It was well in the afternoon when I got to Knockcalltecrore. Murdock was out at the edge of the bog making some investigations on his own account with the aid of the magnets. He flew into a great rage when he saw me, and roundly accused me of coming to spy upon him. I disclaimed any such meanness, and told him that he should be ashamed of such a suspicion. It was not my cue to quarrel with him, so I restrained myself as well as I could, and quietly told him that I had come on a matter of business.
He was anxious to get me away from the bog, and took me into the house. Here I broached my subject to him, for I knew he was too astute a man for my going round the question to be of any use.
At first my offer was a confirmation of his suspicion of me as a spy; and, indeed, he did not burke this aspect of the question in expressing his opinion.
“Oh, aye!” he sneered. “Isn’t it likely I’m goin’ to give up me land to ye, so that ye may hand it over to Mr. Sutherland — an’ him havin’ saycrets from me all the time — maybe knowin’ where what I want to find is hid. Didn’t I know it’s a thraitor he is, an’ ye a shpy.”
“Dick Sutherland is no traitor and I am no spy. I wouldn’t hear such words from anyone else; but, unfortunately, I know already that your ideas regarding us both are so hopelessly wrong that it’s no use trying to alter them. I simply came here to make you an offer to buy this piece of land. The place is a pretty one, and I, or some friend of mine, may like some day to put up a house here. Of course if you don’t want to sell there’s an end to the matter; but do try to keep a decent tongue in your head — if you can.”
My speech had evidently some effect on him, for he said:
“I didn’t mane any offinse — an’ as forsellin’, I’d sell anything in the wurrld av I got me price fur it!”
“Well, why not enter on this matter? You’re a man of the world, and so am I. I want to buy; I have money and can afford to give a good price, as it is a fancy with me. What objection have you to sell?”
“Ye know well enough I’ll not sell — not yit, at all evints. I wouldn’t part wid a perch iv this land fur all ye cud offer — not till I’m done wid me sarch. I mane to get what I’m lukin’ fur — if it’s there!”
“I quite understand. Well, I am prepared to meet you in the matter. I am willing to purchase the land — it to be given over to me at whatever time you may choose to name. Would a year suit you to make your investigations?”
He thought for a moment; then took out an old letter, and on the back of it made some calculations. Then he said:
“I suppose ye’d pay the money down at wanst?”
“Certainly,” said I, “the very day I get possession.” I had intended paying the money down, and waiting for possession as a sort of inducement to him to close with me; but there was so much greed in his manner that I saw I would do better by holding off payment until I got possession. My judgment was correct, for his answer surprised me:
“A month ‘II do what I wanted — or, to be certain, say five weeks from to-day. But the money would have to be payed to the minit.”
“Certainly,” said I. “Suit yourself as to time, and let me know the terms, so that I can see if we agree. I suppose you will want to see your attorney, so name any day to suit you.”
“I’m me own attorney. Do ye think I’d thrust any iv them wid me affairs? Whin I have a lawsuit I’ll have thim, but not before. If ye want to know me price I’ll tell it to ye now.”
“Go on,” said I, concealing my delight as well as I could.
He accordingly named a sum which, to me, accustomed only as I had hitherto been to the price of land in a good English county, seemed very small indeed.
He evidently thought he was driving a hard bargain, for he said, with a cunning look:
“I suppose ye’II want to see lawyers and the like. So you may; but only to see that ye get ye bargin hard and fast. I’ll not discuss the terrums wid anyone else; an’ if y accept, ye must sign me a writin’ now, that ye buy me land right here, an’ that ye’ll pay the money widin a month before ye take possession on the day we fix.”
“All right,” said I. “That will suit me quite well. Make out your paper in duplicate, and we will both sign. Of course, you must put in a clause guaranteeing title, and allowing the deed to be made with the approval of my solicitor, not as to value, but as to form and completeness.”
“That’s fair!” he said, and sat down to draw up his papers. He was evidently a bit of a lawyer — a gombeen man must be — and he knew the practical matters of law affecting things in which he was himself interested. His memorandum of agreement was, so far as I could judge, quite complete, and as concise as possible. He designated the land sold, and named the price which was to be paid into the account in his name in the Galway Bank before twelve o’clock noon on September 27th, or which might be paid in at an earlier date, with the deduction of two percent, per annum as discount — in which case the receipt was to be given in full, and an undertaking to give possession at the appointed time, namely Wednesday, October 27th, at twelve o’clock noon.
We both signed the memorandum, he having sent the old woman who came up from the village to cook for him for the old school-master to witness the signatures. I arranged that when I should have seen my solicitor and have had the deed properly drafted, I would see him again. I then came away, and got back at the hotel a little while before Dick arrived.
Dick was in great spirits; his experiment with the bog had been quite successful. The cutting had advanced so far that the clay wall hemming in the bog was actually weakened, and with a mining cartridge, prepared for the purpose, he had blown up the last bit of bank remaining. The bog had straightway begun to pour into the opening, not merely from the top, but simultaneously to the whole depth of the cutting.
“The experience of that first half-hour of the rush,” went on Dick, “was simply invaluable. I do wish you had been there, old fellow. It was in itself a lesson on bogs and their reclamation.”
It just suited my purpose that he should do all the talking at present, so I asked him to explain all that happened. He went on:
“The moment the cartridge exploded the whole of the small clay bank remaining was knocked to bits and was carried away by the first rush. There had evidently been a considerable accumulation of water just behind the bank; and at the first rush this swept through the cutting and washed it clean. Then the bog at the top, and the water in the middle, and the ooze below all struggled for the opening. I could see that the soft part of the bog actually floated. Naturally the water got away first. The bog proper, which was floating, jammed in the opening, and the ooze began to drain out below it. Of course, this was only the first rush; it will be running for days before things begin to settle; and then we shall be able to make some openings in the bog and see if my theories are tenable, in so far as the solidification is concerned, l am only disappointed in one thing.”
“What is that?”
“That it will not enlighten us much regarding the bog at Shleenanaher, for I cannot find any indication here of a shelf of rock such as I imagine to be at the basis of the Shifting Bog. If I had had time I would like to have made a cutting into some of the waste where the bog had originally been. I dare say that Joyce would let me try now if I asked him.”
I had my own fun out of my answer:
“Oh, I’m sure he will; but even if he won’t let you now, he may be inclined to in a month or two, when things have settled down a bit.”
His answer startled me.
“Do you know, Art, I fear it’s quite on the cards that in a month or two there may be some settling down there that may be serious for some one?”
“How do you mean?”
“Simply this: that I am not at all