O'Mooney then explained to him the nature of his bet. 'This is only my third detection, and half of it voluntary, I might say, if I chose to higgle, which I scorn to do.'
Captain Murray was so much pleased by this openness, that as he shook hands with O'Mooney, he said, 'Give me leave to tell you, Sir, that even if you should lose your bet by this frank behaviour, you will have gained a better thing?a friend.'
In the evening our hero went with his friend and a party of gentlemen to Maidenhead, near which place a battle was to be fought next day, between two famous pugilists, Bourke and Belcher.2 At the appointed time the combatants appeared upon the stage; the whole boxing corps and the gentlemen amateurs crowded to behold the spectacle. Phelim O'Mooney's heart beat for
9. The hero's lapsus linguae (Latin for slip of the 1. This bull was really made [Edgeworth's note]. tongue) has a precedent in the writings of Philip George Romney (1734?1802) painted society por- Dormer Stanhope, the fourth earl of Chesterfield traits and rural scenes. (1694?1773), whose posthumously published let-2. The reference is to actual historical figures of ters to his illegitimate son secured him a reputation the early 19th century?the bare-knuckle boxers as a wit and a schemer. Jem Belcher and Joe Bourke.
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THE IRISH INCOGNITO / 239
the Irish champion Bourke; but he kept a guard upon his tongue, and had even the forbearance not to bet upon his countryman's head. How many rounds were fought, and how many minutes the fight lasted, how many blows were put in on each side, or which was the game man of the two, we forbear to decide or relate, as all this has been settled in the newspapers of the day; where also it was remarked, that Bourke, who lost the battle, 'was put into a post-chaise, and left standing half an hour, while another fight took place. This was very scandalous on the part of his friends,' says the humane newspaper historian, 'as the poor man might possibly be dying.'
Our hero O'Mooney's heart again got the better of his head. Forgetful of his bet, forgetful of every thing but humanity, he made his way up to the chaise, where Bourke was left. 'How are you, my gay fellow?' said he. 'Can you see at all with the eye that's knocked out?'
The brutal populace, who overheard this question, set up a roar of laughter: 'A bull! a bull! an Irish bull! Did you hear the question this Irish gentleman asked his countryman?'
O'Mooney was detected a fourth time, and this time he was not ashamed. There was one man in the crowd who did not join in the laugh: a poor Irishman, of the name of Terence McDermod. He had in former times gone out a grousing, near Cork, with our hero; and the moment he heard his voice, he sprang forward, and with uncouth but honest demonstrations of joy, exclaimed, 'Ah, my dear master! my dear young master! Phelim O'Mooney, Esq.3 And I have found your honour alive again? By the blessing of God above, I'll never part you now till I die; and I'll go to the world's end to sarve yees.'
O'Mooney wished him at the world's end this instant, yet could not prevail upon himself to check this affectionate follower of the O'Mooneys. He, however, put half a crown into his hand, and hinted that if he wished really to serve him, it must be at some other time. The poor fellow threw down the money, saying, he would never leave him. 'Bid me do any thing, barring that. No, you shall never part me. Do what you plase with me, still I'll be close to your heart, like your own shadow: knock me down if you will, and wilcome, ten times a day, and I'll be up again like a ninepin: only let me sarve your honour; I'll ask no wages nor take none.'
There was no withstanding all this; and whether our hero's good-nature deceived him we shall not determine, but he thought it most prudent, as he could not get rid of Terence, to take him into his service, to let him into his secret, to make him swear that he would never utter the name of Phelim O'Mooney during the remainder of this day. Terence heard the secret of the bet with joy, entered into the jest with all the readiness of an Irishman, and with equal joy and readiness swore by the hind leg of the holy lamb that he would never mention, even to his own dog, the name of Phelim O'Mooney, Esq., good or bad, till past twelve o'clock; and further, that he would, till the clock should strike that hour, call his master Sir John Bull, and nothing else, to all men, women, and children, upon the floor of God's creation.
Satisfied with the fulness of this oath, O'Mooney resolved to return to town with his man Terence McDermod. He, however, contrived, before he got there, to make a practical bull, by which he was detected a fifth time. He got into the coach which was driving from London instead of that which was driving to London, and he would have been carried rapidly to Oxford, had not his man
3. 'Esquire'?designation given to men regarded as gentlemen.
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24 0 / MARIA EDGEWORTH
Terence, after they had proceeded a mile and a half on the wrong road, put his head down from the top of the coach, crying, as he looked in at the window, 'Master, Sir John Bull, are you there? Do you know we're in the wrong box, going to Oxford?'
'Your master's an Irishman, dare to say, as well as yourself,' said the coachman, as he let Sir John out. He walked back to Maidenhead, and took a chaise to town.
It was six o'clock when he got to London, and he went into a coffee-house to dine. He sat down beside a gentleman who was reading the newspaper. 'Any news to-day, sir?'
The gentleman told him the news of the day, and then began to read aloud some paragraphs in a strong Hibernian accent. Our hero was sorry that he had met with another countryman; but he resolved to set a guard upon his lips, and he knew that his own accent could not betray him. The stranger read on till he came to a trial about a legacy which an old woman had left to her cats. O'Mooney exclaimed, 'I hate cats almost as much as old women; and if I had been the English minister, I would have laid the dog-tax upon cats.'4
'If you had been the Irish minister, you mean,' said the stranger, smiling; 'for I perceive now you are a countryman of my own.' 'How can you think so, sir?' said O'Mooney: 'You have no reason to suppose so from my accent, I believe.'
'None in life?quite the contrary; for you speak remarkably pure English? not the least note or half note of the brogue; but there's another sort of free- mason sign by which we Hibernians know one another and are known all over the globe. Whether to call it a confusion of expressions or of ideas, I can't tell. Now an Englishman, if he had been saying what you did, sir, just now, would have taken time to separate the dog and the tax, and he would have put the tax upon cats, and let the dogs go about their business.' Our hero, with his usual good-humour, acknowledged himself to be fairly detected.
'Well, sir,' said the stranger, 'if I had not found you out before by the blunder, I should be sure now you were my countryman by your good-humour. An Irishman can take what's said to him, provided no affront's meant, with
