Lavengro by George Borrow (read me a book txt) 📕

lend him a guinea. No, I don’t mean him, nor anyone of his stamp; I mean an Irish patriot, one who thinks he can show his love for his country in no better way than by beating the English.”

“Beating the English?” said I; “I should like to see him.”

Whereupon taking me by the arm, Francis Ardry conducted me through various alleys, till we came to a long street which seemed to descend towards the south.

“What street is this?” said I, when we had nearly reached the bottom.

“It is no street at all,” said my friend; “at least it is not called one in this city of Cockaine; it is a lane, even that of St. Martin; and that church that you see there is devoted to him. It is one of the few fine churches in London. Malheureusement,156 as the French say, it is so choked up by buildings that it is impossible to see it at twenty yards’ distance from any side. Whenever I get into Parliament, one of my first motions shall be to remove some twenty score of the aforesaid buildings. But I think we have arrived at the house to which I wished to conduct you.”

“Yes, I see, Portobello.”

About twenty yards from the church, on the left-hand side of the street or lane, was a mean-looking house having something of the appearance of a fifth-rate inn. Over the door was written in large characters the name of the haven, where the bluff old Vernon achieved his celebrated victory over the whiskered Dons. Entering a passage on one side of which was a barroom, Ardry enquired of a middle-aged man who stood in it in his shirtsleeves, whether the captain was at home. Having received for an answer a surly kind of “yes,” he motioned me to follow him, and after reaching the end of the passage, which was rather dark, he began to ascend a narrow, winding stair. About halfway up he suddenly stopped, for at that moment a loud, hoarse voice from a room above commenced singing a strange kind of ditty.

“The captain is singing,” said Frank, “and, as I live, ‘Carolan’s Receipt for drinking whisky.’157 Let us wait a moment till he has done, as he would probably not like to be interrupted in his melody.”

Carolan’s Receipt

‘Whether sick or sound my receipt was the same,
To Stafford I stepp’d and better became;
A visit to Stafford’s bounteous hall
Was the best receipt of all, of all.

‘Midnight fell round us and drinking found us,
At morn again flow’d his whisky;
By his insight he knew ’twas the only way true
To keep Torlough alive and frisky.

‘Now deep healths quaffing, now screeching now laughing,
At my harp-strings tearing, and to madness nearing:
That was the life I led, and which I yet do;
For I will swear it, and to all the world declare it,
If you would fain be happy, you must aye be⁠—’

“Fou!” said Francis Ardry, suddenly pushing open the door of the room from which the voice proceeded; “That’s the word, I think, captain.”

“By my shoul, Mr. Francis Ardry, you enter with considerable abruptness, sir,” said one of two men who were seated smoking at a common deal table, in a large ruinous apartment in which we now found ourselves. “You enter with considerable abruptness sir,” he repeated; “do you know on whom you are intruding?”

“Perfectly well,” said Francis; “I am standing in the presence of Torlough O’ Donahue, formerly captain in a foreign service, and at present resident in London for the express purpose of beating all the English⁠—”

“And some of the Irish too, sir, if necessary,” said the captain with a menacing look. “I do not like to be broken in upon as if I were a nobody. However, as you are here, I suppose I must abide by it. I am not so little of a gentleman as to be deficient in the rudiments of hospitality. You may both of you sit down and make yourselves aisy.”

But this was no such easy matter, the only two chairs in the room being occupied by the captain and the other. I therefore leaned against the door, while Ardry strolled about the apartment.

The captain might be about forty. His head was immensely large, his complexion ruddy, and his features rough, coarse and strongly expressive of sullenness and ill-nature. He was about the middle height, with a frame clumsily made, but denoting considerable strength. He wore a blue coat, the lappets of which were very narrow, but so long that they nearly trailed upon the ground. Yellow leathern breeches unbuttoned at the knee, dazzling white cotton stockings and shoes with buckles, adorned his nether man.

His companion, who was apparently somewhat older than himself, was dressed in a coarse greatcoat and a glazed hat exactly resembling those worn by hackneys. He had a quiet, droll countenance, very much studded with carbuncles, and his nose, which was very long, was of so hooked a description that the point of it nearly entered his mouth.

“Who may this friend of yours be?” said the captain to Ardry, after staring at me.

“A young gentleman much addicted to philosophy, poetry and philology.”

“Is he Irish?”

“No, he is English; but I have heard him say that he has a particular veneration for Ireland.”

“He has, has he; by my shoul, then, all the better for him. If he had not⁠ ⁠… Can he fight?”

“I think I have heard him say that he can use his fists when necessary.”

“He can, can he? by my shoul, I should like to try him. But first of all I have another customer to dispose of. I have just determined to send a challenge to Bishop Sharpe whom these English call the best of their light weights.158 Perhaps he is, but if I don’t⁠—”

“The Bishop is a good man,” interrupted his companion of the greatcoat and glazed hat, in a strange croaky tone.

“Is it a good man that you are calling him?” said the captain. “Well, be it so;