"but then—i supposed you to be but a fellow guest?"
"ah, no" he answered, he in that cold, unshaken voice, "i
have but come home."—(the bagman) honora shee.
whenever i went to town, or elsewhere, i always returned at night to see that my children were all right and to be ready to go to my aunt as usual every morning. one day, on my return from a drive with my aunt, i found that my old nurse lucy, who still lived with me, was very ill, having had a stroke of paralysis while i was away. she lingered only a couple of days before she died and left a great void in my heart. my children missed their admiring old confidante sadly. she had always been devoted to me as the youngest of her "own babies," as she called my mother's children, and had shared in all my fortunes and misfortunes since i returned from spain. she was always very proud, and so fearful of becoming a burden to anyone, that she rented a room in her sister's house so that she should feel independent. so often, when "times were bad" with us, she would press some of her savings into my hand and say that "the captain must want a little change, dearie, going about as he does!"
in her earlier life she had had her romance, and had spent some years in saving up to marry her "sweetheart," as she called him; but shortly before the wedding her father's business failed, and she immediately gave him {66} all her little nest-egg, with the result that her lover refused to marry her. so then, at the great age of ninety, after her blameless life had been passed since the age of sixteen in unselfish devotion to us all, we laid her to rest by the side of my father and mother at cressing, willie taking her down to essex and attending the funeral.
as she lay dying i got this note from mr. parnell:—
dublin,
september 22, 1880.
my dear mrs. o'shea,—i cannot keep myself away from you any longer, so shall leave to-night for london.
please wire me to 16, keppel street, russell square, if i may hope to see you to-morrow and where, after 4 p.m.—yours always, c. s. p.
owing to the piteous clinging to my fingers of my old lucy i was unable to go to london even for an hour to meet mr. parnell, so i telegraphed to that effect, and received the following letter:—
euston station,
friday evening, september 24, 1880.
my dear mrs. o'shea,—on arriving at keppel street yesterday i found that your wire had just arrived, and that the boy refused to leave it as i was not stopping there. going at once to the district postal office i asked for and received the wire, and to-day went to london bridge station at 12.15.
the train from eltham had just left, so i came on to charing cross and sent a note by messenger to you at thomas's, with directions to bring it back if you were not there, which turned out to be the case. i am very much troubled at not having seen you, especially as i must return to ireland to-night—i came on purpose for you, and had no other business. i think it possible, on reflection, that the telegraph people may have wired you that they were unable to deliver your message, and, if so, must reproach myself for not having written you last night.—your very disappointed c. s. p.
{67}
from dublin he wrote me:
saturday morning, september 25, 1880.
my dear mrs. o'shea,—in my hurried note to you last night i had not time to sympathize with you in this troublesome time you have been going through recently; how i wish it might have been possible for me to have seen you even for a few minutes to tell you how very much i feel any trouble which comes to you.
i am just starting for new ross, where there is a meeting to-morrow.
if you can spare time to write me to avondale, the letters will reach me in due course.—yours always, c. s. p.
september 29, 1880.
my dear mrs. o'shea,—i have received your wire, but not the letter which you say you were writing me to dublin for monday.
i suppose then you may have sent it to rathdrum instead, whither i am going this evening, and that i may soon have the happiness of reading a few words written by you.
i am due at cork on sunday, after which i propose to visit london again, and renew my attempt to gain a glimpse of you. shall probably arrive there on tuesday if i hear from you in the meanwhile that you will see me.
on friday evening i shall be at morrison's on my way to kilkenny for saturday, and shall be intensely delighted to have a wire from you to meet me there.—yours always, chas. s. parnell.
meanwhile willie was in communication with mr. gladstone, mr. tintern (one of the liberal agents) and others, in reference to a meeting held by him.
mr. tintern wrote from tenby commenting with satisfaction on the report of willie's successful meeting, on willie's kind mention of the government, and on the good the meeting must do by promoting orderly progress and better feeling between one class and another. but he {68} expressed surprise that willie should think the government had not treated him and west clare well. he at least...! mr. gladstone wrote from downing street on the 21st september about the meeting in much the same terms. he expressed himself as gratified to think that the important local proceedings with regard to the land question showed the union of people and pastors against the extremists.
