CHAPTER XI. MR. MERL "AT FENCE"
All the projects which Mr. Scanlan had struck out for Merl's occupationon the following day were marred by the unfavorable weather. It blewfiercely from the westward, driving upon shore a tremendous sea, andsending white masses of drift and foam far inland. The rain, too, camedown in torrents. The low-lying clouds, which scarcely reached more thanhalf-way up the mountain sides, seemed as if rent asunder at times,and from them came a deluge, filling all the watercourses, and swellingrivulets to the size of mighty torrents. The unceasing roll of thunder,now near, now rumbling along in distant volleys, swelled the wilduproar, and helped to make up a scene of grand but desolate meaning.
What could well be drearier than that little line of cabins that formedthe village of Kilkieran, as with strongly barricaded doors, andwith roofs secured by ropes and spars, they stood exposed to the fullviolence of the wild Atlantic! Not a man, not a living thing was to beseen. The fishermen were all within doors, cowering in gloomy indolenceover the scanty turf fires, and brooding darkly on the coming winter.
With a thorough conviction of all the dreariness of this scene, Mr.Merl stood at the window and looked out. He had been all his life tooactively engaged in his pursuits of one kind or other to know much aboutwhat is called "being bored." Let rain fall ever so heavily, a cab couldtake him down to "'Change,"--the worst weather never marred a sale ofstock, and Consols could rise even while the mercury was falling. Thebusiness-life of a great city seems to care little for weather, andpossibly they whose intent faculties are bent on gain, scarcely rememberwhether the sun shines upon their labors.
Merl felt differently now; the scene before him was wilder and gloomierthan anything he had ever beheld. Beyond and behind the village steepmountains rose on every side, of barren and rugged surface,--not avestige of any culture to be seen; while on the road, which led along anarrow gorge, nothing moved. All was dreary and deserted.
"I suppose you'll keep the roof over you to-day, Mr. Merl?" saidScanlan, as he entered the room, buttoned up to the chin in a coarsefrieze coat, while his head was protected by a genuine "sou'-wester" ofoilskin.
"And are _you_ going out in such weather?" asked Merl.
"'Needs must,' sir, as the proverb says. I have to be at the assizesat Oughterard this morning, to prosecute some scoundrels for cuttingbrambles in the wood; and I want to serve notices on a townland abouteight miles from this; and then I 'll have to go round by Cro' Martinand see Miss Mary. That's not the worst of it," added he, with animpudent leer, "for she's a fine girl, and has the prettiest eyes in thekingdom."
"I have a letter for her," said Merl,--"a letter of introduction fromCaptain Martin. I suppose I might as well send it by you, and ask if Imight pay my respects to-morrow or next day?"
"To be sure; I'll take it with pleasure. You'll like her when you seeher. She's not a bit like the rest: no pride, no stand-off,--thatis, when she takes a fancy; but she is full of life and courage foranything."
"Ah, yes,--the Captain said we should get on very well together,"drawled out Merl.
"Did he, though!" cried Scanlan, eagerly. Then as suddenly checkinghis anxiety, he added: "But what does _he_ know about Miss Mary? Surelythey're as good as strangers to each other. And for the matter of that,even when he was here, they did n't take to each other,--she was alwayslaughing at the way he rode."
"Wasn't he in the dragoons?" asked Merl, in a half-rebutting tone.
"So he was; but what does that signify? Sure it's not a cavalry seat,with your head down and your elbows squared, will teach you to crosscountry,--at least, with Mary Martin beside you. You'll see her one ofthese day yourself, Mr. Merl. May I never, if you don't see her now!"cried Scanlan, suddenly, as he pointed to the road along which a horsewas seen coming at speed, the rider breasting the storm fearlessly, andonly crouching to the saddle as the gusts swept past. "What in the nameof all that's wonderful brings her here?" cried Maurice. "She wasn'tdown at Kilkieran for four months."
"She'll stop at this inn here, I suppose?" said Merl who was alreadyperforming an imaginary toilet for her visit.
"You may take your oath she'll not!" said Scanlan half roughly; "she'd not cross the threshold of it! She 's going to some cabin or other.There she goes,--is n't that riding?" cried he, in animation. "Did youever see a horse held neater? And see how she picks the road for him!Easy as she's sitting, she 'd take a four-foot wall this minute, withoutstirring in her saddle."
"She hasn't got a nice day for pleasuring!" said the Jew, with a vulgarcackle.
