The Heir of Kilfinnan, by W.H.G. Kingston.
________________________________________________________________________ The book opens with our hero, Dermot O'Neil, out fishing in a small boat that he usually went with his widowed mother in. The catch being good he went up to the nearby castle, the abode of the Earl Kilfinnan, where he easily sells his fish, and is asked to come back with more the next day. Being a good-looking and well-mannered 12-year-old, he wins the admiration of the Earl's daughter and her cousin, who offer to teach him to read. When they go back to London they get the local Protestant minister to take him on, much to the annoyance of Father O'Rourke, who does not like his Catholic parishioners to be able to read.
Eventually the boy goes to sea. At some point in his career he decides to give up his Irish name, and takes an English one, Denham. Several incidents in which he distinguishes himself occur, and he is given the chance of becoming a midshipman, from which rank he duly rises by examination to Lieutenant. Meanwhile the Earl has obtained a position in the West Indies of Lieutenant-Governor of one of the islands, since he had been finding it hard to make ends meet from the revenues of his estates in Ireland. There are occasions on which Denham has to call on the Earl and his family, but is not recognised.
Time goes on. The Earl's son and heir dies of an illness and is much lamented: he had been at sea pretty much as an equal in promotion with Denham. The Earl's time in the West Indies is up, and he and his family return to Ireland. Denham's ship visits Kilfinnan Bay, and he walks on shore, where it is possible he may have been recognised by O'Rourke and by a demented woman, who is not as mad as she seems.
After several more exciting events, which we will not spoil for you, the Earl dies, and to everyone's surprise Denham is not only revealed as our original young acquaintance, Dermot, but the lawyer states that Dermot's father was in the line of succession to the Earldom. This makes Dermot the new Earl. Cheers all round, but who wants to be saddled with a derilict castle and a bankrupt estate?
A beautifully written book, one of Kingston's best. It is very hard to see why it is so little known.
________________________________________________________________________ THE HEIR OF KILFINNAN, BY W.H.G. KINGSTON.
PREFACE.
The following tale contains materials for a full-sized novel, but my readers probably will not object to have them condensed into a single modest volume.
The scene of a considerable portion of the story is laid on the coast of Ireland, where the peasantry mostly speak the native Irish, and I have therefore translated what my characters say into ordinary English rather than into the generally received brogue, which would be, coming from their lips, as inappropriate as Spanish or Dutch.
When English is spoken, it sounds somewhat high-flown, but is certainly purer than the language of the same class in England. Thus, my hero talks more like a well-educated young gentleman than a humble fisher lad. If that is considered a defect, I hope that it may be redeemed by the stirring incidents with which the tale abounds, and that old and young may alike find as much amusement as they expect in its perusal.
WHGK.
The west coast of Ireland presents scenery of the most beautiful and romantic character. Here grey peaks rise up amidst verdure of emerald green; trees of varied hue come feathering down close to the water; yellow sands line the shores of many lonely bays; dark rocks of fantastic shape extend out into the ocean, while deep blue lochs mirror on their bosoms the varied forms of the surrounding heights. On the south-west part of the coast a wide bay is to be found. At the extreme southern end, up a deep loch, a castle, the seat of an ancient family, reared its towers high above the waters. The bay came sweeping round at some places with a hard sandy beach; then, again, the ground rose, leaving but a narrow ledge between the foot of the cliffs and the waters. Thus the shore extended on for some distance, forming a lofty headland, when it again sank to its former level. A reef of rocks ran out a considerable distance into the ocean, forming a natural breakwater to the bay. Here and there to the north were several deep indentations, in which fishing-boats and several coasting craft might find shelter. In some of these little bays fishermen had formed their habitations, mostly out of the wrecks of stout ships which had been cast on their rocky shores. In some of the coves or bays several huts had been congregated together, but a short distance north of the promontory which has been spoken of stood a single hut. It was strongly built of ships' timbers and roofed with stout planks, kept down by heavy stones, so that, though the furious blasts which swept across the Atlantic blew against it, it had hitherto withstood the rough shocks to which it had been exposed.
