The Bachelors of Braggy

WHILST their old mother lived, of course, the idea of bringing any other woman into the house was as far from them as the far-lands of Brenter. For they had all the nearness and lack of sentiment that their Scotch ancestors brought over (their only belongings) to Ireland.

When the neighbors, on a rare occasion, caught the Bachelors of Braggy at a wake or festivity, they, in a waggish mood, must match-make for them.

“Arrah, Pether Lowry, is n’t it the shame for yerself, and for Paul, and for Richard, there beside ye, that wan of yous has n’t yet put the word to a woman! ”

Peter and Paul and Richard would all hissle in their chairs from the uncomfortableness of the topic. But all eyes in the wakehouse were now on them quizzically, so Peter would make answer snarlingly: —

“What the divil do we want with a woman ? ”

“Ay!” from Paul. And “Ay!” from Richard.

“Well, ye know, it’s a wee waikness some men has, — to be fond of the girls.”

“Well, we are n’t fond o’ them; an’ would n’t give a barleycorn if there was n’t a girl atween here an’ Halyfax.”

“Yis! ” “Yis! ” from Richard and Paul.

“But ye know, yerself, Pether, an’ can’t deny, a woman ’s an oncommon handy thing about a house.”

“Handy? Ay! as a conthrairy pig (not mainin’ any comparishon), that ’ill go every way but the way ye want it. Besides, have n’t we our oul’ mother ? ”

“Right, Pether!” “Right, Pether ! ” quoth the other brothers.

“Stillandall, a mother, ye know, is n’t everything till a man! ”

“If a man depends on any one else nor himself to be the remaindher, he ’ll depend on a rotten rush. An’ a wife an’ a mother in the wan house ’ud be as pleasant company as spittin’ cats.”

“But the wife ’ill be with a man, Pether, when the mother’s gone.”

“Then God help the man! ”

“God help him!” from Paul, and “God help him! ” from Richard.

“Now there’s Marg’et McClane above in Altidoo, and she ’d jump at the offer of any wan of the three of yous. ”

“It’s thankful we are to both yerself and Marg’et; but, as ye seem to have an inth’rest in her, better not let her jump, for feerd she might miss.”

“For feerd she might miss, — yis ! ” choired Richard and Paul.

“A fine, stout, sthrappin’ girl,on the aisy side of fifty-five ; an’ a fine hand at beetlin’ praties, an’ carin’ calves.”

But poor Peter’s temper would, despite desperate efforts, give out: —

“Och, to the divil with Marg’et McClane an’ her calves! We don’t want her ! We don’t want no woman! An’ if we did want wan, we would n’t ax you to make her for us! ”

“Right ye are, Pether! ” “Right ye are, Pether! ” quoth the brothers.

Then a deal of half-smothered chuckling would sweep around the four walls ; and Peter’s tormentor would, with a look of injured innocence, turn on his chair, and make general complaint that he never yet could try to do a neighbor — because he was a neighbor — a good turn, but he contrived to have the nose cut off him. In response to which Richard and Paul — Peter was too full for speech — would mutter something about “ imperent people ” poking their noses into places where they were not wanted. And then the doubly injured one sought consolation in the reeking pipe which a compassionate neighbor passed him.

And as insistent friends had often assured them, the old woman did die one day: and she was waked and laid away with all the economy known to the three brothers, — an economy that, they flattered themselves, would be more gratifying to the woman who was gone, if she only could realize it, than to any one else. And then it was voted that Richard, who was the youngest and least useful, should henceforth fill their mother’s place in the house, — milk, and wash, and cook, and make the butter.

Though Richard undertook the duties with ardor, he grumbled ere a month, and said that, after all, the neighbors remarked rightly that a woman was a “mortial handy, convenient thing about a house. ” Both Peter and Paul gasped for breath when first he sprang this sedition upon them; and then they frowned upon him with awful severity, and hoped (in their bitterest tones) that he would never let the like of that split his lips again. And Richard did not let it split his lips again for two days. Peter and Paul were sorely distressed, however, when, as they sat round the fire and passed the pipe, in their usual aftersupper deliberation, on the third night following, Richard again brought up the subject of a woman’s want, and held forth thereupon at much length. They were so sorely distressed that they spake not; only let Richard ramble on.

