At the winter assizes of Galway, in the year 1802, all the deep sympathies of a law-loving population were destined to be most heartily engaged by the record of Darcy versus Hickman, now removed by a change of venue for trial to that city. It needed not the unusual compliment of Galway being selected as a likely spot for the due administration of justice, to make the plaintiff somewhat popular on this occasion. The reaction which for some time back had taken place in favor of the “real gentry” had gone on gaining in strength, so that public opinion was already inclining to the side of those who had earned a sort of prescriptive right to public confidence. The claptraps of patriotism, associated as they were often found to be with cruel treatment of tenants and dependants, were contrasted with the independent bearing of men who, rejecting dictation and spurning mob popularity, devoted the best energies of mind and fortune to the interests of all belonging to them. All the vindictiveness and rancor of a party press could not obliterate these traits, and character sufficed to put down calumny.
Hickman O'Reilly, accompanied by the old doctor, had arrived in Galway the evening before the trial, in all the pomp of a splendid travelling-carriage, drawn by four posters. The whole of “Nolan's” Head Inn had been already engaged for them and their party, who formed a tolerably numerous suite of lawyers, solicitors, and clerks, together with some private friends, curious to witness the proceedings.
In a very quiet but comfortable old inn called the “Devil and the Bag of Nails,”—a corruption of the ancient Satyr and the Bacchanals,—Mr. Bicknell had pitched his camp, having taken rooms for the Knight and Forester, who were to arrive soon after him, but whose presence in Ireland was not even suspected by the enemy.
There was a third individual who repaired to the West on this occasion, but who studiously screened himself from observation, waiting patiently for the issue of the combat to see on which side he should carry his congratulation: need we say his name was Con Heffernan?
Bicknell had heard of certain threats of the opposite party, which, while he did not communicate them to Darcy, were sufficient to give him deep uneasiness, as they went so far as to menace a very severe reprisal for these continued proceedings by a criminal action against Lionel Darcy. Of what nature, and on what grounds sustained, he knew not; but he was given to understand that if his principal would even now submit to some final adjustment out of court, the Hickmans would treat liberally with him, and, while abandoning these threatened proceedings against young Darcy, show Bicknell all the grounds for such a procedure.
It was past midnight when Darcy and Forester arrived; but before the Knight retired to rest he had learned all Bicknell's doubts and scruples, and unhesitatingly decided on proceeding with his suit. He felt that a compromise would now involve the honor of his son, of which he had not the slightest dread of any investigation; and, however small the prospect of success, the trial must take place to evidence his utter disregard, his open defiance of this menace.
Morning came; and long before the judges took their seat, the court was crowded in every part. The town was thronged with the equipages of the neighboring gentry, all eager to witness the trial; while the country people, always desirous of an exciting scene, thronged every avenue and passage of the building, and even the wide area in front of it. Nothing short of that passion for law and its interests, so inherent in an Irish heart, could have held that vast multitude thus enchained; for the day was one of terrific storm, the rain beating, the wind howling, and the sea roaring as it swept into the bay and broke in showers of foam upon the rocky shore. Each moment ran the rumor of some new disaster in the town,—now it was a chimney fallen, now a roof blown in, now an entire house, with all its inmates destroyed; fires, too, the invariable accompaniment of hurricane, had broken out in various quarters, and cries for help and screams of wretchedness were mingled with the wilder uproar of the elements. Yet of that dense mob, few if any quitted their places for these sights and sounds of woe. The whole interest lay within that sombre building, and on the issue of an event of whose particulars they knew absolutely nothing, and the details of which it was impossible they could follow did they even hear them.
The ordinary precursors to the interest of these scenes are the chance appearances of those who are to figure prominently in them; and such, indeed, attracted far more of attention on this occasion than all the startling accidents by fire and storm then happening on every side. Each lawyer of celebrity on the circuit was speedily recognized, and greeted by tokens of welcome or expressions of disfavor, as politics or party inclined. The attorneys were treated with even greater familiarity, themselves not disdaining to exchange a repartee as they passed, in which combats, be it said, they were not always the victors. At last came old Dr. Hickman, feebly crawling along, leaning one arm on his son's, and the other on the stalwart support of Counsellor O'Halloran. The already begun cheer for the popular “Counsellor” was checked by the arrival of the sheriff, preceding and making way for the judges, whose presence ever imposed a respectful demeanor. The buzz and hum of voices, subdued for a moment, had again resumed its sway, when once more the police exerted themselves to make a passage through the throng, calling out, “Make way for the Attorney-General!” and a jovial, burly personage, with a face redolent of convivial humor and rough merriment, came up, rather dragging than linked with the thin, slight figure of Bicknell, who with unwonted eagerness was whispering something in his ear.
“I'll do it with pleasure, Bicknell,” rejoined the full, mellow voice, loud enough to be heard by those on either side; “I know the sheriff very well, and he will take care to let him have a seat on the bench. What's the name?”
“The Earl of Wallincourt,” whispered Bicknell, a little louder.