The Ashes of Old Wishes

by Herminie Templeton Kavanagh

  'Twas seldom that me gran'father ever lost a game, d'ye mind, for he and his thrusted comrade, Tim Maylowney, had betwixt themselves such a system of saycrit signs and signals and tokens for playin' that the crook of a finger, the lift of an eyebrow, or the twist of a lip had each its well-known maning; and then again, the pair had such gr-reat skill in mixing and shufflin' the cyards that a sthranger stood as little chanst ag'in the two as if he had been born blind. Howandever, me gran'father, bein' a just man, med it a sthrict rule never to play for more than sixpence a game. He had a pious feeling that to chate for more than sixpence a game wouldn't be honest.

  You'll agree that there was a taste of excuse for this great fondness for cyards, bekase a carter's trade takes him into all kinds of distant places an' laves him many a lonely night to while away. Me gran'father often druve as far as the Killinturf hills, and, in thim days, the same hills were a good fufty miles from the Sleive-na-mon Mountains. So ye see by this what a great thraveler the poor man had to be.

  But, notwithstandin' his daily timptaytions, me gran'father had vartues too many to count. He could lift with his bare hands a load that it'd take two common men to budge; he could run like a bear and lep like a deer; no one ever saw the sign of dhrink on him even after he had put down a gallon; while as for fightin'—well, there was only one other man in the barony who could stan' ferninst him: his buzzum friend, Tim Maylowney.

  Indade, I think there was only one mortil man on airth me gran'father was afeard of, an' that same one was me gran'mother, an' she no bigger than a wisp of hay, as the sayin' is.

  Now, this same Tim Maylowney bein' likewise a carter, he an' me gran'father always sthrove to manage to take their thrips together. This sometimes med it mighty inconvanient for the parish, bekase, such prime favorites were the two at home in Ballinderg that a neighbor'd be very loathe to give his job of carryin' to one carman, lest, by so doin', he'd be dayprivin' the other. So, for that rayson, whin the bell for the chapel was to be carted from Carrickthor to Ballinderg, ye may well aymagine how sore vexed an' perplexed was the whole parish to daycide whether Tim Maylowney or me gran'father was to have the honor of the job.

  The way Ballinderg came to have a bell at all, at all was this away: Father Murphy of the rich parish of Carrickthor had a beautiful thraymendous new bell given to him by Lord Killinerg; so what did Father Murphy do but donate his ould bell—an' a grand one it was—to his friend Father O'Leary of Ballinderg. (The two clargymen long ago were collations together at the same college in France.) But whin they came to take the dayminsions of the bell, it was found to be too large for the chapel tower. Howandever, that throuble didn't last long, for the parish came together and soon raised the belfry tower close beside the chapel itself.

  Now, of course, aich of our two cronies wanted for himself the honor of carting the bell from Carrickthor. An' the only pay he'd ax or expect for carrin' the bell would be the credit it'd bring to himself and family and their generations afther thim till the day of judgment. Some of the parish sided with me gran'father, others with Tim Maylowney, an' Father O'Leary was fairly at his wits' end to know which side to take. So what does the good man do but call a meetin' at the chapel steps for Sunday afthernoon, that he might put the question to a vote—in that way, the raysponsibility'd be on the congregaytion, d'ye see?

  Howandever, whin the time for the meetin' was come, an' all the people, men, women and children, were gathered in the churchyard, me gran'father, with that wisdom which the rayputable people say has always run in our family, walked firmly up the chapel steps and stood just below the clargyman, where, afther wavin' his hand for attintion, he cried, "Let the bell be put on Tim Maylowney's cart," he says, "an' let me own two foine ponies, Anthony an' Clayopathra, dhraw the cart," sez he. "That'll make things ayquil, an' there will be no ha-ard feelin's." Ah, then wasn't he the saygacious man!

  I needn't tell that thim pathriotic worruds sint the multitude dancin' wild with dayloight and admayration. I'm tould that the cheerin' was heard by Father Nale himself in Ballinthubber. Through all the hurrayin' an' hurrooin', me gran'father, solemn an' proud, stood planted on the steps, his arms folded, lookin' for all the worruld like the ould ancient hayro, Hayjax, dayfyin' the weather.

