Irish Folk Tales (76 page)

At length, after traveling the same villainous round as before, Bill was forced to betake himself, as a last remedy, to the forge. In other words, he found that there is, after all, nothing in this world that a man can rely on so firmly and surely as his own industry. Bill, however, wanted the organ of common sense, for his experience—and it was sharp enough to leave an impression—ran off him like water off a duck.

He took to his employment sorely against his grain. But he had now no choice. He must either work or starve, and starvation is like a great doctor, nobody tries it till every other remedy fails them. Bill had been twice rich, twice a gentleman among blackguards, but always a blackguard among gentlemen; for no wealth or acquaintance with decent society could rub the rust of his native vulgarity off him. He was now a common blinking sot in
his forge; a drunken bully in the taproom, cursing and browbeating everyone as well as his wife; boasting of how much money he had spent in his day; swaggering about the high doings he carried on; telling stories about himself and Lord This at the Curragh; the dinners he gave—how much they cost him, and attempting to extort credit upon the strength of his former wealth. He was too ignorant, however, to know that he was publishing his own disgrace, and that it was a mean-spirited thing to be proud of what ought to make him blush through a deal board nine inches thick.

He was one morning industriously engaged in a quarrel with his wife, who, with a three-legged stool in her hand, appeared to mistake his head for his own anvil. He, in the meantime, paid his addresses to her with his leather apron, when who steps in to jog his memory about the little agreement that was between them, but Old Nick. The wife, it seems, in spite of all her exertions to the contrary, was getting the worst of it, and Sir Nicholas, willing to appear a gentleman of great gallantry, thought he could not do less than take up the lady’s quarrel, particularly as Bill had laid her in a sleeping posture. Now Satan thought this too bad, and as he felt himself under many obligations to the sex, he determined to defend one of them on the present occasion. So as Judy rose, he turned upon the husband, and floored him by a clever facer.

“You unmanly villain,” said he, “is this the way you treat your wife? ’Pon honor, Bill, I’ll chastise you on the spot, I could not stand by a spectator of such ungentlemanly conduct without giving up all claim to gallant—”

Whack. The word was divided in his mouth by the blow of a churn-staff from Judy, who no sooner saw Bill struck, than she nailed Satan, who “fell” once more.

“What, you villain! That’s for striking my husband like a murderer behind his back,” said Judy, and she suited the action to the word. “That’s for interfering between man and wife. Would you murder the poor man before my face? eh? If
he
beats me, you shabby dog you, who has a better right? I’m sure it’s nothing out of your pocket. Must you have your finger in every pie?”

This was anything but idle talk; for at every word she gave him a remembrance hot and heavy. Nicholas backed, danced, and hopped. She advanced, still drubbing him with great perseverance, till at length he fell into the redoubtable armchair, which stood exactly behind him. Bill, who had been putting in two blows for Judy’s one, seeing that his enemy was safe, now got between the Devil and his wife, a situation that few will be disposed to envy him.

“Tenderness, Judy,” said the husband. “I hate cruelty. Go put the tongs in the fire, and make them red-hot. Nicholas, you have a nose,” said he.

Satan began to rise, but was rather surprised to find that he could not budge.

“Nicholas,” says Bill, “how is your pulse? you don’t look well; that is to say, you look worse than usual.”

The other attempted to rise, but found it a mistake.

“I’ll thank you to come along,” said Bill. “I have a fancy to travel under your guidance, and we’ll take the Low Countries in our way, won’t we? Get to your legs, you sinner; you know a bargain’s a bargain between two
honest men
, Nicholas; meaning
yourself
and
me
. Judy, are the tongs hot?”

Satan’s face was worth looking at, as he turned his eyes from the husband to the wife, and then fastened them on the tongs, now nearly at a furnace heat in the fire, conscious at the same time that he could not move out of the chair.

“Billy,” said he, “you won’t forget that I rewarded your generosity the last time I saw you in the way of business.”

“Faith, Nicholas, it fails me to remember any generosity I ever showed you. Don’t be womanish. I simply want to see what kind of stuff your nose is made of, and whether it will stretch like a rogue’s conscience. If it does, we will flatter it up the chimley with the red-hot tongs, and when this old hat is fixed on the top of it, let us alone for a weathercock.”

