University of Virginia Library

57. CHAPTER LVII.
MRS. CALLORAN'S REVELATIONS.

THE letters from Captain Nolesworth and his
second mate, containing this intelligence from
the lost maiden, had been sent from London,
(to which place the “Spring Bird” had gone with a cargo
from Madeira,) and the writers “expected to be in Newfoundland,
if nothing happened more than usual, as soon
as the letters.”

As Mr. Wellon read, he kept his horse at a brisk walk
toward Bay-Harbor, and as he finished reading, informed
the carrier, who had managed to keep by his side, that
Skipper George's daughter was on her way home from
England, and then gave a kind message to the astonished
man of letters for Skipper George, to be left at the Riverhead
of Peterport, at Mr. Piper's. “I'll take it down to
un myself,” said the man, who was athirst for more intelligence
about this strange case. Mr. Wellon then hurried
forward and found the Attorney-General still at his
lodgings.

“It's good we couldn't hang him for murdering her,”
said the Attorney-General, when he had heard the Parson's
story; “though he deserves it for other things that the
law wouldn't hang him for; but Bangs and Ladford were
right, and they must have had her drugged when they

took her from Peterport, and when they were showing
the Yankee round the nunnery. I wish he'd had a good
taste of prison with Mrs. Calloran. We can have him
again, and cast him in exemplary damages, if you like.
Is there anybody to prosecute? I'll get it argued and
without fees.”

“I think we could manage that,” said Mr. Wellon,
thinking.

“We will manage it somehow,” said the lawyer.

Meantime the news went stirring up the people all
round the Bay, and bringing happiness to more than one
fond heart in Peterport.

A warrant was got out for Father Nicholas's arrest
again; but Father Nicholas was not to be found.

Judge Bearn determined to prolong his stay for a few
days, to attend to the preliminary steps of the case, (as it
was likely to be a proceeding very unpopular with the
Roman Catholics;) but the Priest could not be found at the
Mission premises, nor anywhere else, and the best information
that could be got of him was, that he had been in
the house the night before, at about nine o'clock. From
that time nothing had been seen of him.

The packet-boats in the Bay were overhauled, and for
a day or two all places in which there was any likelihood
of finding him or hearing of him, were visited in
vain.

On Saturday Mr. Wellon, before going home, called
on the Attorney-General and learned the result.

“Depend upon it, he's one of those persons that go
through this world unwhipped,” said the Attorney. “It's
one of those cases that enforce Bishop Butler's argument
for future retribution.—Calloran would be rather small
game. Wouldn't she?”

“O yes!” said the Parson; “but I should like her
account of the way in which it was done, to fill up the
breaks in our story;—if we could get it.”

“I fancy that wouldn't be hard,” said the lawyer, “that
constable of yours seems to have an instinct for nosing
her out. We've kept him for the week, as he seemed a
good fellow, and I'll set him on, and hear his report of
the experiment this afternoon, at Castle-Bay;—I've a
little business there with an old servant.”

Gilpin was easily got, and accepted the commission
with some satisfaction.

Mr. Wellon, having occasion to stay in Bay-Harbor,
gave him afterward a message for Skipper George.

“Couldn't you ask him to come over to Castle-Bay?”
inquired the Attorney. “Lawyers are not a sentimental
race, and when we've done our best with a case, are apt
to dismiss it; but I confess I should like to see this
father.”

The Minister hesitated. “I shouldn't like to summon
Skipper George to come to me,” said he. “I've made
an appointment with him at his own house; but if you
desire it, sir, he'll come with pleasure, no doubt.”

“No, no; I'll take a hint from your example; why
should I be summoning him up and down? I may find
time to go round and see him.”

The two rode up to Castle-Bay together, and as they
came to a turn of the road near the beach, having been
remarking on the gentle beauties of the landscape, which
showed themselves, one after another, as the riders advanced,
the legal gentleman exclaimed,—

“That must be your Skipper George, now;” as it
was,—in Gilpin's company. He came along the beach,
tall, strong, and trusty-looking as a mast. There was a

glad look in his face that lately had not been there. In
saluting his Minister, the homely man's tender and affectionate
deference was beautiful.

“This is the Honorable Attorney-General, that pleaded
the cause at Bay-Harbor,” said the Parson; and the
fisherman bowed, with very grave respect, to the eminent
lawyer, while the constable's eye twinkled and his face
glistened, on the occasion.

