Other features were also presented, which gave to this miserable scene a still more depressing character. The voice of lamentation was loud, especially from the females, both young and old—all of whom, with some exceptions, were in tears. Many were rending their hair, others clapping their hands in distraction—some were kneeling to Heaven to implore its protection, and not a few to call down its vengeance upon their oppressors. From many of the men, especially the young and healthy, came stifled curses, and smothered determinations of deep and fearful vengeance. Brows darkened, eyes gleamed, and teeth were ground with a spirit that could neither be mistaken or scarcely condemned. M'Clutchy was then sowing the wind; but whether at a future day to reap the whirlwind, we are not now prepared to state.
At length it was deemed time that the ceremony should commence; and M'Clutchy, armed also with a case of pistols, rode up to Darby:—
“O'Drive, you scoundrel,” he shouted—for he saw his enemy, and got courageous, especially since he had a body of his father's Dashers at his back—“O'Drive, you scoundrel, do you mean to keep us here all day? Why don't you commence? Whose is the first name on your list? The ejectment must proceed,” addressing the poor people as much as Darby—“it must proceed. Everything we do is by Lord Cumber's orders, and strictly according to the law of the land. Every attempt at refusing to give up peaceable possession, makes you liable to be punished; and punished, by d—n you shall be.”
“Do not swear, my dear friend,” interposed M'Slime; “swear not at all; but let thy yea be yea, and thy nay, nay; for whatsoever is more than this cometh of evil. My good friends,” he added, addressing himself to the people, “I could not feel justified in losing this opportunity to throw in a word in season for your sakes. I need scarcely tell you that Mr. M'Clutchy, whose character for benevolence and humanity is perfectly well known—and I would allude to his strong sense of religion, and its practical influence on his conduct, were I not afraid of giving rise to a feeling of spiritual pride in the heart of any fellow-creature, however humble;—I need not tell you, I say, that he and I are here as your true friends. I, a frail and unworthy sinner, avow myself as your friend; at least, it is the most anxious and sincere wish of my heart to do good to you; for, I trust I can honestly say, that I love my Catholic—I mean my Roman Catholic friends, and desire to meet them in the bonds of Christ. Yes, we are your friends. You know it is true that God loveth whom he chasteneth, and that it is always good to pass through the furnace of tribulation. What are we, then, but the instruments of his chastisement of you, and of bringing you through that furnace for your own good and for His honor! Be truly grateful, then, for this instance of His interposition in your favor. It is only a blessing in disguise; my friends—strongly disguised, I grant you—but still a blessing. And now, my friends, to prove my own sincerity—my affection, and, I trust, Christian interest in your welfare, I say unto you, that if such among you as lack bread will come to me, when this dispensation in your favor is concluded, I shall give them that which will truly nourish them.”
M'Clutohy could not stand this, but went down to the little squab Dasher, who joined him in a loud fit of laughter at M'Slime's little word in season; so that the poor dismayed people had the bitter reflection to add to their other convictions, that their misery, their cares, and their sorrows, were made a mockery of by those who were actually inflicting them.
“When Darby, on whose face there was a heartless smirk of satisfaction at this opportunity of gratifying M'Clutchy, was about to enter the first cabin, there arose from the trembling creatures a loud murmur of wild and unregulated lamentation, which actually startled the bailiff's, who looked as if they were about to be assaulted. An old man then approached M'Clutchy, bent with age and infirmity, and whose white hair hung far down, his shoulders—
“Sir,” said he, taking off his hat, and standing before him uncovered, severe and still bitter as was the day—“I stand here in the name of these poor creatures you see about us, to beg you, for the sake of God—of Christ who redeemed us—and of the Holy Spirit that gives kindness and charity to the heart—not on this blake hill undher sich a sky, and on sich a day, to turn us out of the only shelter we have on earth! There's people here that will die if they're brought outside the door. We did not, at laist the most part of all you see before you, think you had any thought of houldin' good your threat in such a time of cowld, and storm, and disolation. Look at us, sir, then, have pity on us! Make it your own case, if you can, and maybe that will bring our destitution nearer you—and besides, sir, there's a great number of us thought betther about votin' with you, and surely you won't think of puttin' them out.”
“It's too late now,” said M'Clutchy; “if you had promised me your votes in time, it was not my intention to have disturbed you—at present I am acting altogether by Lord Cumber's orders, who desires that every one refusing to vote for him shall be made an example of, and removed from the property—O'Drive, you scoundrel, do your duty.”
At this moment there rushed forth from the again agitated crowd an old woman, whose grizzled locks had escaped from under her dowd cap, and were blown in confusion about her head; she wore a drugget gown that had once been yellow, and a deep blue petticoat of the same stuff; a circumstance, which, joined to the excitement, gave to her appearance a good deal of picturesque effect.
“Low born tyrant,” she shouted, kneeling rapidly down and holding up her clasped hands, but not in supplication—“low born, tyrant,” she shouted, “stop;—spawn of blasphemin' Deaker, stop—bastard of the notorious Kate Clank, hould your hand? You see we know you and yours well. You were a bad son to a bad mother, and the curse of God will pursue you and yours, for that and your other villanies. Go back and hould your hand, I say—and don't dare to bring the vengeance of God upon you, for the plot of hell you are about to work out this day. I know that plot. Be warned. Look about you here, and think of what you're going to do. Have you no feeling for ould and helpless age—for the weakness of women, the innocence of children? Are you not afraid on such a day to come near the bed of sickness, or the bed of death, with such an intention? Here's widows and orphans, the sick and the dyin', ould age half dead, Mid infancy half starved; and is it upon these, that you and blasphemin' Deaker's bloody Dashers are goin' to work your will? Hould your hand, I say, or if you don't, although I needn't curse you myself, for I am too wicked for that—yet in the name of all these harmless and helpless creatures before you, I call their curses on your head. In the name of all the care, and pain, and sorrow, and starvation, and affliction, that's now before your eyes, be you cursed in soul and body—in all you touch—in all you love—cursed here, and cursed hereafter forever, if you proceed in your wicked intentions this woeful day!”