Part 2 — THE ROWSEVILLERS.—No. I.

O’DONNELL’S PRIZE.

“To be plain with you,” said the barber, shaking his head, “I can scarce believe what you say.” Gil Blas.

When I was in the dragoons, we were quartered, for a while, not far from Rowseville, and it was my lot to receive a general invitation to the dinners of the club. A jollier set of fellows never drew cork or emptied a decanter—heaven be merciful to them for their sins! They always had the best a-going; could tell north from south side Madeira,—and tossed off their bumpers, hour in and hour out, as easily as an old spinster drinks her tea. As for their president, Captain Humphreys, he was a paragon of a good fellow. Short, square, deep chested, and muscular as Hercules, he was just the man to keep a set of such spirits in order; and, I verily believe, if any of the youngsters had ventured to dispute his will, he would have tossed them over the marquee as easily as I could hurl a racket ball. He had spent most of his life at sea, having seen service in every latitude. He could tell a good story, and danced a jig to perfection. He was, moreover, something of a gourmand; always presided over our culinary rites; and made the best chowder of any man in the States, or, for that matter, as the old cook said, “in the ’varsal world.”

There is nothing like fishing, and a table on the green sward, to give one an appetite; and it would have done your heart good to have seen us on the day I first dined with the club—but especially to have beheld Humphrey’s jovial face, when he announced the opening toast. And then such a time as followed. Sherry, Port, Madeira, Jamaica and Cogniac!—why they chased each other from the table faster than the witches did old Tam O’Shanter, in the road by Ayr. Some of the youngsters soon began to grow noisy; and even one or two of their seniors winked a good deal unnecessarily; but Humphreys, and a set of the older stagers at the head of the table, kept it up, without drawing a rein, until I began to think they could fag down even Bacchus himself. And all this time their jests would have made a hermit die with laughter! Yet Humphreys never suffered his youngsters to indulge beyond a certain point, and he had a story to account for this circumspection which made my ribs sore for a week after hearing it.

“Silence, you addle-heads,” he thundered, as soon as he saw they were getting beyond their depths—“can’t one of you sing at a time, without keeping up such an infernal clatter of Dutch, French, English and Congo songs? You remind me of a set of chaps I had the honor to dine with in Boston—no, not the honor, for they all drank to excess—and a man in that state” (and here the worthy speaker, by way of corollary, tossed off a bumper) “is a shock to my moral feelings. Keep in soundings if you can’t sail safely out of them; but, for heaven’s sake, don’t disgrace our table with a set of indecent inebriates.

“But, to come back to my story—you must know that the Governor’s Guards, in Boston, are a gay set of youngsters, and, at their annual dinner at the State House, they make the corks fly as I’ve seen only grape shot showering from a battery. Well—no disrespect to the cloth—their dinner is always opened and closed by a parson; and a good rule it is; for when the governor sees that his youngsters are getting heady, he has but to give a nod—the benediction is pronounced, and they are forced to break up. When I was there, however, his excellency postponed the dismissal rather too long, so that when he gave the signal to the parson, there wasn’t a chap, at the lower end of the table, who could carry his wine to his mouth without spilling half of the liquid. A blessed sight it was to see them then—as proper a set of youngsters, in general, as you’d wish to look upon—shouting, laughing, singing, standing in chairs, waving their glasses on high, and altogether cutting a figure not the most pleasant for a moral man like me to behold. They saw the parson get up and they heard him begin to speak, but they were too far gone to distinguish either his person or his words.

“ ‘Hilloo, Bill,’ said one to his neighbor, ‘is that a new toast? What does he say?’

“ ‘Can’t—make—it out,’ hiccuped Bill, with drunken gravity, ‘but I guess—it’s—it’s—something con—found—ed fine. Let’s give the old cock three cheers,’ and the whole set sprang to their feet and huzzaed ’til the very roof above us seemed to tremble with the din. The poor parson hesitated, stopped, and looked in bewilderment at his excellency—who could only keep himself from laughing, so inexpressibly ludicrous was the whole scene, by hanging his head down and cramming his handkerchief into his mouth. As for the rest of us, there was no resisting it—we laid back in our chairs and laughed until the tears ran out of our eyes,—while the ladies in the gallery, the dear creatures, almost burst their boddice strings.

