My Lords of Strogue Volume Ii Part 15

The owner of the treasures began to look grave. Who would steal his things--things moreover which were not worth stealing? None of the peasantry about. Irish peasants, though they will pick off their man blithely from behind a stone, are little given to petty pilfering.

Terence looked around, and his heart beat fast. Nothing had been taken except--his papers! Rough drafts of manifestoes, over which, in the hot zeal of youth, he had consumed the oil of midnight. Projects for the capture of the gaols--rough plans; the very doc.u.ments which, being compromising and not particularly useful, he had come hither to destroy. How silly and imprudent not to have destroyed them sooner!

Sirr for months past had been in the habit of making forcible entries into houses, on the chance of unearthing treason. What more likely than that he should think of making a perquisition upon Councillor Crosbie, who flaunted his opinions before the world in the outward form of a green tabinet neckerchief? Fool--babyish dolt! Idiot! Every one had spoken about that necktie. In a pa.s.sion he tore it from his throat, and hurled it out of the open window. Conduct more childish still! The evil was done. Could it be remedied? His smooth forehead puckered itself into wrinkles as he strove to remember what the bundle of doc.u.ments contained. Three forms of manifesto--to be printed and placarded so soon as Dublin should be taken. The rules and regulations of the society. A memorandum of prominent members--oh, horror! He knew he had been suspected of treachery by some. This list, incautiously kept, might bring about the death of many. Would he not be guilty, by gross carelessness, of their murder? Would they not have a right to curse him as they swung?

For a while his spirit was invaded by the same rush of unworthiness which had so unnerved Tom Emmett when he was arrested. He too felt the bitter sense of upbraiding humiliation with which Tom had asked himself what right had one, who was incapable of common prudence, to traffic thus rashly with the lives of other men? Do his duty! Was it his duty to put himself forward in this affair, or was it merely a culpable personal vanity disguised as self-sacrifice? He strove earnestly to settle that question--so earnestly that Phil, who watched him, was aghast at his distress, and endeavoured by humble barks and frolicking: to cheer his master from the dumps. To no purpose. With grief be it admitted that his master cursed him roundly, abused him with such unnecessary harshness that the poor fellow slunk away with tears in his eyes, under pretence of fetching the green kerchief. Big drops of sweat stood on the young man's brow. His brains had never in all his years been so tried as during the last few months. Only those usually unused to thought can tell of the dreadful addled feeling of helplessness which comes upon the muddled intellect during its first feeble struggles into work.

After a time he grew calmer, as the one bright point stood out distinctly. It was not the vanity of power--the attribute of Jack-in-office, which had galvanised his careless nature into serious purpose. Look at it how he would, he was clearly above such meanness.

He had no personal ambition--that was what Doreen had constantly dinned into his ears with scorn--and he had wished that, to please her, he could have become ambitious. But it was out of the question.

He liked the world--its bright sun, its flowers, its myriad life--but with no desire for exclusive possession of its delights. He was not discontented with his lot, even though his brother was rude sometimes, and his mother cold and unaffectionate. His only troubles had been his trivial debts; they alone had stirred his brains to scheming, and he had borne them good-humouredly as his share of the ills of life. He thought Doreen bewitching--deliriously delightful. Her he would fain possess as his own--his very own. There was nothing specially ambitious in that; for the lowly sparrow, as well as the stately fowl of Cochin, is justified in seeking out a mate--the best who will accept him. No; he was indolently, comfortably content to take the world as he found it, making excuses for its b.u.mps, palliating its disagreeables--until that time when his eyes had been opened as though scales had fallen from them. Since then he was an altered man; sobered by the shock of suddenly perceiving the precipice on which his country stood. At first he had refused to gauge the depth of the abyss; it was so much pleasanter to turn aside to dally with the flowers. Then the upright courage which had hitherto lain dormant spoke, bidding him mark Erin's loveliness--commanding him to stretch out his hand to stay her tottering form, whispering sternly that if she fell before his eyes without an effort made to save, the guilt of her shattered limbs would haunt him for evermore.

