Confessions Of Con Cregan, the Irish Gil BlasLever, Charles
General
Confessions Of Con Cregan, the Irish Gil Blas
Lever, Charles
Ireland -- Fiction
"So it may,--I 'll keep it," said I, beating the deck with my foot, with
the dogged determination of one not to be turned from his purpose.
"Kill in cold blood a man you never saw before?"
"Just so; I am not going to think of him, when I set so little store by
myself; I only wish the fellow were here now, and I'd show you whether
I'd falter or not."
"Poor Chico,--I could weep for him!" said he, blubbering.
"Keep your pity for _me_," said I,--"I, that am bound by this terrible
oath, and must either stamp myself a coward or a murderer. As for Chico,
I believe a more worthless wretch never existed,--a poor, mean-spirited
creature, whose trade is to be a spy, and by whose cursed machinations
many a fine fellow has been ruined."
"You are all wrong, sir," said the Padre, warmly. "I know the man
myself; he is an amiable, kind-hearted being, that never harmed any
one."
"He's the fellow to die, then!" said I, roughly.
"He has a small family, unprovided for."
"They have the inheritance of his virtues," said I, scoffingly.
"Can you have the heart for such cruelty?" cried he, almost sobbing.
"Come with me when I land at Houston, and see,--that's all!" said I.
"A few minutes back, I was hesitating whether I would not land at this
island and abandon my purpose. The weakness is now over; I feel a kind
of fiendish spirit growing up within me already; I cannot think of the
fellow without a sense of loathing and hatred!"
"Lie down, my son, and compose yourself for an hour or two; sleep and
rest will calm your agitated brain, and you will then listen to my
counsels with profit: your present excitement overmasters your reason,
and my words would be of no effect."
"I know it--I feel it here, across my temples--that it is a kind of
paroxysm; but I never close my eyes that I do not fancy I see the
fellow, now in one shape, now in another, for he can assume a thousand
disguises; while in my ears his accursed name is always ringing."
"I pity you from my heart!" said the other; and certainly a sadder
expression I never saw in any human face before. "But go down below; go
down, I beseech you."
"I have only taken a deck-passage," said I, doggedly; "I determined that
I would see no one, speak to no one."
"Nor need you, my son," said he, coaxingly. "They are all sound asleep
in the after-cabin; take _my_ berth,--I do not want it; I am always
better upon deck."
"If you will have it so," said I, yielding; "but, for your life, not a
word of what I have said to you! Do not deceive yourself by any false
idea of humanity. Were you to shoot me where I stand, you could not save
him,--_his_ doom is spoken. If _I_ fail, there is Broughton, and, after
him, a score of others, sworn to do the work."
"Lie down and calm yourself," said he, leading me to the
companion-ladder; "we must speak of this to-morrow."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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