The Apprentice Thief

IT was a lee long time ago when ould Ireland was happy and contented, with lavin’s and lashin’s—plenty to ait and little to do; and we had our own kings—half-a-dozen of them in every county—and our own Parlymint, and we had mines of all sorts and descriptions, both coal and copper and silver and goold—and, more betoken, the guineas was as common as tenpennies; and the farmers had fields of wheat that it was a day’s journey to walk over, and the smell of them was a’most enough to satisfy a hungry man, if the like could be found in the kingdom—but that would be onpossible, barrin’ on a fast day, when (the ould sinners that they were!) they used to schame it by goin’ out and sniftherin’ up the smell of the wheat, and fillin’ themselves (the villains!) that way, till their fren’s would a’most have to sweel some of them (the rascals) with ropes, for feared they’d bust; and the blight or the rot was nivir known on the praties, and they had tatties that big (the Cups, they called them) that I heerd me gran’father say that he heered his gran’father say that he heerd his great gran’father (I wish him rest!) tellin’ him, that in the harvest time they often scooped wan of them out, and put to say in it to fish for mackerel—and more betoken, the say in them days swarmed with every description of fish that ever put a fin in wather, and the fishermen never used hook or net, but just baled the fishes into their boats with an ould bucket. Well, howandivir, it was in them glor’us days of full and plenty that Billy Brogan lived as a sort of a cotthar to the King of Ballyshanny, and Billy had one son, Jack, that turned out to be very handy like with his fingers when he wanted anything that didn’t belong to him. Well, that fared well till Jack grew up to be a stout, strappin’, able lump of a garsun, when the king comes to ould Billy, his father, to make complaints on Jack, seein’ that he wasn’t leaving a movable thing about his castle or grounds but he was hoising off wid him.

“Now, Billy Brogan,” says the king, says he, “what is your son Jack going to turn his hands to?”

“Why, yer highness,” says Billy, that way, back to him, “throgs, I think he’ll turn his hand to anything you laive in his way.”

“Och! I know that,” says the king, says he, “to my own cost; but I mean to say it’s near time you were thinkin’ of givin’ him a thrade, for the short and the long of it is, that I won’t have him about my house or place, longer. I caught him,” says he, “only last night thrying to carry off the best mare I have in my stables, Light-o’-foot, and that, you know, is high thrayson; and ye know that the lightest punishment for high thrayson is to be burned, beheaded and hung. But I’ll pardon him on conditions that you put him to a thrade at wanst, and that at the end of three years he’ll be so parfect at the thrade that I can’t puzzle him in any three things I’ll put afore him to do; but if there’s any one of them he can’t do, he’ll have to suffer his fate for high thrayson.”

“Why, yer kingship,” says Billy, “the tarms is mortial hard, stillandiver we’ll have to do our best, and sure the best can do no more. But what thrade will I ’prentice him to?”

“As for that,” says the king, says he, “plaise yourself, only mind my conditions.”

“Well,” says Billy, says he, in a brown study that way, “I think the only thrade that ever I could make an honest thradesman of him at, would be a thief, for I think it’s the only one he has the inclinations for.”

“Plaise yerself, Billy,” says the king back to him again, “only mind my conditions.”

To make a long story short, Billy thramped off and found Jack, and tould him what the king of the castle was afther saying.

“Well, father,” says Jack, says he, “what can’t be cured must be indured, so you’d betther be up betimes in the mornin’, an’ come along with me till we meet some daicent thief that’s masther of his thrade that you’ll ’prentice me to, for between ourselves I was long switherin’ to go an’ larn the thrade properly anyhow, for though they say that a self-made man is the best, still in this back’ard place one has to work under a great many disadvantages in the uphill part of the business, so that there’s often I would have given my one eye for a couple of good hints from a purficient in the thrade.”

No sooner said than done. Jack and his father took the road early next mornin’, and a weary travel they had of it that day through a strange country till tor’st night they come to an inn where there was entertainment for man and baste—and for boys too—and they put up there that night, and slept sound I can tell ye, and, moreover, when Billy payed the landlord the damage next mornin’, doesn’t my brave Jack stale twicet as much back again out of the till before he left. Well they started that morning again and travelled on, and on, of a hot summer’s day, when tor’st evening who did they meet but the mastherman thief of all that counthry, and there and then Billy bound over Jack to him for three years; and he gave Jack his blissin’ and told him make the most of his opportunities, and to always keep before his eyes the fear of what he’d meet with from the King of Ballyshanny when he’d come back if he wasn’t masther of his trade. Jack promised faithfully that it wouldn’t be his fault or he’d know the ins and the outs of the business so far as the ould buck that he was ’prenticed to could put him. Billy then set out for home again, and there was nothing more heerd of me brave Jack till the three years was up.

They weren’t long in passing, and on the day afther the end of the three years Jack comes steppin’ into his father’s house; and Billy, I can tell you, was delighted to see him. He hardly knew him, for he had grown to be as fine and able lookin’ a man as you’d meet in the longest day in summer.

“Jack,” says his father, says he, throwin’ his arms about him, “have ye larned yer thrade?”

“I hope I have, father,” says he.

“Jack, ahaskey,” says the father, “you know what the king has promised if ye’re not able to do the three things he puts afore ye?”

“Yes, father,” says Jack; “and I’ll do my best to do them, and, as yourself says, sure the best can do no more.”

Well, that evening the father took Jack up to the castle, and when the king come out he told him that this was Jack come home again afther sarvin’ his ’prenticeship, and he had the thrade back with him.

“Why, Jack,” says the king, “it’s welcome ye are, in troth—ceud mile failte romhat—and it’s fresh and bloomin’ ye’re lookin’—what speed did ye come at yer thrade?”

“Why, thank ye kindly, yer highness,” says Jack, “I can’t complain at all; I think I done very fairly for my time—at laist, that was my masther’s opinion, and he’s not the worst judge;” for, ye see, Jack was modest and didn’t care for puffin’ and blowin’ about himself.

“Well, it’s well for ye, Jack,” says the king back to him, “for the three thrials I’ll put afore ye will be no miss, I assure ye.”

“Well, yer kingship,” says Jack, “I’ll feel honoured to do what I can for ye. Would yer highness be plaised to let me know the first, for it’s as well to get the onpleasant business over at wanst?”

“The first thing, Jack, you’ll have to do,” says the king, “is this: To-morrow morning I’ll send out a plough and two horses to plough the tattie field at the back of the hill, and I’ll send two men with them, armed to the teeth; and you’ll have to stale the two horses out of the plough unknownst to the men, and if ye let to-morrow night fall on ye without having the horses stolen you’ll undhergo the punishment for high thrayson—you’ll be burned, beheaded and hung; and this time to-morrow I hope to be feasting my eyes on your head stuck on the porch of that gate there. Do you think will ye be able to succeed, Jack?” says he, laughing hearty.