Part 10

“I hear ’tis an onsettled sort of a place,” says Rolly.

“’Tis,” says the Queen; “an’ that’s what I’m dhrivin’ at just now. You’re not particular what you do?” says she.

“No, thin,” says he. “I’m a purty hard case by this, an’ if it’s murdher you mane, I’m the boy for flourishin’ the swoord.”

“Well,” says the Queen, “I didn’t exactly mane that whin I axed you the questhion. Are you too proud to go into thrade!”

“’Deed, thin, I’m not,” says Rolly; “an’ if it’s the bacon thrade you mane,” says he, “which I’ve heard tell is the main stay of Ireland, I’m not at all averse to goin’ into the pig line, on a royal licence.”

“No,” says the Queen. “That’s too paceful a thrade for me.”

“An’ what is it you’re dhrivin’ at?” axes Rolly, seein’ that her Majesty was seemin’ly afeard to come out straight off wud her plan. “I towld you nothing was out of my line so long as I could see money at the end of it.”

“Very well,” says the Queen. “I’ll put my plans before you. I’m advised that very little ’ud rise a rebellion agen me in Munsther, so if you likes to go over an’ stir up the craychurs there, you’d have no throuble in slaughtherin’ ’em.”

“An’ I suppose,” says Rolly, intherruptin’ her Majesty, “you’d give me so much a head for the job—but where does the thrade come in?”

“You’re runnin’ away wud the story,” says she. “You see this is how it is. I’ve lately come to the conclusion that it’s dangerous to go on slaughtherin’ the Irish wudout buryin’ ’em aftherwards. A pestilence is like enough to break out, an’ maybe a sthrong westherly win’ ’ud carry that same over into this counthry; so my idaya is to put all the corpses into coffins, an’ bury ’em dacently. Now this is what I’m goin’ to offer you, so pay attention, Rolly,” says the Queen.

“I’m doin’ that,” says he, dhrawin’ his eyebrows very hard together.

“Go over to Munsther,” says she, “an’ I’ll make you a prisent of forty thousand acres of land.”

“What’s on the land?” axes Rolly.

“Tember,” says she. “Fine hardy threes, I’m towld. Now if you starts the Irish into a lively rebellion in your disthrict, you can set up a facthory an’ do the undhertakin’ wholesale, for I wouldn’t ax a knight to do it by retail.”

“I see,” says he, grinnin’. “A nod is as good as a wink to a blind horse, ma’am. An’ so it’s an undhertaker you wants to make of me?”

“It is,” says she: “a Gentleman-Undhertaker.”

“An’ how much will you allow me?” axes Rolly.

“Two pound a coffin,” says she; “an’ the bigger the bill is, the betther I’ll like it.”

“When’ll I start?” says he.

“As soon as I can get the ordher made out for the forty thousand acres,” answers the Queen.

“You’re sure there’s plenty of tember on the estate?” says he.

“Sartin,” says she. “I can show you the survey of it before you signs the conthract wud me.”

“’Twouldn’t pay, you know,” says he, “if the wood wasn’t handy.”

“I know that,” says she. “And now I’ll be dismissin’ you, for it’s growin’ late, an’ I have a character to lose.”

“I hope you’ll never lose it on my account,” says Rolly, who had a nate way of turnin’ his words. An’ wud that he makes a low bow an’ walks out of the room as graceful as a dancin’-masther.

The next day, afther signin’ his conthract an’ gettin’ the ordher for the forty thousand acres of land, off starts Sir Walther for Ireland wud a hundhred sogers to help him out in the job he had in hand. He landed afther a good voyage in the harbour of Cork, an’ at wance he put matthers in thrain.

Afther buildin’ a bit of a fort as a kind of a backdoor to the ocean, he tuk a jauntin’ car an’ thravelled down to Youghal, where he thought he’d make his headquarthers an’ start the facthory. He had some throuble in the beginnin’ findin’ journeymen undhertakers, but of coorse he spun a yarn to ’em about the good he’d do the counthry by inthroducin’ home-manufacture; an’ at last he got a sufficient number of hands together, an’ thin the work began in airnest. He felled the threes in all directions, an’ he got up a sawmill; an’ soon Rolly had the whole town of Youghal busy, wan way or another, at the coffin thrade.

Whin all was in full swing he dhrives back to his fort, an’ gives his insthructions to his men.

