# Charles O'Malley; the Irish Dragoon (Rackham, 1897)/Chapter 2

Chapter II
The Escape
When the dissolution of Parliament was announced the following morning in Dublin, its interest in certain circles was manifestly increased by the fact that Godfrey O’Malley was at last open to arrest—for, as in olden times certain gifted individuals possessed some happy immunity against death by fire or sword, so the worthy O’Malley seemed to enjoy a no less valuable privilege, and for many a year had passed, among the myrmidons of the Jaw, as writ-proof, Now, however, the charm seemed to have yielded, and pretty much with the same feeling as a storming party may be supposed to experience on the day that a breach is reported as practicable, did the honest attorneys retained in the various suits against him rally round each other that morning in the Four Courts.
Bonds, mortgages, post-obits, promissory notes—in fact; every imaginable species of invention for raising the O’Malley exchequer, for the preceding thirty years—were handed about on all sides; suggesting to the mind of an uninterested observer, the notion that, had the aforesaid O’Malley been an independent and absolute monarch, instead of merely being the Member for Galway, the kingdom over whose destinies he had been called to preside, would have suffered not a little from a depreciated currency and an extravagant issue of paper. Be that as it might, one thing was clear, the whole estates of the family could not possibly pay one-fourth of the debt; and the only question was one which occasionally arises at a scanty dinner on a mail-coach road—who was to be the lucky individual to carve the joint, where so many were sure to go off hungry.
It was now a trial of address between these various and highly gifted gentlemen, who should first pounce upon the victim; and when the skill of their caste is taken into consideration, who will doubt that every feasible expedient for securing him was resorted to? While writs were struck against him in Dublin, emissaries were despatched to the various surrounding counties, to procure others, in the event of his escape. Ne exeats were sworn, and water bailiffs engaged to follow him on the high seas; and, as the great Nassau balloon did not exist in those days, no imaginable mode of escape appeared possible, and bets were offered at long odds, that within twenty-four hours the late Member would be enjoying his otium cum dignitate in his Majesty’s gaol of Newgate.
Expectation was at the highest—confidence hourly increasing—success all but certain—when, in the midst of all this high-bounding hope, the dreadful rumour spread that O’Malley was no more. One had seen it just five minutes before, in the evening edition of Falkner’s paper another heard it in the courts—a third overheard the Chief stating it to the Master of the Rolls—and, lastly, a breathless witness arrived from College Green, with the news that Daly’s Club House was shut up, and the shutters closed. To describe the conster-​nation the intelligence caused on every side is impossible; nothing in history equals it, except, perhaps the entrance of the French army into Moscow, deserted and forsaken by its former inhabitants. While terror and dismay, therefore, spread amid that wide and respectable body who formed O’Malley’s creditors, the preparations for his funeral were going on with every rapidity—relays of horses were ordered at every stage of the journey; and it was announced that, in testimony of his worth, a large party of his friends were to accompany his remains to Portumna Abbey—a test much more indicative of resistance in the event of any attempt to arrest the body, than of anything like reverence for their departed friend.
Such was the state of matters in Dublin, when a letter reached me one morning at O’Malley Castle, whose contents will at once explain the writer’s intention, and also serve to introduce my unworthy self to my reader, It ran thus :—
“Dear Charley,—“Your uncle Godfrey, whose debts [God pardon him] are more numerous than the hairs of his wig, was obliged to die here last night. We did the thing for him completely; and all doubts as to the reality of the event are silenced by the circumstantial detail of the newspaper ‘that he was confined six weeks to his bed, from a cold he caught ten days ago while on guard.’ Repeat this, for it’s better we had all the same story, till he comes to life again, which, maybe, will not take place before Tuesday or Wednesday. At the same time, canvass the county for him, and say he’ll be with his friends next week, and up in Woodford, and the Scariff barony: say he died a true Catholic; it will serve him on the hustings, Meet us in Athlone on Saturday, and bring your uncle’s mare with you—he says he’d rather ride home; and tall Father MacShane to have a bit of dinner ready about four o’clock, for the corpse can get nothing after he leaves Mountmellick,—No more now, from yours, ever.
“Harry Boyle. “Daly’s, about eight in the evening.
“To Charles O’Malley, Esq., “O’Malley Castle, Galway.”
When this not over-clear document reached me, I was the sole inhabitant of O’Malley Castle, a very ruinous pile of incongruous masonry, that stood in a wild and dreary part of the county of Galway, borderiug on the Shannon. On every side stretched the property of my uncle, or at least what had once been so; and, indeed, so numerous were its present claimants that he would have been a subtle lawyer who could have pronounced upon the rightful owner. The demesne around the castle contained some well-grown and handsome timber, and, as the soil was undulating and fertile, presented many features of beauty; beyond it all was sterile beak, and barren. Long tracts of brown heath-clad mountain, or not less unprofitable valleys of tall and waving fern, were all that the eye could discern, except where the broad Shannon, expanding into a tranquil and glassy lake, lay still and motionless beneath the dark mountains; a few islands, with some ​ruined churches and a round tower, alone breaking the dreary waste of water.
