“Good-evening to you, ’Squire,” said he; “and faix, what is the matter that you all look so pale? The holy saints forbid that any ill luck has come to this house!”
Again, rang echoing through the open doors and empty rooms the same portentous sound, rendered none the less terrific that its tones were partly subdued by distance. “Holy Father!” exclaimed the priest, crossing himself—“what is that? Has Satan dared to cross this blessed threshold?”
Upon this, half a dozen tongues began to relate the circumstances of terrors only too manifest; but Mr. Featherston silenced them, and proposed to Father O’Flaherty to accompany him to the investigation of 155 the mystery. Accordingly they solemnly proceeded towards the scene of alarm, the ’Squire having provided himself with a long-disused sword which hung over his mantel-piece, and the priest, more spiritually, brandishing his cross, and muttering “Vade retro, Satanas!” and such other exorcisms as occurred to him on the way. The whole body of the inmates of the mansion followed, closely though tremulously, upon the footsteps of the advanced guard, and, indeed, afraid to be left behind. As they reached the neighborhood of the door, whence the sounds appeared to come, there was a truly awful noise of scampering round the room and pattering, as it were, within.
“The saints defend us!” cried the priest, falling back, as this new demonstration was responded to by the screams of the females, who sank to the floor, in the extremity of their terror, when another horrible yell sounded close at hand.
“It’s he, I verily believe,” said the priest; 156 “the holy saints be about us! It’s he, I wager. Lord, forgive us! for I heard the sound of his hoofs. But where’s the dog?”
“The dog!” cried the ’Squire. “Why didn’t I think of that before! Open the door, I say, Pat, you cowardly vagabond!”
At this instant, there was a tremendous bounce against the door, which forced the latch, and out tumbled Old Grouse, capering among the party, who still screamed and scattered out of his way, not yet convinced that the Evil One was not loosed and bodily among them.
The relieved household at length returned to their interrupted avocations, and Pat declared to the folks in the kitchen, that all the while he knew it was the dog, only he kept up the fright for the sake of the joke. It seemed that the ’Squire had been out with his gun that day, and had shut the big dog which accompanied him into the gun-room, upon his return. The dog, no doubt fatigued with his excursion, 157 had stretched himself out in a corner of the room, where various articles tending to his comfort lay disposed. He had remained, until tired of his confinement he had risen, and fumbling about had thrown down an ancient heavy shield, which produced the first cause of alarm, no less to himself than to the household. The moon shining through the window had attracted his attention, and he began to bay, as dogs sometimes will. The sudden fright, and the distance of the gun-room from the family apartment, served to modify the intonation, and in his confusion of mind Mr. Featherston failed to recognize his voice. “Indeed,” said he, “I never knew the whelp to bay before.”
As time wore on, and the story had often been told by him, it lost none of its original features, except, perhaps, the remembrance of his own agitation. But the fright of the family and his domestics, the assent of the priest to their superstitious 158 fears, and the mortal terror which overwhelmed them, when out bounded the shaggy black monster of a dog and in an instant was pawing them all round, in his ecstasy of escape, and whatever else was ludicrous in the adventure, was oftentimes related by the ’Squire, with all the aid it could derive from a somewhat lively imagination and considerable power of native eloquence.
And now, if I have only invented this story of “Old Grouse in the Gun-room,” for the entertainment of my readers, I have at least attached a tale, which may be thought to have some plausibility, to a famous title, which has run through the world, for so many years, without any tale at all.