The Fortunes of Sir Robert Ardagh.
"The earth hath bubbles as the water hath-- And these are of them."
In the south of Ireland, and on the borders of the county of Limerick,there lies a district of two or three miles in length, which is renderedinteresting by the fact that it is one of the very few spots throughoutthis country in which some vestiges of aboriginal forests still remain.It has little or none of the lordly character of the American forest,for the axe has felled its oldest and its grandest trees; but in theclose wood which survives live all the wild and pleasing peculiaritiesof nature: its complete irregularity, its vistas, in whose perspectivethe quiet cattle are browsing; its refreshing glades, where the greyrocks arise from amid the nodding fern; the silvery shafts of the oldbirch-trees; the knotted trunks of the hoary oak, the grotesque butgraceful branches which never shed their honours under the tyrantpruning-hook; the soft green sward; the chequered light and shade;the wild luxuriant weeds; the lichen and the moss--all are beautifulalike in the green freshness of spring or in the sadness and sere ofautumn. Their beauty is of that kind which makes the heart full withjoy--appealing to the affections with a power which belongs to natureonly. This wood runs up, from below the base, to the ridge of a longline of irregular hills, having perhaps, in primitive times, formed butthe skirting of some mighty forest which occupied the level below.
But now, alas! whither have we drifted? whither has the tide ofcivilization borne us? It has passed over a land unprepared for it--ithas left nakedness behind it; we have lost our forests, but ourmarauders remain; we have destroyed all that is picturesque, while wehave retained everything that is revolting in barbarism. Through themidst of this woodland there runs a deep gully or glen, where thestillness of the scene is broken in upon by the brawling of amountain-stream, which, however, in the winter season, swells intoa rapid and formidable torrent.
There is one point at which the glen becomes extremely deep and narrow;the sides descend to the depth of some hundred feet, and are so steepas to be nearly perpendicular. The wild trees which have taken root inthe crannies and chasms of the rock are so intersected and entangled,that one can with difficulty catch a glimpse of the stream which wheels,flashes, and foams below, as if exulting in the surrounding silence andsolitude.
This spot was not unwisely chosen, as a point of no ordinary strength,for the erection of a massive square tower or keep, one side of whichrises as if in continuation of the precipitous cliff on which it isbased. Originally, the only mode of ingress was by a narrow portal inthe very wall which overtopped the precipice, opening upon a ledge ofrock which afforded a precarious pathway, cautiously intersected,however, by a deep trench cut out with great labour in the living rock;so that, in its pristine state, and before the introduction of artilleryinto the art of war, this tower might have been pronounced, and that notpresumptuously, impregnable.
The progress of improvement and the increasing security of the timeshad, however, tempted its successive proprietors, if not to adorn, atleast to enlarge their premises, and about the middle of the lastcentury, when the castle was last inhabited, the original square towerformed but a small part of the edifice.
The castle, and a wide tract of the surrounding country, had from timeimmemorial belonged to a family which, for distinctness, we shall callby the name of Ardagh; and owing to the associations which, in Ireland,almost always attach to scenes which have long witnessed alike theexercise of stern feudal authority, and of that savage hospitality whichdistinguished the good old times, this building has become the subjectand the scene of many wild and extraordinary traditions. One of them Ihave been enabled, by a personal acquaintance with an eye-witness of theevents, to trace to its origin; and yet it is hard to say whether theevents which I am about to record appear more strange and improbable asseen through the distorting medium of tradition, or in the appallingdimness of uncertainty which surrounds the reality.
Tradition says that, sometime in the last century, Sir Robert Ardagh, ayoung man, and the last heir of that family, went abroad and served inforeign armies; and that, having acquired considerable honour andemolument, he settled at Castle Ardagh, the building we have just nowattempted to describe. He was what the country people call a _dark_ man;that is, he was considered morose, reserved, and ill-tempered; and, asit was supposed from the utter solitude of his life, was upon no termsof cordiality with the other members of his family.
The only occasion upon which he broke through the solitary monotonyof his life was during the continuance of the racing season, andimmediately subsequent to it; at which time he was to be seen amongthe busiest upon the course, betting deeply and unhesitatingly, andinvariably with success. Sir Robert was, however, too well known as aman of honour, and of too high a family, to be suspected of any unfairdealing. He was, moreover, a soldier, and a man of intrepid as well asof a haughty character; and no one cared to hazard a surmise, theconsequences of which would be felt most probably by its originatoronly.
Gossip, however, was not silent; it was remarked that Sir Robert neverappeared at the race-ground, which was the only place of public resortwhich he frequented, except in company with a certain strange-lookingperson, who was never seen elsewhere, or under other circumstances. Itwas remarked, too, that this man, whose relation to Sir Robert was neverdistinctly ascertained, was the only person to whom he seemed to speakunnecessarily; it was observed that while with the country gentry heexchanged no further communication than what was unavoidable inarranging his sporting transactions, with this person he would converseearnestly and frequently. Tradition asserts that, to enhance thecuriosity which this unaccountable and exclusive preference excited,the stranger possessed some striking and unpleasant peculiarities ofperson and of garb--though it is not stated, however, what thesewere--but they, in conjunction with Sir Robert's secluded habits andextraordinary run of luck--a success which was supposed to result fromthe suggestions and immediate advice of the unknown--were sufficient towarrant report in pronouncing that there was something _queer_ in thewind, and in surmising that Sir Robert was playing a fearful and ahazardous game, and that, in short, his strange companion was littlebetter than the Devil himself.
