Confessions Of Con Cregan Part 27

As each emigrant s.h.i.+p arrived, hosts of these idlers of the Lower Town beset the newly landed strangers, and by their voice and accent imposed upon the poor wanderers. The very tones of the old country were a magic the new-comers could not withstand, after weeks of voyaging that seemed like years of travel. Whatever reminded them of the country they had quitted, ay,--strange inconsistency of the human heart!--of the land they had left for very hopelessness, touched their hearts, and moved them to the very tenderest emotions. To trade on this susceptibility became a recognized livelihood; so that the quays were crowded with idle vagabonds who sought out the prey with as much skill as a West-end waiter displays in detecting the rank of a new arrival.

This filthy locality, too, contained all the lodging-houses resorted to by the emigrants, who were easily persuaded to follow their "countryman"

wherever he might lead. Here were spent the days--sometimes, unhappily, the weeks--before they could fix upon the part of the country to which they should bend their steps; and here, but too often, were wasted in excess and debauchery the little h.o.a.rds that had cost years to acc.u.mulate, till farther progress became impossible; and the stranger who landed but a few weeks back full of strong hope, sunk down into the degraded condition of those who had been his ruin,--the old story, the dupe become blackleg.

It were well if deceit and falsehood, if heartless treachery and calculating baseness, were all that went forward here. But not so; crimes of every character were rife also, and not an inhabitant of the city, with money or character, would have, for any consideration, put foot within this district after nightfall. The very cries that broke upon the stillness of the night were often heard in the Upper Town; and whenever a shriek of agony arose, or the heartrending cry for help, prudent citizens would close the window, and say, "It is some of the Irish in the Lower Town,"--a comprehensive statement that needed no commentary.

Towards this pleasant locality I now hastened, with a kind of instinctive sense that I had some claims on the sanctuary. It chanced that an emigrant s.h.i.+p which had arrived that evening was just disembarking its pa.s.sengers; mingling with the throng of which, I entered the filthy and narrow lanes of this Alsatia. The new arrivals were all Irish, and, as usual, were heralded by parties of the resident population, eagerly canva.s.sing them for this or that lodging-house. Had not my own troubles been enough for me, I should have felt interested in the strange contrast between the simple peasant first stepping on a foreign sh.o.r.e, and the shrewd roguery of him who proposed guidance, and who doubtless had himself once been as unsuspecting and artless as those he now cajoled and endeavored to dupe.

I soon saw that single individuals were accounted of little consequence; the claim of the various lodging-houses was as family hotels, perhaps; so that I mixed myself up with a group of some eight or ten, whose voices sounded pleasant, for, in the dark, I had no other indication to suggest a preference.

I was not long in establis.h.i.+ng a footing, so far as talking went, with one of this party,--an old, very old man, whose greatest anxiety was to know, first, if "there was any Ingins where we were going," and, secondly, if I had ever heard of his grandson, Dan Cullinane. The first doubt I solved for him frankly and freely, that an Indian would n't dare to show his nose where we were walking; and as to the second, I hesitated, promising to refer to "my tablets" when I came to the light, for I thought the name was familiar to me.

"He was a shoemaker by trade," said the old man, "and a better never left Ireland; he was 'prentice to ould Finucane in Ennis, and might have done well, if he had n't the turn for Americay."

"But he'll do better here, rely upon it," said I, inviting some further disclosures; "I'm certain he's not disappointed with having come out."

"No, indeed; glory be to G.o.d! he's doing finely; and 't was that persuaded my son Joe to sell the little place and come here; and a wonderful long way it is!"

After expending a few generalities on sea voyages in general, with a cursory glance at naval architecture, from Noah's "square" stern, down to the modern "round" innovation, we again returned to Dan, for whom I already conceived a strong interest.

"And is it far to New Orleans from this?" said the old man, who, I perceived, was struck by the air of sagacity in my discourse.

"New Orleans! why that's in the States, a thousand miles away!"

"Oh, murther, murther!" cried the old fellow, wringing his hands; "and ain't we in the States?"

"No," said I; "this is Canada."

"Joe, Joe!" cried he, pulling his son by the collar, "listen to this, acushla. Oh, murther, murther! we're kilt and destroyed intirely!"

