The Complete Works of Stephen Crane (59 page)

“That you could at any time,” said I. The Countess had for some moments ceased to hammer on my door. “Hearken! I think they are managing her.”

Either Hoity-Toity had lost heart, or the servants had gained some courage, for we heard them dragging her delicately down the staircase. Presently there was a silence.

After I had waited until this silence grew into the higher silence which seems like perfect safety, I rang the bell and ordered food and drink. Paddy had a royal meal, sitting on the floor by the fireplace and holding a platter on his knee. From time to time I tossed him something for which I did not care. He was very grateful for my generosity. He ate in a barbaric fashion, crunching bones of fowls between his great white teeth and swallowing everything.

I had a mind to discourse upon manners in order that Paddy might not shame me when we came to London; for a gentleman is known by the ways of his servants. If people of quality should see me attended by such a savage they would put me down small. “Paddy,” said I, “mend your ways of eating.”

“‘My ways of eating,’ your honour?” said he. “And am I not eating all that I can hold? I was known to be a good man at platter always. Sure I’ve seen no man in England eat more than me. But thank you kindly, sir.”

“You misunderstand me,” said I. “I wish to improve your manner of eating. It would not be fine enough for the sight of great people. You eat, without taking breath, pieces as big as a block of turf.”

“’Tis the custom in my part of Ireland,” answered Paddy.

“I understand,” said I. “But over here ’tis only very low people who fall upon their meat from a window above.”

“I am not in the way of understanding your honour,” said he. “But any how a man may be respectable and yet have a good hunger on him.”

It had been said that the unexpected often happens, although I do not know what learned man of the time succeeded in thus succinctly expressing a great law and any how it matters little, for I have since discovered that these learned men make one headful of brains go a long way by dint of poaching on each other’s knowledge. But the unexpected happened in this case, all true enough whatever.

I was giving my man a bit of a warning.

“Paddy,” said I, “you are big, and you are red, and you are Irish; but by the same token you are not the great Fingal, son of lightning. I would strongly give you the word. When you see that old woman you start for the open moors.”

“Devil fear me, sir,” answered Paddy promptly. “I’ll not be stopping. I would be swimming to Ireland before she lays a claw on me.”

“And mind you exchange no words with her,” said I, “for ’tis that which seems to work most wrongfully upon her.”

“Never a word out of me,” said he. “I’ll be that busy getting up the road.”

There was another tumult in the corridor, with the same screeches by one and the same humble protests by a multitude. The disturbance neared us with surprising speed. Suddenly I recalled that when the servant had retired after bringing food and drink I had neglected to again bar the door. I rushed for it, but I was all too late. I saw the latch raise. “Paddy!” I shouted wildly. “Mind yourself!” And with that I dropped to the floor and slid under the bed.

Paddy howled, and I lifted a corner of the valance to see what was transpiring. The door had been opened, and the Countess stood looking into the room. She was no longer in a fiery rage; she was cool, deadly determined, her glittering eye fixed on Paddy. She took a step forward.

Paddy, in his anguish, chanted to himself an Irish wail in which he described his unhappiness. “Oh, mother of me, and here I am caught again by the old hell-cat, and sure the way she creeps toward me is enough to put the fear of God in the heart of a hedge-robber, the murdering old witch. And it was me was living so fine and grand in England and greatly pleased with myself. Sorrow the day I left Ireland; it is, indeed.”

She was now close to him, and she seemed to be preparing for one stupendous pounce which would mean annihilation to Paddy. Her lean hands were thrust out, with the fingers crooked, and it seemed to me that her fingers were very long. In despair Paddy changed his tune and addressed her.

“Ah, now, alanna. Sure the kind lady would be for doing no harm? Be easy, now, acushla.”

But these tender appeals had no effect. Suddenly she pounced. Paddy roared, and sprang backward with splendid agility. He seized a chair.

Now I am quite sure that before he came to England Paddy had never seen a chair, although it is true that at some time in his life he may have had a peep through a window into an Irish gentleman’s house, where there might be a chair if the King’s officers in the neighbourhood were not very ambitious and powerful. But Paddy handled this chair as if he had seen many of them. He grasped it by the back and thrust it out, aiming all four legs at the Countess. It was a fine move. I have seen a moderately good swordsman fairly put to it by a pack of scoundrelly drawers who assailed him at all points in this manner.

“An you come on too fast,” quavered Paddy, “ye can grab two legs, but there will be one left for your eye and another for your brisket.”

However she came on, sure enough, and there was a moment of scuffling near the end of the bed out of my sight. I wriggled down to gain another view, and when I cautiously lifted an edge of the valance my eyes met the strangest sight ever seen in all England. Paddy, much dishevelled and panting like a hunt-dog, had wedged the Countess against the wall. She was pinioned by the four legs of the chair, and Paddy, by dint of sturdily pushing at the chair-back, was keeping her in a fixed position.