“'Twas very kind of 'ee, sir, and I humbly thank 'ee;
but I'm glad there hasn' any body done a murder.”

“And I'm glad your daughter is alive to come back,”
said the Attorney. “Few parents have such children, to
lose and recover.”

“A child is a child, I suppose, sir; but she's a wonderful
child for the like o' me, surely, sir. Ef it's the Lord's
will for Lucy to come back, there'll be a many proud to
see her, I believe.”

At the moment, while he spoke, something caught his
eye, to seaward, from which, having glanced at it, he
turned hastily away; then, looking straight upon it, while
his companions having followed the direction of his eye,
could see the square, white canvas of a vessel coming up
the Bay, he said:—

“It's Skipper Edward Ressle's schooner, from the
Larbadore.”

Of course, then, it was not the “Spring-Bird,” bringing
his daughter, as a less sure glance might have mistaken
it.

“In good time, ef it's His good will,” he said, again,
answering, in words, to what might have been an unspoken
thought of his companions, and doubtless was his
own thought.

“'Twould be too much trouble for 'ee to go down to

my house a-purpose, sir;—and this excellent gentleman,”
he said to the Minister.

“I must go down, of course,” said Mr. Wellon.

“And I'll go about my business,” said the Attorney-General.
“These parsons have the advantage of us;—
you have to do with all the best people; and the best
part of all people.”

“Not always the best,” said the Minister; “but in a
way to give us inducements enough to be true and honest
to our office.”

“Ministers are a comfort to a body, surely, sir; an' it
didn' seem altogether right after the news comed, tull we
could get our reverend gentleman to make a bit of a
pr'yer.”

“We're all interested in the constable's news, if he's
got any,” said the Attorney; “and we may as well hear
it, together. How is it, Constable?”

“It's nothing much, sir,” said Gilpin; “but it makes it
all out, though.—If it wouldn't be too tiresome stopping
here in the road,” he added.

All objection removed, he proceeded to tell his short
story; his hearers listening curiously. Skipper George
looked the least curious of the three.

Gilpin, entering zealously on the discharge of his commission,
had made his way, with a half constabular and
half neighborly air, into Mrs. Calloran's presence in the
kitchen.

Mrs. Calloran was by no means cordial, and did not
ask him to sit down. Her daughter was more hospitable;
and Gilpin was quite at his ease.

“Mrs. Calloran,” said he, “now Father Nicholas has
gone off, and left his confession with Mr. McMannikin,
his honor, the Attorney-General, doesn't want to proceed

against you, you know. Skipper George's daughter 'll be
home in a day or two, and we might get all cleared off
before she comes. It isn't worth while for you to be the
only sad one, when every body in the harbor's rejoicing.”

Mrs. Calloran looked by no means inclined to merry-making.
The constable persisted.

“Did she get any thing to eat while she was here,”
said he, “except the medicine the priest gave her?”

“The praste gave her no medicine, then,” said Mrs.
Calloran.

“You know what she got,” continued Gilpin, not disconcerted;
“I mean the priest and the nuns, together.”

“'Twas meself gave her the midicine,” answered the
woman, true to the fact, or to her instincts, but not true
to her secret.

“But it isn't true that you made a sick girl eat fish and
pork?”

“She took niver a sustenance o' food, thin, whativer
time she was in it, long or shart.”

“But wouldn't it have been better to have the doctor
before giving the medicine?”

“An', sure, wasn't it the docther we had, then? an'
Father Nicholas, nor the ladies, ordhered niver a drap to
her, but he just bid the docther make it for her; `something
to take the pain out of her, and make her rest
good.'”

“But did they knock her head against the rock, going
down the Worrell?” asked the constable, continuing his
inductive process.

“Indeed, she can't say that; and no one else can say
it, ayther; for she was aslape, and niver stirred hand nor
foot.”

“Well, I don't want to spoil your story; but the

Attorney-General is wiser than I be: he'd get the rights
of it better. He's just over here, at Castle-Bay. You'd
only have to tell it to him once, and be done with it.
You didn't get a chance while they thought she was
murdered.”

“I don't think it's much I need bother with the Attorney-General,
or anny o' them,” said Mrs. Calloran, in
whose mind the prosecuting officer held no niche of
honor, probably; “no: not if he was after coming to me,
itself,—let alone goun to um.”

“Well, you may as well tell your story to me, then,”
said the constable; “and I'll do the best I can with it.”

“Me story, is it? 'Deed, then, I think ye may jest
tell yer story, yerself.”

