The Miraculous Revenge | Page 4

with him, acts as his amanuensis.
Well----"
"Stay. What is her name?"
"Her name? Kate Hickey."
"How old is she?"
"Tush, man, she is only a little girl. If she were old enough to concern
you, I should not send you into her way. Have you any more questions
to ask about her?"
"I fancy her in a white veil at the rite of confirmation, a type of
innocence. Enough of her. What says Reverend Hickey of the
apparitions?"
"They are not apparitions. I will read you what he says. Ahem! 'In reply
to your inquiries concerning the late miraculous event in this parish, I
have to inform you that I can vouch for its truth, and that I can be
confirmed not only by the inhabitants of the place, who are all
Catholics, but by every persons acquainted with the former situation of
the graveyard referred to, including the Protestant Archdeacon of
Baltinglas, who spends six weeks annually in the neighborhood. The
newspaper account is incomplete and inaccurate. The following are the
facts: About four years ago, a man named Wolfe Tone Fitzgerald
settled in this village as a farrier. His antecedents did not transpire, and
he had no family. He lived by himself; was very careless of his person;
and when in his cups as he often was, regarded the honor neither of
God nor man in his conversation. Indeed if it were not speaking ill of
the dead, one might say that he was a dirty, drunken, blasphemous
blackguard. Worse again, he was, I fear, an atheist; for he never
attended Mass, and gave His Holiness worse language even than he
gave the Queen. I should have mentioned that he was a bitter rebel, and

boasted that his grandfather had been out in '98, and his father with
Smith O'Brien. At last he went by the name of Brimstone Billy, and
was held up in the village as the type of all wickedness.
"'You are aware that our graveyard, situate on the north side of the
water, is famous throughout the country as the burial-place of the nuns
of St. Ursula, the hermit of Four Mile Water, and many other holy
people. No Protestant has ever ventured to enforce his legal right of
interment there, though two have died in the parish within my own
recollection. Three weeks ago, this Fitzgerald died in a fit brought on
by drink; and a great hullabaloo was raised in the village when it
became known that he would be buried in the graveyard. The body had
to be watched to prevent its being stolen and buried at the crossroads.
My people were greatly disappointed when they were told I could do
nothing to stop the burial, particularly as I of course refused to read any
service on the occasion. However, I bade them not interfere; and the
interment was effected on the 14th of July, late in the evening, and long
after the legal hour. There was no disturbance. Next morning, the
graveyard was found moved to the south side of the water, with the one
newly-filled grave left behind on the north side; and thus they both
remain. The departed saints would not lie with the reprobate. I can
testify to it on the oath of a Christian priest; and if this will not satisfy
those outside the Church, everyone, as I said before, who remembers
where the graveyard was two months ago, can confirm me.
"'I respectfully suggest that a thorough investigation into the truth of
this miracle be proposed to a committee of Protestant gentlemen. They
shall not be asked to accept a single fact on hearsay from my people.
The ordnance maps shew where the graveyard was; and anyone can see
for himself where it is. I need not tell your Eminence what a rebuke this
would be to those enemies of the holy Church that have sought to put a
stain on her by discrediting the late wonderful manifestations at Knock
Chapel. If they come to Four Mile Water, they need cross-examine no
one. They will be asked to believe nothing but their own senses.
"'Awaiting your Eminence's counsel to guide me further in the matter,
"'I am, etc.'

"Well, Zeno," said my uncle: "what do you think of Father Hickey
now?"
"Uncle: do not ask me. Beneath this roof I desire to believe everything.
The Reverend Hickey has appealed strongly to my love of legend. Let
us admire the poetry of his narrative and ignore the balance of
probability between a Christian priest telling a lie on his own oath and
a graveyard swimming across a river in the middle of the night and
forgetting to return."
"Tom Hickey is not telling a lie, you may take my word on that. But he
may be mistaken."