The Fortunes of Hector O'Halloran, and His Man, Mark Antony O'Toole — John Shaqi
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
The rest is briefly told. He found himself a father, and his own sire
had paid the debt of nature. His health was shaken by fatigue, his wound
healed slowly, and after some consideration, he retired from the army
upon half pay, obtaining a colonel’s rank and pension, and fixed his
residence in his native country, taking possession of an ancient house,
and what proved afterwards an unquiet home.
The guests who on the anniversary of my birth had honoured Knockloftie
with their presence, were different both in character and appearance.
The priest was a strong-built, good-humoured, under-sized man, of
jovial habits and easy disposition, careless how matters went, and
consequently, ill-adapted to repress the turbulence of a disobedient
flock, who would have required the religious coercion of a sterner
monitor. As confessor to the establishment, Father Dominic Kelly made
Knockloftie his abiding place. He was of gentle blood himself, and
preferred being domiciled in the house of a gentleman, to a wandering
life among the rude dwellings of a lawless community. Hence Father
Dominic was by no means popular--and his influence over a wild and
rebellious people was far less extensive than that which is generally
possessed by the Irish priesthood.
The other churchman formed a singular contrast to the burly priest.
He was a small, attenuated, intelligent-looking personage, possessing
natural courage and a restless and irascible disposition. A fellow
of the university, he had retired upon a college living--and having
obtained, unhappily for himself, a commission of the peace, he exercised
his powers with greater zeal than discretion; in short, he had made
himself so obnoxious to the peasantry that his life was not worth a
pin’s fee. Like Colonel O’Halloran, he too was doomed to death, and in
the _black list_ his name was second to that of my father. A few nights
before, his glebe-house had been burnt to the ground; and, having
escaped assassination by a miracle, he found that protection at
Knockloftie, which, from a more timid proprietor, might have been sought
and asked in vain.
But there were others besides Doctor Hamilton, who during this reign of
terror had been obliged to abandon their own homes, and elsewhere seek
a shelter. Several of the poorer farmers had given testimony in recent
prosecutions which led to the conviction of an assassin, on whom the
extreme penalty of the law had been justly executed. This in the eyes
of his guilty companions was a crime beyond the pale of mercy, and the
unfortunate men were accordingly denounced. They fled for protection to
Knockloftie--there, they were now residing--and, as if the measure of my
father’s offendings was not already full, the daring act of interposing
between a lawless confederacy and its victims had heaped it even to an
overflow. No wonder therefore, that the full fury of rebel vengeance was
to be turned against himself and all whom his roof-tree covered.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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