“Well, well, Mrs. Calloran,” said Gilpin, “you're free
to do as you please; only, I wanted to do you a friendly
turn, and have it all done with, before she comes back.
You might say how you got her.”

“I niver got her. Sure, 'twas Almighty God an' His
Blissed Mother brought her to me, like a fish to the hook,
in a manner. `Glory be to God!' sis I. `Sure, Herself
brought her to this,' sis I, seein' 'twas the Day o' the
Consumption o' the Blissed Vargin, 'twas. Wasn't she
quite spint, beyant, by the fence? an' what should I do,
but tuk her in me arms, and brought her in and laid her
an the bid? `Sure,' sis I, `Lucy, dear, it's dyin' y'are;
an' won't ye die in the true Church?' sis I. `I've no
doubt,' sis she; jest that way: `I've no doubt,' sis she.”

“But how could you get the doctor to her, before they
carried her away?” asked the constable, making no comments.

“Wasn't he at Barney Rorke's wife that got the sprain,
just beyant?” asked Mrs. Calloran. So, I called um.

“`Good mornin,—no, but good evenun to ye, Dr. More,'
sis I. `I hope y'are will, sir,' sis I. `I want yer opinion,'
sis I, if ye'd be plased to walk this way. It's some one
that's dyun, sir,' sis I. With that he came in ('twas a
little dark, with the shawl pinned at the windy):—`Don't
go too near her face, for fear her breath's infractious,' sis
I. `I didn't bring a light, sir,' sis I.—`Indeed, it's not
needed, Ma'am,' sis he. `Isn't she spacheless and sinseless,
Ma'am?' sis he.—`That's it, sir,' sis I, `exactly.'—
`An' did ye sind for the praste, Ma'am?' sis he. `I
hadn't time, sir,' sis I, `'twas that sudden; but I'd give
the world for um, this minit,' sis I.—`Thin, Ma'am,' sis
he, `my deliv-er-id opinion is she'll niver come out o'
this, without a mirycle af Holy Churrch,' sis he. An' with
that the door opened, just upan the very word, an' his
riverence, Father Nicholas, came in, an' found the way
she was; an' I tould um the words she said about the
Churrch; an' he said she ought to have the best of care;
an' he asked Dr. More, `Had he anny dyne to give her
to quite her.'”

“And who's Dr. More?”

“He's a good Catholic, thin,” said Mrs. Calloran, decidedly;
an' he's chape—”

“And a wise fellow,” said Gilpin.

“Why wouldn't he be, then?” said she, warmly.
“Himself as good as tould me that the rist o' thim knew
nothing; his name's Docther Patrick McKillam More;
an' it's something to the Duke Gargyll, he is (only he's
a Scotsman and a heretic); an' he's called a veterin
surgeon (it's likely he's surgeon to the troops at Harbor
Grace, or something; an', indeed, 'twould be a good day
they'd get a good Catholic Irishman to be surrgeon to the
British Army).”

“Did you get her baptized by the Priest?” asked
Gilpin, blandly.

Mrs. Calloran stirred the kitchen fire: “I'm thinking
it's small good her baptism 'll be to her,” she said, rather
aside.

“But you got her baptized?”

Mrs. Calloran this time was silent.

“Well!” said the constable, “I must say, I think you
and the Priest, and the nuns, too, (I don't say any thing
about your `veterin surgeon to the British Army,' as ye
call him,—that's a horse-doctor,—for I suppose he's a
great booby;) I think you all deserve a good lesson, if
you didn't get it. I'd advise ye next time your neighbor's
child comes in your way, when she's lost, don't you steal
her.”

“A simple lesson in morals that she'll do well to profit
by,” said the Parson, commenting upon Gilpin's story
when it was finished.

“We know whom to look to if any more Protestants
disappear,” said the Attorney; “and have a key to the
method of kidnapping. Well, it was for fear of the
young lady running off with Mrs. Calloran's nurse-child,
it would seem; I trust (if he'll turn Protestant, and
there's no great objection) that Mrs. Calloran will live
to see that feat performed.”

The father, quite absorbed with the circumstances of
his daughter's disappearance, which he now heard for the
first time, said to his Minister,—

“So that's how it was, sir! There are strange things
in this world, surely; but the good Lord's over all!”

The party here separated; and we leave the lawyer to
attend to his business at Castle-Bay, and the man of
prayer to go and present before God the family offering
in Skipper George's house.