  As Father O'Leary stood waitin' for the cheerin' to stop, it was aisy to see that a funny joke was stirrin' in the good man's mind; for he kept chucklin' to himself an' half-explodin' with laughter; he couldn't spake a worrud durin' a full minute, but waited with his hand pressed agin his mouth, keepin' back the marriment. Even the little childher knew be this sign that a raymarkable joke was to the fore; an' half the parish was in roars at the fun they knew was comin' before the good man opened his lips.

  "Me childher," says he, ketchin' his breath, "these two good neighbors, Jerry Murtaugh an' Tim Maylowney, are going two long days' journey to Carrickthor for us, an' two hard days' journey back ag'in, expectin' no more pay than my blessing an' your thanks."

  "They are! They are!' roared the parish, splittin' with laughter, poking aich other in the ribs and welting one another on the back. The women were stuffin' their shawls in their mouths.

  "But they're far mistaken," the priest wint on.

  "They are! They are!" ag'in shouted the whole churchyard.

  "We can't give them money," says his riverence, "but we'll pay them with something else which no fire can burn, no thafe can stayle, an' no wather can drown, so long as the bell hangs in that tower," and for a minute, he stood pinting at the tower, while, as you may well aymagine, the crowd was swaying an' surgin' with excited merriment.

  "He's goin' to give them the bell itself," shouted long Pether McCarthy.

  "He is! He is!" roared everyone else.

  "No, no, no!" warned his reverence. "Nothin' of the kind," says he. "We'll give thim for their pay—we'll give thim," says he, lookin' roguish at me gran'father—"the music of the bell."

  For five wild minutes, one couldn't have heard the bell itself above the jolly uproar over this good joke. Everyone was screeching and screamin' except me gran'father, who, loike all great thravelers, was not much given to fryvolity. He stood one leg in front of the other, his arms still folded and not a sound out of his two pressed lips.

  So, in this way, the matther was daycided, and then and there settled. Tim Maylowney would donate the cart, and me gran'father was to give his ponies to dhraw it home.

  But, ochone mavrone, if the parish had rayalized what fright and disthress was to folly in the wake of that same funny joke, 'twould have been terrified faces, instead of merry ones they'd have brought home with them on that ayventful night.

  However, no one foresaw the unlucky fuchure, so, bright an' airly the next mornin', our two carters, sittin' side by side in Tim Maylowney's cart, proud as two blue and yellow spotted paycocks, started for Carrickthor with Anthony an' Clayopathra, to the fore.

  -

  Part II

  Well, sorra thing worth mentionin' happened till the expaydition arrived at Father Murphy's house, an' there, afther much histin' an' pullin' an' gruntin' an' shoutin', the bell was lifted onto the cart and fastened in. The next morning at cockcrow, with the wind to their backs, the proud beneyfactors started home.

  The first day's journey back passed aisy an' peaceful enough, only it was harrud work on the two hayros to be ridin' along side by side, pious and saydate, mindin' their tongues for fear of sayin' wan unrayligious worrud with the chapel bell listining in the cart behind. But black an' airly their troubles began the last day of the journey. They were about an hour on the road an' had raiched Kelly's bog—me gran'father was dhrivin'—whin the left front wheel dhropped intil a rut, and before one could say "Jack Robinson", me gran'father was trun off his seat and landed on his head in the ditch, with Maylowney scrambling on top of him. But worse luck of all, the axle was broke, and our two pious min near suffocayted with anger.

  "If the bell behind wasn't a chapel bell," says Tim Maylowney, "I'd dayscribe ye in a wo
rrud now that'd do me a power of good to mention," he says.

  "Why don't ye say it to yer rotten ould cart?" roared me gran'father, comin' muddy up out of the ditch.

  Tim flared up imayget at this belittling of his share of the honor. "No!" he says. "But I'll say it to the wooden-headed omadhaun with the thick fingers who was dhrivin' the cart," says he. "Or maybe I'd say it to Anthony an' Clayopathra, yer pair of common nanny goats that's pullin' the cart," says he.

  "You know well, Tim Maylowney, I'm in a state of sinless grace bekase of hauling the bell," says me gran'father, thremblin' all over with rage. "But I hope I'll not be tomorrow," says he, "and thin I'll make surgent's worruk of ye, you slandherin' blaggard ye," says he.

