Lavengro, George Borrow [i love reading books txt] 📗

companion who had uttered a kind of inaudible sound⁠—“No hopes of that, did you say? Do you think that I could be bate without allowing myself to be bate? By the powers!⁠—but you are beneath my notice.”

“Well, sir,” said he, fixing his eyes on me, “though you have cheek enough to deny your own country, I trust you have not enough to deny the merit of the elegy. What do you think of the elegy, sir?”

“I think it very sorry stuff,” said I.

“Hear him!” said the captain looking about him. “But he has been bought, paid money, to deny his own country and all that belongs to it. Well, sir, what do you think of Carolan, Carolan the Great? What do you think of his Receipt, sir?”

“I think it very sorry stuff, too.”

“Very well, sir, very well; but I hope to make you give me a receipt for all this before you leave. One word more. I suppose you’ll next deny that we have any poetry or music at all.”

“Far be it from me to say any such thing. There is one song connected with Ireland which I have always thought very fine, and likewise the music that accompanies it.”

“I am glad to hear it, sir; there is one piece of Irish poetry and music which meets your approbation! Pray name the piece, sir.”

“ ‘Croppies Lie Down!’ ”

The captain sprang to his feet like one electrified.

“What, sir?” said he.

“ ‘Croppies Lie Down!’ ”

The captain dashed his pipe to shivers against the table; then tucking up the sleeves of his coat, he advanced to within a yard of me, and pushing forward his head somewhat in the manner of a bulldog when about to make a spring, he said in a tone of suppressed fury: “I think I have heard of that song before, sir; but nobody ever yet cared to sing it to me. I should admire to hear from your lips what it is. Perhaps you will sing me a line or two.”

“With great pleasure,” said I:⁠—

“There are many brave rivers run into the sea,
But the best of them all is Boyne water for me;
There Croppies were vanquished and terrified fled,
With Jamie the runagate king at their head.
When crossing the ford
In the name of the Lord,
The conqueror brandished his conquering sword;
Then down, down, Croppies lie down!’

“By the powers! a very pretty song, and much obliged am I to ye for singing it, more especially as it gives me an opportunity of breaking your head, you long-limbed descendant of a Boyne trooper. You must deny your country, must ye? ye dingy renegade!⁠—the black North, but old Ireland still. But here’s Connemara for ye⁠—take this⁠—and this⁠—Och, murther!⁠—What have we got here⁠ ⁠… ?”

“Who and what is this O’Donahue?” said I to Frank Ardry after we had descended into the street.

“An ill-tempered Irishman,” said Frank, “the most disagreeable animal alive, once a rare bird on the earth. His father, after having taught him some Irish and less Latin, together with an immoderate hatred of the English, sent him abroad at the age of sixteen to serve the French. In that service he continued until the time of the general peace, when he quitted it for the Austrian. I first became acquainted with him at Vienna, where he bore the rank of captain, but had the character of a notorious gambler. It was owing, I believe, to his gambling practices that he was eventually obliged to leave the Austrian service. He has been in London about six months, where he supports himself as best he can, chiefly, I believe, by means of the gaming-table. His malignity against England has of late amounted almost to insanity, and has been much increased by the perusal of Irish newspapers which abound with invective against England and hyperbolical glorification of Ireland and the Irish. The result is that he has come to the conclusion that the best way for him to take revenge for the injuries of Ireland and to prove the immense superiority of the Irish over the English will be to break the head of Bishop Sharpe in the ring.”

“Well,” said I, “I do not see why the dispute, if dispute there be, should not be settled in the ring.”

“Nor I either,” said Frank, “and I could wish my countrymen to choose none other than O’Donahue. With respect to England and Bishop Sharpe⁠ ⁠…”

At that moment a voice sounded close by me: “Coach, your honour, coach? Will carry you anywhere you like.” I stopped, and lo the man of the greatcoat and glazed hat stood by my side.

“What do you want?” said I. “Have you brought me any message from your master?”

“Master? What master? Oh! you mean the captain. I left him rubbing his head. No, I don’t think you will hear anything from him in a hurry; he has had enough of you. All I wish to know is whether you wish to ride.”

“I thought you were the captain’s servant.”

“Yes, I look after the spavined roan on which he rides about the Park, but he’s no master of mine⁠—he doesn’t pay me. Who cares? I don’t serve him for money. I like to hear his talk about Bishop Sharpe and beating the English⁠—Lord help him! Now, where do you wish to go? Any coach you like⁠—any coachman⁠—and nothing to pay.”

“Why do you wish me to ride?” said I.

“Why, for serving out as you did that poor silly captain. I think what he got will satisfy him for a time. No more talk about Bishop Sharpe for a week at least. Come, come along, both of you. The stand is close by, and I’ll drive you myself.”

“Will you ride?” said I to Francis Ardry.

“No,” said Frank.

“Then come alone. Where shall I drive you?”

“To London Bridge.”]

XL

So I went to London Bridge, and again took my station on the spot by the booth where I had stood on the former occasion. The booth, however, was empty; neither the apple-woman nor her stall were to be seen. I