"What is it, father?" said a tall, powerfully built man, who spoke in a low but resolute voice; "what ails you?"

"Tell him, darlint, tell him!" said the old man, not able to utter his griefs.

"It seems," said I, "that you believed yourselves in the States; now, this is not so. This is British America,--Lower Canada."

"Isn't it 'Quaybec'?" said he, standing full in front of me.

"It is Quebec--, but still, that is Canada."

"And it's ten thousand miles from Dan!" said the old fellow, whose cries were almost suffocating him.

"Whisht, father, and let me talk," said the son; "do you know New Orleans?"

"Perfectly.--every street of it," said I, with an effrontery the darkness aided considerably.

"And how far is't from here?"

"Something like thirteen or fourteen hundred miles, at a rough guess."

"Oh, th' eternal villain! if I had him by the neck!" cried Joe, as he struck the ground a blow with his blackthorn which certainly would not have improved the human face divine; "he towld me they were a few miles asunder,--an easy day's walk!"

"Who said so?" asked I.

"The chap on Eden Quay, in Dublin, where we took our pa.s.sage."

"Don't be down-hearted, anyway," said I; "distance is nothing here: we think no more of a hundred miles than you do in Ireland of a walk before breakfast. If it's any comfort to you, I'm going the same way myself."

This very consolatory a.s.surance, which I learned then for the first time also, did not appear to give the full confidence I expected, for Joe made no answer, but, with head dropped and clasped hands, continued to mutter some words in Irish that, so far as sound went, had not the "clink" of blessings.

"He knows Dan," said the old man to his son, in a whisper which, low as it was, my quick ears detected.

"What does he know about him?" exclaimed the son, savagely; for the memory of one deception was too strong upon him to make him lightly credulous.

"I knew a very smart young man,--a very promising young fellow indeed,--at New Orleans," said I, "of the name you speak of,--Dan Cullinane."

"What part of Ireland did he come from?" asked Joe.

"The man I mean was from Clare, somewhere in the neighborhood of Ennis."

"That's it!" said the old man.

"Whisht!" said the son, whose caution was not so easily satisfied; and, turning to me, added, "What was he by trade?"

"He was a shoemaker, and an excellent one,--indeed, I've no hesitation in saying, one of the best in New Orleans."

"What was the street he lived in?"

Here was a puzzler; for, as my reader knows, I was at the end of my information, and had not the slightest knowledge of New Orleans or its localities. The little sc.r.a.p of newspaper I had picked up on Anticosti was the only thing having any reference to that city I ever possessed in my life. But, true to my theory to let nothing go to loss, I remembered this now, and, with an easy confidence, said, "I cannot recall the street, but it is just as you turn out of the street where the 'Picayune' newspaper-office stands."

"Right!--all right, by the father of Moses!" cried Joe, stretching out a brawny hand, and shaking mine with the cordiality of friends.h.i.+p. Then, stepping forward to where the rest of the party were walking, with two most loquacious guides, he said, "Molly! here's a boy knows Dan! Biddy!

come here, and hear about Dan!"

Two young girls, in long cloth cloaks, turned hastily round, and drew near, as they exclaimed in a breath, "Oh, tell us about Dan, sir!"

"T is betther wait till we 're in a house," said the old man, who was, however greedy for news, not a little desirous of a fire and something to eat. "Sure, you 'll come with us, and take yer share of what 's going," said he to me,--an invitation which, ere I could reply to, was reiterated by the whole party.

"Do you know where we're going here?" asked Joe of me, as we continued our way through mazes of gloomy lanes that grew gradually less and less frequented.

"No," said I, in a whisper, "but 'tis best be on our guard here: we are in a bad neighborhood."

"Well, there's three boys there," said he, pointing to his sons, who walked in front, "that will pay for all they get. Will you ax the fellows how far we 're to go yet, for they don't mind me."

"Are we near this same lodging-house?" said I, bluntly, to the guides, and using French, to show that I was no unfledged arrival from beyond the seas.

"Ah!" cried one, "a gaillard from the battery."

"Where from, a la gueule de loup, young mounsieur?" said the other, familiarly catching me by the lapel of my coat.