long paws extended their full length, and his great head lying on them with his nose pointed towardthe ghost, as true as the needle to the pole. His hind legs were gathered up like those of a wildbeast ready to spring upon his prey. He took an angry notice of the first of us that came near him, growled, and seemed disposed to resent our intrusion;—but the moment his master appeared, his temper changed, he jumped up, wagged his tail, licked the parson’s hand, cast a scowling look at Curran, and then a wistful one at his master,—as much as to say, “I have done my duty, now do you yours:” he looked, indeed, as if he only waited for the word of command, to seize the counsellor by the throttle.
A blanket was now considerately thrown over Curran by one of the company, and he wasput to bedwith half a dozen more blankets heaped upon him: a tumbler of hot potsheen punch was administered, and a second worked miracles: the natural heat began to circulate, and he was in a little time enabled to rise and tell us a story which no hermit even telling his last beads could avoid laughing at. Related byany one, it would have been good; but as told by Curran, with his powers of description and characteristic humour, was superexcellent;—and we had to thank Diver, the water-dog, for the highest zest of the whole evening.
The fact was, that a little while previous to dinner-time, Curran, who had omitted his customary ablution in the morning, went to our allotted bed-chamber to perform that ceremony; and having stripped, had just begun to apply thesponge, when Diver, strolling about his master’s premises to see if all was right, placed by chance his paw against the door, which not being fastened, it flew open, he entered unceremoniously, and observing what he conceived to be an extraordinary and suspicious figure, concluded it was somebody with no very honest intention, and stopped to reconnoitre. Curran, unaccustomed to so strange a valet, retreated, while Diver advanced, and very significantly showed an intention to seize him by the naked throat; which operation, if performed by Diver, whose tusks were a full inch in length, would no doubt have admitted an inconvenient quantity of atmospheric air into his œsophagus. He therefore crept as close into the corner as he could, and had the equivocal satisfaction of seeing his adversary advance and turn the meditatedassaultinto a completeblockade—stretching himself out, and “maintaining his position” with scarcely the slightest motion, till the counsellor was rescued, and the siege raised.
Curran had been in hopes that when Diver had satisfied hiscuriosityhe would retire; and with this impression, spoke kindly to him, but was answered only by a growl. If Curran repeated his blandishments, Diver showed his long white tusks;—if he moved his foot, the dog’s hind legs were in motion. Once or twice Curran raised his hand: but Diver, considering that as a sort of challenge,rose instantly, and with a low growl looked significantly at Curran’s windpipe. Curran, therefore, stood like amodel, if not much like a marble divinity. In truth, though somewhat less comely, his features were more expressive than those of the Apollo Belvidere. Had the circumstance occurred at Athens to Demosthenes, or in the days of Phidias, it is probable my friend Curran, and Diver, would have been at this moment exhibited in virgin marble at Florence or at the Vatican;—and I am quite sure thesubjectwould have been better and more amusing than that of “the dying gladiator.”