"If ye call it pleasure," rejoined Scanlan, "what she's after; but Isuspect there's somebody sick down at the end of the village. There, I'm right; she's pulling up at Mat Landy's,--I wonder if it's old Mat isbad."
"You know him?" asked Merl.
"To be sure I do. He 's known down the coast for forty miles. Hesaved more men from shipwreck himself than everybody in the barony puttogether; but his heart is all but broke about a granddaughter that ranaway. Sure enough, she's going in there."
"Did you see Miss Mary?" cried Crow, entering suddenly. "She's just gonedown the beach. They say there's a case now down there."
"A case--of what?" said Merl.
"Cholera or typhus, as it may be," said Crow, not a little surprised atthe unmistakable terror of the other's face.
"And she's gone to see it!" exclaimed the Jew.
"To do more than see it. She 'll nurse the sick man, and bring himmedicine and whatever he wants."
"And not afraid?"
"Afraid!" broke in Crow. "I'd like to know what she's afraid of. Ask Mr.Scanlan what would frighten her." But Mr. Scanlan had already slippednoiselessly from the room, and was already on his way down the shore.
"Well," said Merl, lighting his cigar, and drawing an arm-chair closeto the fire, "I don't see the advantage of all that. She could sendthe doctor, I suppose, and make her servants take down to these peoplewhatever she wanted to send them. What especial utility there is ingoing herself, I can't perceive."
"I'll tell you, then," said Crow. "It's more likely the doctor is busythis minute, ten or fifteen miles away,--for the whole country is downin sickness; but even if he was n't, if it were not for her courage ingoing everywhere, braving danger and death every hour, there would bea general flight of all that could escape. They'd rush into thetowns,--where already there's more sickness than they know how to dealwith. She encourages some,--she shames more; and not a few are proudto be brave in such company, for she is an angel,--that's her name,--anangel."
"Well, I should like to see her," drawled out Merl, as he smoothed downhis scrubby mustachios.
"Nothing easier, then," rejoined Crow. "Put on your coat and hat, and we'll stroll down the beach till she comes out; it can't be very long, forshe has enough on her hands elsewhere."
The proposition of a "stroll" in such weather was very little to Mr.Merl's taste; but his curiosity was stronger than even his fear of adrenching, and having muffled and shawled himself as if for an Arcticwinter, they set out together from the inn.
"And you tell me," said he, "that the Martins used to livehere,--actually pass their lives in this atrocious climate?"
"That they did,--and the worst mistake they ever made was to leave it,"said Crow.
"I confess you puzzle me," said Merl.
"Very possibly I do, sir," was the calm reply; "but you'd haveunderstood me at once had you known this country while they resided atCro' Martin. It was n't only that the superfluities of their wealth ranover, and filled the cup of the poor man, but there was a sense of hopecherished, by seeing that however hard the times, however adverse theseason, there was always 'his Honor,' as they called Mr. Martin, whomthey could appeal to for aid or for lenient treatment."
"Very strange, very odd, all this," said Merl, musing. "But all that Ihear of Ireland represents the people as if in a continual struggle formere existence, and actually in a daily state of dependence on the willof somebody above them."
"And if that same cond
ition were never to be exaggerated into downrightwant, or pushed to an actual slavery, we could be very happy with it,"said Crow, "and not thank you, or any other Englishman that came here,to disturb it."
"I assure you I have no ambition to indulge in any such interference,"said Merl, with a half-contemptuous laugh.
"And so you're not thinking of settling in Ireland?" asked Crow, in somesurprise.
"Never dreamed of it!"
"Well, the story goes that you wanted to buy an estate, and came down tohave a look at this property here."
"I'd not live on it if Martin were to make me a present of itto-morrow."
"I don't think he will," said Crow, gravely. "I am afraid he could n't,if he wished it."
"What, do you mean on account of the entail?" asked Merl.
"Not exactly." He paused, and after some silence said, "If the truthwere told, there's a great deal of debt on this property,--more than anyone suspects."
"The Captain's encumbrances?" asked Merl, eagerly.
"His grandfather's and his great-grandfather's! As for the present man,they say that he's tied up some way not to sell, except for the sake ofredeeming some of the mortgages. But who knows what is true and what isfalse about all this?"
Merl was silent; grave fears were crossing his mind how far his claimswere valid; and terrible misgivings shot across him lest the Captainmight have been paying him with valueless securities.
"I gather from what you say," said he, at last, "that it would be ratherdifficult to make out a title for any purchaser of this estate."
"Don't be afraid of that, sir. They'll make you out a fair title."