No! His conscience absolved him of personal ambition. If Erin were saved through his agency he would be content to retire again into the background--well-paid by her grateful smile. His error had been great, because its consequences might be serious. But humanity is p.r.o.ne to error. Youth must learn experience by stumbling. A man must expect to receive many stabs who fights with a concealed enemy. He must practise prudence, make no movement without exceeding caution; but at the best what a disheartening conflict--what a one-sided fight!

Terence had received two blows this very day. France could not be depended on for help. Twice within less than a year had she made herself a laughing-stock. And now--this capture of his papers, which, if the foe were relentless, would compromise him hopelessly. It was more than ever needful to conceal himself, if his life were to be of real use before he laid it down. Trouble seasons the character quickly. The young man was already beginning to calculate expediencies with gravity and precision. If he was spared, time might make of him a valuable champion.

He whistled Phil, who came up fawning like a hound that is forgiven.

'Follow me. And whatever you do, keep your tongue within your teeth,'

he said. Then calling Kathy, he flung to her the key of his little door, remarking that he was called to Cork on business, and might be long detained. If my lady should write (alas! she never wrote) the letters might wait.

Then, followed by his faithful henchman who shouldered his fire-iron as though meaning business, he turned out of the great gate up the by-lane which led, before meandering elsewhere, to the back-entrance of the Little House; rung the bell, and waited to see the mistress.

Madam Gillin answered it in person, bedizened in a weird wrapper, a wisp of soiled c.r.a.pe wound over the curl-papers about her head and under her chin like a cerecloth. Her sleeves were tucked up above the elbow. In her hand she bore a rolling-pin; her fingers wore a cuticle of dough. Expressing no surprise, she remarked simply:

'I expected you before this. There is no one in the house but myself, Norah, and the collough, my ould nurse. She's to be trusted. Ye're welcome, and your man. Come here, Norah; kiss your brother-in-law as will be some day. You may kiss me too, for I mean to be your aunt-in-law. Look me in the eyes. A handsome fellar! I know more of you than ye'll ever know yourself, unless the Holy Mother wills it.

Come in, for we may be watched; and bar the door.'

CHAPTER XI.

THE RISING OP THE TEMPEST.

Nothing could be kinder than the stout homely lady's treatment of her guest. He seemed to have a sad sort of fascination for her. He caught her watching him sometimes with a queer expression of pity, which broke into amicable grins and head-shakings so soon as she found herself detected. Norah, too, turned out to be a good-natured, unpretentious creature.

On the whole, Terence was not surprised at his brother's choice, considering what a terror that truculent individual betrayed for high-bred damosels, and how little he was able to appreciate the refined fascinations of the haughty, calm Doreen.

'It stood to reason,' so Terence argued, 'that if he were blind to the existence of a divinity who, in semblance of a mortal maid, abode by his fireside, then, of course, his senses must be gross, and nothing would suit him but a house-wench.'

Despite the draggled ball-room finery in which Norah elected to array herself for breakfast, in honour of the guest, he could not but perceive that she was no better than a serving-wench in mistress's attire. But then she was a cheery, pleasant house-wench, instead of a designing, cross one, as might have been the case. So he clasped her to his bosom, and the twain were soon fast friends.

In the kitchen things did not go so smoothly. Phil's orders were that he must never go out by daylight; so he sat in the kitchen all day long, staring at Jug Coyle, the collough, who sat muttering and growling as she stared at him.

For many years, when mistress of the 'Irish Slave,' Jug had nourished a resentment against this unoffending youth, shaking a lean fist at him as he pa.s.sed her door, muttering a curse when he called in for 'the laste taste in life of the crayther.'

Why? Because she was a collough and he a farrier; or, if he wasn't, why should he wield a firing-iron? Colloughs have always hated farriers, time out of mind, because they are rival pract.i.tioners in the art of medicine, and the colloughs nourish a vague belief that, in the days of the Bound Towers, the herbalists were lady-doctors, and that they enjoyed an undisputed sway over both kine and gentlefolk until Crummell introduced the veterinary as a special branch of aesculapian science.

