‘I said so.’
‘Well, if his removal will give you any consolidation in the matther, you may say no more.’
‘I could not, Sandy, justify it to myself to take him away by open violence, for you know that I bear a conscience if any thing too tendher and dissolute. Also I wish, Sandy, to presarve an ondeniable reputation for humanity; an’, besides, the daughter might become as reprobate as the father if she suspected me to be personally concarned in it. I have heard a good deal about him, an’ am sensibly informed that he has been shot at twice before, by the sons, it is thought, of an enemy that he himself killed rather significantly in a duel.’
‘Very well,’ replied Sandy; ‘I would myself feel scruples; but as both our consciences is touched in the business, I think I am justified. Indeed, captain, it is very likely afther all that we are but the mere instruments in it, an’ that it is through us that this ould unrighteous sinner is to be removed by a more transplendant judgment.’
Begad, neighbours, when a rascal is bent on wickedness, it is aisy to find cogitations enough to back him in his villany. And so was it with Sandy Saveall and Balgruntie.
That evenin’ ould Graham was shot through the head standin’ in the windy of his own castle, an’ to extenuate the suspicion of sich an act from Crummle’s men, Balgruntie himself went up the next day, beggin’ very politely to have a friendly explanation with Squire Graham, sayin’ that he had harsh ordhers, but that if the castle was peaceably delivered to him, he would, for the sake of the young lady, see that no injury should be offered either to her or her father.
The young lady, however, had the high drop in her, and becoorse the only answer he got was a flag of defiance. This nettled the villain, an’ he found there was nothin’ else for it but to plant a strong guard about the castle to keep all that was in, in—and all that was out, out.
In the mean time, the very appearance of the Crumwellians in the neighbourhood struck such terror into the people, that the country, which was then only very thinly inhabited, became quite desarted, an’ for miles about the face of a human bein’ could not be seen, barrin’ their own, sich as they were. Crummle’s track was always a bloody one, an’ the people knew that they were wise in puttin’ the hills an’ mountain passes between him an’ them. The miller an’ his daughter bein’ encouraged by Sandy, staid principally for the sake of Miss Graham; but except them, there was not a man or woman in the barony to bid good-morrow to or say Salvey Dominey. On the beginnin’ of the third day, Balgruntie, who knew his officialities extremely well, an’ had sent down a messenger to Dungannon to see whether matters were so bad as they had been reported, was delighted to hear that O’Neill had disappeared from the neighbourhood. He immediately informed Crummle of this, and tould him that he had laid siege to one of the leadin’ passes of the north, an’ that, by gettin’ possession of the two castles of Aughentain and Augher, he could keep O’Neill in check, and command that part of the country. Nolly approved of this, an’ ordhered him to proceed, but was sorry that he could send him no assistance at present; ‘however,’ said he, ‘with a good cause, sharp swords, an’ aid from above, there is no fear of us.’
They now set themselves to take the castle in airnest. Balgruntie an’ Sandy undherstood one another, an’ not a day passed that some one wasn’t dropped in it. As soon as ever a face appeared, pop went the deadly musket, an’ down fell the corpse of whoever it was aimed at. Miss Graham herself was spared for good reasons, but in the coorse of ten or twelve days she was nearly alone. Ould Graham, though a man that feared nothing, was only guilty of a profound swagger when he reported the strength of the castle and the state of the provisions to Balgruntie an’ his crew. But above all things, that which eclipsed their distresses was the want of wather. There was none in the castle, an’ although there is a beautiful well beside it, yet, farcer gair, it was of small responsibility to them. Here, then, was the poor young lady placed at the marcy of her father’s murdherer; for however she might have doubted in the beginnin’ that he was shot by the Crumwellians, yet the death of nearly all the servants of the house in the same way was a sufficient proof that it was like masther like man in this case. What, however, was to be done? The whole garrison now consisted only of Miss Graham herself, a fat man cook advanced in years, who danced in his distress in ordher that he might suck his own perspiration, and a little orphan boy that she tuck undher her purtection. It was a hard case, an’ yet, God bless her, she held out like a man.
It’s an ould sayin’ that there’s no tyin’ up the tongue of Fame, an’ it’s also a true one. The account of the siege had gone far an’ near in the counthry, an’ none of the Irish, no matter what they were who ever heard it, but wor sorry. Sandy Saveall was now the devil an’ all. As there was no more in the castle to shoot, he should find something to regenerate his hand upon: for instance, he practised upon three or four of Graham’s friends, who undher one pretence or other were seen skulkin’ about the castle, an’ none of their relations durst come to take away their bodies in ordher to bury them. At length things came to that pass, that poor Miss Graham was at the last gasp for something to drink; she had ferreted out as well as she could a drop of moisture here an’ there in the damp corners of the castle, but now all that was gone; the fat cook had sucked himself to death, and the little orphan boy died calmly away a few hours afther him, lavin’ the helpless lady with a tongue swelled an’ furred, and a mouth parched and burned, for want of drink. Still the blood of the Grahams was in her, and yield she would not to the villain that left her as she was. Sich then was the transparency of her situation, when happening to be on the battlements to catch, if possible, a little of the dew of heaven, she was surprised to see something flung up, which rolled down towards her feet; she lifted it, an’ on examinin’ the contents, found it to be a stone covered with a piece of brown paper, inside which was a slip of white, containing the words, ‘Endure—relief is near you!’ But, poor young lady, of what retrospection could these tidings be to one in her situation?—she could scarcely see to read them; her brain was dizzy, her mouth like a cindher, her tongue swelled an’ black, an’ her breath felt as hot as a furnace. She could barely breathe, an’ was in the very act of lyin’ down undher the triumphant air of heaven to die, when she heard the shrill voice of a young kid in the castle yard, and immediently remembered that a brown goat which her lover, a gentleman named Simpson, had, when it was a kid, made her a present of, remained in the castle about the stable during the whole siege. She instantly made her way slowly down stairs, got a bowl, and havin’ milked the goat, she took a little of the milk, which I need not asseverate at once relieved her. By this means she recovered, an’ findin’ no further anticipation from druth, she resolved like a hairo to keep the Crumwellians out, an’ to wait till either God or man might lend her a helpin’ hand.