In a flash my mind was made up. Here was the time to escape. I scrambled quickly from under the bed. “Bravo, Paddy!” I cried, dashing about the room after my sword, coat, waistcoat, and hat. “Devil a fear but you’ll hold her, my bucko! Push hard, my brave lad, and mind your feet don’t slip!”

“If your honour pleases,” said Paddy, without turning his eyes from his conquest, “’tis a little help I would be wishing here. She would be as strong in the shoulder as a good plough-horse and I am not for staying here for ever.”

“Bravo, my grand lad!” I cried, at last finding my hat, which had somehow gotten into a corner. From the door I again addressed Paddy in encouraging speech. “There’s a stout-hearted boy for you! Hold hard, and mind your feet don’t slip!”

He cast a quick agonized look in my direction, and, seeing that I was about basely to desert him, he gave a cry, dropped the chair, and bolted after me. As we ran down the corridor I kept well in advance, thinking it the best place in case the pursuit should be energetic. But there was no pursuit. When Paddy was holding the Countess prisoner she could only choke and stammer, and I had no doubt that she now was well mastered by exhaustion.

Curiously there was little hubbub in the inn. The fact that the Countess was the rioter had worked in a way to cause people to seek secluded and darkened nooks. However, the landlord raised his bleat at me. “Oh, sir, such a misfortune to befall my house just when so many grand ladies and gentlemen are here.”

I took him quietly by the throat and beat his head against the wall, once, twice, thrice.

“And you allow mad ladies to molest your guests, do you?” said I.

“Sir,” he stuttered, “could I have caused her to cease?

“True,” I said, releasing him. “But now do as I bid you and quickly. I am away to London. I have had my plenty of you and your mad ladies.”

We started bravely to London, but we only went to another and quieter inn, seeking peace and the absence of fear. I may say we found it, and, in a chair before a good fire, I again took my comfort. Paddy sat on the floor, toasting his shins. The warmth passed him into a reflective mood.

“And I know all I need of grand ladies,” he muttered, staring into the fire. “I thought they were all for riding in gold coaches and smelling of beautiful flowers, and here they are mad to be chasing Irishmen in inns. I remember old Mag Cooligan fought with a whole regiment of King’s troops in Bantry, and even the drums stopped beating, the soldiers were that much interested. But, sure, everybody would be knowing that Mag was no grand lady, although Pat Cooligan, her brother, was pig-killer to half the country-side. I am thinking we were knowing little about grand ladies. One of the soldiers had his head broke by a musket because the others were so ambitious to destroy the old lady, and she scratching them all. ’Twas long remembered in Bantry.”

“Hold your tongue about your betters,” said I sharply. “Don’t be comparing this Mag Cooligan with a real Countess.”

“There would be a strange similarity any how,” said he. “But, sure, Mag never fought in inns, for the reason that they would not be letting her inside.”

“Remember how little you are knowing of them, Paddy,” said I. “’Tis not for you to be talking of the grand ladies when you have seen only one, and you would not be knowing another from a fish. Grand ladies are eccentric, I would have you to know. They have their ways with them which are not for omadhauns like you to understand.”

“Eccentric, is it?” said he. “I thought it would be some such devilment.”

“And I am knowing,” said I with dignity, “of one lady so fine that if you don’t stop talking that way of ladies I will break your thick skull for you, and it would matter to nobody.”

“’Tis an ill subject for discussion, I am seeing that,” said Paddy. “But, faith, I could free Ireland with an army of ladies like one I’ve seen.”

“Will you be holding your tongue?” I cried wrathfully.

Paddy began to mumble to himself,—”Bedad, he was under the bed fast enough without offering her a stool by the fire and a small drop of drink which would be no more than decent with him so fond of her. I am not knowing the ways of these people.”

In despair of his long tongue I made try to change the talking.

“We are off for London, Paddy. How are you for it?”

“London, is it?” said he warily. “I was hearing there are many fine ladies there.”

For the second time in his life I cuffed him soundly on the ear.

“Now,” said I, “be ringing the bell. I am for buying you a bit of drink; but if you mention the gentry to me once more in that blackguard way I’ll lather you into a resemblance to your grandfather’s bones.”

After a pleasant evening I retired to bed leaving Paddy snug asleep by the fire. I thought much of my Lady Mary, but with her mother stalking the corridors and her knowing father with his eye wide open, I knew there was no purpose in hanging about a Bath inn. I would go to London, where there were gardens, and walks in the park, and parties, and other useful customs. There I would win my love.

The following morning I started with Paddy to meet Jem Bottles and travel to London. Many surprising adventures were in store for us, but an account of these I shall leave until another time, since one would not be worrying people with too many words, which is a great fault in a man who is recounting his own affairs.