Charles Lever - The Knight Of Gwynne, Vol. 1

“So they are,” said Daly, hastily; “or, rather, so they would have been, if not provoked by your remark. But, hang me! if I think it signifies much; if it were not that some of our country neighbors were good-natured enough to treat this same Mr. MacDonough on terms of equality before, I ‘d have advised Captain Forester not to mind him. My maxim is, there are always low fellows enough to shoot one another, and never come trespassing among the manors of their betters.”

“I must confess myself unprepared, sir, to hear language like this,” said Hackett, sternly.

“Not a whit more than I feel at seeing myself negotiating a meeting with a man turned out of the army with disgrace,” said Daly, as his face grew purple with anger. “Were it not that I would not risk a hint of dishonor on this young Englishman’s fame, I ‘d never interchange three words with Major Hackett.”

“You shall answer for this, sir, and speedily too, by G – d!” said Hackett, moving towards the door.

Daly burst into an insolent laugh, and said, “Your friend waits us at Cluan?” The other bowed. “Well, within an hour we’ll be there also,” continued the old man; and Hackett retired without adding a syllable.

“We ‘ve about five miles to ride, Captain Forester,” said Daly, as they issued forth beneath the deeply arched gate of the abbey; “but the road is a mountain one, and will not admit of fast riding. A fine old place it is,” said he, as, halting his horse, he bestowed a gaze of admiration on the venerable building, now dimly visible in the gray of the breaking dawn. “The pious founders little dreamt of men leaving its portals on such an errand as ours.” Then, suddenly, with a changed voice, he added, “Men are the same in every age and country; what our ancestors did in steel breastplates, we do now in broadcloth; the law, as they call it, must always be subservient to human passions, and the judge and the jury come too late, since their function is penalty, and not prevention.”

“But surely you do not think the world was better in the times when might was right?” said Forester.

“The system worked better than we suspect,” said the old man, gravely; “there was such a thing as public opinion among men in those days, although its exponents were neither pamphlets nor scurrilous newspapers. The unjust and the cruel were held in reprobation, and the good and the charitable had a fame as pure, although their deeds were not trumpeted aloud or graven on marble. Believe me, sir, we are not by any means so much wiser or better than those who went before us, and even if we were both, we certainly are not happier. This eternal warfare, this hand to hand and foot to foot straggle for rank, apd wealth, and power, that goes on amongst us now, had no existence then, when a man’s destiny was carved out for him, and he was all but powerless to alter or control it.”

“That alone was no small evil,” said Forester, interrupting him; “the humbly born and the lowly were debarred from all the prizes of life, no matter how great their deserts or how shining their abilities.”

“Every rank and class had wherewithal to supply its own requirements,” answered Daly, proudly, “and the menial had more time to indulge affection for his master, when removed from the temptation to rival him. That strong bond of attachment has all but disappeared from amongst us.” As he spoke, he turned in his saddle and called out, “Can we cross the sands now, or is the tide making, Sandy?”

“It’s no just making yet,” said the servant, cautiously; “but when the breakers are so heavy off the Point, it’s aye safer to keep the road.”

“The road be it, then,” muttered Daly to himself; “men never are so chary of life as when about to risk it.”

The observation, although not intended, reached Forester’s ears, and he smiled and said, “Naturally enough, perhaps we ought not to be too exacting with fortune.”

Daly turned suddenly round, and, after a brief pause, asked, “What skill have you with the pistol?”

“When the mark is a shilling I can hit it, three times out of four, at twenty paces; but I never fired at a man.”

“That does make a difference,” said Daly, musingly; “nothing short of an arrant coward could look calmly on a fellow-creature while he pointed a loaded pistol at his heart. A brave man will always have self-possession enough to feel the misery of his position. Had the feat been one of vengeance, and not of love, Tell had never hit the apple, sir. But there, – is not that a fire yonder?”

“Yes, I see a red glare through the mist.”

“There’s a fire on Cluan Point,” said Sandy, riding up to his master’s side; “I trow it’s a signal.”

“Ah! meant to quicken us, perhaps; some fear of being surprised,” said Daly, hastily; “let us move on faster.” And they spurred their horses to a sharp trot as they descended the gentle slope, which, projecting far out to sea, formed the promontory of Cluan.

It was at this moment the glorious panorama of Clue Bay broke forth before Forester’s astonished eyes. He looked with rapture on that spacious sheet of water, which, in all the majesty of the great ocean, came heaving and swelling against the rocky coast, or pouring its flood of foam through the narrow channels between the islands. Of these, the diversity seemed endless, some rich and verdant, teeming with abundance and dotted with cottages; others, less fertile, were covered with sheep or goats; while some, rugged and barren, frowned gloomily amid the watery waste, and one, far out to sea, a bold and lofty cliff, showed a faint twinkling star upon its side, the light for the homeward-bound ships over the Atlantic.

“That’s Clare Island yonder,” said Bagenal Daly, as he observed the direction of Forester’s gaze; “I must show you the great cliff there. What say you if we go to-morrow?”

“To-morrow!” repeated Forester, smiling faintly; “perhaps so.”

When speaking of Gwynne Abbey to our readers, we omitted to mention a very beautiful portion of the structure, – a small building which adjoined the chapel, and went, for some reason or other, by name of the “Sub-Prior’s house.” More recent in date than the other parts of the abbey, it seemed as if here the architect had expended his skill in showing of how much ornament and decoration the Gothic was capable. The stone selected was of that pinkish hue that is seen in many of the cathedrals in the North of England, – a material peculiarly favorable to the labors of the chisel, and when protected from the rude influence of weather possessing qualities of great endurance. This building was surrounded on three sides by a flower-garden, which descended by successive terraces to the edge of a small river pursuing its course to the sea, into which it emerged about a mile distant. A very unmindful observer would have been struck at once with the aspect of greater care and cultivation bestowed here than on other portions of the abbey grounds. The trim and orderly appearance of everything, from the flowering shrubs that mingled their blossoms with the rich tracery of the architraves, to the bright gravel of the walks, denoted attention, while flowers of rare beauty, and plants of foreign growth, were seen blending their odors with the wild heaths that shed their perfume from the mountain side. The brilliant beauty of the spot was, indeed, heightened by the wild and rugged grandeur of the scene, like a diamond glittering brighter amid the dark dross of the mine.

On the side nearest to the bay, and with a view extending to the far-off Island of Achill, an apartment opened by three large windows, the upper compartments of which exhibited armorial bearings in stained glass. If the view without presented a scene of the most grand and varied loveliness, within this chamber art seemed to have vied in presenting objects the most strange and beautiful. It was furnished in all the gorgeous taste of the time of Louis XV. The ceiling, a deep mass of carving relieved by gold, presented masses of fruit and flowers fantastically interwoven, and hanging, as though suspended, above the head. The walls were covered with cabinet pictures of great price, the very frames objects of wonder and admiration. Large vases of Dresden and Sèvres porcelain stood on brackets of massive silver, and one great cabinet of ebony, inlaid with gold and tortoiseshell, displayed an inscription that showed it was a present from the great Louis XIV. himself.