The Silent People by Walter Macken

Author:Walter Macken [Macken, Walter]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pan Macmillan UK

Chapter Twenty

IT IS a little trickle in a high place that makes a great river flowing to the sea. In the same way, but almost as fast as the journey of the sun across the arm of the sky, men heard before nightfall in this remote place that Daniel O Connell was going to stand in the election for Clare. The sitting member, Vesey-Fitzgerald, was invited into his Cabinet by the Duke of Wellington, known derisively by O Connell as The Great Captain, and so he would have to stand for re-election. Vesey-Fitzgerald, they said, was no more corrupt than any of the others, but he had used the cover name for corruption, patronage, with great skill, so that there was no second or third son in the Army or in places of patronage in the whole of the county, with all their families, who wasn’t under geasa, as they say, to his favour. Whom would they get to stand against him? There was nobody in the Catholic Association, and no presentable Protestant, who would dream of doing it. So O Connell put himself up and wrote out his address, and it was like a fire burning in a dry field of corn.

Father Melican sent for his administrator. Since his accident with the lightning he lived mostly in his book-lined study sunk in a leather-covered chair with a pair of crutches handy. He had been a big athletic man and sitting so much had made him weighty. He was surrounded by books, magazines and papers, which were his only source of extravagance. He was always looking for his papers and never able to find them, because as soon as he had finished with one the housekeeper Bridie always removed it, and passed it on so that it went the rounds of the place. Newspapers were too expensive for most people, so everyone was grateful to Father Melican for being a subscriber. When the paper had passed through many hands it ended up with the dressmaker, who used it for cutting out patterns, so it was cheap at the price.

Father Finucane, who lived in a small house near the church, left his account-books, put on his coat and hat (Father Melican insisted that his young priest be properly dressed) and went over to the neat two-storey stone house of the parish priest. He paused outside the study door and tidied himself and tried to put a look of gravity on his countenance before he knocked and entered. He saw Father Melican’s eyes checking over him.

‘You wanted to see me, Father?’ he asked.

‘Have you heard about O Connell?’ Father Melican asked.

‘I have indeed,’ said Father Finucane. ‘Isn’t it wonderful? Isn’t it the best thing that has happened in history? I hardly slept last night thinking of the excitement and the wonder of it.’

‘Your attitude is wrong, Father,’ said the old priest. His lips were tight. The spontaneous joy went out of the young priest’s face.

‘In what way, Father?’ he asked.

‘It’s nothing to do with us,’ said Father Melican.

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