“I’m goin’,” says he, “to take command of all the throops in Cork barracks, an’ as soon as they’re ready, then I’ll order ’em out of the city an’ get ’em to scour the Province of Munsther clane. There’s a dale of varmint in the shape of natives gothered together in parts of the counthry, an’ we’ll massacray ’em so far as we can. Now to all ye that I brought wud me I have this advice to give: don’t put yerselves into danger. Let the other throops have the first go-in at the inemy, an’ when they’re done wud ’em, let ye finish ’em off complately, for of coorse there’ll be a dale of ’em only half kilt. We’re partly on a paceful mission here, an’ thrade is what we’re lookin’ for, not glory. The hundhred of ye must get up a conthrivance for cartin’ the corpses to the facthory in Youghal, where we’ll put ’em into good conthract coffins an’ give ’em a dacent buryin’. I was towld yestherday,” says he, “that at a neighbourin’ fort there was a crowd of Tallyans, an’ I intinds to have the first thry at the furriners, by way of practice.”

Well, in the coorse of a week Rolly got things into shape, an’ out he marches, with the fightin’ throops in the front an’ the thradin’ throops in the rear, agen this fort the Tallyans wor howldin’. The poor craychurs of furriners, men, women, an’ childre, whin they saw the great army bearin’ down on ’em, sent a flag of thruce up to the masthead of the fort an’ axed for a _parlez-vous_, but dickens a _parlez-vous_ Rolly would give ’em, an’ while you’d be lookin’ about you, he had the whole place sthrewn wud corpses; an’ when the front army got tired of massacrayin’ the furriners, his own hundhred men went in, just as he had towld ’em, and finished off the wounded.

Six hundhred corpses they gothered up that day an’ carted into Youghal; an’ Rolly was in high feather as he stood at the facthory gate tallyin’ the coffins as they wor carried out an’ heaved into a neighbourin’ thrench.

“I’ll make a clane five hundhred pound on that job,” says he. “If I can keep up this game, I’ll soon be able to write home.”

An’ sure enough, keep it up he did, an the facthory was in full swing for a long spell; an’ then he bethought him that Queen Eleezabeth ’ud like to hear how he was gettin’ on, so, bein’ a great hand at the pen, he sat down wan day an’ sent her off a long letther, which to the best of my memory was written this way:—

“May it plaize your Majesty, Queen Eleezabeth.

“I write these few lines, hopin’ they will find you in good health, as this laives me at prisent.

“I’m gettin’ on grand here. I suppose the head-clerk of your Coort has towld you that I’m billin’ him for a thousand coffins a week on the average. I’m sorry to say there isn’t as much profit on the job as I expected, an’ I’m sadly afeard my foreman is chaytin’ me on the putty account, but if I only catches him playin’ thricks on me, you may depind I’ll include him in the coffin bill purty quick. He’s a native of these parts, an’ ’tisn’t clear to me he isn’t risin’ a rebellion among the facthory hands agen me.

“This is a mighty poor counthry. I’ve prodded it in all parts for goold an’ diamonds, but there isn’t as much as a scuttle of coal to be found anywhere in it.

“I met a man the other day that lives over beyant here, by the name of Spinser. He tells me yerself an’ himself knows aich other, an’ often I rides over to his place in the cool of the evenin’, an’ we haves a talk over the gay doin’s at the London Coort. He’s writin’ a long ballad now, an’ between ourselves he nearly dhrives me crazy at times dhronin’ long rigmaroles of his own writin’ into my ears; but I’m goin’ to have my revinge agen him wan of these fine days by bringin’ over a ballad I’m writin’ meself, an’ maybe when he’s had a few hours of it he’ll come to his sinses.

“An’ now I’ll be sayin’ good-bye, so no more at prisent from your faithful Undhertaker,

“SIR WALTHER ROLLY.

“PS.—If things goes on as they promise, I’ll have to start a gas-ingine here purty soon.”

Queen Eleezabeth was greatly plaized wud Rolly’s letther, an’ she gev ordhers to have another ten shillin’s a coffin added to the conthract price, in ordher to encourage him in the work; an’ maybe Sir Walther would have stuck to the undhertakin’ business for the rest of his life, only for the foreman of the facthory. Sure enough the same foreman was saycritly risin’ a rebellion agen Rolly, an’ by some misfortunate chance the great Undhertaker found him out complately, so he cut his head off; an’ what does he do but he makes a parcel of it, an’ sinds it over carriage paid to the Queen!

