Charles Lever - Charles O'Malley, The Irish Dragoon, Volume 2

“‘Good-evening t’ye, Mr. Free,’ said the ghost; ‘and av I might be bould, what’s in the jug?’ – for ye see, my father had it under his arm fast, and never let it go when he was asleep.

“‘ Pater noster qui es in , – poteen, sir,’ said my father; for the ghost didn’t look pleased at his talking Latin.

“‘Ye might have the politeness to ax if one had a mouth on him, then,’ says the ghost.

“‘Sure, I didn’t think the likes of you would taste sperits.’

“‘Try me,’ said the ghost; and with that he filled out a glass, and tossed it off like a Christian.

“‘Beamish!’ says the ghost, smacking his lips.

“‘The same,’ says my father; ‘and sure what’s happened you has not spoiled your taste.’

“‘If you’d mix a little hot,’ says the ghost, ‘I’m thinking it would be better, – the night is mighty sevare.’

“‘Anything that your reverance pleases,’ says my father, as he began to blow up a good fire to boil the water.

“‘And what news is stirring?’ says the ghost.

“‘Devil a word, your reverance, – your own funeral was the only thing doing last week. Times is bad; except the measles, there’s nothing in our parts.’

“‘And we’re quite dead hereabouts, too,’ says the ghost.

“‘There’s some of us so, anyhow, says my father, with a sly look. ‘Taste that, your reverance.’

“‘Pleasant and refreshing,’ says the ghost; ‘and now, Mr. Free, what do you say to a little “spoilt five,” or “beggar my neighbor”?’

“‘What will we play for? ‘says my father, for a thought just struck him, – ‘may be it’s some trick of the Devil to catch my soul.’

“‘A pint of Beamish,’ says the ghost.

“‘Done!’ says my father; ‘cut for deal. The ace of clubs, – you have it.’

“Now the whole time the ghost was dealing the cards, my father never took his eyes off of him, for he wasn’t quite aisy in his mind at all; but when he saw him turn up the trump, and take a strong drink afterwards, he got more at ease, and began the game.

“How long they played it was never rightly known; but one thing is sure, they drank a cruel deal of sperits. Three quart bottles my father brought with him were all finished, and by that time his brain was so confused with the liquor, and all he lost, – for somehow he never won a game, – that he was getting very quarrelsome.

“‘You have your own luck to it,’ says he, at last.

“‘True for you; and besides, we play a great deal where I come from.’

“‘I’ve heard so,’ says my father. ‘I lead the knave, sir; spades! Bad cess to it, lost again!’

“Now it was really very distressing; for by this time, though they only began for a pint of Beamish, my father went on betting till he lost the hearse and all the six horses, mourning cloaks, plumes, and everything.

“‘Are you tired, Mr. Free? May be you’d like to stop?’

“‘Stop! faith it’s a nice time to stop; of course not.’

“‘Well, what will ye play for now?’

“The way he said these woods brought a trembling all over my father, and his blood curdled in his heart. ‘Oh, murther!’ says he to himself, ‘it’s my sowl he’s wanting all the time.’

“‘I’ve mighty little left,’ says my father, looking at him keenly, while he kept shuffling the cards quick as lightning.

“‘Mighty little; no matter, we’ll give you plenty of time to pay, – and if you can’t do it, it shall never trouble you as long as you live.’

“‘Oh, you murthering devil!’ says my father, flying at him with a spade that he had behind his chair, ‘I’ve found you out.’

“With one blow he knocked him down, and now a terrible fight begun, for the ghost was very strong, too; but my father’s blood was up, and he’d have faced the Devil himself then. They rolled over each other several times, the broken bottles cutting them to pieces, and the chairs and tables crashing under them. At last the ghost took the bottle that lay on the hearth, and levelled my father to the ground with one blow. Down he fell, and the bottle and the whiskey were both dashed into the fire. That was the end of it, for the ghost disappeared that moment in a blue flame that nearly set fire to my father as he lay on the floor.

“Och, it was a cruel sight to see him next morning, with his cheek cut open and his hands all bloody, lying there by himself, – all the broken glass and the cards all round him, – the coffin, too, was knocked down off the chair, may be the ghost had trouble getting into it. However that was, the funeral was put off for a day, for my father couldn’t speak; and as for the sexton, it was a queer thing, but when they came to call him in the morning, he had two black eyes, and a gash over his ear, and he never knew how he got them. It was easy enough to know the ghost did it; but my father kept the secret, and never told it to any man, woman, or child in them parts.”

I have little power to trace the events which occupied the succeeding three weeks of my history. The lingering fever which attended my wound detained me during that time at the château; and when at last I did leave for Lisbon, the winter was already beginning, and it was upon a cold raw evening that I once more took possession of my old quarters at the Quay de Soderi.

My eagerness and anxiety to learn something of the campaign was ever uppermost, and no sooner had I reached my destination than I despatched Mike to the quartermaster’s office to pick up some news, and hear which of my friends and brother officers were then at Lisbon. I was sitting in a state of nervous impatience watching for his return, when at length I heard footsteps approaching my room, and the next moment Mike’s voice, saying, “The ould room, sir, where he was before.” The door suddenly opened, and my friend Power stood before me.

“Charley, my boy!” – “Fred, my fine fellow!” was all either could say for some minutes. Upon my part, the recollection of his bold and manly bearing in my behalf choked all utterance; while upon his, my haggard cheek and worn look produced an effect so sudden and unexpected that he became speechless.

In a few minutes, however, we both rallied, and opened our store of mutual remembrances since we parted. My career I found he was perfectly acquainted with, and his consisted of nothing but one unceasing round of gayety and pleasure. Lisbon had been delightful during the summer, – parties to Cintra, excursions through the surrounding country, were of daily occurrence; and as my friend was a favorite everywhere, his life was one of continued amusement.

“Do you know, Charley, had it been any other man than yourself, I should not have spared him; for I have fallen head over ears in love with your little dark-eyed Portuguese.”

“Ah, Donna Inez, you mean?”

“Yes, it is she I mean, and you need not affect such an air of uncommon nonchalance . She’s the loveliest girl in Lisbon, and with fortune to pay off all the mortgages in Connemara.”

“Oh, faith! I admire her amazingly; but as I never flattered myself upon any preference – ”

“Come, come, Charley, no concealment, my old fellow; every one knows the thing’s settled. Your old friend, Sir George Dashwood, told me yesterday.”

“Yesterday! Why, is he here, at Lisbon?”

“To be sure he is; didn’t I tell you that before? Confound it, what a head I have! Why, man, he’s come out as deputy adjutant-general; but for him I should not have got renewed leave.”

“And Miss Dashwood, is she here?”

“Yes, she came with him. By Jove, how handsome she is, – quite a different style of thing from our dark friend, but, to my thinking, even handsomer. Hammersley seems of my opinion, too.”