Hudy XXc

Chapter XXc - The Still-Hunt: The Gauger Captured
[this story was not in the 1841 booklet]

The gauger perceived there was no longer any chance that Hudy would be captured by the men; and piqued, nay irritated, he chivalrously resolved on giving single chase and, clapping spurs to the horse, dashed after the fugitive at full speed. Hudy was now fairly put upon his mettle, and for half a mile over hedge and ditches he maintained his distance.

By the time the gauger had got fairly on the pursuit, the whole country was up in arms, every house giving forth its warriors. The judicious movements of the Clift had, as intended, scattered the wreckers in small parties over a very extended surface, and the people, seizing the advantage, poured down upon them in overwhelming numbers. The strength of combined action was lost, military discipline was no longer of any avail, and on personal prowess alone had they to depend. Thus were they doomed to sustain, as best they might, a fierce attack from the enraged and vengeful peasantry, who were armed with pitchforks, flails, spades, scythes, blackthorns, anything. The contest was awful and unequal, but in no wise doubtful. "Man against man, and steel to steel", but the bayonet was no match for the pitchfork, and the blackthorn did famous execution where the gun in close contest was of no avail. O'er all the extended field the battle raged with fury.

Talk of the fabled fights of the Greeks and Trojans! - a Wellington cracker to a murderous bomb-shell. Talk of their princes and generals! - of Hector and Achilles, of Ulysses and Agamemnon. Their wisdom in council, their courage in combat, their strategy in war! Faugh! Comparisons are odious! The devil a Greek or Trojan chief ever led the enemy such a dance as Hudy McGuigan did the Killyman wreckers and their officer on the present occasion.

But the gauger on his fiery steed was left in hot pursuit, and was rapidly gaining ground, expecting every moment to be in possession of his prize; our hero, who had intentionally slackened his pace, glanced round, saw his pursuer at his heels, and muttering a benison prepared for action.

"Bad luck to you for a nagur! but naboclish - by my sowl! you're in for a fall."

And, untying the still-head - whew! down with a bang it went at the horse's feet. The animal shyed, reared, plunged; but, though little expecting such a salute, the rider gallantly maintained his seat. Hudy was generous - he could and would do justice, even to an enemy; and admiring the firm and graceful bearing of the rider he exclaimed -

"Capityal, by my sowl, gauger darlin'! By the powers! you manage a horse well - the divil a betther."

And off he darted, to gain time for another manoeuvre. For a few minutes he played himself before the gauger: springing, bounding, capering like an ancient danseur, exhibiting his powers in the spirit-stirring and graceful Lavolta! But when once more he abated his speed, his vengeful pursuer, boiling with rage, was again upon him - down he threw himself flat upon the earth - over him went the horse with a brave bound - up sprung our hero -

"Whew, yer sowl! chate me now if ye can!"

He cast a noose upon the rope - a cheer - a bound - and the Quarterclift was sitting on the horse, behind the captured gauger! whose arms were pinioned with the rapidity of thought, and before his bewildered mind could dwell on the question whether the agency was human or supernatural. His doubts however were soon dissipated. The Clift was a social animal, and loved to enter into converse with his kind:

"Arrah gauger darlin', wasn't that a capityal thrick? Did you ever play at leap-frog before? Bad scran to it, man! have you lost the use of your tongue? Faix, it's yourself that rides bouldly - by my sowl! you gave me hot work of it! but what makes you run away from the prize? - come back for the still-head, mavourneen; sure it would be a thousand pities to lave it behind you, afther all your throuble!"

And, satisfying himself that his prisoner was properly secured, he dismounted, led back the horse to the spot where the article lay, and in his usual dry style commenced his system of tormenting:

"In throth I was thinking, gauger agrah! as you haven't just now the right power of your hands, it might be as well, for fear of accidents, to take care of your heels - so aff goes the spurs."

And off, to be sure, they did go, and were immediately transferred to his own bare knobs!

"But how, your honour, will we conthrive to carry the still-head? Och by the powers! I have it."

And before time was given even to guess at his intention, away flew the victim's hat, and the still-head occupied its place, with the arm, in shape of a cue, hanging down his back.