Her Majesty got the foreman’s sconce just as she was atein’ her breakfast wan mornin’, an’ though she had a mighty sthrong stomach the head gev her a kind of a turn; so she ordhers it to be sent back straight to Youghal, an’ she gives a message wud it to Rolly that she had closed the coffin account wud him for darin’ to make such an onnaatural prisent to her.

Of coorse this put an end to Rolly’s undhertakin’ business, an’ he was greatly put out to thry an’ discover some new dodge for turnin’ in the money. He bethought him at last that as there was a dale of dhrinkin’ goin’ on in his own counthry, he’d turn the undhertakin’ factory into a place for manufacturin’ barrels to howld wine, beer, and sperits; so he enthered into private conthracts for supplyin’ all England wud barrels an’ casks, an’ ’tis a fine thrade he had of it so long as the tember on the estate held out.

But at last the woods were mostly cleared, an’ then poor Rolly didn’t know for the minute what use to make of the land, so he rode over to his friend Spinser, an’ he towld him of his throubles.

“Couldn’t you sell the facthory to a company?” says Spinser.

“A grand idaya!” says Rolly. “But sure they’d be sindin’ over an inspecthor to see how the land lay, an’ if they found tember was scarce in the neighbourhood they’d never float the business in the market.”

“Can’t you get a frind to inspect it at this side of the wather?” says Spinser.

“Sure, they wouldn’t believe the daylight out of an Irishman!” says Rolly, curlin’ his lip.

“I know that,” says Spinser, wud a wink, “but maybe you could get an Englishman to do the job for you?”

“I see what you’re dhrivin’ at,” says Rolly; “an’ I’m much obliged to you. What fee will you be axin’?”

“I’ll laive that to yerself,” says Spinser.

“All right,” says Rolly. “Let us dhraft the survey at wance.”

“I couldn’t do that,” says Spinser. “I must have my own time to think over the job.”

“How tall will you make the threes?” axes Rolly.

“Any heighth you like,” says Spinser. “Of coorse I can see threes two hundred feet high where a blade of grass couldn’t grow.”

“Of coorse,” says Rolly. “That’s part of your thrade.”

“I wish you could get thrade an’ money-grubbin’ out of your head sometimes,” says Spinser, wud a sigh. “It’s partly your own thrade as well as mine: an’ considherin’ all the time I’ve lost listenin’ to you readin’ your ballads here, I suppose we may look upon yerself as bein’ in the poethry line.”

“Ay,” says Rolly. “Begor,” says he, laughin’, “it’s wondherful how aisy people’ll swally a lie when you puts it into grand langwidge. The yarns I’ve spun ’em about the goold an’ diamonds, in ould Virginny ’ud make your hair stand on end, if you wor only to see the counthry wud your own eyes.”

“I partly guessed so,” says Spinser, “or we wouldn’t have had yerself in the coffin business.”

“That’s a sore point,” says Rolly; “so the laiste said about it the betther. The thing is now to pitch it into ’em sthrong about the terrible big forest that surrounds my facthory. You could tell ’em the sun never gets a chance to shine on the buildin’, an’ that we have to work all day by candlelight.”

“Ay,” says Spinser, “or maybe moonlight ’ud sound more iligant?”

“Wisha! how the dickens could the moon get a look in if the sun couldn’t? Moreover,” says Rolly, “the moon doesn’t shine by day.”

“Begor, I never thought of that,” says Spinser.

“I’m afraid you’d botch the job altogether,” says Rolly, “an’ a betther plan than noatin’ a company sthrikes me. I’ll plough up all the land, an’ sow it wud spuds.”

“Wud what?” axes Spinser.

“Spuds!” says Rolly. “Potayties! But sure I clane forgot,” says he, “that ye never had any of ’em in these parts.”

“What are they at all at all?” axes Spinser.

“They’re roundy little balls for aitin’, an’ fine wholesome food they are too. I’ve lived on ’em in Virginny for weeks at a time, an’ never ’ud ax for anything wud ’em, barrin’ a pinch of salt.”

“Do you ate ’em raw?” axes Spinser.