  For a minute, the two stood barking at each other, and there's no knowin' how the argyment would have inded if Danny O'Brien's empty cart hadn't druve up at the moment. Danny gingerously offered to bring help from the nearest smithy, and bring it he soon did. But do their best endayvor, there wor four hours' delay before the cordage again got on its creaking way.

  Aggrwaytin' as was this mishap, sure it was nothin' but a necessary pruperation for the rale misfortin' which was yet in store. And the place set for that misfortin' was no less a place than Paddy Carroll's public house, two miles this side of the village of Killgillam, an' tin dark, lonesome miles from their own waiting Ballinderg.

  The clouds had been gathering dark and threatening all afthernoon, and the night swept up with a rush and a roar. Afther only tin minutes of warning twilight, the world grew black as yer hat. The stumbling horses could barely kape the road. And thin, while the wind was whistling a doleful chune through the hedges, flash—a blaze of lightning flung high the hills. The two hayroes braced thimselves for the stunning thunder crash, and well they did, for whin the clap came, it almost bate them flat. Imagetely afther, there crashed and roared just wolley afther wolley of deafening thunder, and thin the rain, the smothering rain—Noah himself would have been dhrownd by it.

  What would have become of the parsecuted beneyfacthors I don't know, only that a bend in the road brought them the first sign of cheer. Just ahead through the slantin' rain shivered low near the ground the one gleamin' yellow eye of Paddy Carroll's inn. Whin the cart jolted into the tavern yard, Phil O'Connor, Paddy Carroll's red-headed hostler boy, answering Maylowney's doleful call, led the dhraggled ponies back to the mangers, while our two disappinted hayroes, dhrenched and shiverin', hurried into the tavern kitchen. As luck would have it, the corned beef was still smokin' hot on the table and the beautiful perfume of the biled cabbage filled all the house. Tin minutes afther, there wasn't a smudgin' of corned beef left in Carroll's tavern and only a fistful of biled cabbage was, for shame sake, left floating in the pot.

  Just afther they were standin' in front of the fire, shaken' the water from themselves like two dhrowned huntin' dogs, and the rain was dashing furrous at the black windows, and Paddy Carroll at the bar was mixin' stiff noggins of hot Scotch, there broke so blindin' a flash of lightening that it med everything in the room dance green before their eyes, and in its wavering glare, they saw a great black coach dash past the windy. And, by the powers, on that same instant, the door swung open and if a tall dark sthranger dhressed like a lord didn' stand bowin' an' scrapin' on the thrashold.

  So surprised and systounded was everybody that not a worrud was spoken until the sthranger, walkin' over and puttin' his back comfortable to the fire, says aisy and cajolin', "Landlord," he says, "I'm both wet and dhry; put some more turf on the fire to dhry me wetness, and give me a glass of your best to wet me dhryness, an' while yer about it, brew for this brace of foine scoundhrels here their heart's daysire."

  While the three thravelers were sippin' their dhrink, friendly as yer plaze, an' Tim Maylowney was relaytin' the throuble they'd had with the bell, the red-headed hostler boy stuck a frightened face inside the door an', callin' Paddy Carroll over, whispered, "The coach an' horses must have sunk intil the ground. I can't find hide nor hair of thim!" he says, every flamin' hair brustlin'.

  Without lookin' round, the sthranger spoke up. "Never mind thim," he says. "I sint them on a message to the village. They'll be back for me. Glasses round, landlord, and bring us a pack of cyards. I'll play yez for another round of dhrinks, juntlemen, that is, if yez understand how to play cyards," he says polite.

  Paddy Carroll came near smotherin' with laughter.

  Although me gran'father wondered over this well-dressed condaysintion, he never blinked an eye, but, keepin' a savare suppressing frown upon the grinning hostler boy, Phil, who was juggling a round table and three chairs into place, he sez, "It's seldom I touch the cyards, sir, and never with a sthranger. I'm that narvous of bein' chated," says he. "Still, as by the looks of the weather, we have a heavy hour upon our hands, and as yer honor seems so rayspectable a man, I'm willin' to take the chanct fer oncet."

