Three Courses and a Dessert: Comprising Three Sets of Tales, West Country, Irish, and Legal; and a MelangeClarke, William
General
Three Courses and a Dessert: Comprising Three Sets of Tales, West Country, Irish, and Legal; and a Melange
Clarke, William
Ireland -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Legal stories, English; West Country (England) -- Social life and customs -- Fiction
tied to Hullamullaloo at the altar, as the case might be, he'd find
each of the moves he made through life was owing, one way or another,
to something as simple as his quarrelling, when a boy with his peeathees
and buttermilk, at his mother's mud cabin here at home in ould Ireland.
Poor Tommy Maloe got his liking for martial music, through thumping a
drum, which he'd stolen from young Veogh, when they were both little
boys, and didn't know right from wrong; or if they did, wouldn't make a
shew of what they knew, by doing as they ought. Though Pierce's parents
were rich, and Tommy's were poor, Tommy was Pierce's playmate:
they spent most of their time together, and were always at war, and
frequently fighting. Tommy was the sole and only boy far or near, that
would dare stand up before Master Pierce, when he clenched his little
fist; and there was few that Tommy would demean himself to thump or play
tricks with but Pierce.
Tommy, as I said, stole a drum from little Pierce, or may be carried it
off as booty after a fray; and it was from the delight he got by bating
it with the drumstick of an ould goose, that years after, he bartered
a new hat for a bad fife from which time, for six months and more,
morning, noon, and night, the fife was at Tommy's lips, and he trying to
coax marches out of it, but couldn't. At last he threw it away in a pet;
and took to trapesing after Mick Maguire when he'd be going out to fire
at, and sometimes shoot, the water-birds. Tommy, who was now grown a man
a'most, never felt happier than when Mick would allow him to carry
the gun; and one day, while Mick's back was turned, something or other
tempted him to fire it off. By chance, I suppose, he shot a little
bird--a tern, or a petrel it was--and from that time, Tommy talked of
nothing but shouldering a musket, and getting a pelt at a Frenchman. He
walked thirty miles over mountains and bogs, without a shoe to his foot,
(for his father had hid them that he mightn't go,) to see a review of
two companies of the North Cork, and three dozen of beggarly volunteers.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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