The Fortunes of Hector O'Halloran, and His Man, Mark Antony O'TooleMaxwell, W. H. (William Hamilton)
General
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
I had felt a glow of increasing heat, and could perceive a stream of
light strengthen gradually as we penetrated the thick brush-wood. At
first, dazzled by the blaze, objects were more like a confused vision
than reality; but presently my eyes became accustomed to the glare, and
I found myself surrounded by several huge fires, at which nearly a
score of men were busily engaged in illicit distillation. In my mountain
walks, I had frequently discovered in some secluded valley a smuggler
engaged in this lawless vocation; but the hovel and apparatus were so
slightly constructed and so easily removed, that at the first intimation
of danger the still was carried off, the fire extinguished, the sheeling
torn down, and nothing left but a heap of sods and rubbish to console
the gauger on his arrival, by proving that his information had been most
correct, and the distillers far too watchful. But here, every thing was
constructed on a permanent and extensive scale, which evinced a perfect
feeling of security, or the determination, at all risks, of continuing
this lawless and demoralizing trade. On furnaces of solid masonry three
large stills were working,--numerous wooden vessels were filled with
potale,--and sacks of malt and barley, kegs containing spirits, and an
abundant supply of peat-fuel, everywhere met the eye. Contiguous to
the fires, sundry hovels were erected; the walls of turf, and roofs of
heather--designed, it would appear, for the accommodation of a number of
swine and their proprietors; and both, in point of comfort, seemed to
be on a precise equality. The brute and the biped were indeed happily
associated; for the ragged clothes, haggard looks, bleared eyes, and
that half-drunken stupidity, which an endless tasting of ardent spirits
always produces, showed, as they flitted back and forward in the red and
lurid atmosphere, a group of beings that might be safely classed as low
even in the lowest grade of civilized society.
My supporters left me, and retired to a cabin apart from the other
hovels; while I underwent a careless examination by some swart figures,
who occasionally passed me bearing turf to the furnaces. Relieved from
a most annoying species of restraint, I felt little apprehension for the
future, although the cause for which I had been kidnapped remained
as much a mystery as ever. In a few minutes, a man tapped me on the
shoulder, and bade me “follow and fear nothing.” I obeyed. He led me to
the retired hut whither my quondam friends had gone before; and there
I found them quite at their ease, refreshing themselves most liberally
after their successful exertions in my arrest and deportation.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account