HOW EUSTACE LEIGH MET THE POPE'S LEGATE
"Misguided, rash, intruding fool, farewell!
Thou see'st to be too busy is some danger."Hamlet.
It is the spring of 1582-3.The gray March skies are curdling hard and high above black mountain peaks.The keen March wind is sweeping harsh and dry across a dreary sheet of bog, still red and yellow with the stains of winter frost.One brown knoll alone breaks the waste, and on it a few leafless wind-clipt oaks stretch their moss-grown arms, like giant hairy spiders, above a desolate pool which crisps and shivers in the biting breeze, while from beside its brink rises a mournful cry, and sweeps down, faint and fitful, amid the howling of the wind.
Along the brink of the bog, picking their road among crumbling rocks and green spongy springs, a company of English soldiers are pushing fast, clad cap-a-pie in helmet and quilted jerkin, with arquebus on shoulder, and pikes trailing behind them; stern steadfast men, who, two years since, were working the guns at Smerwick fort, and have since then seen many a bloody fray, and shall see more before they die.Two captains ride before them on shaggy ponies, the taller in armor, stained and rusted with many a storm and fray, the other in brilliant inlaid cuirass and helmet, gaudy sash and plume, and sword hilt glittering with gold, a quaint contrast enough to the meager garron which carries him and his finery.Beside them, secured by a cord which a pikeman has fastened to his own wrist, trots a bare-legged Irish kerne, whose only clothing is his ragged yellow mantle, and the unkempt "glib"of hair, through which his eyes peer out, right and left, in mingled fear and sullenness.He is the guide of the company, in their hunt after the rebel Baltinglas; and woe to him if he play them false.
"A pleasant country, truly, Captain Raleigh," says the dingy officer to the gay one."I wonder how, having once escaped from it to Whitehall, you have the courage to come back and spoil that gay suit with bog-water and mud.""A very pleasant country, my friend Amyas; what you say in jest, Isay in earnest."
"Hillo! Our tastes have changed places.I am sick of it already, as you foretold.Would Heaven that I could hear of some adventure Westward-ho! and find these big bones swinging in a hammock once more.Pray what has made you so suddenly in love with bog and rock, that you come back to tramp them with us? I thought you had spied out the nakedness of the land long ago.""Bog and rock? Nakedness of the land? What is needed here but prudence and skill, justice and law? This soil, see, is fat enough, if men were here to till it.These rocks--who knows what minerals they may hold? I hear of gold and jewels found already in divers parts; and Daniel, my brother Humphrey's German assayer, assures me that these rocks are of the very same kind as those which yield the silver in Peru.Tut, man! if her gracious majesty would but bestow on me some few square miles of this same wilderness, in seven years' time I would make it blossom like the rose, by God's good help.""Humph! I should be more inclined to stay here, then.""So you shall, and be my agent, if you will, to get in my mine-rents and my corn-rents, and my fishery-rents, eh? Could you keep accounts, old knight of the bear's-paw?""Well enough for such short reckonings as yours would be, on the profit side at least.No, no--I'd sooner carry lime all my days from Cauldy to Bideford, than pass another twelve-month in the land of Ire, among the children of wrath.There is a curse upon the face of the earth, I believe.""There is no curse upon it, save the old one of man's sin--'Thorns and thistles it shall bring forth to thee.' But if you root up the thorns and thistles, Amyas, I know no fiend who can prevent your growing wheat instead; and if you till the ground like a man, you plough and barrow away nature's curse, and other fables of the schoolmen beside," added he, in that daring fashion which afterwards obtained for him (and never did good Christian less deserve it) the imputation of atheism.
"It is sword and bullet, I think, that are needed here, before plough and harrow, to clear away some of the curse.Until a few more of these Irish lords are gone where the Desmonds are, there is no peace for Ireland.""Humph! not so far wrong, I fear.And yet--Irish lords? These very traitors are better English blood than we who hunt them down.
When Yeo here slew the Desmond the other day, he no more let out a drop of Irish blood, than if he had slain the lord deputy himself.""His blood be on his own head," said Yeo, "He looked as wild a savage as the worst of them, more shame to him; and the ancient here had nigh cut off his arm before he told us who he was: and then, your worship, having a price upon his head, and like to bleed to death too--""Enough, enough, good fellow," said Raleigh."Thou hast done what was given thee to do.Strange, Amyas, is it not? Noble Normans sunk into savages--Hibernis ipsis hiberniores! Is there some uncivilizing venom in the air?""Some venom, at least, which makes English men traitors.But the Irish themselves are well enough, if their tyrants would let them be.See now, what more faithful liegeman has her majesty than the Inchiquin, who, they say, is Prince of Themond, and should be king of all Ireland, if every man had his right?""Don't talk of rights in the land of wrongs, man.But the Inchiquin knows well that the true Irish Esau has no worse enemy than his supplanter, the Norman Jacob.And yet, Amyas are even these men worse than we might be, if we had been bred up masters over the bodies and souls of men, in some remote land where law and order had never come? Look at this Desmond, brought up a savage among savages, a Papist among Papists, a despot among slaves; a thousand easy maidens deeming it honor to serve his pleasure, a thousand wild ruffians deeming it piety to fulfil his revenge: and let him that is without sin among us cast the first stone.""Ay," went on Raleigh to himself, as the conversation dropped.