And so often again did Richard press home the subject, that Peter and Paul, after many secret consultations, consented that, even at the cost of their peace of mind, Richard must be humored. So they said to Richard, “It’s a poor thing that we must fetch in any man’s daughter to support her.”

“No man’s daughter comes in here, ” Richard said, “onless she fetches her support with her.”

“Hum! Then fire away, Richard, since ye must have yer way. Where are ye goin’ to rise yer woman? ”

“My woman? Faith, it ’s not me’s goin’ to take her, but wan of yerselves. I don’t want her.”

“Faith, and I ’m very sure it’s not me that ’ill take her,” said Peter.

“An’ I ’ll give ye me ’davy it is n’t me, ” quoth Paul.

So Richard made the whistling sound of a man who has found a cul-de-sac where he was certain of a free passage.

“An’ what then? ” said Richard.

“Richard, a stoir, it’s often ye heerd our poor mother (God rest her!) say, ‘ Let him calls for the tune pay the piper.’ ”

“I ’m young an’ green, boys” (Richard would be forty-seven by Hallowmas night), “an’ I’m noways suited to manage a woman, ” he said pleadingly.

“Well, there ye are!” For neither Peter nor Paul was anxious to help him out of a dilemma into which stubbornness had led him.

“ But, boys ” —

“ ‘As ye make yer bed ye must lie on it, ’ ” said they, quoting again from their mother’s store of saws.

There was nothing left to Richard but to accept the inevitable; and he reluctantly resolved to bear it, for the benefit of the house, with what grace he could.

As the next step was to find a suitable woman for Richard, the brothers agreed to take counsel with the Bacach Gasta (the swift-footed beggar-man). So, on the next night when the Bacach Gasta, coming that way, dropped his wallets in Lowrys’ for his usual night’s sojourn, he was taken into confidence after supper, and asked to procure a good wife for Richard. And the requirements were catalogued for him.

“The notion o’ marryin’ is on Richard,” Paul informed the Bacach.

He looked Richard up and down, and then said, —

“Well, that’s neither shame nor blame. He’s come to the time o’ day.”

“In throth, it’s wan of ourselves he wanted to take the woman.”

“Which was n’t wan bit fair,” said the beggar-man. “The young heart always for the big burden.”

“In your thravels do ye think ye could pick up a suitable wife for us ? ”

“I have no doubt of it.”

“Ye know just the kind of a wife we want for him ? ”

“I have a brave guess.”

“A fine, sthrong, sthrappin’, agricultural woman, ” said Peter.

“Ay.”

“No frills or foldherols,” said Paul.

“No figgery-foys whatsomiver,” said Peter.

“She must be ’holsome ” (wholesome), said Richard.

“An’ as hardy as a harrow-pin,” said Peter.

“No objection if the countenance is well-favored,” said Richard.

“Bacach,” said Peter, with indignant warmth, “she may be as illlookin’ as the divil’s gran’mother.”

“Don’t send any chiny doll here,” said Paul.

Said Richard, “ I mean, for ins’ance, Bacach, if ye are in swithers about two weemen, both equally good in every other way, but wan of them havin’ the advantage of the other in looks ” —

“Then,” said Peter, “sen’ us the ugliest o’ the two, by all manner o’ mains. ”

“The uglier the woman, the better housekeeper, ” Paul added.

“An’ the more savin’; an’ the less she ’ll throw out upon fine clothes, ” quoth Peter.

Richard was silent.

“The woman ye pick must have money, — a good penny of it, ” said Peter.

“Or lan’,” said Paul.

“Or lan’, of course,” Peter added.

“She must be come to years of discretion, ” said Paul.

“An’ have the most of a couple of score years of work in her still, ” said Peter.

“She must be able an’ willin’ to work, ” said Paul.

“To work like a nigger, ” said Peter.

“If she’s a bit youngish, she ’ll be the companionabler, ” said Richard.

“A bit ouldish, Bacach, an’ she ’ll be the sensibler, ” said Peter tartly.

The Bacach Gasta was nodding assent to all.

“She must be as wise as a fox.”

“An’ as close as a meal-chist.”

“She must understand all about bringin’ up young calves an’ pigs, ” said Peter.

“An’ about doctorin’ sick cattle,” said Paul.

“She can’t be too sthrong, ” Peter added.

“Sthrong enough to toss a bull,” said Paul.

“An’ kindly,” interpolated poor Richard.

“Kindly! Phew! ” said Paul.

