The O'Ruddy: a Romance
Copyright© 2024 by Stephen Crane
Chapter 12
My plans were formed quickly. “We now have a treasure chest of no small dimensions,” said I, very complacent, naturally. “We can conquer London with this. Everything is before us. I have already established myself as the grandest swordsman in the whole continent of England. Lately we have gained much treasure. And also I have the papers. Paddy, do you take care of this poor horse. Then follow me into Bath. Jem Bottles, do you mount and ride around the town, for I fear your balladists. Meet me on the London road. Ride slowly on the highway to London, and in due time I will overtake you. I shall pocket a few of those guineas, but you yourself shall be the main treasury. Hold! what of Paddy’s hair? Did he rob the Earl with that great flame showing? He dare not appear in Bath.”
“‘Tis small tribute to my wit, sir,” answered Jem Bottles. “I would as soon go poaching in company with a lighthouse as to call a stand on the road with him uncovered. I tied him in cloth until he looked no more like himself than he now does look like a parson.”
“Aye,” said Paddy in some bad humour, “my head was tied in a bag. My mother would not have known me from a pig going to market. And I would not be for liking it every day. My hair is what the blessed Saints sent me, and I see no such fine hair around me that people are free to throw the laugh at me.”
“Peace!” said I.
Their horses were tied in an adjacent thicket. I sent Paddy off with my lame mount, giving him full instructions as to his lies. I and Jem Bottles took the other horses and rode toward Bath.
Where a certain lane turned off from the highway I parted with Jem Bottles, and he rode away between the hedges. I cantered into Bath.
The best-known inn was ablaze with fleeting lights, and people were shouting within. It was some time before I could gain a man to look after my horse. Of him I demanded the reason of the disturbance. “The Earl of Westport’s carriage has been robbed on the Bristol road, sir,” he cried excitedly. “There be parties starting out. I pray they catch him.”
“And who would they be catching, my lad,” said I.
“Jem Bottles, damn him, sir,” answered the man. “But ‘tis a fierce time they will have, for he stands no less than eight feet in his boots, and his eyes are no human eyes, but burn blood-red always. His hands are adrip with blood, and ‘tis said that he eats human flesh, sir. He surely is a devil, sir.”
“From the description I would be willing to believe it,” said I. “However, he will be easy to mark. Such a monster can hardly be mistaken for an honest man.”
I entered the inn, while a boy staggered under my valises. I had difficulty in finding the landlord. But in the corridor were a number of travellers, and evidently one had come that day from Bristol, for he suddenly nudged another and hurriedly whispered:
“‘Tis him! The great Irish swordsman!”
Then the news spread like the wind, apparently, that the man who had beaten the great Forister was arrived in good health at the inn. There were murmurs, and a great deal of attention, and many eyes. I suddenly caught myself swaggering somewhat. It is hard to be a famous person and not show a great swollen chicken-breast to the people. They are disappointed if you do not strut and step high. “Show me to a chamber,” said I splendidly. The servants bowed their foreheads to the floor.
But the great hubbub over the Earl’s loss continued without abatement. Gentlemen clanked down in their spurs; there was much talk of dragoons; the tumult was extraordinary. Upstairs the landlord led me past the door of a kind of drawing-room. I glanced within and saw the Earl of Westport gesturing and declaiming to a company of gentlemen. He was propped up in a great arm-chair.
“And why would he be waving his hands that way?” said I to two servants who stood without.
“His lordship has lost many valuable papers at the hands of a miscreant, sir,” answered one.
“Is it so?” said I. “Well, then, I would see his lordship.”
But here this valet stiffened. “No doubt but what his lordship would be happy to see you, sir,” he answered slowly. “Unfortunately, however, he has forbidden me to present strangers to his presence.”
“I have very important news. Do not be an idiot,” said I. “Announce me. The O’Ruddy.”
“The O’Ruggy?” said he.
“The O’Ruddy,” said I.
“The O’Rudgy?” said he.
“No,” said I, and I told him again. Finally he took two paces within the room and sung out in a loud voice:
“The O’Rubby.”
I heard the voice of the sick old Earl calling out from his great chair. “Why, ‘tis the Irishman. Bid him enter. I am glad—I am always very glad—ahem!—”
As I strode into the room I was aware of another buzz of talk. Apparently here, too, were plenty of people who knew me as the famous swordsman. The Earl moved his jaw and mumbled.
“Aye,” said he at last, “here is The O’Ruddy. And, do you know, Mr. O’Ruddy, I have been foully robbed, and, among other things, have lost your worthless papers?”
“I heard that you had lost them,” I answered composedly. “But I refuse to take your word that they are worthless.”
Many people stared, and the Earl gave me a firm scowl. But after consideration he spoke as if he thought it well to dissemble a great dislike of me. The many candles burned very brightly, and we could all see each other. I thought it better to back casually toward the wall.
“You never accomplish anything,” coughed the sick Earl. “Yet you are for ever prating of yourself. I wish my son were here. My papers are gone. I shall never recover them.”
“The papers are in the breast of my coat at this moment,” said I coolly.
There was a great tumult. The Earl lost his head and cried:
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