The O'Ruddy: a Romance
Copyright© 2024 by Stephen Crane
Chapter 14
It had been said that the unexpected often happens, although I do not know what learned man of the time succeeded in thus succinctly expressing a great law and any how it matters little, for I have since discovered that these learned men make one headful of brains go a long way by dint of poaching on each other’s knowledge. But the unexpected happened in this case, all true enough whatever.
I was giving my man a bit of a warning.
“Paddy,” said I, “you are big, and you are red, and you are Irish; but by the same token you are not the great Fingal, son of lightning. I would strongly give you the word. When you see that old woman you start for the open moors.”
“Devil fear me, sir,” answered Paddy promptly. “I’ll not be stopping. I would be swimming to Ireland before she lays a claw on me.”
“And mind you exchange no words with her,” said I, “for ‘tis that which seems to work most wrongfully upon her.”
“Never a word out of me,” said he. “I’ll be that busy getting up the road.”
There was another tumult in the corridor, with the same screeches by one and the same humble protests by a multitude. The disturbance neared us with surprising speed. Suddenly I recalled that when the servant had retired after bringing food and drink I had neglected to again bar the door. I rushed for it, but I was all too late. I saw the latch raise. “Paddy!” I shouted wildly. “Mind yourself!” And with that I dropped to the floor and slid under the bed.
Paddy howled, and I lifted a corner of the valance to see what was transpiring. The door had been opened, and the Countess stood looking into the room. She was no longer in a fiery rage; she was cool, deadly determined, her glittering eye fixed on Paddy. She took a step forward.
Paddy, in his anguish, chanted to himself an Irish wail in which he described his unhappiness. “Oh, mother of me, and here I am caught again by the old hell-cat, and sure the way she creeps toward me is enough to put the fear of God in the heart of a hedge-robber, the murdering old witch. And it was me was living so fine and grand in England and greatly pleased with myself. Sorrow the day I left Ireland; it is, indeed.”
She was now close to him, and she seemed to be preparing for one stupendous pounce which would mean annihilation to Paddy. Her lean hands were thrust out, with the fingers crooked, and it seemed to me that her fingers were very long. In despair Paddy changed his tune and addressed her.
“Ah, now, alanna. Sure the kind lady would be for doing no harm? Be easy, now, acushla.”
But these tender appeals had no effect. Suddenly she pounced. Paddy roared, and sprang backward with splendid agility. He seized a chair.
Now I am quite sure that before he came to England Paddy had never seen a chair, although it is true that at some time in his life he may have had a peep through a window into an Irish gentleman’s house, where there might be a chair if the King’s officers in the neighbourhood were not very ambitious and powerful. But Paddy handled this chair as if he had seen many of them. He grasped it by the back and thrust it out, aiming all four legs at the Countess. It was a fine move. I have seen a moderately good swordsman fairly put to it by a pack of scoundrelly drawers who assailed him at all points in this manner.
“An you come on too fast,” quavered Paddy, “ye can grab two legs, but there will be one left for your eye and another for your brisket.”
However she came on, sure enough, and there was a moment of scuffling near the end of the bed out of my sight. I wriggled down to gain another view, and when I cautiously lifted an edge of the valance my eyes met the strangest sight ever seen in all England. Paddy, much dishevelled and panting like a hunt-dog, had wedged the Countess against the wall. She was pinioned by the four legs of the chair, and Paddy, by dint of sturdily pushing at the chair-back, was keeping her in a fixed position.
In a flash my mind was made up. Here was the time to escape. I scrambled quickly from under the bed. “Bravo, Paddy!” I cried, dashing about the room after my sword, coat, waistcoat, and hat. “Devil a fear but you’ll hold her, my bucko! Push hard, my brave lad, and mind your feet don’t slip!”
“If your honour pleases,” said Paddy, without turning his eyes from his conquest, “‘tis a little help I would be wishing here. She would be as strong in the shoulder as a good plough-horse and I am not for staying here for ever.”
“Bravo, my grand lad!” I cried, at last finding my hat, which had somehow gotten into a corner. From the door I again addressed Paddy in encouraging speech. “There’s a stout-hearted boy for you! Hold hard, and mind your feet don’t slip!”
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