life at eltham went on in the same routine. my aunt was well, and would sit for long hours at the south door of her house—looking away up "king john's chase"—the ruins of king john's palace were at eltham, and my aunt's park and grounds were part of the ancient royal demesne. in these summer evenings she loved to sit at the top of the broad flight of shallow steps with me, and tell my little girls stories of her life of long ago.
sometimes her favourite dr. bader would bring his zither down from london and play to us; or my aunt and i would sit in the great tapestry room with all of the seven windows open, listening to the song of the ?olian harp as the soft breeze touched its strings and died away in harmony through the evening stillness.
sometimes, too, she would sing in her soft, gentle old voice the songs of her youth, to the accompaniment of her guitar. "we met, 'twas in a crowd," was a favourite old song of hers, half forgotten since she used to sing it to the music of her spinet seventy years before, but dr. bader found the words in an old book, and the dear old lady crooned it sentimentally to me as we sat waiting for the hooting of the owls which signalled to her maid the time for shutting her lady's windows.
and i was conscious of sudden gusts of unrest and revolt against these leisured, peaceful days where the {69} chiming of the great clock in the hall was the only indication of the flight of time, and the outside world of another age called to me with the manifold interests into which i had been so suddenly plunged with the power to help in the making and marring of a destiny.
in the autumn of 1880 mr. parnell came to stay with us at eltham, only going to dublin as occasion required. willie had invited him to come, and i got in some flowers in pots and palms to make my drawing-room look pretty for him.
mr. parnell, who was in very bad health at that time, a few days later complained of sore throat, and looked, as i thought, mournfully at my indoor garden, which i industriously watered every day. it then dawned upon me that he was accusing this of giving him sore throat, and i taxed him with it. he evidently feared to vex me, but admitted that he did think it was so, and "wouldn't it do if they were not watered so often?" he was childishly touched when i at once had them all removed, and he sank happily on to the sofa, saying that "plants were such damp things!"
his throat became no better, and he looked so terribly ill when—as he often did now—he fell asleep from sheer weakness on the sofa before the fire, that i became very uneasy about him. once, on awaking from one of these sleeps of exhaustion, he told me abruptly that he believed it was the green in the carpet that gave him sore throat. there and then we cut a bit out, and sent it to london to be analysed, but without result. it was quite a harmless carpet.
during this time i nursed him assiduously, making him take nourishment at regular intervals, seeing that these day-sleeps of his were not disturbed, and forcing {70} him to take fresh air in long drives through the country around us. at length i had the satisfaction of seeing his strength gradually return sufficiently to enable him to take the exercise that finished the process of this building-up, and he became stronger than he had been for some years. i do not think anyone but we who saw him then at eltham, without the mask of reserve he always presented to the outside world, had any idea of how near death's door his exertions on behalf of the famine-stricken peasants of ireland had brought him.
once in that autumn, after he came to us, i took him for a long drive in an open carriage through the hop-growing district of kent. i had not thought of the fact that hundreds of the poorest of the irish came over for the hop-picking, and might recognize him.
after driving over chislehurst common and round by the lovely grays, we came right into a crowd of the irish "hoppers"—men, women, and children. in a moment there was a wild surge towards the carriage, with cries of "the chief! the chief!" and "parnell! parnell! parnell!" the coachman jerked the horses on to their haunches for fear of knocking down the enthusiastic men and women who were crowding up—trying to kiss parnell's hand, and calling for "a few words."
he lifted his cap with that grave, aloof smile of his, and said no, he was not well enough to make the smallest of speeches, but he was glad to see them, and would talk to them when they went home to ireland. then, bidding them to "mind the little ones," who were scrambling about the horses' legs, to the manifest anxiety of the coachman, he waved them away, and we drove off amid fervent "god keep your honours!" and cheers.
these irish hop-pickers were so inured to privation {71} in their own country that they were very popular among the kentish hop-farmers, as they did not grumble so much as did the english pickers at the scandalously inefficient accommodation provided for them.
often before parnell became really strong i used to watch for hours beside him as he slept before the drawing-room fire, till i had to rouse him in time to go to the house. once, when he was moving restlessly, i heard him murmur in his sleep, as i pulled the light rug better over him: "steer carefully out of the harbour—there are breakers ahead."
