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Page 21
"Poor woman!" said Mr. Norton, greatly shocked.
"Well, I might as well tell yer the whole on't", said Micah,
scratching his head. "Yer see, he was one o' these Catholics, this Pat
was, and the fellers went to the priest (he lives deown river, little
better'n ten mile from here) in course to git him to dew what's to be
done to the funeral, and the tarnal old heathen wouldn't dew it. He
sed Pat had gone agin the law o' the kentry, and he wouldn't hev
anything to do 'beout it. So the fellers brought the body along, and I
swear, Pat McGrath shall hev a decent funeral, any way".
"Where is the funeral to be?" asked Mr. Norton, after listening
attentively to the account Micah had given him.
"O! deown here 'n the grove. The body's to my heouse, and Maggie his
wife's there a screechin'. The graveyard's close here, and so they
didn't carry him hum".
"I'll, go down and see this poor Maggie", said Mr. Norton.
"Don't, for the Lord's sake. I'm eenermost crazy neow. The heouse is
jammed full o' folks, and there ain't nothin, ready. You jes' wait
here, till I git things in shape and I'll cum arter ye".
Micah then departed to complete his arrangements, and Mr. Norton
returned to his post, in the sick-room.
It was nearly five o'clock in the afternoon, before a messenger came
to inform him that the hour of burial had arrived.
A strange scene presented itself to his view, as he approached the
grove. A motley company, composed of the settlers of every grade and
condition for miles around, had collected there. Men, women, and
children in various costume--the scarlet and crimson shirt, or tunic,
carrying it high above all other fashions--were standing, or walking
among the trees, conversing upon the event that had brought them
together.
As the missionary approached, the loud indignant voices subsided into
a low murmur, and the people made way for him to reach the centre of
the group.
Here he found the coffin, placed upon a pile of boards, entirely
uncovered to the light of day and to the inspection of the people, who
had, each in turn, gazed with curious eyes upon the lifeless clay it
enclosed.
In the absence of Mrs. McNab, who was still sleeping away the effects
of her late fatigues at the house of Mr. Dubois, the women of the
neighborhood had arrayed Patrick McGrath, very properly, in a clean
shirt of his accustomed wearing apparel, so arranging it that the
folds of the red tunic could be lifted in order to expose to those who
came to look upon him the wound he had received. There he lay, the
rude smuggler, turned gently upon his side, one cheek pressing the
pillow. Death had effaced from his countenance every trace of the
stormy passions which raged in his breast when the fatal bullet struck
him, and had sealed it with even a pleasant serenity.
Not so with the compeers of his race, who encircled the coffin. _They_
scowled a fierce fury from beneath their bushy brows and muttered vows
of vengeance. The rays of the sun, now rapidly declining, shot into
their angry faces, the evening breeze shook out their matted locks of
hair. A peculiar glow was cast over their wild, Erin features, now
gleaming with unholy passion.
Mr. Norton bent for a few minutes over the coffin, while an expression
of sorrow and deep commiseration overspread his countenance. Then he
stepped upon a slight knoll of ground near by, raised himself to his
full height and began to speak in a voice that rose above the crowd,
clear, melodious, full and penetrating as the notes of a bugle. It
thrilled on every ear and drew instant attention.
"Friends, brethren, fellow-sinners, one of our number has been
suddenly struck down by the relentless hand of death, and we are here
to pay the last honors to his mortal remains,--each and all to learn a
solemn lesson while standing at the mouth of the grave. Brethren, we
are to learn anew from this occasion that death often comes to man
with the suddenness of the lightning flash. One moment before your
comrade was struck by the fatal bullet, his eye glowed as keenly and
his right arm was as powerful as yours. The next moment he was
prostrate on the ground, with no power to move a single limb of his
body, or utter a single sigh, or breathe a single prayer. He was dead".
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