  Sure, he hadn't the worruds half out of his mouth whin the shameless Tim Maylowney was already in a chair, fumblin' careful and affectionate at a pack of cyards, as handy at floppin' them together as if he never had done any other sort of work in his life.

  Me gran'father, with a rayluctant but raysigned air, sat down to the table; but no sooner had he touched the chair than he was half up to his feet again, for never since the worruld was creayted had been seen such a pair of ears as those which brustled on the head of the sthranger. Although they had no hair on thim, d'ye mind, they were long and narrow and thrimmed up to a point and stood out like a bull terrier's.

  "Dale the cyards," says the juntleman, greatly annoyed at me gran'father's spachless onpoliteness. "I'm a Boolgarian jook," he says, "an' where I come from, all my countrymen have ears like thim." Me gran'father sat down aisy again, but, do his best endavors, he couldn't keep his eyes from staring at that puzzling pair of Boolgarian ears.

  Fair and aisy Maylowney dealt. The little cyards from the top of the pack fell to the sthranger, an' wondherful to raylate, all the big cyards, which some way happened to be on the bottom of the pack, fell to himself an' to me gran'father.

  I needn't tell ye that the first game was over in a jiffy, an' that the dark man lost.

  Me gran'father laned over an' said in a sootherin' way, "Ye had the Divil's own luck that time, sir."

  "I had," says the jook. Wid that, for no rayson at all, he trew back his head and let a screech of laugh out of him that rattled the windys.

  The punch was handed round, steaming hot.

  "Have ye a toast?" says the jook.

  "I have," says Maylowney, liftin' his glass. "Here's that we may all be in Heaven tuntyfour hours before the Divil knows we're dead."

  "I'll not dhrink it," says the dark man, frownin' and layin' down his noggin.

  "Whist! Tim, maybe the juntleman has a betther one," me gran'father says, cajolin'!

  "I have," says the sthranger. "Such good company as this should have a friendlier toast. Here's that we three may soon meet again for betther and longer closer acquaintance."

  Many an' many's the time aftherwards both me gran'father an' Tim Malowney would wake up in the night and fair shake the bed with their thremblin' at the raymimbrance of how careless an' free they swallyed down that toast. The two carters cooled their bowls, but, hot as it was, the jook threw his own down at one swolly and roared for another noggin.

  To make a long story short, the second game was over as quick as the first, an' the third game was like it, but as the jook was picking from a fistful of silver the pay for the third round of dhrinks, he seemed to be very much vexed at his misfortune.

  "Here," says he, in a blusterin' voice, shakin' the handful of money undher the nose of both of them. "Play me for this! I dare yez!"

  For a moment, you could have heard a pin dhrop. Knowing well what was in store for the sthranger, Paddy Carroll, turned his back on the room quick, purtindin' to wind the clock, an' Phil O'Connor, whustling, wint over an' begun polishing the pewther as hard as he could; but all the time,
aich of the two kept one merry eye over his showldher.

  Me gran'father was sarchin' careful through a handful of shillin's an' pennies an' brass buckles an' horseshoe nails for a sixpence, and had just picked one out, when, happening to look up, he caught the scornful eye an' dishdainful smile of the dark sthranger fixed on the sixpence in his fingers.

  The most raynowned thing always about the Murtaugh family has been their pride, and that same scornful smile lashed me gran'father like the cut of a whip. His face blazed red with raysentment, and without a worrud, he planked down in the center of the table buckles, nails, money, an' all—a matther of eight shillin's, and threepince ha'penny.

  Tim Maylowney scraped anxious every pocket, but, sarch as he would, all he could find was five shillin's; he flung them to the table with the air of a lord.

  "I'll put all this ag'inst the two of ye," the dark juntleman says, careless houlding up a fistful. "I haven't time to count it," says he, lettin' a silver rain of shillin's an' sispences slither through his fingers, until it hid and covered the threasure of the two carmen—nails, brass buckles, an' all. There must surely have been at laste four poun' tin in the pile. Paddy Carroll let fall the key of the clock, and Phil O'Connor, for want of breath, stopped whustlin'. So much money had never been bet on a game of cyards before in that tavern.