he now had all the parcels and letters he received sent on to me, so that i might open them and give him only those it was necessary for him to deal with. there were hundreds of letters to go through every week, though, as he calmly explained, "if you get tired with them, leave them and they'll answer themselves."
often among the parcels there were comestibles, and among these every week came a box of eggs without the name and address of the sender. i was glad to see these eggs as the winter came on and with it the usual reluctance of our hens to provide us with sufficient eggs, but mr. parnell would not allow me to use them, for he said: "they might be eggs, but then again they might not," and i had to send them a good distance down the garden and have them broken to make sure of their genuineness, and then he would worry lest our dogs should find them and poison themselves.
on his visits to ireland he wrote to me continually:—
dublin,
tuesday.
my dear mrs. o'shea,—i have just a moment on my return from ennis to catch the late post and reply to your wire.
{72}
i received your two letters quite safely, and you may write me even nicer ones with perfect confidence. i blame myself very much for not having written you on my way through dublin on saturday, as you were evidently anxious about your notes, but i hope you will forgive me as there were only a few minutes to spare.
i trust to see you in london on tuesday next. is it true that captain o'shea is in paris, and, if so, when do you expect his return? ... i have had no shooting, weather too wet, but shall try to-morrow, when you may expect some heather.
dublin,
friday evening, october 2, 1880.
have just received your wire; somehow or other something from you seems a necessary part of my daily existence, and if i have to go a day or two without even a telegram it seems dreadful.
i want to know how you intend to excuse yourself for telling me not to come on purpose if i must return. (to ireland.) of course, i am going on purpose to see you; and it is also unhappily true that i cannot remain long.
shall cross monday evening, and shall call at morrison's for a message.
please write or wire me in london to 16 keppel street, russell square, where i shall call on tuesday.
dublin,
monday night, october 4, 1880.
just arrived.... i write you on the only bit of paper to be found at this late hour (a scrap taken from one of your own notes), to say that i hope to reach london to-morrow (tuesday) evening and to see you on wednesday when and where you wish. please write or wire me to keppel street. this envelope will present the appearance of having been tampered with, but it has not.
dublin,
tuesday evening, october 5, 1880.
a frightful gale has been blowing all day in channel and still continues.
{73}
under these circumstances shall postpone crossing till to-morrow evening.
can meet you in london at 9 to-morrow evening anywhere you say.
dublin,
monday evening, october 17, 1880.
my own love,—you cannot imagine how much you have occupied my thoughts all day and how very greatly the prospect of seeing you again very soon comforts me.
on monday evening i think it will be necessary for me to go to avondale; afterwards i trust, if things are propitious on your side, to return to london on tuesday or wednesday.—yours always, c.
avondale, rathdrum,
october 22, 1880.
i was very much pleased to receive your wire this morning, forwarded from dublin, that you had received my note of last saturday. i was beginning to fear that it had gone wrong.
after i had finished at roscommon and received your message in dublin on monday i decided upon coming here where i have been unexpectedly detained.
if all goes well you will see me in london on monday evening next.... i send you enclosed one or two poor sprigs of heather, which i plucked for you three weeks ago, also my best love, and hope you will believe that i always think of you as the one dear object whose presence has ever been a great happiness to me.
meanwhile the government had been temporizing with the land question. they had brought in a very feeble compensation for disturbances bill and they had allowed it to be further weakened by amendments. this bill was rejected by the house of lords, with the result that the number of evictions in ireland grew hourly greater and the agitation of the land league against them; outrages, too, were of common occurrence and increased in intensity.
{74}
speaking at ennis on september 19th mr. parnell enunciated the principle which has since gone by the name of "the boycott."
"what are you to do," he asked, "to a tenant who bids for a farm from which another tenant has been evicted?"
several voices cried: "shoot him!"