“Have a fellow-feeling, Mr. Duffy. You know
we
ought not to dispute. Drop the matter, and I give you the next seven years.”

“We know all that,” says Billy, opening the red-hot tongs very coolly.

“Mr. Duffy,” said Satan, “if you cannot remember my friendship to yourself, don’t forget how often I stood your father’s friend, your grandfather’s friend, and the friend of all your relations up to the tenth generation. I intended also to stand by your children after you, so long as the name of Duffy, and a respectable one it is, might last.”

“Don’t be blushing, Nick,” says Bill, “you’re too modest; that was ever your failing. Hold up your head, there’s money bid for you. I’ll give you such a nose, my good friend, that you will have to keep an outrider before you, to carry the end of it on his shoulder.”

“Mr. Duffy, I pledge my honor to raise your children in the world as high as they can go; no matter whether they desire it or not.”

“That’s very kind of you,” says the other, “and I’ll do as much for your nose.”

He gripped it as he spoke, and the old boy immediately sung out. Bill pulled, and the nose went with him like a piece of warm wax. He then transferred the tongs to Judy, got a ladder, resumed the tongs, ascended the chimney, and tugged stoutly at the nose until he got it five feet above the roof. He then fixed the hat upon the top of it, and came down.

“There’s a weathercock,” said Billy. “I defy Ireland to show such
beauty. Faith, Nick, it would make the prettiest steeple for a church in all Europe, and the old hat fits it to a shaving.”

In this state, with his nose twisted up the chimney, Satan sat for some time, experiencing the novelty of what might be termed a peculiar sensation. At last the worthy husband and wife began to relent.

“I think,” said Bill, “that we have made the most of the nose, as well as the joke. I believe, Judy, it’s long enough.”

“What is?” said Judy.

“Why, the joke,” said the husband.

“Faith, and I think so is the nose,” said Judy.

“What do you say yourself, Satan?” said Bill.

“Nothing at all, William,” said the other. “But that—ha! ha!—it’s a good joke—an excellent joke, and a goodly nose, too, as it
stands
. You were always a gentlemanly man, Bill, and did things with a grace; still, if I might give an opinion on such a trifle—”

“It’s no trifle at all,” says Bill, “if you speak of the nose.”

“Very well, it is not,” says the other. “Still, I am decidedly of opinion, that if you could shorten both the joke and the nose without further violence, you would lay me under very heavy obligations, which I shall be ready to acknowledge and repay as I ought.”

“Come,” said Bill, “shell out once more, and be off for seven years. As much as you came down with the last time, and vanish.”

The words were scarcely spoken, when the money was at his feet, and Satan invisible. Nothing could surpass the mirth of Bill and his wife, at the result of this adventure. They laughed till they fell down on the floor.

It is useless to go over the same ground again. Bill was still incorrigible. The money went as the Devil’s money always goes. Bill caroused and squandered, but could never turn a penny of it to a good purpose. In this way, year after year went, till the seventh was closed, and Bill’s hour come. He was now, and had been for some time past, as miserable a knave as ever. Not a shilling had he, nor a shilling’s worth, with the exception of his forge, his cabin, and a few articles of crazy furniture. In this state he was standing in his forge as before, straining his ingenuity how to make out a breakfast, when Satan came to look after him.

The old gentleman was sorely puzzled how to get at him. He kept skulking and sneaking about the forge for some time, till he saw that Bill hadn’t a cross to bless himself with. He immediately changed himself into a guinea, and lay in an open place where he knew Bill would see him.

“If,” said he, “I get once into his possession, I can manage him.”

The honest smith took the bait, for it was well gilded. He clutched the guinea, put it into his purse, and closed it up.

“Ho! ho!” shouted the Devil out of the purse. “You’re caught, Bill. I’ve
secured you at last, you knave you. Why don’t you despair, you villain, when you think of what’s before you?”

“Why you unlucky old dog,” said Bill. “Is it there you are? Will you always drive your head into every loophole that’s set for you? Faith, Nick achora, I never had you bagged till now.”

Satan then began to swell and tug and struggle with a view of getting out of the purse, but in vain. He found himself fast, and perceived that he was once more in Bill’s power.

“Mr. Duffy,” said he, “we understand each other. I’ll give the seven years additional, and the cash on the nail.”