He tried to ingratiate himself with the old dame by playing Peter to her Nurse; but she scorned to be so wheedled, remarking curtly, when he was particularly civil:

'The curse of Crummell light on yez, breed, seed, and branch, ye villainous cow-doctor. The Lord planted our cures in the fields before there was no 'pothecaries.'

Which remark being usually irrelevant, not to say incomprehensible, he met it by a good-tempered nod, which brought the irate lady to the extreme of patience.

The days dragged on thus but slowly. Madam Gillin was a strange mixture of bravery and pusillanimity. As we have seen, she stood in terror of a particular gentleman, because he had discovered that she took her Protestant child to ma.s.s, and had threatened to expose the awful secret. Such a matter would disturb no one at the present day; but at that time it was a heinous sin, which would have pointed the sinner out for some practical joking on the part of the Protestant squireens. At the same time she fearlessly harboured one who was a marked man, upon whose head shortly a price might be set, who might drag her with him to ruin, if the worst came to the worst; and all because she had sworn an oath once to a dying paramour, and had watched, with anger mingled with sorrow, the career of the child she had promised to protect.

Knowing Ireland's wrongs better than he did, and learning from hearsay how proud-stomached a boy he was, she had always dreaded that which actually came to pa.s.s. She and Curran agreed that it would be deplorable if he joined the popular party; but as both secretly leaned in that direction, they could not discountenance him for having the courage to maintain, in face of danger, what they felt to be the rightful cause. For all their sakes, however, she acted with feminine tact. She kept him a close prisoner in a garret while it was day, sitting alone herself in the garden during fine weather, where all who pa.s.sed along the high-road might perceive a strange figure they were little likely to forget. At night she took him out under personal escort to take the air, bidding Phil march forty yards in front and whistle at the first hint of danger, while Norah fulfilled the same office behind; Jug meanwhile being strictly enjoined to allow no strange foot to cross the threshold, under any pretence whatever.

In the course of these walks they wandered by the sh.o.r.e, coming quite accidentally, sometimes, upon a group of fishermen, who bowed to the young man with respect, and conversed with him in long and earnest whispers. It transpired by-and-by that some of the ubiquitous informers were beginning to turn their attention to the rage for fis.h.i.+ng which seemed to have arisen about Strogue Point. Then Madam Gillin forbade even the solace of these nocturnal wanderings.

It became known that many of the marked ones were journeying to and fro, in a suspicious and mysterious manner, between Wexford and Dublin and the adjacent districts. It also became a matter of public scandal that the object of the journeys was to commune with a personage of rank, the only one who dared to prefer his country to his cla.s.s.

Unwise conspirators began to babble of a lordling who would shortly lead them to certain victory--who, English though he might be by lineage, did not forget how many centuries of sojourn bound his family to the sister island. They spoke with grat.i.tude and pride of this _rara avis_, all the more incautiously, perhaps, because they knew him to be safely hidden beyond the ken of Sirr and of his bloodhounds.

Now as week followed week, and month glided after month, it chanced that my Lord Clare departed to the bath of Harrogate to drink the waters for his health. By a singular coincidence, Mr. Pitt also travelled thitherward. It was, of course, a coincidence; but folks did say--well, no matter what they said.

When Lord Clare returned to the Irish metropolis, he discovered, with concern, that the secret committee of Lords--the Wehmgericht who still performed in the shadow unholy and illegal deeds--had requested the Viceroy to issue a certain warrant.

Lord Camden, rather pleased for once to act upon his separate account, mumbled that the lords were quite right to keep their own nest clean; that it was shocking to think that one of their body should so fearfully misbehave himself. He went further. Other younger sons of an adventurous turn might follow this pernicious example. Not only must he be taken forthwith, but must also be made an example of. His brother might object possibly--that nice loyal young n.o.bleman, who had a.s.sisted in building many Martello towers; but his outcry, should he presume to make one, must be stopped by timely courtesy. The Glandores of Strogue were earls; why should they not be created marquises?

So my Lord Camden delivered the warrant, which had for long been lying in his escritoire, to Major Sirr, and offered, as well, a reward of a thousand guineas for the culprit, alive or dead.

