wild looks, their violent gestures, and, above all,
their strange and guttural language, for they were
all speaking Irish, attracted the attention of the
manager; the effect, to his professional eye was good,
the thought struck him at once. Here were the
very fellows he wanted. It was scarcely necessary
to alter any thing about them, they were ready made
to his hand, and in many respects better savages than
their prototypes. Through the mediation of some
whiskey, the appropriate liquor in all treaties of
this nature, a bargain was readily struck, and in
two hours more, ‘these forty thieves’
were rehearsing upon the classic boards of our theatre,
and once more, La Perouse, in all the glory of red
capital letters, shone forth in the morning advertisements.
The run of the piece continued unabated; the Indians
were the rage; nothing else was thought or spoken of
in Dublin, and already the benefit of Ashewaballagh
Ho was announced, who, by the by, was a little fellow
from Martin’s estate in Connemara, and one of
the drollest dogs I ever heard of. Well, it
so happened that it was upon one of their nights of
performing that I found myself, with Mr. Burke, a
spectator of their proceedings; I had fallen into an
easy slumber, while a dreadful row in the box lobby
roused me from my dream, and the loud cry of ‘turn
him out,’ ‘pitch him over,’ ‘beat
his brains out,’ and other humane proposals
of the like nature, effectually restored me to consciousness;
I rushed out of the box into the lobby, and there,
to my astonishment, in the midst of a considerable
crowd, beheld my friend, Mr. Burke, belaboring the
box-keeper with all his might with a cotton umbrella
of rather unpleasant proportions, accompanying each
blow with an exclamation of ’well, are they
Connaughtmen, now, you rascal, eh? are they all west
of Athlone, tell me that, no? I wonder what’s
preventing me beating the soul out of ye.’
After obtaining a short cessation of hostilities,
and restoring poor Sharkey to his legs, much more dead
than alive from pure fright, I learned, at last, the
teterrima causa belli. Mr. Burke, it seems, had
entered into conversation with Sharkey, the box-keeper,
as to all the particulars of the theatre, and the present
piece, but especially as to the real and authentic
history of the Indians, whose language he remarked,
in many respects to resemble Irish. Poor Sharkey,
whose benefit-night was approaching, thought he might
secure a friend for life, by imparting to him an important
state secret; and when, therefore, pressed rather
closely as to the ‘savages’ whereabout’
resolved to try a bold stroke, and trust his unknown
interrogator. ’And so you don’t really
know where they come from, nor can’t guess?’
‘Maybe, Peru,’ said Mr. Burke, innocently.
’Try again, sir,’ said Sharkey, with
a knowing grin. ‘Is it Behring’s
Straits?’ said Mr. Burke. ‘What
do you think of Galway, sir?’ said Sharkey, with
a leer intended to cement a friendship for life; the
words were no sooner out of his lips, than Burke,
who immediately took them as a piece of direct insolence
to himself and his country, felled him to the earth,
and was in the act of continuing the discipline when
I arrived on the field of battle.”