“No,” says Rolly; “you puts ’em into a pot of bilin’ wather, until they grows soft an’ malely—regular balls of flour if they’re properly attinded to—an’ thin you takes the skin off ’em, and swallys ’em.”

“I’m sure,” says Spinser, “they’d go well wud a red herrin’.”

“You’re right there; or wud a bit of Watherford bacon aither,” says Rolly, smackin’ his lips.

“Do you think they’d grow here?” axes Spinser.

“What’s to hendher ’em?” says Rolly, “good soil an’ plenty of rain is all they requires, an’ sure they can have that _galore_ here. The land is well-manured now with native corpses, for bein’ a conthract job, of coorse I made the coffins as slendher as a sheet of mournin’ paper; an’ as for the rain, why it rains here day an’ night all the year round! I’ll warrant the spuds ’ud take to the ground like the shamrock.”

“Then the sooner you gets ’em over the betther,” says Spinser, “for I’m towld there’s no crops at all here this year.”

“I’ll send out a few ships from Youghal Harbour to-morrow,” says Rolly, “wud an ordher on the King of Virginny.”

So wud that Sir Walther bids good-night to his frind, an’ rides back to Youghal. The next day he goes down to the harbour, an’ he charters half a dozen little vessels, an’ he puts ’em all undher the command of a Captain Murphy, an’ off they starts for Virginny.

While the ships was at say, Rolly takes a thrip over to London to see Queen Eleezabeth, an’ begor her Majesty fell complately in love wud him now, an’ thried hard to coax him into stoppin’ at the coort. She towld him she’d forgiven him complately about the foreman’s head, though ever since she couldn’t manage to ate more than wan egg for her breakfast. ’Tis like enough Sir Walther an’ the Queen would have made a bowlt of it an’ set up shop in Virginny, only about that time Rolly fell in love saycritly wud another party. Eleezabeth partly guessed this, but she didn’t let on to him that she suspected him, an’ in ordher to thry an’ make him jealous she tuk up wud another young lord about the coort, and towld Rolly in a timper he might go back agen to his beer-barrels in Munsther. He tuk her Majesty at her word, an’ off he sails agen for Youghal, where he knew the ships from Virginny were about due now.

He wasn’t long back from the coort, whin Captain Murphy arrived with the five other ships, all loaded down to the scuppers wud new potayties. Rolly started dischargin’ ’em at wance, an’ it wasn’t long until he had the facthory full of iligant spuds from flure to ceilin’. He sent round word to all the neighbourhood that “Sir Walter Rolly, General-Undertaker to her Majesty Queen Eleezabeth, was now dischargin’ a splendid sample of the best Virginny Champions, wan cargo for seed an’ the rest for food.” But much to his surprise, the deuce a man ’ud buy a stone of ’em at any price, for all the neighbours thought it was only a new dodge of Rolly’s to desthroy ’em by pizenin’ ’em wud the spuds. He sent round his hundhred follyers as commercial thravellers all through Munsther; but of coorse this only set the few people that was left alive worse than ever agen the new spaycies of grub. He even threatened to put the undhertakin’ business into full swing wance more on his own hook; but even that didn’t frighten the Munsther people into aitin’ the spuds, or the “murphies,” as he called ’em afther Captain Murphy that brought ’em over from Virginny.

All through the saison Rolly didn’t laive a stone unturned to thry an’ induce the people to buy his potayties; an’ begor three parts of ’em rotted in the facthory.

At last, when he was almost disthracted wud disappointment, he hit on a plan that worked meracles.

Himself and his friend Spinser, an’ Rolly’s hundred follyers, used to go down into the Youghal market-place day afther day, an’ there they’d form a ring an’ boil the murphies in sighth of the people, an’ stop aitin’ ’em from mornin’ until night. By degrees the people got thryin’ a spud now an’ again, an’ actin’ on Spinser’s advice, Rolly supplied red herrin’s gratis. In the coorse of a few weeks all the neighbourhood around was doin’ nothing but aitin’ the potayties all day long in the market-place. Whin Rolly saw he had worked the oracle, an’ that they’d now buy for seed on any terms, he jumped the price to four times what he’d axed in the beginnin’, an’ before the sayson was over he had sowld every seed potayty in the facthory at his own price, besides sowin’ his own property over an’ hether wud ’em.