Here it was that I had passed my infancy and my youth, and here I now stood at the age of seventeen, quite unconscious that the world contained aught fairer and brighter than that gloomy valley, with its rugged frame of mountains.
When a mere child I was left an orphan to the care of my worthy uncle. My father, whose extravagance had well sustained the family reputation, had squandered a large and handsome property in contesting elections for his native county, and in keeping up that system of unlimited hospitality for which Ireland in general, and Galway more especially, was renowned, The result was, as might be expected, ruin and beggary: he died, leaving every one of his estates encumbered with heavy debts, and the only legacy he left to his brother was a boy of four years of age, entreating him, with his last breath—“Be anything you like to him, Godfrey, but a father, or at least such a one as I have proved.”
Godfrey O’Malley, some short time previous, had lost his wife, and when this new trust was committed to him he resolved never to remarry, hut to rear me up as his own child, and the inheritor of his estates, How weighty and onerous an obligation this letter might prove, the reader can form some idea; tho intention was, however, a kind one; and, to do my uncle justice, he loved me with all the affection of a warm and open heart.
From my earliest years his whole anxiety was to fit me for the part of a country gentleman, as he regarded that character—viz., 1 rode boldly with foxhounds; I was about the best shot within twenty miles of us; I could swim the Shannon at Holy Island; I drove four-in-hand better than the coachman himself; and from finding a hare to hooking a salmon, my equal could not be found from Killaloe to Banagher. These were the staple of my endowments; besides which, the parish priest had taught me a little Latin, a little French, and a little geometry, and a great deal of the life and opinions of St. Jago, who presided over a holy well in the neighbourhood, and was held in very considerable repute.
When I add to this portraiture of my accomplishments that I was nearly six feet high, with more then a common share of activity and strength for my years, and no inconsiderable portion of good looks, I have finished my sketch, and stand before my reader.
It is now time that I should return to Sir Harry’s letter, which so completely bewildered me that, but for tho assistance of Father Reach, I should have been totally unable to make out the writer’s intentions. By his advice, I immediately set out for Athlone, where, when I arrived, I found my uncle addressing the mob from the top of the hearse, and recounting his miraculous escapes as a new claim upon their gratitude.
“There was nothing else for it, boys; the Dublin people insisted on my being their Member, and besieged the club-house. I refused—they threatened—I grew obstinate—they furious. ‘I’ll die first,’ said I. ‘Galway or nothing !’”—“Hurrah!” from the mob. “O’Malley for ever!” And ye see I kept my word, boys—I did die; I died ​that evening at a quarter past eight. There, read it for yourselves—there’s the paper—was waked and carried out, and here I am after all, ready to die in earnest for you—but never to desert you.”
The cheers here were deafening; and my uncle was carried through the market, down to the mayor’s house, who, being a friend of the opposite party, was complimented with three groans; then up the Mall to the chapel, beside which Father MacShane resided; he was then suffered to touch the earth once more, when, having shaken hands with all of his constituency within reach, he entered within the house, to partake of the kindest welcome and best reception the good priest could afford him.
My uncle’s progress homeward was a triumph ; the real secret of his escape hail somehow come out, and his popularity rose to a white heat. “An’ it’s little O’Malley cares for the law—bad luck to it! it’s himself can laugh at judge and jury. Arrest him!—na bocklish—catch a weasel asleep,” &c. Such were the encomiums that greeted him as he passed on towards home; while shouts of joy and blazing bonfires attested that his success was regarded as a national triumph.
The west has certainly its strong features of identity. Had my uncle possessed the claims of the immortal Howard—had he united in his person all the attributes which confer a lasting and an ennobling fame upon humanity—he might have passed on unnoticed and unobserved; but for the man that had duped a judge and escaped the sheriff, nothing was sufficiently flattering to mark their approbation. The success of the exploit was twofold: the news spread far and near, and the very story canvassed the county better than Billy Daven himself, the Athlone attorney.
This was the prospect now before us; and, however little my readers may sympathise with my taste, I must honestly avow that I looked forward to it with a most delighted feeling,-O’Malley Castle was to be the centre of operations, and filled with my uncle’s supporters; while I, a mere stripling, and usually treated as a boy, was to be entrusted with an important mission, and sent off to canvass a distant relation, with whom my uncle was not upon terms, and who might possibly be approachable by a younger branch of the family, with whom he had never had any collision.