“His excellency explained all to the parson the next day, and made a thousand apologies—but the good man never could be got again to ask a benediction over the Governor’s Guards.”

“I suppose you tell that for the morals of your table, eh!” said one of the party.

“Exactly,” answered the president, laughing, “and I never saw one yet whom it didn’t cure of excess at table, except a fellow who used to say it was hereditary in him, by the mother’s side, to have the cholic, and that brandy was the only cure. That chap was a character: I’ve a story I’ll tell you about him some of these days.”

“Why not now?” asked a dozen in a breath.

“Well, I suppose if I must I must,—but first pass us the bottle, and let us drink to his memory—he died, poor fellow, in Florida, where many a brave man has laid his bones. Here’s to Tim O’Donnell.”

A silence of a few moments having elapsed, during which all eyes were turned on the president, that personage, after hemming twice, thus began.

“Never was a handsomer fellow than Tim O’Donnell, lieutenant in the ——. Tall, well shaped, with the eye of a young eagle, and a pair of jet black whiskers, that were worth, to a fortune-hunter, fifty thousand dollars, Tim was the perfect picture of a soldier—and, to use his own phrase, ‘a divil of a chap among the girls.’ He made more conquests in a week than I would in a year; and, as you may see,” and here he stroked his chin complacently, “there are few fellows as good looking as I am. But Tim was after money, and used to flirt with the dear creatures only to keep his hand in for an heiress, when one should present. At length he was introduced to a lovely creature at a ball,—blue eyes, auburn hair, the shape of a goddess, and lips that would make your mouth water, even if you were as dry as old mahogany—and, for a while, he scarcely knew whether he was standing on his head or on his feet. He even paid court, so much was he smitten, to a long, scraggy, hatchet-shouldered spinster of an aunt, who attended his charmer as a sort of chaperon. The next day he was somewhat cooled down—at least he determined to check his raptures until he inquired after the fortunes of Miss Wheeler, for so his charmer was called. He left me for this purpose about noon, and in an hour rushed into my room perfectly insane with joy.

“ ‘Och—give me your hand—shower the blessings on my head,’ he exclaimed, dancing round the room, ‘sure and I’m in heaven the day—ouch, ullabaloo, was there iver such luck?—ten thousand acres, the dear sowl, and a rint roll as long as a rigiment’s line: I’m a made man—hurrah!’ and throwing his cap up he caught it again, and then capered around the room, even carrying his antics so far as to leap over sundry chairs. I was nearly dying with laughter—and as yet I was totally ignorant of the cause of this joy.

“ ‘What do you mean?’ said I, ‘you haven’t told me what all this congratulation is to be about.’

“Never did I see a fellow look more astonished than Tim. He stopped still, stared at me incredulously, and then gave vent to his wonder.

“ ‘Blood and ages, and is the man drunk? Don’t ye know it’s all about Miss Araminta Wheeler, and the immense fortune she’s to bring me? The only living child—all the rest dead of scarlet fever, praise to the saints! and her owld father expected to kick the bucket everyday. Ouch, ullaloo-o-o, ain’t I the happy man? It’s marry the girl I will, this blessed week.’

“ ‘But will the ‘owld father’ consent—eh! Tim?’

“ ‘Divil a bit do I care whether he consents or not, if the daughter says ‘yes’—oh! such a jewel of a woman,—and what an iligant pattern the young O’Donnells will be!’

“ ‘Suppose the father guards her too well to permit an elopement? That dragon of an aunt looks as if she was kept to play the duenna.’

