Kitabı oku: «My Lords of Strogue. Volume 2 of 3», sayfa 12

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 hell? 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 fashioned.

CHAPTER XII.
DANGER

Through Madam Gillin Terence heard of these things, and was fretted beyond measure in his seclusion. The plot was ripe. Vague tales of succour were wafted from France, but the conspirators knew better now than to lean on broken reeds. They were resolved to make a frantic effort on their own account, independent of extraneous aid. Men can die but once. Death by rope or musket-ball would be preferable to such life as this-life with a brutal soldiery at free quarters in the houses; with triangles in every barrack-yard, each bearing its quivering burthen. Details had been laboriously gone into by Terence and the Wexford chiefs. The project was complete in all its details. The counties were to rise simultaneously at a given signal. The Viceroy and the members of his privy council were each to be captured in his bed. A detachment was to seize the artillery at Chapelizod; a second was to storm Kilmainham and set free the patriot leaders. It was the old plan which had always proved abortive; could it be brought to fruition now? Horses would be in waiting, so that each leader could escape and scamper off to assume the post allotted to him. The men were enthusiastic, the Wexford chiefs declared, and built great hopes on the fact of having a noble in their ranks. The only objection which Terence's anxious eye could detect was that the lower order among the priests were assuming an authority to which they were not entitled; one which, by reason of their want of education, might prove mischievous. Tone, in all his letters, had always laid stress upon this point.

'Keep the priests out of it,' he had constantly written to Miss Wolfe (Terence remembered it now). 'They will mean well, but are outrageously illiterate and given to fable, which might have a pernicious effect, their influence being enormous.'

A certain Father Roche and a Father Murphy were never weary of writing letters, suggesting changes, offering wild advice. It would be well for the Church militant to be nipped in the bud. The leaders now in Kilmainham should be warned to see to this. Councillor Crosbie would have liked more muskets and a supply of gunpowder. What a pity it was that the French attempts had failed! After all, it was perhaps better as it was. The pike was the weapon for Pat; and though many had been captured, the land was bristling with them. Cars, too, would be useful for barricades. The small farmers must be told to keep their market-cars in constant readiness. Terence's eye scanned the details. They were not to be improved. All was ready.

Nothing remained but to fix a day. New Year's Eve was suggested, in order that the year 1798 might be well begun. It was amazing and disheartening to find how impossible it was for Pat to keep a secret. A week before the old year expired, proclamations appeared on all the walls, which showed that Government was aware of what was doing. Each householder was commanded, under pain of flogging, to chalk a list on the outer door of the persons who dwelt upon his premises; with the exception (so ran the quaint document) of those who might be suffering from pecuniary embarrassment, whose names were to be transmitted privately to the Lord Mayor. He was likewise bidden to see that no one under his roof went forth into the street between nine at night and five in the morning. Could the conspirators doubt that somehow their every movement was reported?

Madam Gillin, who, strive to control herself as she would, was feverishly excited about the future, discussed the plot in all its bearings with her guest when shutters were shut and curtains drawn. It was a marvel, she declared, that his retreat had remained so long undiscovered. It was a narrow escape though, when the yeomanry arrived; but that was evidently due to accident. There was no cause to suspect treachery there. It spoke well for the country chiefs-at least the few who had been let into the secret; for a thousand pounds is a tidy nest-egg-a by no means despicable windfall. She liked those leaders whom she had seen when pretending to visit her doctor in Dublin. The best of them was a certain Mr. Bagenal Harvey-a nice gintleman-one of the few who has much personal property at stake. 'He's prudent too, for an Irishman. And so are you, my child!' she remarked, laying a plump hand affectionately on his arm. 'You've never even told your mother where you're hid. I verily believe she hates me so that, if she knew, she'd write and tell the chancellor!'

'I fear she doesn't care,' returned Terence, sadly. 'Nor does Doreen.'

The strange look of compassion flitted across the face of his hostess which he had observed there before. She muttered something which he did not catch, but he knew by the tone that it was uncomplimentary to her ladyship.

'You mustn't think ill of my lady,' he said, with an attempt at cheerfulness. 'Indeed, she so dotes on Shane that there's no room in her heart for poor me! He quite filled up that shrine before ever I came into the world. If I thought she would have been anxious, I would have informed her. But nobody cared, so I told nobody-except one.'

'You told some one! Who was that?'

