Commerce High School - Commerce Yearbook (Cleveland, OH)

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talking about Andy’s story of the pots of gold, Tip suddenly exclaimed, “Let s play a joke on the ould man, boys.” “A fine scheme, Tip,” answered Marshall, “what shall it be? “Leave it to me, boys, and I’ll fix one up,” suggested Tip. “Very well, Tip,” they laughingly assented. By this time they had reached Glen Carrig House, and as it was very late, they retired for the night. A few days later, when Tip went down to the village for the mail, he called on the old cobbler. “Andy,” said he, “I had a quare drame last night. “And what might the drame be about?” asked Andy. “Well, I drimt that there was a pot of goold berrid at the foot of the ould whitethorn bush above in the graveyard, under the master’s garden wall,” whispered Tip. “Arrah musha, Tip, do you tell me so!” “It’s as thrue as I’m standin’ here, Andy.” Well,” said Andy, you’ve got to drame it thrice before it’ll come thrue. But for the love of heaven don’t mention it to man or mortial.” “All right,” said Tip, as he was going out of the door. A few days later Tip called again. “Be gob. Andy, I drimt it agin last night.” “You’re in luck, me man,” replied Andy, “but as I tould you before, hold your whist until we see will it come to you agin.” Tip didn’t show up again for ten days. One morning early he entered Andy’s cot all excitement. “I had her agin last night, Andy.” “You don’t say so. Tip,” responded Andy, his eyes nearly jumping out of their sockets. “Yis, Andy, but this time I drimt after I had dug down to the pot a horrible creature with two heads an’ about eight foot tall kim roaring and shaking a lot of chains that was fastened to him and fairly frightened the very soul out of me.” Andy jumped up, and seizing Tip’s hand, said, “Me boy, our fortune’s made, but, as I tould you before, don’t brathe it to anyone. Tomorrow night, please God, we’ll git that pot of goold if the divil himself kirns howlin’ around with all the chains in the country fastened to him. Meet me tomorrow night at the graveyard, about eleven o’clock and bring along a good sharp pick and a strong spade.” In the meantime, Andy arranged with Marshal and Nolan that Marshal was to take some chains up into an old apple tree that hung over the garden wall near the old whitethorn bush. When Tip and the cobbler were well along with the digging, he was to yell and rattle the chains. Tip was to drop his spade and run for his life, while Nolan and two or three others were to be at the graveyard gate to yell when the cobbler came running out and give him a double scare. 99

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when he recalls that ghosts have been seen stalking around the old ruins, and most of the villagers would go out of the way rather than pass the scene of Lennon’s murder after nightfall. It was dusk. In a small, three-room cot on the outskirts of Glen Carrig village sat sat Andy Doran, the cobbler, busily working on a pair of boots. Andy, as well as being a good cobbler, was also a fine story-teller. On all the traditions and superstitions about ghosts, farics and hidden pots of gold, in which the peasantry of that locality were firm believers, he was well posted. The young fellows of the village were in the habit of gathering around Andy’s cheerful hearth during the evening. They would watch him ply his trade, but what they enjoyed more than anything else was to listen to his entertaining yarns of which he seemed to have an unlimitd supply. “The boys are late tonight,’’ said Andy as, stepping his work for a minute, he lit his pipe with a piece of glowing peat. His words were addressed to his wife, Shela, who, looking up from her knitting, replied in a kind tone: “Why they’ve plinty of time yit; it’s only half after sivin.’’ “Shela, there is a story which I have been thinking of all day, and I think I’ll till it to the boys.” “Here they are, Andy!” exclaimed Shela. The door opened and in stepped Bill Mooney, the village blacksmith, with five companions. “God save all here,” said Bill. “God save ye kindly, Bill,” responded Andy, faithfully carrying out the Irish custom of salutation. After all were seated Andy said, “As I was jist saying to Shela, a story me grandfather tould me has been on me mind all day.” “Let’s hear it, blurted out Darby Redmond. “Shure,” says Andy, “me grandfather tould me a hundred times how old Pether Duff’s grandfather became suddenly rich. Pether's. grandfather claimed he got the money from an uncle who died in California; but me grandfather said he knew better, and that it was a pot of goold ould Pether’s grandfather dramed of at Tubbercurry graveyard and that when he got the money he pretinded that it kirn from America.” When Andy had concluded his tale, which told of goblins and hidden treasures, old Tim Hurley, the local postman, who had listened open-mounted, said, excitedly, “Be dad, Andy, I often thought there was a pot of gold hid somewhere in the ould graveyard above.” And he pointed mysteriously toward the French house and the adjoining graveyard. “Them’s me sintiments, too,” replied Andy, “and some of us will live to see it come thrue.” In Andy’s audience that night were Marshal, the butler. Tom Nolan, the coachman, and Ned Brady, a local character, commonly known as Tip, all of whom were employed at Glen Carrig House. On their way home, while 98

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During the day, the cook and housemaid heard Tip and Marshal making their plans, but the only part of the conversation they could hear plainly was, “Eleven o’clock tonight in the graveyard.” Womanlike, their curiosity was aroused, and when Marshal went away they begged Tip to let them into the secret. But he, being a good judge of human nature, knew that if he told them all they would probably spoil the fun, so he told them not to say anything to the butler or Nolan, but at eleven o’clock that night to steal softly down to the lower end of the garden and they would see for themselves. Cautioning them again not to open their mouths, he left them. Marshall nervously watched the clock, and at least fifteen minutes ahead of the appointed hour he was on hand. With the greatest secrecy he climbed the old apple tree with the chains concealed on his person. As the clock was strinking eleven Tip and Andy walked into the graveyard. Nolan and the others had previously stationed themselves outside the gate so as to be in readiness to carry out their part of the scheme. As they neared the spot, Tip said, “Andy, how much do you think will there be in the pot?” “Whist, you spalpeen; there’ll be enough to make us rich men for the rest of our lives. We’ll not let anyone know where it kim from, but there’s one thing certain, when we git it you kin marry any farmer’s daughter in the parish.” They now arrived at the old thorn bush, and Andy, taking off his coat, hurriedly began to dig. In the meantime the two girls had stolen out of the house, down to the end of the garden. The night being dark and windyj they succeeded in reaching the garden wall under the apple tree unknown to Marshall. A mysterious silence reigned, which was broken only by the sound of the picks and spades as they struck the hard, brown earth. Tip and Andy had been digging for about fifteen minutes, carefully looking over each spadeful of earth. They had several feet of earth thrown up and had not spoken a word. Suddenly a most unearthly yell was heard, followed by a vigorous rattling of chains.. Tip dropped his spade and ran like a lamp-lighter. The girls, not knowing there was anybody in the tree, screamed frantically, and one of them fell in a dead faint. Marshal, not aware of the presence of the girls, and taking the flutter of their white gowns for ghosts, was so frightened that he fell out of the tree breaking his collar bone in the fall. Nolan and the others, hearing the commotion, hastened around to see what was the matter. When they saw how things stood they were as badly frightened as the others. They helped Marshal and the girls to the house, then they returned, as they said, to calm the fears of old Andy. They found the old cobbler coolly digging away. When they climbed the wall and gave him the laugh he slunk home, as mad as the proverbial hatter. When the news spread about the village, poor Andy felt so bad about it 100