Hudy X

Chapter X - The Sports

On the day appointed for the trial of strength and skill between the retainers of the Noblemen and the Colonel, the glen of the Crooked Burn exhibited a scene of gaiety and bustle seldom witnessed in such retired localities. Pennons streamed from every tent - distinguishing colours pointed out each canvass habitation. Menials were busily employed in attending to horses and dogs, as well as in catering to the gastronomic cravings of their masters. The rivals in the games gaily bedecked for the occasion; the gentlemen listlessly loitering; the country people assembled by hundreds, to witness the novel spectacle: while mendicants, in shoals, flocked to a scene where the simple "Duine bocht", and the bolder "Ceatharnach", deemed that their wants, whether real or feigned, had a fair chance of being supplied. Many were the touching appeals made to the charity of the assembly; but one old fellow, extremely dirty and disgusting, was peculiarly importunate. He was quite lame - had a slack knee and ankle, evidently the effects of paralysis; and, slinging himself off a crutch and a staff, was as loud and obtrusive in his demands, as he was filthy in person, and ungainly in gait.

The hour of trial was approaching: Lord O'Neill and Lord Caledon had their champions in readiness; but Colonel Heyland, to his great chagrin, saw that the Quarterclift, with all his boasting and promises, had deserted him at the critical time. He was, consequently, in an exceedingly ill-tempered mood. The two Noblemen entered into conversation with him; and, rather trenching upon good manners, began to twit him upon his misfortunes. Just then, to add to his spleen, the old lame beggarman approached, making his boisterous appeal, and rudely interrupting the by-no-means pleasant trialogue.

"Help the poor cripple, gentlemen dear! - Cross my hand wid silver, for the love of marcy!"

Lord Caledon surveyed him with disgust; but the old fellow persisted in his appeal, and returned his Lordship's scowl with a steady unquailing glance.

"Augh, your honor, help the craythur that has lost the right use of his limbs."

"Begone about your business, you impudent old scoundrel!"

"Sure, then, your honor, I'm just about that same - following my trade, and a sarry one it is, God help me!"

"Begone out of this, I repeat! I don't know what the devil can bring such impostors here!"

"Augh, murdher! your honor, wherivir the carrion lies there you'll find the corbies! - and sure it's quite nathral. The crows, poor things, is fand of a dinner, as well as christians; - but in thrath I doubt the crows and the beggars would have slender fare, if some of the great folks had it all their own way."

And, shifting his crutch, he paid his court to Lord O'Neill.

"Help the boccagh, your honor - a sixpence to pay for the supper and the bed - you'll nivir miss't."

"Not a single farthing," said that nobleman, firmly, if not haughtily.

"Musha, then, your honor might plaise to tell me what them ribbons cost that's straming from the tap of your tent."

His Lordship felt the hit; and, roused to indignation, exclaimed -

"Begone! you disgusting old pest. Quit the ground this instant, else I'll horsewhip you!"

But the crooked cynic, without moving a muscle, bitterly replied,

"B'fhearr leigin a dho! [better let it alone] - Bad luck to all the thanks you would give yourself before night-fall for that same! God help the poor! It would be happy for some of them they were dogs! - they would be sure of a warm bed and plenty to ate afther a hard day's run, anyhow!"

The Colonel, smarting under his disappointment, and the sure loss of his extensive bets, was quite in a mood to quarrel with any body; and the biting sarcasm of the boccagh, though pointed at others, so far from soothing his temper, fairly threw him into a towering passion. Shooting a fierce glance at the old tormentor, he roared at him,

"Go be damned, you insulting old vagabond! What business can you have in such a place as this?"

"To see the sport, and make a thrifle, as well as another, and not to lose my temper for iviry knot's end. But, Lord help us, the poor'll hardly get lave to braithe the same air with the rich, afther-a-while, I suppose!" coolly answered the imperturbable mendicant; while, with a most provoking air, he surveyed the group so thoroughly agitated by his cutting observations.

"John," said Lord Caledon, to a groom just passing, "drag this old scoundrel hence, and stifle his insolence with the magic of a horsewhip."

The servant quickly advanced and, with unfeeling obedience, collared the poor old man; but a smart rap across the knuckles, adroitly administered, slackened the menial's gripe; while the mendicant, with wonderful ease, and presence of mind, slung himself off his crutch, and, mixing among the crowd, escaped the intended compliment.

But the hour of trial had now arrived. The games were to begin with jumping; and it had been decided that "the three leaps", without a race, should be the exercise. The two noblemen were in high spirits: their champions were on the ground, in tight dresses and light shoes, duly prepared for the contest. Colonel Heyland was called on to produce his man; but there was none forthcoming; and he, and all who had betted on his part, were deeply chagrined. Time was called; and as no further delay could be allowed, Lord O'Neill brought his man to the trig. As on every similar occasion, all was breathless excitement. The young man showed a fine figure, and evidently possessed confidence in his own powers: he gracefully swung his arms around him - prepared himself to do his utmost - and off he bounded with much strength and agility. The plaudits of the crowd rewarded his exertions; and even the snarling old beggarman, from a broken crag where he sat composedly viewing the scene, mumbled forth his approbation at the top of his voice -

"Three nate and clane lapes, by the good day!"