Years rolled quietly away, and nothing very novel occurred in thearrangements of Castle Ardagh, excepting that Sir Robert parted with hisodd companion, but as nobody could tell whence he came, so nobody couldsay whither he had gone. Sir Robert's habits, however, underwent noconsequent change; he continued regularly to frequent the race meetings,without mixing at all in the convivialities of the gentry, andimmediately afterwards to relapse into the secluded monotony of hisordinary life.
It was said that he had accumulated vast sums of money--and, as his betswere always successful and always large, such must have been the case.He did not suffer the acquisition of wealth, however, to influence hishospitality or his house-keeping--he neither purchased land, norextended his establishment; and his mode of enjoying his money must havebeen altogether that of the miser--consisting merely in the pleasure oftouching and telling his gold, and in the consciousness of wealth.
Sir Robert's temper, so far from improving, became more than ever gloomyand morose. He sometimes carried the indulgence of his evil dispositionsto such a height that it bordered upon insanity. During these paroxysmshe would neither eat, drink, nor sleep. On such occasions he insisted onperfect privacy, even from the intrusion of his most trusted servants;his voice was frequently heard, sometimes in earnest supplication,sometimes raised, as if in loud and angry altercation with some unknownvisitant. Sometimes he would for hours together walk to and frothroughout the long oak-wainscoted apartment which he generallyoccupied, with wild gesticulations and agitated pace, in the manner ofone who has been roused to a state of unnatural excitement by somesudden and appalling intimation.
These paroxysms of apparent lunacy were so frightful, that during theircontinuance even his oldest and most faithful domestics dared notapproach him; consequently his hours of agony were never intruded upon,
and the mysterious causes of his sufferings appeared likely to remainhidden for ever.
On one occasion a fit of this kind continued for an unusual time; theordinary term of their duration--about two days--had been long past,and the old servant who generally waited upon Sir Robert after thesevisitations, having in vain listened for the well-known tinkle of hismaster's hand-bell, began to feel extremely anxious; he feared that hismaster might have died from sheer exhaustion, or perhaps put an end tohis own existence during his miserable depression. These fears at lengthbecame so strong, that having in vain urged some of his brother servantsto accompany him, he determined to go up alone, and himself see whetherany accident had befallen Sir Robert.
He traversed the several passages which conducted from the new to themore ancient parts of the mansion, and having arrived in the old hallof the castle, the utter silence of the hour--for it was very late inthe night--the idea of the nature of the enterprise in which he wasengaging himself, a sensation of remoteness from anything like humancompanionship, but, more than all, the vivid but undefined anticipationof something horrible, came upon him with such oppressive weight thathe hesitated as to whether he should proceed. Real uneasiness, however,respecting the fate of his master, for whom he felt that kind ofattachment which the force of habitual intercourse not unfrequentlyengenders respecting objects not in themselves amiable, and also alatent unwillingness to expose his weakness to the ridicule of hisfellow-servants, combined to overcome his reluctance; and he had justplaced his foot upon the first step of the staircase which conducted tohis master's chamber, when his attention was arrested by a low butdistinct knocking at the hall-door. Not, perhaps, very sorry at findingthus an excuse even for deferring his intended expedition, he placedthe candle upon a stone block which lay in the hall and approached thedoor, uncertain whether his ears had not deceived him. This doubt wasjustified by the circumstance that the hall entrance had been for nearlyfifty years disused as a mode of ingress to the castle. The situation ofthis gate also, which we have endeavoured to describe, opening upon anarrow ledge of rock which overhangs a perilous cliff, rendered it atall times, but particularly at night, a dangerous entrance. Thisshelving platform of rock, which formed the only avenue to the door, wasdivided, as I have already stated, by a broad chasm, the planks acrosswhich had long disappeared, by decay or otherwise; so that it seemed atleast highly improbable that any man could have found his way across thepassage in safety to the door, more particularly on a night like this,of singular darkness. The old man, therefore, listened attentively, toascertain whether the first application should be followed by another.He had not long to wait. The same low but singularly distinct knockingwas repeated; so low that it seemed as if the applicant had employedno harder or heavier instrument than his hand, and yet, despite theimmense thickness of the door, with such strength that the sound wasdistinctly audible.