"I tell you again, I'd not take it as a present," said Merl, halfangrily.
"I see," said Crow, nodding his head sententiously. And then fixing hiseyes steadily on him, he said, "You are a mortgagee."
Merl reddened,--partly anger, partly shame. Indeed, the feeling thatsuch a capacity as Mr. Crow's should have pushed him hard, was anythingbut complimentary to his self-esteem.
"I don't want to pry into any man's affairs," said Crow, easily. "Heavenknows it's mighty little matter to Simmy Crow who lives in the big housethere. I 'd rather, if I had my choice, be able to walk the wood with mysketch-book and brushes than be the richest man that ever was heartsorewith the cares of wealth."
"And if a friend--a sincere, well-wishing friend--were to bind himselfthat you should enjoy this same happiness you speak of, Mr. Crow, whatwould you do in return?"
"Anything he asked me,--anything, at least, that a fair man could ask,and an honest one could do."
"There's my hand on it, then," said Merl. "It's a bargain."
"Ay, but let us hear the conditions," said Crow. "What could I possiblyserve you in, that would be worth this price?"
"Simply this: that you'll answer all my inquiries, so far as you knowabout this estate; and where your knowledge fails, that you'll endeavorto obtain the information for me."
"Maybe I could tell you nothing at all--or next to nothing," said Crow."Just ask me, now, what's the kind of question you 'd put; for, to telltruth, I 'm not over bright or clever,--the best of me is when I've acanvas before me."
Merl peered stealthily at the speaker over the great folds of the shawlthat enveloped his throat; he was not without his misgivings that theartist was a "deep fellow," assuming a manner of simplicity to draw himinto a confidence. "And yet," he thought, "had he really been shrewdand cunning, he 'd never have blurted out his suspicion as to my beinga mortgagee. Besides," said he to himself, "there, and with that fact,must end all his knowledge of me." "You can dine with me to-day, Mr.Crow, can't you?"
"I 'm engaged to the stranger in No. 4,--the man I'm making the drawingsfor."
"But you could get off. You could ask him to excuse you by saying thatsomething of importance required you elsewhere?"
"And dine in the room underneath?" asked Crow, with a comical look ofdistress at this suggestion.
"Well, let us go somewhere else. Is there no other inn in theneighborhood?"
"There's a small public-house near the gate of Cro' Martin, to be sure."
"Then we'll dine there. I'll order a chaise at four o'clock, and we 'lldrive over together. And now, I 'll just return to the house, for thiswading here is not much to my taste."
Mr. Merl returned gloomily to the house, his mind too deeply occupiedwith his own immediate interests to bestow any thought upon Mary Martin.The weather assuredly offered but little inducement to linger out ofdoors, for, as the morning wore on, the rain and wind increased inviolence, while vast masses of mist swept over the sea and were carriedon shore, leaving only, at intervals, little patches of the village tobe seen,--dreary, storm-beaten, and desolate! Merl shuddered, as he castone last look at this sad-colored picture, and entered the inn.
Has it ever been your ill-fortune, good reader, to find yourself alonein some dreary, unfrequented spot, the weather-bound denizen of a sorryinn, without books or newspapers, thrown upon the resources of your ownthoughts, so sure to take their color from the dreary scene around them?It is a trying ordeal for the best of tempers. Your man of businesschafes and frets against the inactivity; your man of leisure sorrowsover monotony that makes idleness a penalty. He whose thoroughfare inlife is the pursuit of wealth thinks of all those more fortunate thanhimself then hurrying on to gain, while he who is the mark of theworld's flatteries and attentions laments over the dismal desolation ofan uncompanionable existence.
If Mr. Merl did not exactly occupy any one of these categories, hefancied, at least, that he oscillated amidst them all. It was, indeed,his good pleasure to imagine himself a "man upon town," who played alittle, discounted a little, dealt a little in old pictures, old china,old cabinets, and old plate, but all for mere pastime,--something, as hewould say, "to give him an interest in it;" and there, certainly, he wasright. Nothing so surely imparted an "interest" in Mr. Merl's eyes ashaving an investment. Objects of art, the greatest triumphs of genius,landscape the richest eye ever ranged over, political events that wouldhave awakened a sense of patriotism in the dullest and coldest, all camebefore him as simple questions of profit and loss.