“Sevair enough to sour crame, if ye like, ” said Peter.

“Now, do ye know what we want? ” said Paul.

“ Yis, to the nail on her little finger, ” said the Bacach Gasta, passing the pipe to Peter.

“Well, keep yer eyes open, then,” said Peter, “when ye ’re up in the Dhrimholme parish. Out of there comes the best scantlin’ of weemen I know. ”

“They ’re better down the shore side of the parish, ” said Richard.

“They ’re hardier back the mountain way, ” said Paul.

“The worst woman in Dhrimholme is worth her mait, ” said the Bacach. “This is Chewsda. I ’ll be up there again’ Sathurda. I have a likely couple or three in me eye, an’ I ’ll see if I can’t fix yous up in wan.”

Eight days later the Bacach Gasta was back with word that he had a likely woman, — a girl who had got the better of her fortieth year, and still remained unmarried, though she had a valuable farm on hand, and lived by herself on it. He guaranteed, moreover, that, in his opinion, she was everything they desired.

Peter proposed then that she should be invited down till they would satisfy themselves that she answered the invoice. But Richard said that would be too much to expect. And the Bacach, as her diplomat, — which he now was, — would not agree to the proposition: they must go to see her. Moreover, failing the brothers’ approval of her, he informed them he had two other wise and well-circumstanced women whom he wished to show them.

On the first day after, which was too wet for any more profitable work, Peter and Paul took the road with Richard, and tramped to Dhrimholme, and to Hannah Jack’s house, —Hannah Jack was her name, — in pursuance of the beggar-man’s detailed directions. They went in and introduced themselves.

“The Bacach Gasta, as ye know,” Peter said to her, “has advised us that he b’lieves ye ’d make a suitable woman for us ” —

“ For yous ? ” said Hannah, emphasizing the plural.

“Well, for young Richard here. But it ’s all the same.”

“Oh! ”

“An’ so,” Peter continued, “we’ve come to see for ourselves.”

Whilst, then, Hannah Jack busied herself preparing tea for them, Peter and Paul and Richard scanned her, and followed every move of her, and did not leave the arrangements of the house unnoticed, either. Over the tea they, in an incidental sort of way, put various questions to her regarding her farm and farm-stock, — and, in a quiet way, satisfied their thirst for knowledge in that direction. And when tea was finished, they pulled around the fire, Hannah in the middle, and came to business bluntly, putting Hannah through a catechism that discovered to them her virtues and her failings and her worldly worth.

“Now, you ’ll excuse us for just a few minutes till we have a word together,” Peter said to her, as he rose, and beckoned his brothers to follow him toward the door.

They went without, and, after inspecting the calves and pigs, they proceeded around to the gable of the house, and held serious deliberation upon Hannah’s suitability. On the whole, Richard thought, he might go farther and fare worse. So he gave his vote for Hannah. But, unfortunately, Peter was prejudiced because, when she had taken down the teapot, she extravagantly cast the old tea leaves into the pit. “An’ that tay she uses is too good for such exthravagance; it would take a lovely grip of the second wather.”

And during tea, Paul taking advantage of Hannah’s temporary absence, had peeped into a bandbox, and observed that she owned a hat with feathers. “An’ both of yous know as well as I do,” Paul said, “what that mains, — that she ’d let consait fly away with her cash.” “So,” said Peter, “all things bein’ consithered, I think it’s wiser laive Hannah Jack to be fortuned on foolisher fellas.”

“That’s my opinion exactly,” said Paul.

Richard whistled to himself a minute, and then said, “Well, yous have better tell her the vardict, an’ lose no more valuable time.”

“Richard,” said they, “just tell her yerself. If ye are n’t too good to do yer own business.”

Richard could not confess he was. So he had to command his soul grimly, and go within, alone.

“No, thank you, Hannah Jack,” he said, “I ’ll not be taking a seat again. It ’s wearin’ late, an’ we ’re frettin’ to be on the move. Me brothers desires me to say, Hannah Jack, that we have consithered ye, an’ ye ’re an oncommon fine woman that any man may think himself lucky to get; but we consither ye ’ll not do us. Good-evenin’ to ye, and thanky for yer oncommon kindness.”