When the cheers had subsided, Lord Caledon's champion came forward, and prepared for the trial.

"A handsom clivir fellow: he bates his man, for a hog," muttered the eternal boccagh.

"Done, ould crab-tree," cried a funny young rogue - "Will ye make it two to one?" at the same time holding up a shilling. The mendicant eyed him with a deep disdain, and cuttingly replied,

"Get out ye unmannerly 'Cliopachan;' [rough hairy young colt] you know I have no money, or you wouldn't curl your nose that way. I hate to hear a capon, without comb or chullers, thrying to crow!"

The young fellow, unprepared for such a rebuff, slunk off quite chap-fallen; but numerous other bets were offered and accepted on the occasion. At length, the ground was cleared, and off bounded the second competitor, cleverly bearing away the palm from the first.

"Augh, sure I tould ye that! Three capityal lapes, in sowl; but, ould and lame as I am, by the powers I saw the day I could have bate them at my aise," cried the noisy and self-appointed judge of the sports; while the laughter-loving crowd indulged their hilarious propensities; and the eloquent wink, and the derisive jest, began to circulate at his expense.

"Where is your celebrated champion now, Colonel Heyland?" said Lord Caledon, with an ill-suppressed sneer. "You must produce him in ten minutes, or consent to lose your bets."

"I have been deceived, Lord Caledon! I have no man to produce: there is no course left but to pay the bets."

And, under the galling reflections of his deep disappointment, he petulantly bit his lip. His chagrin was evident; and his noble friends enjoyed it. But the irrepressible boccagh, in a tone of feeling that might be construed into either sympathy or sarcasm, exclaimed,

"By my sowl, rayther nor see him want, I would thry it myself; and if the Colonel takes me for his man, and allows me the use of my crutch and my stick, I'll be bound to bate the best lape, this blissed moment!"

And, with grotesque bustle, gathering himself up, he looked around him with the most ludicrous appearance of sincerity. A wild cheer, and uproarious laugh, marked the feelings of the crowd; while the vain boast elicited the bitterest curses from the Colonel's heart. But a knot of young fellows, more merry than wise, began to press their attentions on the nondescript champion, who was leisurely employed in untying the innumerable strings which bound his tattered clothes, and the equally frail apology for shoes that covered his feet. It was plain he was preparing for the leap; but, not liking their equivocal civility,

"Stand back, ye unmannerly stochachs!" cried the mendicant, brandishing his crutch in wrath.

"Augh, to-be-sure, boys darlin's," said a grey-haired droll; "stan' out of his way. In thrath he's a clane purty fellow, and he'll make a lape that'll surprise ye. Divil a doubt but the Colonel'll win the bates, afther all!"

The indignant eye of the boccagh shot its wild lightnings. He sat like a badger in the mouth of his kennel, scowling fiercely upon a pack of curs. The mirth of the crowd burst all bounds; while the Colonel, writhing under deep excitement, could have wished himself twenty miles distant from the scene.

"Stan' out of my way, I tell yez, till I spake to the Colonel."

And a rapid horizontal sweep of the boccagh's crutch taught his tormentors the necessity of obedience.

"I say, Colonel, will ye take me for your man?"

"Curse upon you, for an abominable wretch, be silent, or I'll break every bone in your crooked body!"

"Well now, there's my thanks for offering my sarvice, when divil another man ye can find!"

"Eternally!" -

"Bi do hocht, Colonel, acushla: Ballinascreen's the word!"

And he grinned familiarly in that gentleman's face. The Colonel stared - his wrath subsided - delight stole over his features; and, warmly shaking the mendicant's hand, to the astonishment of all present, he exclaimed,

"I will take you for my man!"

The noblemen and gentlemen thought him demented; but could not deny him the choice of a champion. The boccagh, however, calmly maintained his seat; his eye giving forth its glaring fire, while his hands were employed in unfastening the rags which covered his body.

"Time's up, Colonel," said Lord Caledon.

A wild scream from the old beggarman replied; and then - an upright bound that might have done credit to the mountain deer, when he starts at the first notes of the beagles - he flung his arms wildly around him - his rags flew on all sides, like leaves torn from a tree by the whirlwind, and, alighting on his feet, there stood The Quarterclift, confessed!! The old cripple, by a stroke of genius, metamorphosed into a young man of the finest form and dimensions; notwithstanding that he still bore the marks of his masquerading taste - his face, hands, neck, &c., remaining soiled in the most ludicrous and effective manner.

This page was last updated 7 Nov 2018