"i think," went on mr. parnell, "i heard somebody say 'shoot him!' i wish to point out to you a very much better way—a more christian and charitable way, which will give the lost man an opportunity of repenting. when a man takes a farm from which another has been unjustly evicted, you must shun him on the roadside when you meet him; you must shun him in the shop; you must shun him on the fair-green and in the market-place, and even in the place of worship, by leaving him alone; by putting him into a sort of moral coventry; by isolating him from the rest of the country, as if he were a leper of old—you must show him your detestation of the crime he has committed."
forster, the irish secretary, who had some amount of sympathy for the tenants, was, however, a quaker, and the outrages horrified him more than the evictions. nor, strangely, was he able to connect the one with the other. undoubtedly the evictions almost ceased, but, said he, they have ceased because of the outrages, and the outrages were the work of the land league; and he pressed for the arrest of its leaders. this was unwise, considering that it was parnell who had advocated the abandonment of violence for the moral suasion of the boycott.
on november 3rd forster decided to prosecute the leaders of the land league, and among them parnell, dillon, biggar, sexton and t. d. sullivan. two days {75} later, in a speech at dublin, parnell expressed his regret that forster was degenerating from a statesman to a tool of the landlords. biggar when he heard the news exclaimed, "damned lawyers, sir, damned lawyers! wasting the public money! wasting the public money! whigs damned rogues! forster damned fool!"
dublin,[1]
november 4, 1880.
my dear mrs. o'shea,—i take advantage of almost the first moment i have had to myself since leaving you to write a few hasty lines. and first i must again thank you for all your kindness, which made my stay at eltham so happy and pleasant.
the thunderbolt, as you will have seen, has at last fallen, and we are in the midst of loyal preparations of a most appalling character.
i do not suppose i shall have an opportunity of being in london again before next thursday, but trust to be more fortunate in seeing captain o'shea then than the last time.—yours very truly, chas. s. parnell.
dublin,[1]
saturday.
my dear mrs. o'shea,—i hope to arrive in london on tuesday morning, and trust to have the pleasure of seeing you before i leave. do you think you shall be in town on tuesday?
kindly address 16, keppel street.—yours very truly, chas. s. parnell.
on november 5th that year the village was great on the subject of "gunpowder, treason, and plot," and during dinner that evening there was such a noise and shouting outside my house that i asked the maid who was waiting what all the excitement was about.
she answered breathlessly that "the procession, ma'am, {76} have got miss anna parnell in a effigy 'longside of the pope, and was waiting outside for us to see before they burnt 'em in the village."
this electrifying intelligence was received with grave indifference by mr. parnell till the disappointed maid left the room; then with a sudden bubble of laughter—"poor anna! her pride in being burnt, as a menace to england, would be so drowned in horror at her company that it would put the fire out!"
the cheering and hooting went on for some time outside the house, but, finding we were not to be drawn, the crowd at last escorted the effigies down to the village and burnt them, though with less amusement than they had anticipated.
dublin,[2]
november 6, 1880.
my dear mrs. o'shea,—you can have very little idea how dreadfully disappointed i felt on arriving here this evening not to find a letter from either you or captain o'shea. i send this in hope that it may induce you to write in reply to my last letter and telegram, which would appear not to have reached you.—yours very sincerely, chas. s. parnell.
avondale,
monday.
my dear mrs. o'shea,—i enclose keys, which i took away by mistake. will you kindly hand enclosed letter to the proper person[3] and oblige,—yours very truly, chas. s. parnell.
dublin,
wednesday night, november 11, 1880.
my dearest love,—i have made all arrangements to be in london on saturday morning, and shall call at keppel street for a letter from you. it is quite impossible for me to {77} tell you just how very much you have changed my life, what a small interest i take in what is going on about me, and how i detest everything which has happened during the last few days to keep me away from you—i think of you always, and you must never believe there is to be any "fading." by the way, you must not send me any more artificial letters. i want as much of your own self as you can transfer into written words, or else none at all.—your always, c. s. p.
a telegram goes to you, and one to w.,[4] to-morrow, which are by no means strictly accurate.
dublin,
december 2, 1880.
my dear mrs. o'shea,—i succeeded in getting the train at euston with just ten minutes to spare, and, arriving here this morning, found that my presence to-day was indispensable.
i need not tell you how much i regretted leaving eltham so suddenly; but we cannot always do as we wish in this world.
my stay with you has been so pleasant and charming that i was almost beginning to forget my other duties; but ireland seems to have gotten on very well without me in the interval.
trusting to see you again next week on my way to paris.—yours very sincerely, chas. s. parnell.
i have been exceedingly anxious all day at not receiving your promised telegram to hear how you got home.
