The Ned M'Keown Stories: Traits And Stories Of The Irish Peasantry, The Works of; William Carleton, Volume ThreeCarleton, William
General
The Ned M'Keown Stories: Traits And Stories Of The Irish Peasantry, The Works of; William Carleton, Volume Three
Carleton, William
Ireland -- Social life and customs -- Fiction
“The first of the O'Hallaghans that ventured over it was the youngest,
who, being captured by the hand, was encouraged by many cheerful
expressions from the young men who were clinging to the planks. She got
safe over, however; and when she came to the end, one who was stationed
on the bank gave her a joyous pull, that translated her several yards
upon terra firma.
“'Well, Nancy,' he observed, 'you're safe, anyhow; and if I don't dance
at your wedding for this, I'll never say you're dacent.'
“To this Nancy gave a jocular promise, and he resumed his station, that
he might be ready to render similar assistance to her next sister. Rose
Galh then went to the edge of the plank several times, but her courage
as often refused to be forthcoming. During her hesitation, John
O'Callaghan stooped down, and privately untied his shoes, then
unbuttoned his waistcoat, and very gently, being unwilling to
excite notice, slipped the knot of his cravat. At long last, by the
encouragement of those who were on the plank, Rose attempted the
passage, and had advanced as far as the middle of it, when a fit of
dizziness and alarm seized her with such violence, that she lost all
consciousness--a circumstance of which those who handed her along were
ignorant. The consequence, as might be expected, was dreadful; for as
one of the young men was receiving her hand, that he might pass her to
the next, she lost her momentum, and was instantaneously precipitated
into the boiling current.
“The wild and fearful cry of horror that succeeded this cannot be laid
on paper. The eldest sister fell into strong convulsions, and several
of the other females fainted on the spot. The mother did not faint;
but, like Lot's wife, she seemed to be translated into stone: her hands
became clenched convulsively, her teeth locked, her nostrils dilated,
and her eyes shot half way out of her head. There she stood, looking
upon her daughter struggling in the flood, with a fixed gaze or wild and
impotent frenzy, that, for fearful ness, beat the thunder-storm all to
nothing. The father rushed to the edge of the river, oblivious of his
incapability to swim, determined to save her or lose his own life, which
latter would have been a dead certainty, had he ventured; but he was
prevented by the crowd, who pointed out to him the madness of such a
project.
“'For God's sake, Paddy, don't attimpt it,' they exclaimed, 'except
you wish to lose your own life, without being able to save hers: no man
could swim in that flood, and it upwards of ten feet deep.'
“Their arguments, however, were lost upon him; for, in fact, he was
insensible to everything but his child's preservation. He, therefore,
only answered their remonstrances by attempting to make another plunge
into the river.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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