"And now my darlin's, it's high time to be off. And sure it's yourself looks well in your new dress. Divil a costlier hat or nater fit ivir was on your head. And sure you can't complain of 'a false tail'! Divil a betther in the county barrin' my own, and that, you parsave, is an elegant fox's brush!! Och by the powers! it's yourself will be setting the fashion some of these days!"

The gauger seemed totally paralyzed; the faculties of speech and thought had apparently deserted him, and there he sat, a passive lump of inert matter in his tormentor's hands.

"It's time to be going, gauger; but before we start, would your honour plaise to look about you?" He did look up, and to his great dismay perceived his men engaged in combat with the people, as above alluded to. "Isn't that a blessed sight, gauger darlin'? Faix, if the wreckers have missed the seizure, they'll carry away something they didn't bargain for! and that's one comfort anyhow!"

Roused by the terrible scene, a sudden revulsion of nature recalled his energies, and he exclaimed - "Unbind me, ruffian! or you shall repent it!"

"Be aisy, mavourneen! Divil a hurt'll come upon you. It's well for you you're not among the wreckers just now; by my sowl, if you were you would get 'monkey's pay - more kicks than halfpence'! Faix, it's myself'll thrait you kindly, and take you out of harm's way. We're just for a bit of a ride, you see." And he quietly adjusted the saddle, bridle, girths, &c. and gracefully placed the still-arm pendent over the gauger's left shoulder.

"Different nations have different customs" - that's an old saw, but a true one. For instance, an Italian riding-master would never dream of mounting a horse from the level ground; not a foot would he set in stirrup in such ungraceful position. No, no! he must have his "montoir". He must have what Hudy McGuigan would call "a stepping-on-stone"; but divil a montoir, or stepping-on-stone, or any such artificial aid ever our hero required; nor stirrup, nor bridle, nor even withers, was necessary to him. Only show him the horse, and you might trust him to find his own method of mounting. And just in the right humour was he for a spring, when he had got the gauger properly seated; turning tail to the wreckers, at a single bound he flung himself once more behind his prisoner; then mastering the reins, dash went the spurs - "Whew, yer sowls!" and forward, with a furious plunge, darted the noble animal.

"Aisy my bouchal! aisy! Throw from you gently at first, for by my own sowl there's many a ditch betwixt this and 'the Cross' of Ballinascreen."

And away! and away they went, over hedges and ditches, through river and stream, over hill and dale; but never was maniac in the embraces of a strait-jacket more furious than the gauger for the first half-hour. He struggled, he swore, he vociferated, but an iron grip bound him to his seat; and after the perilous exercise of some half-dozen bold leaps, he became as tame as his horse before he arrived at his first station - his good-natured captor all the while seizing every opportunity of administering consolation:

"Whew! that was a bould leap. A capityal sporting country, your honour. By the powers you sit well! Faix, it's a spirited horse and a kindly one you ride; and doesn't he carry double as if he had been thrained to it? And well you become your new dress. The people in the Cross'll be proud to see you."

"Why, you scoundrel, would you dare to exhibit me thus in the Cross?"

"Augh murdher! what dislikings have you to the Cross? but maybe you prefar going an to Desertmartin?"

"No certainly, you abominable savage. But the law shall punish you for this most atrocious outrage!"

"Augh gauger acushla! them's long words, that myself can't well understhand; but what names would you call me, if you catched me robbing Atty McGeough of his property, that never cost me as much as a single thraneen? Eh, your honour?"

This was a home-thrust, cleverly put, and silenced the officer during the remainder of the ride. There was however no stopping Hudy's tongue, for, resuming the thread of his discourse, he continued -

"But there's no good in fellow-thravellers disputing. I parsave you are by no means willing to put up in ayther the Cross or Desertmartin, and botheration, I can't tell why. Bad scran to my stupid head! But whew! I have it now! You must want to go to Magherafelt; and small blame to you, as this is market-day, and divil a doubt but you'll meet plenty of friends; and there, you see, you can take the law of me. Whew! 'Whistle my dog a dance!' Oh! faix, it's myself would pay great respect to the law! Aye, just as much as I would to your honour; and sure you'll allow I have been mighty civil and polite to you entirely!"