“ ‘Arrah, my lad,’ said Tim, with a knowing wink, ‘I’ll soon fix that, or my name isn’t Timothy O’Donnell, of Ballywhangle, of the county of Clare, standing six feet two in my stockings. Can’t I pretend to make love to the owld hag when the niece isn’t by? Oh! trust me for brushing the dew into her eyes.’

“I saw no more of Tim for nearly a week, except occasional glimpses caught of him at balls and concerts, where he was in attendance on his charmer and a spectral looking spinster, whom I recognised as the aunt. As I wanted to give him a fair field—keep the bottle lively—I did not approach them; so I had no opportunity of judging his success, until one morning he burst into my room vociferating that he had got a note from his charmer, in answer to one he had sent the day before, in which she consented to elope with him that very night. He called on me to ask me to get a post-chaise; for, in order to avoid the publication of banns, they would have to be united in another state. Tim was in such raptures that he couldn’t attend to any matter-o’-fact business, so I promised all he asked, and he left me, singing as he went, ‘Come, haste to the wedding,’ and cutting all sorts of extravagant antics.

“Midnight was the hour fixed on for the affaire, and, punctual to the minute, Tim’s post-chaise drew up a few rods from his charmer’s door, while the gallant lieutenant himself, springing out, made all haste to the rendezvous. The night was black as pitch—you could have cut the darkness out in slices—and a wild wind blew over the fields, roaring away down in the woods, like a gale in the rigging of a line-of-battle ship. Tim could scarcely pick his way along through the garden, but at length, after sundry tacks, he gained the front of the house,—yet not a sign of a living being could he see. He began to fear that his charmer’s heart had failed her, but at that instant he perceived a dark moving object just ahead of him, and hurrying forward, he soon recognised his future bride, muffled and cloaked for the journey.

“ ‘Shure, and ye’re as welcome as the birds in spring,’ said Tim, catching her in his arms, ‘and it’s mighty proud I am to see ye, my darlin.’

“The trembling bride clung closer to Tim as he spoke, and murmured something in reply, but what it was, the whistle of the wind prevented him from hearing distinctly. Tim knew there was no time to lose, however, so, without waiting for a repetition of the words, he bore his prize off, and never stopped till he had placed her in the chaise, stowed her maid opposite, and was himself seated by her side.

“ ‘And now,’ said he, as the post-boy put up the steps, ‘don’t spare the horse-flesh—do ye hear, ye blackguard?’

“The boy nodded, and, the next instant, they were thrashing along as fast as four posters could carry them.

“If Tim had been in raptures before, he was now fairly mad with his success. Up to the last moment, he had been tormented with a fear lest something should occur by which this rich prize should slip through his fingers; but now his charmer was actually beside him, and they were being whirled over the ground at a rate which would soon defy pursuit. ‘Was ever fellow in such good luck?’ thought Tim. Thousands of acres, an only daughter, and she as clean in her run as a Baltimore clipper. How he cursed the presence of the maid, which prevented him from being as tender as he thought the occasion demanded. However, he could take his charmer’s hand, without shocking her modesty, and he went through pretty quick, all the variations of which squeezing is liable. He would have stolen his arm around the bride’s waist, but the envious cloak prevented this. Tim could scarcely endure the probation. On they rattled, all this while, with the tempest roaring at their heels, and, as the night without grew stormier, the agitation of the bride increased, she almost sobbed, and clung closer and closer every minute to Tim. It made his heart, as he said, ‘leap into his mouth intirely,’ to feel her arms around his neck in the extremity of her fright.

“ ‘Whist, darlin,’ he said, ‘don’t be alarmed—it’s only a little bit of a storm, to keep our bloody pursuers from hearing us. Before mornin we’ll be in York, and then the praist will make you my own. Speak, and tell me, ye’re not frightened? Shure, and ain’t I by your side, mavourneen?’