If he was not actually a philosopher, some of his views of life werecharacterized by great shrewdness. He had remarked, for instance, thatthe changeful fashions of the world are ever alternating; and that notonly dress and costume and social customs undergo mutations, but thatobjects of positive sterling value are liable to the same waywardinfluences. We are all modern to-day, to-morrow we may be "LouisQuatorze," the next day "Cinque Centi" in our tastes. Now we aremad after Italian art, yesterday the Dutch school was in vogue. Ourgalleries, our libraries, our houses, our gardens, all feel the capricesof these passing moods. There was but one thing that Mr. Merl hadperceived never changed, and that was the estimation men felt for money.Religions might decay, and states crumble, thrones totter, and kings beexiled, Cuyps might be depreciated and marquetry be held in mean esteem;but gold was always within a fraction at least of four pounds elevenshillings the ounce!
He remarked, too, that men gradually grow tired of almost everything;the pursuits of the young are not those of the middle-aged, still lessof advanced life. The books which we once cried over are now thrown downwith languor; the society we imagined perfection we now smile at for itsvery absurdities. We see vulgarity where we once beheld vigor; we detectexaggeration where we used to attribute power. There is only one themeof which our estimation never varies,--wealth! Mr. Merl had never yetmet the man nor the woman who really despised it; nay, he had seen kingstrafficking on 'Change. He had known great ministers deep speculatorson the Bourse; valiant admirals, distinguished generals, learned judges,and even divines, had bought and sold with him, all eager in the pursuitof gain, and all employing, to the best of their ability, the highfaculties of their intelligence to assist them in making craftybargains.
If these experiences taught him the universal veneration men feelfor wealth, they also conveyed another lesson, which was, the extremegulli
bility of mankind. He met every day men who ruled cabinets andcommanded fleets,--the reputed great of the earth,--and saw them easiervictims in his hand than the commonest capacity in "Leadenhall Street."They had the earliest information, but could not profit by it; theynever understood the temper on 'Change, knew nothing of the variationsof the money-barometer, and invariably fell into snares that your cityman never incurred. Hence Mr. Merl came to conceive a very low generalopinion of what he himself called "the swells," and a very high one ofHerman Merl.
If we have dwelt upon these traits of this interesting individual inthis place, it is simply to place before our reader's mind the kindof lucubrations such a man might be disposed to indulge in. In fact,story-tellers like ourselves have very little pretension to go beyondthe narrow limit; and having given to the reader the traits of acharacter, they must leave their secret working more or less to hisingenuity. So much, however, we are at liberty to declare, that Mr. Merlwas terribly bored, and made no scruple of confessing it.
"What the deuce are you staring at? Is there anything really to be seenin that confounded dreary sea?" cried he, as Crow stood shading his eyesfrom the lightning flashes, and intently gazing on the scene without.
"That's one of the effects Backhuysen was so fond of!" exclaimed Crow,eagerly,--"a sullen sea, lead-colored and cold, with a white curl justcrisping the top of the waves, over it a dreary expanse of dark sky,low-lying and black, till you come near the horizon, where there is afaint line of grayish white, just enough to show that you are on thewide, wide ocean, out of sight of land, and nothing living near, exceptthat solitary sea-gull perched upon the breakers there. There's realpoetry in a bit like that; it sets one a thinking over the desolation ofthose whose life is little better than a voyage on such a sea!"
"Better be drowned at once," broke in Merl, impatiently.
Crow started and looked at him; and had Merl but seen that glance, soscornful and contemptuous was it, even his self-esteem might have feltoutraged. But he had not remarked it; and as little did he guess whatwas then passing in the poor artist's mind, as Crow muttered to himself,"I know one that will not be your guest to-day, if he dines on a coldpotato, or does n't dine at all."
"Did I tell you," cried he, suddenly, "that there's no horses to behad?"
"No horses!" exclaimed Merl; "how so?"
"There's a great trial going on at the assizes to-day, and Mr. Barry isgone on to Oughterard to hear it, and he has the only pair of posters inthe place."
"What a confounded hole!" burst out Merl, passionately. "That I evershould have set my foot in it! How are we to get through the day here?Have you thought of anything to be done?"
"_I'll_ go down and find out how poor Landy is," said Crow; "for MissMary's horse is still at the door, and he must be very bad, indeed, orshe wouldn't delay so long."
"And what if it should turn out the cholera, or typhus, or something asbad?"
"Well?" said Crow, interrogatively; for he could not guess the drift ofthe suggestion.
"Simply this, my worthy friend," resumed Merl,--"that I have no fancyfor the pleasure of your company at dinner after such an excursion asyou speak of."
"I was just going to say that myself," said Crow. "Good-bye!" And beforeMerl could interpose a word, he was gone.