Every word was a dagger; but had the unfortunate captive only caught the air, look, and manner of his tormentor, each word had been a poisoned dagger. The news of their arrival in the Cross spread like moor-burning. Five minutes, and every man, woman and child able to walk was assembled round Hudy and his victim, whose face, by a slight movement of the arm, was completely covered by the still-head.

"Arrah, who's that before you, hell-pet?" rung from twenty different voices.

"Faith then, I suppose you would like to know. Well by the powers, I won't disappoint you."

And with much scenic effect he slowly raised the still-head, and exposed the burning countenance of the officer, who was immediately recognised. A mingled yell of disgust, rage, triumph, revenge, burst from the assembled multitude, and - "The gauger! the bloody thieving gauger!" "Musha, sweet bad luck to him." "Crop him, crop him! tie him under the pump!" with other similar expressions of kindly feeling, greeted his unwilling ears. The unfortunate man shrunk with terror from the excited mob, and a deep groan of hopeless agony burst from his throbbing bosom. The sound was so melancholy, so thrilling, that it struck upon the Clift's heart, and awakened all his better feelings. Generously following the promptings of nature, he whispered into his captive's ear:

"Hould your wheesht, you bauchon! don't be afear'd! bad luck to the man nor mortyal in the Cross dare lay a hand on you while Black Bess hangs at my wrist."

Then, speaking to the crowd: "The pump's dhry the-day, boys! and divil a call you have for this chap's ears anyhow; by the powers, a sow's lug would fit your throuble betther. Besides, you see, I have to thrait him to a ride on his own horse; sure, your sowls, we're bound for Magherafelt! So 'Faugh-a-ballagh!'"

Hudy's firmness and good nature had changed the currency of public feeling; but while the crowd gave up their ferocity, they could not readily relinquish their characteristic taste for a little bit of malicious merriment.

"Bi-dho-host, Hudy! wid your leave, my bouchal! - Bad manners to you, sure you wouldn't have us part with the gentleman in that way; sure it's hungry he must be afther his ride, and wouldn't he be the betther of an egg for breakfast?" and - whack! bang! fifty rung off - no, smashed upon his comely "chorpis", spreading yolk and glaire over his fashionable dress in the most 'henspeckle' manner imaginable. Taken by surprise, but at the same time delighted with the "innocent thrick", the Clift bawled out,

"Whew! bad luck to you for a pack of omadhons! - A comical way that, to sell your eggs." But another unexpected volley of "bruckleware" made him dive behind the gauger to save his own sconce from the practical jokes of his hilarious friends.

"Whew! bad luck to you, clear the coorse there!"

A dash of the spurs - the horse made a gallant bound, and the crowd, in self-defence, opened a passage for the excited trio.

The summer sun-beams are not more welcome to man than was the presence of Hudy McGuigan, wherever he chose to show his manly face. Truly the pest and pet of the country, at times the old might have had to excuse his visits; but the young - no, no, the young blood, in rapid dance, hailed him with delight on every occasion. Twenty minutes, therefore, saw him making a triumphal entry into Desertmartin, amidst the shouts, huzzas, and joyous acclamations of the rural population. He had scarcely introduced his victim to the notice of the crowd when, summoning some little nerve, the gauger exclaimed to a grave respectable-looking man on the street,

"Save me, sir; rescue me from this madman, I beseech you!"

The person to whom the appeal was made humanely advanced, but the Clift with a stern and arch look said,

"I'll tell you what, Jack Hutcheson, take a fool's advice: 'don't scald your tongue in other people's broth'. Betther for you to mind your prayers and your malemongerings. See, there's Black Bess. Is that enough? - eh?"

And Jack prudently desisted from the contemplated rescue. Hudy's old spirit was now up. The captive's ill-timed and unsuccessful appeal had banished all commiseration from the Clift's breast, and again he sat as a confessed tormentor; while the crowd, predisposed to relish and applaud all his tricks, cheered most uproariously; but in the very climax of their glee, the well-known voice burst upon them with -

"Whew! bad scran to you for a pack of open-mouthed gomerils, clear the coorse there! The eggs are all gone to Magherafelt market I suppose!"

