University of Virginia Library

Two years went on, and not a word
About this Mrs. Banks was heard
At the Ballaquine, nor anywhere else,
Not a word: and boys and gels
Was pairin' off, and weddin's goin';
But Jack and Nessy wasn' showin'
No signs at all. But lizzen, my men!
I tould ye about the Dragon's Den,
That was high up on the mountain side;
And the ould shaft, that was op'nin' wide
At the foot of the slock —and gave up workin'
I don't know the years. Well now then herkin!
The Directors tuk a notion they'd try
This shaft again: and Captain Spry
Agate o' the search; and tuk a gang,
And Jack was one, and I'll be hang
If they didn' take Job to help to carry
Their tools, or the lek o' yandhar. And Harry—
Harry was there. And Job was lettin'
Down with a rope, for the way he'd be gettin'
Some candles lit on the first level,
For to light them, ye know. And a bank of gravel,
And then the shaft went farther down.
So Job was gropin', and got his ground,
And lit a candle. And they heard a cry
Most terrible they did. And Spry
Gave orders at once for Jack to be low'rt
Down to the level, and just to report
What was the matter. And so he done—
And what—aw, what did he find but the son
And the mother? And Job had fainted dead—
Poor thing! and there he was laid
By the side of the bones and the skull. For ye see
He knew her by the clothes—machree!
Machree! machree! And in her hand
She was clasping' an 'arb—I don't understand
Azackly what; but I'm tould it's knowin'
For the used at these wutches, and hardly growin'
Anywhere but round this shaft.
And that's the way, lek follerin' her craft,
She must have gone prowlin' up yandhar place,
And missed her footin'—and God's grace
Is for all, for all! But the 'arb had struck
A root in the gravel, and her hand was stuck
To the soil; and they had to tear it out—
Just fancy what a place to sprout!
But these dirts . . . but lave it. And Jack, though, Jack—
He sent Job up first: and then a sack
Was low'rt to him; and every pin of her,
And clout, and whatever there was in of her,
It was Jack, I tell ye, that gathered them all,
And made the signal for the men to haul;
And come up last himself, as game,
And divil a word; but his face all aflame
With the joy, you'd think. For he knew what'd happen
Soon enough now. But when the ould cap'n
Said, “Jack, my lad, that's a good job for you—
You'd better go tell it to Nessy Brew”—
Aw, bless ye! that was too much for him—what?
It floored him just the same he'd been shot,
And he fell like a corp. Then the men stood round,
And never a sound, never a sound!
Till Jack come to in the teems of tears
And sobs. And bless my sowl then! wheer's
The man cud ha' stood it? I know I cudn'—
Joy?—it was joy: but tuk that sudden
And— well, well, well—they formed in a line,
And they carried her to the Ballaquine
In puffeck silence—the wutch was dead;
They knew what they had, they knew what they had.