Hudy XXd

Chapter XXd - The Still-Hunt: The Yeomanry Bowled Over
[this story was not in the 1841 booklet]

How false is the world's estimate of great men; we must deplore the circumstance, but it were vain to attempt to investigate the cause. One thing however is certain: that literary men, and among the rest Sir Walter Scott, have contributed much to give permanence to the delusion. Their heroes couldn't travel a furlong unsurrounded by pomp and display. Faugh! nothing truly great - mere tinsel! Hudy McGuigan sought not the aid of external circumstance to hand his name down to posterity. He required neither herald nor pursuivant to announce his dignity or his presence; and as to Largesse - botheration!

But Ned Divin's wonderment was not drowned in his wailing, till our hero found himself in the diamond of Magherafelt, surrounded by a motley crowd of gapers, who had relinquished all thought of business to gaze upon him and his wo-begone prisoner.

"Arrah, who's that you have got stuck before you, Hudy agrah?"

"Where the divil did ye cotch that piebald clibbuck?"

"Whose horse have ye stolen, Graceless? By my sowl, you'll be apt to swing for that job, ma bouchal!"

The Clift sat listening with delight to the droll questions of his friends, his bright sparkling eyes rapidly glancing right and left as the interrogatories came, just like an excited monkey in a theatre, archly noting the salutes of boxes, pit, and gallery.

"Bad scran to you for a set of omadhons! but you're full of curosity. Where's all your manners gone? And be-whipt to you! a purty way that to talk to the gentleman! Sure this is the gauger, from Cookstown; and wasn't I helpin' him to saize Atty McGeough's still-head - and haven't I brought it along wid me to prove, you parsave, that he didn't forget his duty. Good fordther to him, honest man!"

Well and intimately did Hudy know his audience - their passions, their prejudices, their sympathies and antipathies; and none better understood how, in the language of the menagerie, to "stir them up". A revenue officer was the object of their deep and implacable abhorrence; and the few well-chosen words he dropped, in his own admirable style of mock simplicity, answered his best expectations and, with the lightning of eloquence, converted the good-natured laughter-loving crowd into a vengeful ferocious mob.

"The gauger! the gauger!"

"Och the bloody robbin' thief!"

"Bad luck to him, iviry day he sees a pavin'-stone!"

"The curse of Cromwell upon him and all his sort!"

"Give him down to us here, till we make hawks' mate of him!"

Threats rang from different parts of the assembly, and the unfortunate object of their execrations thought his fate now certain, particularly as a hostile movement among the populace like the underswell of the ocean gave evidence of an approaching storm. But little did he dream of the Clift's generous disposition, nor the influence he possessed over the minds of the excited multitude, roused though they were to madness, breathing though they were the most deadly vengeance! But -

Who shall calm the angry storm -
Who the mighty task perform,
And bid the raging tumult cease?

Why, Hudy McGuigan, to be sure! Who so fit to lay an evil spirit as the genius who evoked it. He felt the gauger's heart palpitating with terror, and his kindly feelings again predominated - therefore, playfully but significantly twirling Black Bess, with a sly look and a good-natured tone, he replied to the last demand made by the mob -

"Divil a foot indeed - Och boys darlin', honour bright, you know - I promised that hurt nor harm shouldn't come an him, and you wouldn't have me break my word! Whew! bad luck to it, that would be undacent."

Another expressive twirl of Black Bess, and the approving cheers and huzzas of his friends replied to his short but pithy speech, and relieved the unfortunate officer from the doubt and terror that oppressed him. Thus the very mob that a few minutes before were burning to sacrifice the gauger, now lauded to the skies that high sense of honour and humane feeling so successfully exercised in favour of the late object of their insensate vengeance. Such is the power of eloquence!

But while this scene was enacting at one side of the diamond, Major Patterson was inspecting his corps of yeomanry at the other, delighted with their fine martial appearance, their high state of discipline, the admirable precision with which they performed their various involutions and evolutions. He was proud of his men! But in one of their movements the clang of their muskets attracted the Clift's notice. He raised his eye, and it rested with deep gratification on the imposing display. A moment's pause. The scene summoned up a painful reminiscence: a cloud passed across his fine open brow, and in a thoughtful mood, and with a melancholy modulation of voice, he sang -

The cavalry were prancing,
The infantry advancing,
In glittering armour glancing,
All in the pomp of war.

