The Luck of the Bogans

"The Luck of the Bogans" is a charming story by Sarah Orne Jewett that explores themes of fortune, community, and resilience in a rural setting. Through the eyes of its characters, the narrative delves into the lives of those living in a small town, highlighting their struggles and triumphs against the backdrop of their relationships with one another and the land. Jewett's vivid descriptions and keen observations bring to life the unique culture and character of the Bogans, ultimately revealing the profound connections that shape their experiences and outlooks on life.

• Short story

								
I.

The old beggar women of Bantry streets had seldom showered their
blessings upon a departing group of emigrants with such hearty good
will as they did upon Mike Bogan and his little household one May
morning.

Peggy Muldoon, she of the game leg and green-patched eye and limber
tongue, steadied herself well back against the battered wall at the
street corner and gave her whole energy to a torrent of speech unusual
to even her noble powers. She would not let Mike Bogan go to America
unsaluted and unblessed; she meant to do full honor to this second
cousin, once removed, on the mother's side.

"Yirra, Mike Bogan, is it yerself thin, goyn away beyant the says?"
she began with true dramatic fervor. "Let poor owld Peg take her last
look on your laughing face me darlin'. She'll be under the ground this
time next year, God give her grace, and you far away lavin' to strange
spades the worruk of hapin' the sods of her grave. Give me one last
look at me darlin' lad wid his swate Biddy an' the shild. Oh that I
live to see this day!"

Peg's companions, old Marget Dunn and Biddy O'Hern and no-legged Tom
Whinn, the fragment of a once active sailor who propelled himself by a
low truckle cart and two short sticks; these interesting members of
society heard the shrill note of their leader's eloquence and suddenly
appeared like beetles out of unsuspected crevices near by. The side
car, upon which Mike Bogan and his wife and child were riding from
their little farm outside the town to the place of departure, was
stopped at the side of the narrow street. A lank yellow-haired lad,
with eyes red from weeping sat swinging his long legs from the car
side, another car followed, heavily laden with Mike's sister's family,
and a mourning yet envious group of acquaintances footed it in the
rear. It was an excited, picturesque little procession; the town was
quickly aware of its presence, and windows went up from house to
house, and heads came out of the second and third stories and even in
the top attics all along the street. The air was thick with blessings,
the quiet of Bantry was permanently broken.

"Lard bliss us and save us!" cried Peggy, her shrill voice piercing
the chatter and triumphantly lifting itself in audible relief above
the din,--"Lard bliss us an' save us for the flower o' Bantry is
lavin' us this day. Break my heart wid yer goyn will ye Micky Bogan
and make it black night to the one eye that's left in me gray head
this fine mornin' o' spring. I that hushed the mother of you and the
father of you babies in me arms, and that was a wake old woman
followin' and crapin' to see yerself christened. Oh may the saints be
good to you Micky Bogan and Biddy Flaherty the wife, and forgive you
the sin an' shame of turning yer proud backs on ould Ireland. Ain't
there pigs and praties enough for ye in poor Bantry town that her
crabbedest childer must lave her. Oh wisha wisha, I'll see your face
no more, may the luck o' the Bogans follow you, that failed none o'
the Bogans yet. May the sun shine upon you and grow two heads of
cabbage in the same sprout, may the little b'y live long and get him a
good wife, and if she ain't good to him may she die from him. May
every hair on both your heads turn into a blessed candle to light your
ways to heaven, but not yit me darlin's--not yit!"

The jaunting car had been surrounded by this time and Mike and his
wife were shaking hands and trying to respond impartially to the
friendly farewells and blessings of their friends. There never had
been such a leave-taking in Bantry. Peggy Muldoon felt that her
eloquence was in danger of being ignored and made a final shrill
appeal. "Who'll bury me now?" she screamed with a long wail which
silenced the whole group; "who'll lay me in the grave, Micky bein'
gone from me that always gave me the kind word and the pinny or
trippence ivery market day, and the wife of him Biddy Flaherty the
rose of Glengariff; many's the fine meal she's put before old Peggy
Muldoon that is old and blind."

"Awh, give the ould sowl a pinny now," said a sympathetic voice, "'t
will bring you luck, more power to you." And Mike Bogan, the tears
streaming down his honest cheeks, plunged deep into his pocket and
threw the old beggar a broad five-shilling piece. It was a monstrous
fortune to Peggy. Her one eye glared with joy, the jaunting car moved
away while she fell flat on the ground in apparent excess of emotion.
The farewells were louder for a minute--then they were stopped; the
excitable neighborhood returned to its business or idleness and the
street was still. Peggy rose rubbing an elbow, and said with the air
of a queen to her retinue, "Coom away now poor crathurs, so we'll
drink long life to him." And Marget Dunn and Biddy O'Hern and
no-legged Tom Whinn with his truckle cart disappeared into an alley.

"What's all this whillalu?" asked a sober-looking, clerical gentleman
who came riding by.

"'T is the Bogans going to Ameriky, yer reverence," responded Jim
Kalehan, the shoemaker, from his low window. "The folks gived them
their wake whilst they were here to enjoy it and them was the keeners
that was goin' hippety with lame legs and fine joy down the convanient
alley for beer, God bless the poor souls!"

Mike Bogan and Biddy his wife looked behind them again and again. Mike
blessed himself fervently as he caught a last glimpse of the old
church on the hill where he was christened and married, where his
father and his grandfather had been christened and married and buried.
He remembered the day when he had first seen his wife, who was there
from Glengariff to stay with her old aunt, and coming to early mass,
had looked to him like a strange sweet flower abloom on the gray stone
pavement where she knelt. The old church had long stood on the steep
height at the head of Bantry street and watched and waited for her
children. He would never again come in from his little farm in the
early morning--he never again would be one of the Bantry men. The
golden stories of life in America turned to paltry tinsel, and a love
and pride of the old country, never forgotten by her sons and
daughters, burned with fierce flame on the inmost altar of his heart.
It had all been very easy to dream fine dreams of wealth and
landownership, but in that moment the least of the pink daisies that
were just opening on the roadside was dearer to the simple-hearted
emigrant than all the world beside.

"Lave me down for a bit of sod," he commanded the wondering young
driver, who would have liked above all things to sail for the new
world. The square of turf from the hedge foot, sparkling with dew and
green with shamrock and gay with tiny flowers, was carefully wrapped
in Mike's best Sunday handkerchief as they went their way. Biddy had
covered her head with her shawl--it was she who had made the plan of
going to America, it was she who was eager to join some successful

								Rate this book:0.0 / 0 votes