“The answer of the bride was delivered in such a low and tremulous voice, and interrupted by so many sobbings, that Tim, though he listened his best, couldn’t for the life of him make out more than a word here and there. However, he thought he distinguished enough to fill him with more rapture than ever, and, forgetting all about the maid, he drew his bride still closer to his bosom, and, nestling her head on his shoulder, poured forth his vows in torrents of eloquence. The Lord only knows what he said—Irishmen are proverbial for hyperbole.

“ ‘And is it that I wont love ye intirely, my princess?’ said Tim, by way of a grand wind up. ‘Shure, and I’ll worship ye as the heathens do the sun, and so will my five brothers, and the tenantry on my estate—though it’s more than I know,’ muttered Tim to himself, ‘where to find them—and won’t I be proud to shew ye off to my friends as the handsomest and sweetest woman in the rigiment? There, now, be aisy, my jewel—your father won’t catch us. Oh! isn’t it iligantly I’ve outwitted him, and that owld hag of an aunt, your namesake?’

“ ‘Old hag of an aunt,’ screamed the bride, starting back from Tim’s shoulder as if an adder had stung her, ‘why—who—do you take me for?’

“ ‘For Miss Araminta Wheeler, and divil a one else—shure, and I have not offended ye, my darlin, by that same thrifle of a remark?’ and he drew his bride again toward him.

“ ‘Murder—off—help—oh! you vile, deceiving, wicked monster,’ shrieked the bride, pushing away Tim with both her hands, ‘you’ve ruined me forever. And to call me a hag—oh! oh!’ and she went off almost into hysterics.

“ ‘Blood and ages—who have we here indeed?’ thundered Tim, all at once recognizing the now shrill tones of his companion, and kicking open the coach door, he saw, for the first time, by the faint light of the chaise-lamps, the face of the speaker, ‘it’s the aunt herself—the owld serpent take her! A pretty mess I’m in, running off with ye, ye apology for a skeleton, instead of with the niece. Pray, madam,’ and he bowed sarcastically, ‘was it ye I honored with my proposal?’

“ ‘Didn’t you send me a note—a—asking me to elope?’ hysterically sobbed the aunt. ‘Oh! you vile wretch.’

“ ‘Ou—u—h! I see it all,’ whistled Tim. ‘The dumb baste of a messenger gave it to ye instead of to the other.’

“ ‘You said before, too,’ sobbed the aunt, ‘that you a—a—dored me.’

“ ‘The Lord forgive my sins,’ muttered Tim betwixt his teeth. ‘But may-be,’ he said coaxingly, as a new thought struck him, ‘ye’re the heiress after all.’

“Tim got no answer but a new burst of hysteric tears, mingled with ejaculations, among which he could distinguish a whole dictionary of reproaches.

“ ‘I’m thinking,’ said Tim, after awhile, ‘ye’d better be getting home as soon as convanient. This is a bit of a mistake,’ and then, in an under tone he groaned, ‘oh! but it’s ruined I am with the chaise hire intirely.’

“The horses’ heads were soon turned, and just as morning dawned, the runaways drove up to the lane leading to Mr. Wheeler’s residence, where the bride expectant alighted, and Tim, cursing his blunder, kept on to his quarters. What became of the aunt, I never cared to inquire. As for Tim, he had sense enough to know that the game was up for him in that quarter. Though he strove to keep his elopement a secret, the joke soon leaked out, and he was the banter of the whole regiment. An order to repair to Florida was hailed as a God-send, as it saved him from the quizzing of his mess, which to this day has for a standing toast, O’Donnell’s Prize.”

Many a burst of laughter interrupted the President during the recital of this story, which loses half of its effect when deprived of his inimitable mimicry of the conversations.

We adjourned, at a late hour, for the stars were already twinkling in the sky when we turned our horses’ heads homewards. The cool evening breeze, and the exhilaration of a rapid pace, kept up the flow of our spirits until we parted for the night—though we did not separate until we had drunk a parting cup at the house of that most hospitable of hosts, Deacon Green.

The next meeting of the club found me again amongst them. But the incidents of the second dinner must be reserved for another paper.

H. P.