The hint wasn't lost on the mercurial assembly. Two minutes, and one hundred burst on the still-head, like shells on the roof of a bomb-proof castle.

"Whew yer sowls!" A dash of the spurs, and forward they went at an easy sling, leaving the gaping crowd to chew the cud of bitter disappointment.

Quietly and gently did they proceed upon their journey. The Clift (who could weigh probabilities with all the nice and minute skill of a practical philosopher), deeming that a demand would be made at sight upon his own and the horse's best energies, was determined the call should be handsomely and honourably responded to, and therefore did he, in professional parlance, "bring the creature gently into wind", that he might be able to act with spirit on any emergency. Accordingly, half an hour after their departure from Desertmartin, they were seen in prime condition entering the beautiful little town of Magherafelt, rendered famous by the immortal author of "Paddy Carey."

Like Napoleon "on the morning of Marengo's bloody day", our hero now felt that one of the most striking scenes of his chequered and eventful life was about to be enacted. The souls of the great mass of humanity are indeed what Alexander Pope happily describes them -

Dull sullen prisoners in the body's cage;

or, as another close observer has it,

Still plodding forward to a nameless grave.

It falls not to the lot of the majority of mankind to be able to look beyond the end of their noses; and therefore do they plod in darkness. But different has it been with those master-minds that monopolise, and justly too, all our admiration. The super-sublimated spirit of Hudy McGuigan saw clearly, through the lens of anticipation, the rich harvest of glory he was to reap on the streets of Magherafelt. Wisely therefore did he calculate his resources and concentrate his energies; and then, with the self-reliance, the sublime confidence, felt only by a lofty genius, composedly did he enter the principal thoroughfare of a town with whose every inhabitant he was intimately acquainted. Scarcely had he proceeded ten perches ere the shout and the cheer that invariably greeted his appearance made the welkin ring, and all hands and eyes were directed to the centre of attraction.

What a pity that great men should have their weak points of character! but such must ever be the case - it is the brand, the very stamp of our humanity. The Quarterclift therefore had his. He was like the cats! he had his sympathies and antipathies, without troubling himself about the why or the wherefore; and poor Ned Divin the tailor was the very antithesis of everything grateful to our hero's eye. This industrious personage, with his subordinates, was sitting quietly on his shopboard at an open window, inhaling the fresh air and philosophising on the marked variety of the passing scene, when the noise of Hudy's entry attracted his particular attention. Dropping the implements of his craft, he poked out his head, enveloped in a red nightcap - his shrivelled face, his lank jaws, his spectacle-bestrid nose, in short his whole appearance, invited ridicule rather than admiration. Hudy espied him - his eye flashed indignation - what a trifling impulse may become the spring of noble actions! In an instant, all the Clift was up: his flushed cheek - his fiery rolling eye - his majestic mien!

"Whew! bad luck to you for a scare-crow, I'll soon make you lave that."

A woman was just passing with a basket of eggs on her head. The moment was auspicious - a tug of the reins - a dash of the spurs - and the golden contents of the basket gracefully garnished Ned Divin's board, and gaily bespeckled the various garments scattered thereupon! A loud triumphant laugh from the Clift replied to the murder-shout of the frenzied woman, and the deep mournful wailings of the ruined tailor.

"There, Ned acushla! there's goold lace on your boord for once, my bouchal! By my sowl! you needn't want for pancakes the-morrow. Wasn't that a God-send for 'fasten-e'en'! Upon my conscience, gauger darlin', we're daling largely in the egg trade, you see; faix, it puts me in mind of the ould rhyme -

Rabbits young, rabbits ould,
Rabbits hot, rabbits could,
Rabbits tendher, rabbits tough,
Of rabbits I have got enough!

But the stimulus to action was given, and now in full blood he dashed up the street, attended by as gay and vociferous a retinue as ever followed Charlatan or Jack Pudding.

This page was last updated 7 Nov 2018