CHAPTER II
The Strains That Were Mingled in Jim
Clearly one cannot begin the history of the French Revolution with theoutbreak of 1789. Most phenomena, physical and spiritual, have theirroots, their seeds, their causes--whatever you will--far behind them inpoint of time. To understand them one must go back to the beginning orthey will present no logic or _raison d'etre_. The phenomenon of JamesHartigan, the Preacher of Cedar Mountain, which is both a physical and aspiritual fact, is nowise different, and the reader must go back with meto some very significant events which explain him and account for him.
Little Jim's father was James O'Hartigan in Donegal. The change in thepatronymic was made, not by himself, but by the Government EmigrationAgent at Cork. When James, Sr. came forward to be listed for passage,the official said: "Oh, hang your O's. I have more of them now than thecolumn will hold. I'll have to put you in the H's, where there's lots ofroom." And so the weight of all the Empire was behind the change.
James Hartigan, Sr. was a typical Irish "bhoy," which is high praise. Hewas broad and hearty, with a broad and hearty grin. He was loved andlovable, blessed with a comely countenance and the joy of a humorousoutlook on life and its vicissitudes. You could not down Jimmy so lowthat he might not see some bright and funny aspect in the situation.This was not only a happy temperamental trait, but it also had adistinct advantage, for in the moments of deepest self-inviteddegradation he never forgot that somewhere ahead, his trail would surelylead to the uplands once again.
He was what the doctors called "normal human," muscled far above theaverage, heart action strong and regular. This combination oftenproduces two well-marked types--a high-class athlete and a low-classdrunkard. Often these are united in the same individual; or, rather, theindividual appears in the first role, until the second comes toovermaster it. Such was Jimmy Hartigan, Sr., whose relation to thePreacher may be labelled Cause Number One.
Those who knew her people said that the forbears of Katherine Muckevayhad seen better days; that the ancient royal blood of Ireland ran in herveins; that the family name was really Mach-ne-veagh; and that, if everyone had his own, Kitty would be wearing a diamond tiara in the highestwalks of London importance. In ancient days, the Kings of Ulster used tosteal a bride at times from the fair-haired folk across the sea; maybethat was where Kitty got her shining hair of dusty yellow-red, as wellas the calm control in times of stress, something the psychologists callcooerdination, which is not a Celtic characteristic.
Of book learning Kitty had almost none, but she had native gifts. Shehad wits, good looks, and a wealth of splendid hair, as well as acertain presence which was her perpetual hedge of safety, even when shetook the perilous place of maid in the crude hotel with its bar-roomannex, whither the hand of Fate had brought her, an Irish immigrant, tofind a new life in the little town of Links. Kitty was Cause Number Two.
Jimmy did not chance to cross on the same ship. But the time had come;and by chance, which is not chance at all, he drifted into the samecorner of Canada, and had not half a day to wait before he was snappedup by a local farmer seeking for just such a build of man to swing theaxe and scythe upon his farm.
Farm life is dreary enough, at least it was in those days. It was hardwork from dawn to dusk, and even then the feeble, friendly glimmer of acaged candle was invoked to win an extra hour or two of labour from theidleness of gloom--hours for the most part devoted to the chores. Thecustom of the day gave all the hired ones freedom Saturday night and allday Sunday. Wages were high, and with one broad epidemic impulse allthese thriving hirelings walked, drove, or rode on Saturday night to thelittle town of Links. Man is above all a social animal; only thediseased ones seek solitude. Where, then, could they meet their kind?
The instinct which has led to the building of a million clubs, couldfind no local focus but the bar-room. John Downey's "hotel" was thesocial centre of the great majority of the men who lived and movedaround the town of Links. Not the drink itself, but the desire of men tomeet with men, to talk and swap the news or bandy mannish jokes, was theattracting force. But the drink was there on tap and all theill-adjusted machinery of our modern ways operated to lead men on, tomake abstainers drink, to make the moderate, drunken.
If the life in Downey's stable, house, and bar were expanded in manychapters, the reader would find a pile of worthless rubbish, mixed withfilth, but also here and there a thread of gold, a rod of the fineststeel, and even precious jewels. But this is not a history of the publichouse. Downey's enters our list merely as Cause Number Three.
Those who study psychological causation say that one must find fourcauses, accounting for place, matter, force, and time. The three alreadygiven are well known, and I can only guess at the fourth, that referringto the time. If we suppose that a sea pirate of a thousand years ago,was permitted to return to earth, to prove that he had learned thelessons of gentleness so foreign to his rapacious modes of thought, andthat, after a thousand years of cogitation in some disembodied state, hewas allowed to reassume the flesh, to fight a different fight, to raisehimself by battle with himself, we shall, perhaps, account for some ofthe strangely divergent qualities that met in the subject of this story.At least, let us name the ancient Sea-king as Cause Number Four.... Andconjunction of these four was affected in the '50s at Downey's Hotel,when Jim Hartigan met Kitty Muckevay.
These were the strains that were mingled in little Jim; and during hisearly life from the first glimpse we catch of him upon the back of theunbroken colt, he was torn by the struggle between the wild, romantic,erratic, visionary, fighting Celt, with moods of love and hate, and thecalmer, steady, tireless, lowland Scottish Saxon from the North who, farless gifted, had far more power and in the end had mastery; and havingwon control, built of his mingled heritages a rare, strong soul, sosteadfast that he was a tower of strength for all who needed help.
The Preacher of Cedar Mountain: A Tale of the Open Country Page 3