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Updated: May 10, 2025
"Any others who may call, make them pay; and I shall be glad to inform you about them when I am this way again." "How often do you come in here, Mr. Auld?" "I try to make it, at least, once in two weeks, but I am not always successful. I like to visit Jake Meaghan. Poor, old, faithful, plodding Jake, how I tried, at first, to extract the thorn from his flesh the accursed drink!
We dined ravenously, and throughout the proceeding, Mike sat in the doorway, keeping close watch that I did not interfere with the sacred person of his lord and master, Jake Meaghan. Rested and reinvigorated, we set-to with box-openers, hammers and chisels, unpacking and unpacking until the thing became a boring monotony.
Oh, God! Meaghan gone; Mary gone; every one to whom my heart goes out leaves me the same way. What is it in me? Oh, my God! my God! I staggered against the veranda rail for support, then, like a blind man groping for a path in a forest, I made my journey across the rustic bridge, and home.
"You like me too, Rita, don't you?" "You bet I do!" she replied, dropping back into the slang that Jake best understood. He was happy after that and smiled crookedly. But, in the early morning, a violent fit of convulsions, in all its contorting agonies, caught hold of him. His head at last dropped back on Rita's arm and Jake Meaghan was no more.
I talked to him, I scolded him, I threatened him, but, poor Jake, he and his whisky are one, and nothing but death will ever separate them." Suddenly his face lit up and his eyes seemed to catch fire. "And who are we to judge?" he said, as if denying some inward question. "What right have we to think for a moment that this inherent weakness shall deprive Jake Meaghan of eternal happiness?
"My property starts ten yards to the south of the wharf here, George, and runs around the bay as far, almost, as it goes, and back to the hills quite a bit. That over there is the other house I spoke to you about. It, and the property to the south, is owned by some one in the Western States. "But I wonder where the devil old Jake Meaghan is.
As I ran the boat into his cove, I could hear his dog bark warningly. The door of his barn, for it was nothing else, was closed, and it was some time before I heard Meaghan's deep voice in answer to my knock, inviting me to come in and bidding his dog to lie down. Meaghan was sitting, presumably reading a newspaper, which was the only kind of "literature" I ever saw him read.
I stood watching until the tiny launch rounded the point; then, as the light was still fairly good, it being the end of the month of May, and as I had no inclination for sleep as yet, I got into the smallest of the rowing boats that were tied up alongside the wharf, loosed it and pulled leisurely up the bay, with the intention of making myself a little better acquainted with the only living soul with whom I was within hail, Jake Meaghan.
The inauguration-stone of the Macmahons still exists on the hill of Lech formerly called Mullach Leaght, or "hill of the stone" three miles south of Meaghan; but the impression of the foot was unfortunately effaced by the owner of the farm about the year 1809. In the garden of Belmont on the Greencastle road, about a mile from Londonderry, there is the famous stone of St.
The only articulate words Meaghan uttered in his mumblings were, "Rita, Rita, Rita." Again and again he came over the name. At last I promised him I would run over and bring her to him. That seemed to content him, but his eyes still kept roving round restlessly. Mr. Auld injected some morphine through Jake's arm in order to give his brain the rest that it evidently sorely needed.
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