University of Virginia Library

47. CHAPTER XLVII.
QUITE ANOTHER SCENE.

THINGS strange and ill-matched crowd each
other; the interview of the priests was followed
by quite another one.

After the examination, Mr. Bangs had lingered, and
seemed loth to go; and Father Terence invited him to
pass the night where he was. This, however, he declined.
Yet he staid. At last, he said “he guessed
he'd look in a spell to-morrow,” and departed.

“Didn't want to go 'thout takin' leave, Father O'Toole,”
he said, as he presented himself betimes on the next day.

“An' where's this y'are going, then?” inquired the
Priest, surprised at this notice of departure. (Father
Terence was very grave.)

“Wall, I guess I'll be goin' over here to Peterport
agin, 'n' see what I can do for 'em,” answered the American.

“An' what's the matter at Peterport?”

“They want a little teachin', all round Noofunland,
'pon a good many things. They'd all be rubbed into
grease 'n a minute 'r two, 'n the States, 'f they wa'n't a
little spryer about it.”

“An' what would rub them into grease, then?”

“Why, every body 'd be tumblin' over 'em.”

“But don't they do their work well? an' aren't they
good people?”

“They are good people, and kind people, fact; b't
they're pleggily 'mposed upon.”

“It's the difference o' government, ye mean; but it's
not a bad government we have,” said the Priest, who was
an Irish one of an old kind.

“Wa'n't speakin' o' that, 'xac'ly. I'll tell ye, Father
O'Toole,—I ain't a democrat, an' so I don't like slavery.”

The Priest, who knew nothing of parties in America,
and, from the word democrat, understood one who was in
favor of democracy, might have been edified at this
avowal; but how a democrat should like slavery, and
what the whole thing had to do with Newfoundland, was
not clear.

“I mean I don't b'long t' the Democratic party, 's the'
call it, where they have t' learn t' blackguard, 'n' abuse
niggers, b'fore they c'n take the stump” —

“Is it stumps they've to take, in Amerikya?” asked
Father O'Toole, smiling. “Indeed, I think they must be
poor, then, mostly, for it's not manny o' them one man
would take.”

“Why, there ain't a poor man 'n the whole concern,
'thout it's the Paddi—pedygogues.”

“Is it that bad a place for the schoolmasters, then? I
often hard `the schoolmaster was abroad;' an' maybe it's
too manny o' them's abroad.”

“Let 'em come; only educate 'n' 'nlighten 'em, I say.”

“Are the people so larrn'd, the schoolmasters are not
ayqual to them? That's a quare case: it's the masters
teach, mostly, I think,” said Father Terence, who had
heard of strange countries; but perhaps had never had a
chance at information from a native of one before. “And

they've not the clergy, ayther, to be the soul an' centre
of it, an' take the lead?”

“Guess there ain't such a system o' public schools 'n
the wide world; why, ol' President John Quincy 's educated
at 'em; 'n' so was your bishop, there, Cheveroo, 't
was made a Card'nal, or what not, out 't Bordo, 'n France;[1]
but 's I was sayin', when we got a talkin' 'bout common
schools, I guess folks 'n Noofundland might be 'bout's
good 'n' happy, 'n' a leetle mite better off. Why, there
were fishermen down 't Marblehead 'n' Gloucester, 'n'
all 'long there, b'fore ever Noofundland 's heard of,—'s
goin' to say,—'n' ye don't ketch them a settin' down 'n the
chimney-corner, t' keep the fire agoin' all winter, 'n' when
the' ain't out fishin'; the' make shoes, the whole boodle
of 'em, jes' 's tight 's they c'n stretch. Merchants can't
make slaves of 'em 'n that country 's the' do here.”

“An' how would the planters make shoes?” asked the
Priest.

“I'll take hold 'n' learn 'em, I guess,” said the American.

“Do ye know how to make shoes, Mr. Bangs?”

“Looked into it, some, 'n I's a shaver; b't 'bout that
mirycle, Father O'Toole,” continued Mr. Bangs, “wanted
to say, I guess we better not say any thing 'bout it, f' fear
the' may be a mistake.”

“Well, if there's a mistake, we're both in the one box,”
said Father Terence, “an' if they laugh at you, they'll
laugh at me. We might just wait a bit, maybe, and see
what comes of it.”

“Wall, I guess I wouldn't make much of it, 'f I's you;
I heard o' somebody havin' my magic lantern, round” —

“Is there magic in it, then? Indeed I won't have anny

thing to do with it, little or much. It's the devil does it,”
said the Priest.