“Be easy, Nicholas. You know the weight of the hammer, that’s enough. It’s not a whipping with feathers you’re going to get, anyhow. Just be easy.”

“Mr. Duffy, I grant I’m not your match. Release me, and I double the cash. I was merely trying your temper when I took the shape of a guinea.”

“Faith and I’ll try yours before you leave it, I’ve a notion.”

He immediately commenced with the sledge, and Satan sang out with a considerable want of firmness.

“Am I heavy enough?” said Bill.

“Lighter, lighter, William, if you love me. I haven’t been well, latterly, Mr. Duffy. I have been delicate. My health, in short, is in a very precarious state, Mr. Duffy.”

“I can believe
that
,” said Bill, “and it will be more so before I have done with you. Am I doing it right?”

“Beautifully, William. But a little of the heaviest; strike me light, Bill, my head’s tender. Oh!”

“Heads or tails, my old boy,” exclaimed the other. “I don’t care which. It’s all the same to me what side of you is up—but here goes to help the impression—hech!”

“Bill,” said Nicholas, “is this gentlemanly treatment in your own respectable shop? Do you think, if you dropped into my little place, that I’d act this rascally part towards you? Have you no compunction?”

“I know,” replied Bill, sledging away with vehemence, “that you’re notorious for giving your friends a
warm
welcome. Divil an old youth more so. But you must be dealing in bad coin, must you? However, good or bad, you’re in for a sweat now, you sinner. Am I doing it pretty?”

“Lovely, William—but, if possible, a little more delicate.”

“Oh, how delicate you are! Maybe a cup of tea would serve you, or a little small gruel to compose your stomach.”

“Mr. Duffy,” said the gentleman in the purse, “hold your hand, and let us understand one another. I have a proposal to make.”

“Hear the sinner, anyhow,” said the wife.

“Name your own sum,” said Satan, “only set me free.”

“No, the sorra may take the toe you’ll budge till you let Bill off,” said the wife. “Hold him hard, Bill, barring he sets you clear of your engagement.”

“There it is, my poesy,” said Bill. “That’s the condition. If you don’t give me up, here’s at you once more—and you must double the cash you gave the last time, too. So if you’re of that opinion, say aye, leave the cash, and be off.”

“Oh, murder,” groaned the old one. “Am I to be done by an Irish spalpeen! I who was never done before.”

“Keep a mannerly tongue in your head, Nick,” said Bill. “If you’re not
done
by this time you must be the Devil’s tough morsel, for I’m sure you’re long enough
at the fire
, you villain. Do you agree to the terms?”

“Aye, aye,” replied the other. “Let me out. And I hope I have done with you.”

The money again immediately appeared in a glittering heap before Bill, upon which he exclaimed:

“The aye has it, you dog. Take to your pumps now, and fair weather after you, you vagrant. But Nicholas—Nick—here—here.”

The other looked back, and saw Bill, with a broad grin upon him, shaking the purse at him. “Nicholas, come back,” said he, “I’m short a guinea.”

The other shook his fist in return, and shouted out, looking over his shoulder as he spoke, but not stopping:

“Oh, you superlative villain, keep from me. I wish to have done with you. And all I hope is, that I’ll never meet you either here or hereafter.” So saying, he disappeared.

It would be useless to stop now, merely to inform our readers that Bill was beyond improvement. In short, he once more took to his old habits, and lived on exactly in the same manner as before. He had two sons, one as great a blackguard as himself, and who was also named after him. The other was a well-conducted, virtuous young man, called James, who left his father, and having relied upon his own industry and honest perseverance in life, arrived afterwards to great wealth, and built the town called Bally James Duff, which is so called from its founder until this day.

Bill, at length, in spite of all his wealth, was obliged, as he himself said, “to travel.” In other words, he fell asleep one day, and forgot to awaken; or, in still plainer terms, he died.

Now, it is usual, when a man dies, to close the history of his life and adventures at once. But with our hero this cannot be the case. The moment Bill departed, he very naturally bent his steps towards the residence of Saint
Moroky, as being, in his opinion, likely to lead him towards the snuggest berth he could readily make out. On arriving he gave a very humble kind of a knock, and Saint Moroky appeared.