A catch of a popular song then very generally known, but an especial favourite in Belfast and its neighbouring towns (it recorded the death of some humble men "who had loved their country, not wisely, but too well"). But rapidly rousing from his abstraction - for the Clift's heart was too gay and too lively to continue long depressed, even with so touching a subject of reflection - he looked wildly around him - gave a moment to thought - chalked out his course of proceeding; and at once resolved to act his part upon the parade.

"Bad luck to the still-head, it's in my way," and dash it went through Dick H───n's parlour window.

"Hould that for me, Dick jewel. By the powers, I have something to do acrass yandher. Whew! clear the coorse there."

A dash of the spurs - a few bold bounds - and before human being could even guess his purpose, he and his prisoner sat "cheek-by-jowl" with the gallant Major. Unconscious of the honour he enjoyed, that officer was surprised to see his men, in gross violation of all discipline, burst forth into an immoderate fit of laughter. Boiling with rage at his corps, and further nettled by the uproar of the crowd at his rear, he looked round; and there - amazement! - but at all events to his deep chagrin, he found Inspector-General McGuigan, almost in a state of nudity, with his bare-headed pie-bald companion, gazing with much placidity and apparent interest on the martial scene! The spectacle was too much for human forbearance. Gravity herself had burst her sides - order among the military had taken flight. How could it be otherwise? The Major was good-natured but irascible, and when aroused rather profane. His professional pride was cut. With the discipline of his men fled also his temper:

"Hell and damnation, you incarnate fiend!"

"Faix it's yourself knows how to spell, Major darlin'. You're an apt scholar. By the powers, your schoolmasther has raison to be proud of you."

The affected gravity of the naked censor was too much for the Major. His risible muscles began to vibrate, and his dignity and ill-nature vanished together in a hearty laugh.

"Well, out of the lower pit, you're matchless!"

"Faix I don't know, Major; I'm no scholar, you parsave, and can't tell much about that counthry; but sure it woud be bad manners to contradict a larned man!"

"Major Patterson," cried the gauger, "I am Mr ───, rescue me from this hell-hound!"

The Major looked up in astonishment, recognised the gauger, and resolutely hobbled forward on his stick leg to seize the bridle. The Clift perceived the manoeuvre: a touch of the spurs - a restraining pull upon the reins - a capriole from the horse - and the gallant officer measured his length on the street!

"Whew, Major! by my sowl, you missed your mark, and more's the pity! Bad luck to all wooden legs, say I. They can't be trusted, you parsave. You may curse the day Dr C─── shot your own nathral stump from anondher you. Wid all his skill he couldn't make it as good as new."

And he laughed most insultingly down in the officer's face.

This act was performed like a passing thought. The crowd was electrified. The yeomen were petrified. A magistrate and a major capsized on the street by a Quarterclift! and at the head of his men too! Was such indignity to be borne? The crowd in pity raised the Major, and maddened with rage he roared out to his troop -

"Men! seize the scoundrel!"

"Let them try it, Major acushla!" Twirl went Black Bess - and then, in a tone of mock deprecation, he continued - "Bad luck to it man, sure it was all a mischance! - Sure you wouldn't saize a poor fellow becase a horse turned rusty a bit?"

And again he laughed in the Major's face.

The practical wisdom of a country, it is said, lies in its proverbs. There is truth in the saying. "Everybody's business is nobody's business" was clearly verified in the conduct of the yeomen. Not a man moved a foot on the Major's recommendation. The fault might have lain with himself. He was a rigid precisian. And each, highly respecting military etiquette, may have argued, with Corporal Trim, I had no orders. The major must have perceived the difficulty that puzzled his men, for, determined to bring the affair to a crisis, he was definite in his next mandate -

"Seize the ruffian, Serjeant H───y!"

And observing minutely the laws of military science, that high functionary made his approaches, with all the precautions necessary on so important, not to say dangerous, a service. But a twirl of Black Bess - whew! - and the shivered halbert and its gallant bearer lay equally useless on the field of action. The yeomen must be excused if the fall of their second-in-command had raised their mettle to a pitch, exceeding that cool steady bravery so characteristic of the British soldier in the hour of danger; besides, they had personal feelings to plead on this occasion, disdaining even to touch so vile an enemy -

"Shoot the rascal!" rung from twenty throats together.