The day was lovely; not a cloud dimmed the blue heavens, while the sun setting over the distant ocean shed a glow of light across the waters, rippled by a gentle westerly breeze. Several boats were approaching the shore. In one of them sat a lad. No other person was to be seen on board. The dark nets were piled up in the centre of the boat, at the bottom of which a number of fish, still giving signs of life, showed that he had been successful in his calling. Every now and then he looked up at the tanned sail to see that it drew properly, and then would cast his eye towards the shore to watch the point to which he was steering. He could scarcely have numbered twelve summers, though his figure was tall and slight. His trousers were rolled up above the knees, showing his well-turned legs and feet. His shirtsleeves were treated in the same manner, while the collar, thrown back, exhibited his broad and well-formed chest. His eyes were large and dark, and the hue of his skin gave indication that Spanish blood was flowing in his veins; while his dark locks escaping from beneath his fisherman's red cap, gave a still more southern look to his well-chiselled features. His practical knowledge and activity seemed to have made up for his want of strength, for few boys of his age would have ventured forth to sea in a fishing-boat of that size by themselves. Another and a larger boat had been for some time steering a course to approach him.
"Ah! Dermot, me darlin'; and all alone too?" said a man from the boat which now overtook him.
"Yes! my mother was ill and unable to go off, so I went by myself; an' see, Uncle Shane, I have had a good haul for my pains."
"I see, boy, an' sure I'm glad of it," said the first speaker; "but you are scarcely strong enough to go off alone, for should a gale spring up you would be unable to manage that boat by yourself."
"Och! an' haven't I managed her before now in heavy weather?" replied Dermot. "But suppose, Uncle Shane, I was lost, would you take care of my mother? She's not so strong as she used to be; toil has worn her down, working hard for me when I ought to have been toiling for her."
"I will," answered Shane.
"Will you swear it, uncle, by the Holy Virgin and the blessed saints?"
"I will, Dermot, as I hope for mercy in the day of trouble. But why do you ask that question?"
"Because, uncle, as I was pulling up my nets I slipped and almost fell overboard. I thought that had my feet been entangled, as they might have been, I should have gone down an' been unable to regain the boat. We none of us know what may happen: but could I feel that my mother would be protected from want, it would nerve my arm, and make me feel more ready for whatever lot may be in store for me."
"Boy," observed the elder fisherman, looking at his nephew, "you are thoughtful above your years; but the saints will protect you, and I will not forget to make an offering to Saint Nicholas, that he may watch over you."
Thus conversing the old man and the lad steered their boats towards the shore side by side, the former hauling in his mainsail somewhat to lessen the speed of his boat. They parted to the northward of the promontory described, Dermot steering for the little cove in which stood the solitary hut already spoken of, while his uncle continued along the shore a little further to the north.
Dermot ran his boat between two rocks, at the end of which was a small sandy beach, where a capstan being placed he was enabled to haul her up out of the water. As he approached, a woman was seen descending from the hut. The same dark eyes and raven hair, though somewhat streaked with white in her case, which characterised the boy, was observable in the woman. Her figure was thin and wiry, giving indication of the severe toil to which she was exposed. She was dressed in a rough frieze petticoat, with a dark handkerchief drawn across her bosom, and the usual red cloak and hood worn at that time by most of the peasantry of the west of Ireland was thrown over her shoulders.
"Mother!" exclaimed the boy, "see, I have done well; I have had a better haul than we have got for many a day."
"And may be, Dermot, we will have a better market too," observed the woman. "It is said the Earl has come to the castle with many fine people, and they will be wanting fish to a certainty. It would be too late now to go, they would not see you; but to-morrow morning, as soon as the sun is up, you shall set forth, and to be sure they'll be glad to buy fish of my Dermot." The woman drew herself up as she spoke, and looked towards the boy with a glance of pride, as if she would not exchange him for any of the highest born in the land.
"How are you, mother?" asked Dermot; "have all those aches of which you were complaining gone away? Do you feel strong again?"
"Yes; the saints were merciful; I did not forget to pray to them, and they have heard me," answered the woman.
With her, as with most of her countrywomen, superstition, if it had not altogether taken the place of religion, had been strangely mixed up with it; yet she spoke in a tone of simple and touching faith, at which no one with any feeling would have ventured to sneer.
Next morning, Dermot, laden with the finest of his fish in a basket at his back, set off along the shores of the bay towards Kilfinnan Castle. The approach to it was wild and picturesque. A narrow estuary, having to be crossed by a bridge, almost isolated the castle from the mainland, for the ground on which the old fortress stood was merely joined to it by a rugged and nearly impassable ledge of rocks. The castle itself was of considerable size and strongly built, so that it could well withstand the gales which, from time to time, circled round it. Dermot had but little natural timidity or shyness; yet he felt somewhat awed when, having missed the back approach used by the servants of the establishment, he found himself at the entrance-hall, in which a number of well-dressed persons were assembled on their way to the breakfast-room. Some passed him carelessly.