The knock was repeated a third time, without any increase of loudness;and the old man, obeying an impulse for which to his dying hour he couldnever account, proceeded to remove, one by one, the three great oakenbars which secured the door. Time and damp had effectually corroded theiron chambers of the lock, so that it afforded little resistance. Withsome effort, as he believed, assisted from without, the old servantsucceeded in opening the door; and a low, square-built figure,apparently that of a man wrapped in a large black cloak, enteredthe hall. The servant could not see much of this visitor with anydistinctness; his dress appeared foreign, the skirt of his ample cloakwas thrown over one shoulder; he wore a large felt hat, with a veryheavy leaf, from under which escaped what appeared to be a mass of longsooty-black hair; his feet were cased in heavy riding-boots. Such werethe few particulars which the servant had time and light to observe. Thestranger desired him to let his master know instantly that a friend hadcome, by appointment, to settle some business with him. The servanthesitated, but a slight motion on the part of his visitor, as if topossess himself of the candle, determined him; so, taking it in hishand, he ascended the castle stairs, leaving the guest in the hall.
HE PAUSED, BUT THERE WAS NO SOUND.]
On reaching the apartment which opened upon the oak-chamber he wassurprised to observe the door of that room partly open, and the roomitself lit up. He paused, but there was no sound; he looked in, and sawSir Robert, his head and the upper part of his body reclining on atable, upon which two candles burned; his arms were stretched forward oneither side, and perfectly motionless; it appeared that, having beensitting at the table, he had thus sunk forward, either dead or in aswoon. There was no sound of breathing; all was silent, except thesharp ticking of a watch, which lay beside the lamp. The servant coughedtwice or thrice, but with no effect; his fears now almost amounted tocertainty, and he was approaching the table on which his master partlylay, to satisfy himself of his death, when Sir Robert slowly raised hishead, and, throwing himself back in his chair, fixed his eyes in aghastly and uncertain gaze upon his attendant. At length he said, slowlyand painfully, as if he dreaded the answer,--
"In God's name, what are you?"
"Sir," said the servant, "a strange gentleman wants to see you below."
At this intimation Sir Robert, starting to his feet and tossing his armswildly upwards, uttered a shriek of such appalling and despairing terrorthat it was almost too fearful for human endurance; and long after thesound had ceased it seemed to the terrified imagination of the oldservant to roll through the deserted passages in bursts of unnaturallaughter. After a few moments Sir Robert said,--
"Can't you send him away? Why does he come so soon? O Merciful Powers!let him leave me for an hour; a little time. I can't see him now; try toget him away. You see I can't go down now; I have not strength. O God!O God! let him come back in an hour; it is not long to wait. He cannotlose anything by it; nothing, nothing, nothing. Tell him that! Sayanything to him."
The servant went down. In his own words, he did not feel the stairsunder him till he got to the hall. The figure stood exactly as he hadleft it. He delivered his master's message as coherently as he could.The stranger replied in a careless tone:
"If Sir Robert will not come down to me; I must go up to him."
The man returned, and to his surprise he found his master much morecomposed in manner. He listened to the message, and though the coldperspiration rose in drops upon his forehead faster than he could wipeit away, his manner had lost the dreadful agitation which had marked itbefore. He rose feebly, and casting a last look of agony behind him,passed from the room to the lobby, where he signed to his attendant notto follow him. The man moved as far as the head of the staircase, fromwhence he had a tolerably distinct view of the hall, which wasimperfectly lighted by the candle he had left there.
He saw his master reel, rather than walk, down the stairs, clinging allthe way to the banisters. He walked on, as if about to sink every momentfrom weakness. The figure advanced as if to meet him, and in passingstruck down the light. The servant could see no more; but there wasa sound of struggling, renewed at intervals with silent but fearfulenergy. It was evident, however, that the parties were approaching thedoor, for he heard the solid oak sound twice or thrice, as the feet ofthe combatants, in shuffling hither and thither over the floor, struckupon it. After a slight pause, he heard the door thrown open with suchviolence that the leaf seemed to strike the side-wall of the hall, forit was so dark without that this could only be surmised by the sound.The struggle was renewed with an agony and intenseness of energy thatbetrayed itself in deep-drawn gasps. One desperate effort, whichterminated in the breaking of some part of the door, producing a soundas if the door-post was wrenched from its position, was followed byanother wrestle, evidently upon the narrow ledge which ran outside thedoor, overtopping the precipice. This proved to be the final struggle;it was followed by a crashing sound as if some heavy body had fallenover, and was rushing down the precipice through the light boughs thatcrossed near the top. All then became still as the grave, except whenthe moan of the night-wind sighed up the wooded glen.
> The old servant had not nerve to return through the hall, and to him thedarkness seemed all but endless; but morning at length came, and withit the disclosure of the events of the night. Near the door, upon theground, lay Sir Robert's sword-belt, which had given way in the scuffle.A huge splinter from the massive door-post had been wrenched off byan almost superhuman effort--one which nothing but the gripe of adespairing man could have severed--and on the rocks outside were leftthe marks of the slipping and sliding of feet.
AT THE FOOT OF THE PRECIPICE.]
At the foot of the precipice, not immediately under the castle, butdragged some way up the glen, were found the remains of Sir Robert,with hardly a vestige of a limb or feature left distinguishable. Theright hand, however, was uninjured, and in its fingers were clutched,with the fixedness of death, a long lock of coarse sooty hair--the onlydirect circumstantial evidence of the presence of a second person.