Quite a tremor went through both Houses. One of the n.o.bles! This was serious. A few thousand peasants, more or less, mattered to n.o.body; but it was a pity to touch the _n.o.blesse_. Then they talked of Lafayette, who was a marquis, whilst this was only an earl's younger son, and soon felt quite comfortable; even applauded the Viceroy's timely severity.

Lord Clare was more troubled, when he learned these things, than his enemies would have deemed possible. He wrote to his dear old friend at Glas-aitch-e, bidding her not grieve too much. It was done in his absence. He dared not openly interfere in favour of her misguided son, but would make a personal request to Mr. Pitt to urge his Majesty to clemency. He had done much work for Mr. Pitt (forgetting to state how dirty that work was); and no doubt his boon would be granted. If not, still must his loving mother not despair. Prison bars might be sawn; turnkeys were very shortsighted. There were boats about, and men to man them.

He never doubted for a moment that the reward would be claimed. How blind both Curran and his _protege_ had been not to guess his transparent riddle! My lady wrote back in course of time, deploring, in bitter terms, the blow which had befallen the family; the dart which had transfixed her heart. And my Lord Clare was no little amazed to perceive, or to seem to perceive, that my lady took her anguish calmly. Either she was a Stoic, or more unfeeling as to her offspring than he liked to consider a lady to be who was also his old friend.

Thus did events unroll themselves, till one fine day a party of yeomanry, more intoxicated even than they usually were, took it into their wise heads to investigate the Little House. Happily the chatelaine was at home to defend her penates, whilst old Jug shrieked maledictions on the party like a frantic Chorus. Madam Gillin stoutly (in both senses of the word) spread her redundant charms across her entrance-stone, daring them one and all to come forward and strike a woman. She threatened them--Catholic though she was--with the vengeance of the Bar. Was she not the chosen ally of my Lords Clonmell and Carleton--those gay and festive judges--who held her company and her wine in such deservedly high esteem? Did not even the gradually saddening attorney-general--Mr. Arthur Wolfe--count her among his friends? Woe be to the military gentlemen who should outrage her sacred hearth. They might come in and do their worst, for she had naught to hide. What could she have to hide? But she warned them, in very positive language indeed, that they would rue the day they did it. They were abashed, but loath to retire, after drunken bl.u.s.tering, before a mere woman's tongue. Such a woman and such a tongue! Would she give the boys some drink? the captain coaxingly suggested. She pertinently retorted that if they or some of their kidney had not already destroyed the shebeen, which she had set up for the benefit of arid throats, drink might be got in plenty without stealing it from a lone woman. Yet would she even give them drink if they'd promise to be off. Not special drink, such as the judges drank, but some other, by no means despicable.

She showed the officers into the dining-parlour; produced for them a few bottles of undeniable Lafitte, bidding Norah act Hebe (who objected not at all), and ordering Jug to distribute jorums of whisky among the common men upon the lawn. It soon became an orgie. One man said something rude to Jug about her erring Biddy with the carroty poll, which sent the hag into a fury. If Biddy was sliding from the straight path, the sin must lie on her head, not her mother's. They were spalpeens, she yelled, who would rot some time--the sooner the better. When should come Judgment-day they would not awake, ne'er a recreant sowl of them, having long ago been absorbed by lean pigs that were their betters. One man bade her keep a civil tongue, or it would be the worse for her. A riot ensued, which the mistress of the dwelling hurried forth to quell. Before the officers could interfere, Madam Gillin had received a scratch upon her arm, which she exhibited in the moonlight, swearing she was 'kilt entirely,' with an accompaniment of screams from Norah, who was really terrified. The judges should hear of the outrage--my lords Clonmell and Carleton--she vociferated, and the rapscallions should be drummed out of the regiment for insulting lone women who had friends among the great. The party stole away, ashamed of the din, but Madam Gillin made capital of the incident. Bandaging her arm in b.l.o.o.d.y linen, she drove into the capital, laid a complaint there, and made believe to see a surgeon.