Thin he began chartherin’ all the ships in Youghal, an’ he started off himself for Virginny, to enther into a heavy conthract wud the king there.

Whin he landed in ould Virginny he went straight off to the palace an’ paid his respects to the king—an ugly-looking but well-maynin’ Naygro wud a ring out of his nose like a conthrairey bull.

“Well, Rolly,” says the king, “what brings you here this thrip? If it’s more goold you’re wantin’ let me tell you the diggin’s are exhausted for the prisent. In fact, we have had a terrible bad saison of it altogether. Even the potayties tuk the blight, an’ you couldn’t get a sound spud for love or money in Ould Virginny this minute.”

“O murdher!” says Rolly. “Sure that’s what brings me here—to conthract wud you for a wholesale supply of spuds.”

“Faix, an’ you must do wudout ’em,” says the king. “Tell me,” says he, “did you set many of ’em in your own counthry?”

“I did,” says Rolly, “an’ a good job too it seems.”

“You’re right,” says the king, “for I don’t believe there’s another disthrict where they grows ’em in all Amerikay. You can spring the price on the next saison’s crop.”

“Laive that to me,” says Rolly, wud a grin. “But don’t be talkin’,” says he, “but this is a regular slap in the face for me! I have a whole fleet of ships in the harbour, an’ of coorse they’ll be comin’ down on me for the amount of freight an’ demurrage.”

“You can get the protection of the coort,” says the king, “if that’s any help to you.”

“I’m obliged to your Majesty,” says Rolly, “but sure they’d saize on my property over in Munsther if I tried to play any thricks of that kind. Maybe you have some other marketable matayrial I could load the little vessels wud?”

“Did you ever take a blast of a pipe?” axes the king.

“Never,” says Rolly, “what is it?”

“Well, it’s a quare thing,” says the king, “that we have to be taychin’ ye in the ould counthry all the resources of civilization. Ye seems to have no invintion in ye at all. Here,” says he, takin’ a black little _dhudeen_ from the rim of his crown, “take a _shough_ of that an’ tell me how you likes it.”

“How do you work it?” axes Rolly.

“Stick it between your lips,” says the king “an’ when I lights it up for you, dhraw in the smoke, an’ then blow it out again.”

“Blow what out?” axes Rolly.

“The smoke, of coorse,” says the king.

“That seems a quare sort of divarsion,” says Rolly—“suckin’ it in wan minute an’ blowin’ it out the next. Couldn’t I conshume it?”

“O begor, you can fill your stomach wud it if you like,” says the king; “but if you’ll take my advice you’ll do nothing of the sort, for it takes a powerful smoker to swally the fumes wudout sayrious inconvaynience. Are you ready now?” says he.

“I am,” says Rolly, stickin’ the pipe between his teeth.

“Dhraw now!” says the king, sthrikin’ a match on the leg of his throwsers an’ howldin’ it over the bowl of the _dhudeen_.

So Rolly dhraws in a mouthful, an’ of coorse it bein’ a first offer every morsel of the tobacco-smoke wint down his gullet.

Down he dashes the pipe on the ground, blowin’ an’ spluttherin’ an’ coughin’ like a consumptive whale.

“I towld you!” says the king, slappin’ him on the back.

“Towld me what?” coughs Rolly, as vexed as you plaize.

“Towld you not to swally the smoke,” says the king.

“’Twas a dirty thrick to play on me,” says Rolly.

“Thrick!” says the king. “I tell you there was no thrick at all in it. Look here,” says he, takin’ another pipe out of his crown, for the wan he gave Rolly was smashed complately. “Watch how I does it!” An’ wud that he tucks his legs undher him like a tailor, an’ fillin’ his _dhudeen_ he starts puffin’ blasts of smoke out through the ring of his nose. In a few minutes Sir Walter felt as if he was fixed up the flue of a chimney wud a good turf fire undhernaith, an’ he began coughin’ an’ spluttherin’ worse nor ever.

“Open the windy, for the love of goodness,” says he, “or you’ll be answerable for my corpse.”

The king laughs hearty at Rolly’s onaisiness, an’ he opens the windy an’ knocks the fire out of his pipe.

When the smoke had partly cleared off Sir Walther axes the king,—

“Now, what sort of pleasure or benefit do you get from makin’ fireworks of yerself like that?”