THE BLOODY HAND.
For the Table Book.
One December evening, the year before last, returning to T—, in the northern extremity of W—, in a drisling rain, as I approached the second milestone, I observed two men, an elder and a younger, walking side by side in the horse-road. The elder, whose appearance indicated that of a labourer in very comfortable circumstances, was in the path directly in front of my horse, and seemed to have some intention of stopping me; on my advancing, however, he quietly withdrew from the middle of the road to the side of it, but kept his eyes firmly fixed on me, which caused also, on my part, a particular attention to him. He then accosted me, “Sir, I beg your pardon.”—“For what, my man?”—“For speaking to you, sir.”—“What have you said, then?”—“I want to know the way to S—.”—“Pass on beyond those trees, and you will see the spire before you.”—“How far is it off, sir?”—“Less than two miles.”—“Do you know it, sir?”—“I was there twenty minutes ago.”—“Do you know the gentleman there, sir, that wants a man to go under ground for him?”—“For what purpose?” (imagining, from the direction in which I met the man, that he came from the mining districts of S—, I expected that his object was to explore the neighbourhood for coals.) His answer immediately turned the whole train of my ideas. “To go under ground for him, to take off the bloody hand from his carriage.”—“And what is that to be done for?”—“For a thousand pounds, sir. Have you not heard any thing of it, sir?”—“Not a word.”—“Well, sir, I was told that the gentleman lives here, at S—, at the hall, and that he offers a thousand pounds to any man that will take off the bloody hand from his carriage.”—“I can assure you this is the first word I have heard on the subject.”—“Well, sir, I have been told so;” and then, taking off his hat, he wished me a good morning.
I rode slowly on, but very suddenly heard a loud call, “Stop, sir, stop!” I turned my horse, and saw the man, who had, I imagined, held a short parley with his companion, just leaving him, and running towards me, and calling out, “Stop, sir.” Not quite knowing what to make of this extraordinary accost and vehement call, I changed a stout stick in my left hand to my right hand, elevated it, gathered up the reins in my left, and trotted my horse towards him; he then walked to the side of the road, and took off his hat, and said, “Sir, I am told that if the gentleman can get a man to go under ground for him, for seven years, and never see the light, and let his nails, and his hair, and his beard grow all that time, that the king will then take off the bloody hand from his carriage.”—“Which then is the man who offers to do this? is it you, or your companion?”—“I am the man, sir.”—“O, you intend to undertake to do this?”—“Yes, sir.”—“Then all that I can say is, that I now hear the first word of it from yourself.” At this time the rain had considerably increased, I therefore wished the man a good morning, and left him.
I had not, however, rode above a hundred and fifty yards before an idea struck me, that it would be an act of kindness to advise the poor man to go no further on such a strange pursuit; but, though I galloped after them on the way I had originally directed them, and in a few minutes saw two persons, who must have met them, had they continued their route to S—, I could neither hear any thing of them, nor see them, in any situation which I could imagine that they might have taken to as a shelter from the heavy rain. I thus lost an opportunity of endeavouring to gain, from the greatest depths of ignorance, many points of inquiry I had arranged in my own mind, in order to obtain a developement of the extraordinary idea and unfounded offer, on which the poor fellow appeared to have so strongly set his mind.
On further inquiry into the origin of this strange notion of the bloody hand in heraldry, and why the badge of honour next to nobility, and perpetuated from the ancient kings of Ulster, should fall, in two centuries, into indelible disgrace, I find myself in darkness equal to that of the anticipated cavern of the poor deluded man, and hitherto without an aid superior to himself. Under these circumstances, present the inquiry to you, and shall be among many others, greatly gratified to see it set in a clear light by yourself, or some friendly correspondent.
I am, sir,
1827.— —.