Two other suitable women in the same tract had been approved of by the Bacach Gasta, ’Liza Jane Bohunnan, and Sarah Bell Baskin. So to them, also, they went in turn. ’Liza Jane met their rigid requirements in every way, —only, at the last moment, before they retired to exchange opinions, she said that, as she had been used to, she would require a drop of good tay to be brought to her in bed in the mornin’ to rise her heart, and give her courage to get up. That decided the matter. Any woman that needed a lever in the shape of strong tea in the mornings was better left alone. So they decided. And Richard had, once again, to translate their decision into palatable phrase, and deliver it.

Sarah Bell Baskin ingratiated herself with them; for she carried pots, and fed pigs and cows, and carded wool, and brought in a creel of turf whilst they interviewed her in snatches. And she kneaded bread at one end of the table, chatting them, whilst they drank tea at the other. So, upon a short consultation, Sarah Bell, with her hundred-pound fortune, was accepted.

Of course, Richard had objected that she did not look as “quate ” (quiet) as should the ideal he sought. But Peter and Paul frowned him down. “She ’ll be quate enough in throth, after we ’ve taken twelve months’ work out of her,” Paul assured him.

“We’ve consented to have a wife to humor ye, an’ taken the divil’s own throuble to pick her for ye. If ye don’t take Sarah Bell Baskin,” Peter said, “the sorra a wife ever ye ’ll see, by our consent, if there was a hurrycane of them blown like hailstones again’ the doore. ”

“Oh, if she plaises you, she ’ll plaise me, ” said Richard.

And so she should, after all. For when the marriage license was procured by the three, and brought home by the three, Jemmy Managhan discovered that ’t was Peter’s name was therein recorded: for Peter, having acted as spokesman, his name was asked, and given without thought, and entered. “This is a nice how-d’-ye-do, ” said Peter.

“Well, we can’t be goin’ back another seven mile journey, an’ then, as likely as not, pay for a new license, ” said Paul resignedly.

“Sure, it’s all the same,” said the magnanimous Richard.

And Peter heaved a sigh, resolved to abide by his own blunder. And Sarah Bell, for her part, did not mind. She was marrying into “a good sittin’ down. ”

Though, on the wedding-day, people said the Lowrys had never been known to go to church before, they said what was untrue. For they had been to church on the day they were christened. And Paul, moreover, had gone in one day when Sam Coulter, the sexton, had it opened, in hope of raising sport with his rat-terrier.

As, whilst they were in the vestry consulting, and getting instructed for the ordeal, it was found a crowd of the unregenerate ones of Knockagar had assembled outside the church, with the certain intention of giving the Bachelors of Braggy a warm reception when they should emerge, one bachelor less, the minister advised that the wedding be postponed for an hour for peace’ sake and theirs. Sarah Bell Baskin agreed to the wisdom of this.

But Peter was in no amiable mood. “I tell ye what it is, Sarah Bell Baskin,” said he; “either this merriage is to be now or niver. If it ’s to be now, it ’ll be now ; an’ if it’s to be niver, it ’ll be NIVER! ” Then he paused for her decision.

“ Then let it be now, ” said Sarah Bell Baskin.

And by taking across the fields with his bride, the strategical Peter disappointed the rascals who, for a full hour after, were keeping a reception warm outside the church gate.

Richard had read Sarah Bell aright when he said he did not consider her “quate ” enough for him. Richard proved this experimentally. Paul discovered it. Peter, alas, discovered it. It took three days to bring it home to them with force. Sarah Bell herself, with the material aid of a three-legged stool, supplied the necessary force. In a week the peace of the Lowry household was irretrievably wrecked, and most of the crockery ware, and the more portable articles of furniture also, and Richard’s right arm, and Paul’s dental assortment, and poor Peter’s head.

In three weeks Sarah Bell Baskin, leaving them her left-handed blessing, took her hundred pounds and her departure, and returned to the house of her father.

On the night after she left, the three brothers sat around the fire, smoking in turn. And after a long silence Peter spoke. He was severely looking at Richard, who cowered. Peter said, —

“Now, that chapture ’s over an’ done with (from the depth o’ me sowl God be thankit!); an’ let us hope — let us hope we ’ll niver again hear another such schame.”

“Niver!” said Paul emphatically. “Niver, we hope!” and he gazed at Richard with a sidelong look of scathing rebuke.

Poor Richard looked into the fire and heaved a sigh.

Uncomplainingly he again took up his household duties next morning. And though, henceforth, one of them was a grass widower, they still carried their old title of the Bachelors of Braggy.

Seumas MacManus.