Confessions Of Con Cregan, the Irish Gil BlasLever, Charles
General
Confessions Of Con Cregan, the Irish Gil Blas
Lever, Charles
Ireland -- Fiction
Falkoner soon joined us, and we sat down, the merriest knot in the room.
I must have been brilliant! I feel it so, this hour; a kind of warm glow
rushes to my cheeks as I think over that evening, and how the guests
from the different parts of the room drew gradually nearer and nearer to
listen to the converse at our table, and hear the smart things that came
pattering down like hail! What pressing invitations came pouring in
upon me! The great Mastodon himself could not have eaten a tithe of
the breakfasts to which I was asked, nor would the grog-tub of a
seventy-four contain all the rum-and-water I was proffered by skippers
lying "in dock."
Falkoner, however, pleased me more than the rest. There was something in
his cordiality that did not seem like a passing fancy; and I could not
help feeling that however corrupted and run to waste by dissipation,
there was good stuff about him. He interested me, too, on another score:
he had formerly made one of a Texan excursion that had penetrated even
to the Rio del Norte, and his escapes and adventures amused me highly.
The ladies, I believe, at last found us very ungallant cavaliers; for
they arose, and left us talking over prairie life and the wild habits of
the chase, till day began to shine through the windows.
"The 'Christobal' sails to-morrow," said he, "for Galveston; but even
she, smart sailer that she is, will scarce arrive in time to catch these
fellows. Here we are at the fifth of the month: the eighth was to be the
start; then that, supposing you to reach Galveston by the seventh, gives
you no time to get your kit ready, look after arms, and buy a nag. What
say you, then, if we make a party of our own,--charter one of these
small craft?--a hundred dollars or so will do it. We can then take our
time to pick up good cattle, look out for a couple of mules for our
baggage, and a spare mustang or so, if a horse should knock up."
I concurred at once; the plan was fascination itself. Adventure,
liberty, novelty, enterprise, and a dash of danger to heighten all!
Falkoner talked of dollars as if they macadamized the road to St. Louis;
and I, glowing with punch and pride together, spoke of the expense as a
mere trifle. To this hour, I cannot say whether I had really mystified
myself into the notion that I possessed ample means, or was merely
indulging the passing pleasure of a delightful vision. So was it,
however; I smiled at the cheapness of everything, could scarcely fancy
such a thing as a Mexican pony for eighty dollars, and laughed--actually
laughed--at the price of the rifle, when all my worldly substance, at
the moment, would not have purchased copper caps for it.
"Don't go too expensively to work, Cregan," cried he, "and, above
all, bring no European servant. A Mexican fellow--or, better still, a
half-breed--is the thing for the prairies. You have to forget your Old
World habits, and rough it."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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