The Irish Highwayman.

It was before the introduction of railways, into Ireland at any rate, that a certain Irish Bishop had occasion to visit Dublin. There was, no doubt, a public conveyance of some sort or another of which the good Bishop might have availed himself, but his lordship was a portly gentleman and fond of his ease; besides which his wife and daughter wished to make the journey with him, and they never would for a moment have listened to travelling in a dirty car or coach, so their own comfortable carriage was got ready. I said the Bishop was portly and fond of his ease, but by that I did not mean to infer that all bishops are stout, for I knew one who was a very lean man; nor did I mean that portly personages are all fond of their ease, that is, not more so than the rest of us are; nor do I now mean that a lean man does not appreciate comfort. Be that as it may, the Bishop in question had a handsome comfortable carriage which he thought he might as well use; and, indeed, as his lady and daughter were going with him, he had no choice, so the carriage was used and his lordship’s horses too; and to save both, as well as the ladies, the journey was performed in easy stages.

Now the Bishop was an advocate for a moderate amount of exercise, and for this reason, as well as to spare his horses as much as possible, he made a point of alighting from his carriage at the foot of the hills, and walking up to the top, unless, indeed, the hill proved too steep.

On one occasion he had loitered behind admiring the scenery, which was particularly wild and beautiful, and the carriage had got out of sight. However, as it always waited for him at the top of the hill, that did not trouble him as long as he had only the difficulties of the road to contend with; but soon danger appeared in the shape of an ugly looking fellow, who, suddenly starting up from behind a heap of stones, stood right in front of him, effectually stopping his progress, which was particularly vexatious.[163]
[164] From the appearance of the stranger the Bishop felt very much inclined to quicken his pace.

“What can I do for you, my good Man?” said the Bishop very civilly, and in his softest voice, for he did not like the look of the man, nor of a dangerous looking club he held in his hand.

“As your Honour is so civil as to ask,” the fellow said, “you may first of all give me your money, for I’m sartain sure so kind a gintleman would not like to see a poor fellow in distress, when you can relieve him by only putting your hand in your pocket.”

Civilly as he spoke he was a determined looking rascal, with whom it would evidently be of no use to argue, so the Bishop gave him what silver he had about him, hoping to get off with that; but he was mistaken, for the fellow had no sooner put it into his coat pocket than he said—

“Your Honour has made a mistake, for it’s sure I am a thorough gintleman like you could not intend to give only a few paltry shillings. But I beg your Riverence’s pardon, for I see now that you are an ornament of the blessed Church. It’s some gold pieces you intended to give me; but it will save your Riverence trouble if you give me your purse.” This was accompanied by a scarcely perceptible movement of the club, which however seemed a very convincing argument, for his lordship immediately produced his purse, which as quickly followed the silver into the capacious pocket.

“I’m sorry to trouble your Honour, your Riverence I mane, any further, for I see you’re in a hurry, and it’s beg your pardon I do for the same; but I judge you’re going to Dublin, and you can have everything in the big city for the asking; but here nothing can be got for love or money, and you see that I want a new coat and hat. Now I’m sure so kind a gintleman won’t mind changing yours with me.”

“This is too much, my good Man,” the Bishop said, driven to resistance by this extraordinary demand. “Recollect that you are breaking the laws of God and man, and think of the punishment in this world and the next. Be satisfied, for you have taken all my money, and my clothes I will not part with.”

“Now, sure,” was the answer, “your Honor’s Riverence makes a mistake, for you gave me that bit of money, and it is that very kindness makes me not believe that you mane to refuse me now. Pray consider, and I’ll wait with pleasure for another answer, for I know you’ll be sorry.” He stepped back a few paces, and, as if to while away the time whilst waiting for the answer, he flourished his cudgel about, first over his head, then on one side and then on the other.

What was to be done? The poor Bishop saw that help was hopeless and resistance equally so, and, after a few moments’ hesitation, he took off his coat and hat, laying them on the heap of stones by his side.

“Now, bless your Riverence,” the fellow said, “I knew you would not refuse me; but after all your kindness I cannot allow you to be without a coat and hat. It would be neither comfortable nor dacent, and, therefore, just put on my coat. Indeed I’ll not take a refusal,” he continued, as the Bishop hesitated, and he helped his lordship on with his tattered garment. He then removed his unresisting victim’s wig and placed his old hat on his head.

“Now I hope you intend to let me go,” the Bishop said.

“I have one more favour to ask, and then I will bid your Riverence a very good morning. I must beg the loan of your watch till I have the honor of seeing you again, for there is no watch or clock for miles around, and it is very awkward, for I don’t know when to be at my work, and I’m afraid of cheating my employer out of some of the time due to him. Your Honor can easily get another.”

“Will you never be satisfied? But beware of keeping me any longer, for there is my carriage close by, and the servants, whom I have only to call to my help.” This the Bishop said in despair, pointing along the road as he spoke, but he had a quick reply.

“Don’t trouble yourself to call, for I saw your Riverence’s carriage pass, and it is far out of hearing.” This his lordship knew well, so he gave up his watch, and was at length allowed to depart. He hurried on, for he was afraid of another demand being made upon him, and it was not long before he reached his carriage.

Much astonishment was caused by his extraordinary appearance, and after he had related his adventure his wife said to him: “Throw off that filthy coat, my Dear, for we shall soon reach a town where you can buy something more befitting you to wear.”

“Not so easily, my Dear,” was his reply, “for I have not a shilling of money left.”

“Well, never mind,” his wife said, “take off the nasty thing, for positively you cannot come into the carriage that figure. I’ll give you my cloak to cover your shoulders.”

The good man was not used to resist his wife, so he took off the coat, throwing it upon the road. As he did so some silver fell out, which induced him to make his servant examine it, and to his joy and relief all his property was found in the pocket.

The party reached Dublin without any further adventure, and a few days after received intelligence of the capture of the Highwayman.