"Whew! dhean dho dhichiol!" (or in plain English "do your best!") "Bad luck to you for a pack of bouchons! Whew! by the powers, it's all a bottle of smoke! the divil a ball's in your whole company! But as you have begun the ruction, bad luck to me but I'll finish it!"

The poor gauger saw his fate thickening around him, and at once gave himself up as lost; but little did he know the extraordinary powers of him who ruled his destiny. When the Clift was roused by an enterprise worthy of his energies, the inspiration of genius shed a super-human brilliance over his whole features: his eye shot forth its wild lightnings - his frame actually swelled beyond its usual bounds, and he stood a being less material than ethereal. Such was he now, at the commencment of a deed that fame might love to trumpet.

Like Achilles placing himself behind his figured shield, he threw a grasp of iron round the speckled gauger. He gazed calmly on the scene of action. Then, like an ancient knight in the lists, he wheeled his charger for a career. He stood "en ligne" with the troop. He collected all his powers - compressed his lip - twirled Black Bess - a furious dash of the spurs - a bound commensurate with the pain inflicted - and whew! a score of yeomen lay prostrate at the first shock.

Confusion - chaos - bedlam-let-loose - oaths, cheers, screams, threats, roars of laughter - guns lying here, military caps there - red coats, white breeches, black leggins, all made familiar with mud - a dense crowd of human beings thrown into convulsive agitation! To what shall the scene be likened? To the boisterous waves of a troubled ocean? Not at all; but to the conflicting elements of an entire world, in disordered dance - now aggregating, then segregating, attracted then repelled, according to the laws of their natures - all, all, whisked into fearful commotion by the spiteful whims of the genius of riot and misrule!

But another dash, and another; and never was flock of sheep more rapidly scattered by a visit from the wolf, than were those brave defenders of their country by one cleverly conceived and boldly executed manoeuvre of Hudy McGuigan. One moment's pause, and he gloated with delight over the work of his own hands:

"Augh blood-an-oundhers, boys darlin's! what has come over yez? Sure it's too early to go to bed yet! A quare place that to lie down in - but it's none of my business to complain - sure you have a right to plaise yourselves."

But there was no time to be lost, and our hero was too well skilled in military technique either to let the enemy rest or to put it in their power to rally. Therefore, following up his advantage, he pursued them in small parties, or attacked them single-handed; and one smack from Black Bess was compliment sufficient for the most magnanimous among them. But the yeomen were not the only sufferers; they were, it is true, the immediate object of vengeance; as they fled, he pursued; and in the mêlée woful and wonderful was the mischief perpetrated. Stalls innumerable were upset, every species of the "bruckleware" went crash - new hats kicked through the town in all directions. The spick and span-new brogues flew through the air like "the battle of the books" on the approach of our feathered Mercury; while buckles, buttons, knives and razors garishly bestudded the streets. Men, women and children were upset - all business was suspended - the shops were closed - rumours of a thousand undefined horrors benumbed all faculties. But in the very climax of consternation, Hudy, heading his horse to Moneymore, politely bade adieu to the Major, as he stood in dismay at his own hall-door.

"And now, gauger darlin', haven't I kept my word? Sure divil a hurt nor harm has come upon you; and haven't we had a darlin' ride, and a beautiful splore into the bargain? But, by the powers, we've forgot the still-head!"

Whew! about ship, and a few springs, and a clear course brought him once more to Dick H──d──ng's.

"Give us the still-head, Dick darlin' - that's my bouchal! Faix, gauger, you might get cowld widout the head-dress."

And on it went, in its old position. The crowd was again gathering, but our hero felt no further inclination to indulge their "curosity".

"Whew! bad luck to you for a pack of omadhons, make way there."

And away, and away they went, passing through Moneymore like a meteor, nor halting till within a mile of the gauger's residence; where Hudy dismounted, restored the spurs, unbound his victim, removed the still-head, tied it to his own bare shoulders, and inflicted no further punishment on the officer than to send him home bare-headed. Then, kindly bidding him good-by, scampered across the country to his companions, who had all performed their duty in a manner equally zealous, but not with half the éclat that rewarded the exertions of - the Quarterclift.

This page was last updated 7 Nov 2018