“Wall, I wouldn't 'xac'ly go 'n' lay it t' the devil, either.
Don't s'pose ye ever saw one o' those lanterns; 't's a
k'nd of a thing 't shows picchers on a wall. 'T may ha'
ben that; I only make the suggestion.”

“But how would he show you and meself, Mr.
Bangs?”

“Does 'dmit o' question; b't he might have had 'em
painted”—

At this moment a knock was heard at the door, and a
person entered with a low obeisance to Father Terence,
and a look of inquiry at Mr. Bangs.

“Good morning, Reverend Father,” said he. “I learn
that something supernatural has occurred here during the
late painful proceedings; and that the Holy Queen of
Heaven has exhibited her power in the Church when
assailed by her enemies.”

Father Terence looked rather awkwardly towards Mr.
Bangs, and then said, “It's the editor of the Catholic
paper, Mr. Bangs.”

“I think I heard that name in the same connection,”
said the editor. “Hadn't this gentleman some hand in
it?”

“Indeed he was there; but we're thinking there may
be some mistake.”

“Well, Reverend Father, as you were both present, if
you'll be kind enough just to furnish me with the facts, as
they occurred, that is, after all, you know, the only way
of judging. If they sustain the opinion, there it is; if
not, why, it falls.”

“Indeed, that can do no harm, anny way; will ye tell
him the facts, Mr. Bangs, if ye please?”

Mr. Bangs said he “guessed they m't 's well hold on,
f'r a spell;” but the editor was of opinion that the best
time to get at facts was immediately after their occurrence,
while the recollection was fresh, and before confusions
had arisen.

“Wall, if ye only want what 'curred, I'll give it t' ye,
s' Father O'Toole says so.” He then proceeded to detail
the facts, and the editor carefully made a note of them.
This being done, the literary gentleman read his sketch
of an intended article in his journal, which, beginning
with stating that “Protestantism was systematized unbelief,
and that the Divine Presence in the Church had never
left itself without miraculous witness,” proceeded in an
elegant and glowing version of the “statement made by
an eye-witness, an intelligent American merchant, and
not yet a Catholic,” and concluded with a loyal assurance
that “we (the editor) reserve our final and full judgment
until it has been pronounced upon by the authorities of
the Church.”

“If you're not a Catholic after seeing that”— said
the editor.

—“You ruther guess I never shall be? Wall,—”

“Now will you be so kind as to certify that you witnessed
this sight, Reverend Father Terence?”

The worthy Priest was a great while about it, and
changed his expressions a good many times, but at last
produced the following:—

“I do hereby certify that all the above was seen by
me.”

“'Guess I'd put on, `not saying how 'twas done,' 'f I
was you, Father O'Toole,” urged Mr. Bangs; and so he
did.

The “American merchant” then certified also that “he

happened to be looking on, and saw the sight in the
chapel; but should not like to say how it was done.”

The editor thanked the Father and Mr. Bangs, and
departed with his marvellous budget.

He had scarcely closed the door, when a request came
to the Reverend Father Terence to allow the nuns to
watch and say their devotions before the miraculous picture.

The door having closed again, Mr. Bangs said,—

“'Guess I m's be goin', Father O'Toole:—I think the
play's begun.”

“Yer name 'll be famous from this out, I'm thinkin',
Mr. Bangs,” said the Priest;—“but what's this about the
lantern?” he added, looking confused.—“When will ye
be coming for instruction, then?”

“Why, my mind 's got ruther d'stracted; guess I wun't
go on 'th it jest now. Ye're welcome to those candles f'r
the chap-il, Father O'Toole; 'n' I'm thankful t' ye, I'm
sure. Wish you good-day!”

So the American turned his back upon conversion.

Father O'Toole was really grieved. He begged his
departing disciple “not to forget what he had learned,
however, and to say a good word for Catholics.”

Mr. Bangs assured him “there was one of 'em any
how, should always have his good word; and shaking
hands heartily, went his way, holding the breast of his
coat with one hand and swinging the other.

The Priest called him back.

“I'm afraid,” said he, “the worrld took too strong a
hold of ye. Take care it doesn't swallow ye.”

“'T'll have t' come b'hind me, I guess, an' take me 'n
I've got the cramp 'n my stomuch,” said Mr. Bangs.

“Ye mind the widdah in the Gospel? She was troubled

about many things, an' 'twas but the one piece of silver
was wanting.”

With this rather incorrect citation, but good religion,
the kind Priest dismissed the object of his labors and
solicitude.