Every day for many days she drove into town and back again, closely draped in shawls, with ensanguined bandages exposed. Long ago she perceived that if Terence was to consent to continued imprisonment, his mind must be set at rest by communication with the Directory. He chafed so in his cage that she dreaded sometimes whether he might not escape in the night while the kindly gaoleress slept. Therefore, knowing what a hue-and-cry there was after him--or rather after the unlucky thousand pounds reward--she became in some sort a conspirator herself, going daily to and fro to see her doctor, who was no other than one of the new delegates, and who thus was enabled to commune with the lordling in spite of Sirr and his battalion of watchers.

There was a lull of expectation in Dublin. Reports flew over the city--no one could tell how or whence they came--reports which set quiet citizens quivering in their beds. Hints of murder, rapine, kidnapping, explosion. Rumour swept howling over the city. The Castle would be blown into the air; it was known that the train was laid, that the match was ready. The lives of the Viceroy and his ministers were not worth a groat. What wonder if loyal yeoman souls were yet further set aflame? What wonder if the terrified senate acquiesced without murmuring at the line of action which the loyalists pursued.

Soon so many prospective victims choked the alleys of the Riding-school that extra triangles had to be set up elsewhere. The Royal Exchange itself echoed with the thud of the cat; the screams of the victims for mercy could be heard in the viceregal apartments hard by. Happily for Lady Camden's peace of mind, she had fled long since.

Soldiers were sent out at free quarters to the right and left, with hints that it would be well that their hosts should not forget their coming. Virgins were tossed naked in blankets, while their fathers and brothers were compelled to watch their shame. The pitch-cap was in daily use; gunpowder was exploded in the hair. A new and splendid jest was invented by a merry dog. Why not _picket_ the recalcitrant sc.u.m?

What better joke than to poise an insolent fellow barefoot upon a pointed stake? His movements would be mirth-inspiring--so grotesque and comical! The only drawback was (as experiment showed) that he fainted all too soon. No; decidedly there was nothing better than the old-fas.h.i.+oned lash. Men swooned under it no doubt; some died; some went raving mad. But even when these misfortunes chanced there was diversion to be had from the expectant moans of those who were awaiting a like fate. Some even lost consciousness before they were tied up at all. Such a lack of humorous perception was disgusting.

Why, a rat in a pit gives sport, though his fate is predetermined. A man, though low-born, should shame to be less plucky than a rat! It was rather amusing, and salutary to a certain point in its results, to shoot down children--babes and sucklings--before their mothers' eyes.

Yet no! there was so little variety in the behaviour of the mothers.

They all rocked themselves and stretched their palms to heaven. It was monotonous and dull. Even the imagination of the squireens, spurred as it was by enterprising colonels, began to flag. Perhaps, after all, they were not so very much more witty or more inventive than the French in the Reign of Terror. Their superiors grew ashamed of them, forgetting that in our imperfect state there is a limit to the human intellect. They grew ashamed of their own dearth of ingenuity, being by this time so swinish and sodden with alcohol and blood-quaffing, that the English and Scotch regiments turned their backs on them, declining to a.s.sociate with their Irish comrades at all, even under stress of orders and of whisky.

Winter had come again; not white this time, but red--a dusky red, by reason of the shadow of that thunderous cloud which, bloated now, was on the eve of bursting. If there is a limit set to the torturing ingenuity of fiends, so is there--by Divine ordinance--to the endurance even of slaves. A roar swept across the land--a roar of expostulation with the Most High in that He had slept too long. Sure man was not created only for the sake of torment. Children were not born merely to be ripped asunder--virgins to be ravished--men to be done to death by inches? Why, whilst the sun smiled on earth for good and bad alike--its glory heightened by a casual vapour-fleck--was Ireland alone exempted from the boon of light? The last trump had not yet sounded. Why was Erin alone to be a h.e.l.l? Messengers moved like ants on the earth's surface. Something was preparing. After many delays and feints the real crisis was at hand at last. The cloud, three years ago no bigger than a hand, blackened the horizon. Even the chancellor's stony face grew wan--his nature of adamant faltered--when he surveyed the darkened heavens, hushed in an awful stillness, and waited for what might come. For a moment he trembled like Frankenstein before the monster he had fas.h.i.+oned.

CHAPTER XII.

DANGER.