The Fortunes of Hector O'Halloran, and His Man, Mark Antony O'TooleMaxwell, W. H. (William Hamilton)
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The Fortunes of Hector O'Halloran, and His Man, Mark Antony O'Toole
Maxwell, W. H. (William Hamilton)
Ireland -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
That brief space of exquisite agony I shall never forget. Oh, God.’ how
hard it is to die! and die, as I should, by felon hands, prostrate and
powerless, murdered “i’ the dark,” without the satisfaction of even in
an expiring effort “stinging the wretch that stung me.” That moment’s
misery was ended. Steps were heard. I hallooed “Murder!”
A voice, and, saints and angels! an Irish one, replied.
The hunchback then hastily cried, “Quick!--strike!--brain him!”
I caught the miscreant by the throat as the last word passed his
lips--and next moment two figures flitted past my fading vision, as a
blow fell upon my head, and laid me senseless.
Presently I awoke as from a dream. A man supported me; another put a
cup of water to my lips; and a couple of crippled watchmen held their
lanterns over us. I looked at my supporter; he was strange. My eye
turned to his companion. In the dim light his features were not
remembered--and yet the hand that held the water to my lips was my
foster brother’s. By degrees consciousness returned.
“Where am I?” I muttered.
“Arrah, the Lord only knows!” responded the ratcatcher.
“Was I not attacked--stabbed--knocked down? Who were the assailants?
Where are they?” I continued, as wandering recollections of the past
flitted across my memory.
“Sorra one of us knows who they were; but if you searched London
through, you would’nt pick out an uglier couple. One was a spider-built
divil without a back, and the other a black-muzzled thief of a Jew,
with whiskers you could hang your hat on. They’re off--had luck pursue
them!--and among these twists and turnings, ye might as well look for a
rat in a rabbit warren, as ferret them out, the ruffins of the world!”
I rose with slight assistance, but staggered like a drunken man, and,
preceded by the watchmen to give us light, walked slowly on, leaning
on the arms of my deliverers. We reached a public-house at no great
distance; and having committed me to the care of the landlord and
Shemus Rhua--guided by a Charlie, Mark Antony set out to find a surgeon,
perfectly unconscious who the stranger was, whom timely assistance had
so miraculously preserved from murder.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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