“Thank you for having me taught to read, father,” said Brian. “Here I’ve made a great discovery: I’ve found out in this book, little as it looks, father, a most curious way of making a fortune; and I hope it will make your fortune, father; and if you’ll sit down, I’ll tell it to you.”
Mr. O’Neill, in hopes of pleasing his son rather than in the expectation of having his fortune made, immediately sat down to listen; and his son explained to him, that he had found in his book an account of pigeons who carried notes and letters: “and, father,” continued Brian, “I find my pigeon is of this sort; and I intend to make my pigeon carry messages. Why should not he? If other pigeons have done so before him, I think he is as good, and, I daresay, will be as easy to teach as any pigeon in the world. I shall begin to teach him to-morrow morning; and then, father, you know people often pay a great deal for sending messengers; and no boy can run, no horse can gallop, so fast as a bird can fly; therefore the bird must be the best messenger, and I should be paid the best price. Hey, father?”
“To be sure, to be sure, my boy,” said his father, laughing; “I wish you may make the best messenger in Ireland of your pigeon; but all I beg, my dear boy, is that you won’t neglect our shop for your pigeon; for I’ve a notion we have a better chance of making a fortune by the shop than by the white pigeon.”
Brian never neglected the shop; but in his leisure hours he amused himself with training his pigeon; and after much patience he at last succeeded so well, that one day he went to his father and offered to send him word by his pigeon what beef was a pound in the market of Ballynagrish, where he was going.
“The pigeon will be home long before me, father; and he will come in at the kitchen window, and light upon the dresser; then you must untie the little note which I shall have tied under his left wing, and you’ll know the price of beef directly.”
The pigeon carried his message well; and Brian was much delighted with his success. He soon was employed by the neighbours, who were aroused by Brian’s fondness of his swift messenger; and soon the fame of the white pigeon was spread amongst all who frequented the markets and fairs of Somerville.
At one of these fairs a set of men of desperate fortunes met to drink, and to concert plans of robberies. Their place of meeting was at the ale-house of Mr. Cox, the man who, as our readers may remember, was offended by Mr. Somerville’s hinting that he was fond of drinking and of quarrelling, and who threatened vengeance for having been refused the new inn.
Whilst these men were talking over their scheme, one of them observed, that one of their companions was not arrived. Another said, “No.” “He’s six miles off,” said another; and a third wished that he could make him hear at that distance. This turned the discourse upon the difficulties of sending messages secretly and quickly. Cox’s son, a lad of about nineteen, who was one of this gang, mentioned the white carrier-pigeon, and he was desired to try all means to get it into his possession. Accordingly, the next day young Cox went to Brian O’Neill, and tried, at first by persuasion and afterwards by threats, to prevail upon him to give up the pigeon. Brian was resolute in his refusal, more especially when the petitioner began to bully him.
“If we can’t have it by fair means, we will by foul,” said Cox; and a few days afterwards the pigeon was gone. Brian searched for it in vain—inquired from all the neighbours if they had seen it, and applied, but to no purpose, to Cox. He swore that he knew nothing about the matter. But this was false, for it was he who during the night-time had stolen the white pigeon. He conveyed it to his employers, and they rejoiced that they had gotten it into their possession, as they thought it would serve them for a useful messenger.
Nothing can be more shortsighted than cunning. The very means which these people took to secure secrecy were the means of bringing their plots to light. They endeavoured to teach the pigeon, which they had stolen, to carry messages for them in a part of the country at some distance from Somerville; and when they fancied that it had forgotten its former habits, and its old master, they thought that they might venture to employ him nearer home. The pigeon, however, had a better memory than they imagined. They loosed him from a bag near the town of Ballynagrish in hopes that he would stop at the house of Cox’s cousin, which was on its road between Ballynagrish and Somerville. But the pigeon, though he had been purposely fed at this house for a week before this trial, did not stop there, but flew on to his old master’s house in Somerville, and pecked at the kitchen window, as he had formerly been taught to do. His father, fortunately, was within hearing, and poor Brian ran with the greatest joy to open the window and to let him in.