'A trusty old friend of long standing-true as gold, if a little stupid-Tim Cassidy. By-the-bye, he said you didn't like him. He's good, but not clever; though I've been a little shaken of late as to the weakness of his intellect. It's wonderful how circumstances bring people out!'

Madam Gillin sat bolt upright, her fat hands clasped round her fat knees.

'You told him!' she cried aghast.

'Yes. Do not fear. He's playing a useful game, if a shady one. Each of us must do what he can, you know.'

Mrs. Gillin was so taken aback that, to conceal her emotion, she retired abruptly from the garret, and stared out of the landing-window to consider this intelligence.

'A useful game for himself,' she murmured. 'He knows-he who has wrecked them all-and has left this one here so long with a thousand pounds upon his head! What can he mean? Can he in this be sincere? No. The days of miracles are past.'

Madam Gillin had seen our friend Cassidy once without his jovial mask. It is astonishing how deceived we are in people! We may live with them on familiar terms for years, and discover at last by a gleam that their real selves are quite other from what we thought. Sometimes the gleam never comes at all. How many sons are there who never knew their mothers? How many mothers who have never known their sons-the real person with the veil withdrawn? Madam Gillin had seen Cassidy once when he was himself, and felt satisfied that he could never be true except to his own interests. Then this new position which looked the darker for the light she could throw on it, twisted itself in her mind, displaying all its facets. He knew that the young man, on whom so much depended, had been lying for weeks and weeks in ambush at the Little House. Why did he leave him there? Was he waiting for the reward to be doubled? When the moment arrived for her protégé to be taken-when he chose to speak, what would become of HER? He would surely ruin her. Could the judges save her from the penalties which would accrue from taking a Protestant under age to mass, as well as harbouring an arch-rebel?

'Well, I can't help it,' she said aloud, mentally tossing up the sponge. 'I've done what I thought right. It's difficult to see the way. He must be got out of this while there's time, and New Year's Eve so near, too! Oh that I had learnt this before!' Painful misgivings possessed her mind. 'Pray God and the Holy Mother that the poor boy may be spared!' she whispered. 'Knowing what I do, it's bitterly sorry I am for him. That proud mother of his will burn for what she's doing some time or other, though she's happy now.'

Mrs. Gillin, argus-eyed as she thought herself, could not know that the chatelaine of Strogue had already passed through a part of the travail of her punishment. She had to judge by the face, which was a mask-the face which was stony and cold enough-as cold as a face of marble.

Suddenly (as she meditated) the buxom lady saw something which caused her to crouch down and draw hastily back from the window.

'It's come!' she murmured; 'I felt it here in my heart. What a mercy that he told me, or it would have come on us unawares! Norah!' she called with caution down the stairs, 'send Phil up here this minute.' Then she sped to the garret. 'My lad,' she said quickly, 'hurry now! Get through the trap on to the roof. Phil must do the same. I'll tidy the place in a jiffy! Ye can both lie cosy in the valley of the roof.'

'What's the matter?' asked Terence, without moving.

'Matter enough. There's a party coming down the road. I'll stake my head it's Sirr or some of them. They're coming to look for you!'

'Then give them some of your Lafitte, my second mother!' laughed Terence, carelessly, 'and pack them about their business.'

'No,' Mrs. Gillin said, 'I can't explain now. They must go over the house, and be convinced that ye're not in it; and to-night we'll pack ye somewhere else for safety.'

There was no withstanding her energy. The two young men obeyed their peremptory hostess, marvelling much at her. It was Sirr, sure enough. His peculiar stoop could be recognised a mile off. Behind him were a dozen redcoats.

Mrs. Gillin was snipping dead twigs with a large pair of scissors; she wore a loose green kerchief over her turban, so unbecomingly arranged that it was evident she expected no visitors. Norah was dutifully holding a basket. How idle of the gardener to have neglected to trim those hedges! Old Jug sat crooning in the wintry sun, her eyes twinkling like beads from under a tangle of sandy elf-locks and flopping cap, her favourite dudheen between her lips.

'Misthress dear!' she croaked between two puffs of smoke, 'it's the meejor.'

But that lady was too much absorbed in gardening to hear.

'Good-day, madam,' quoth Sirr, wrinkling down his brow-tufts with a smirk, and saluting in military fashion.

'Bless the pigs, meejor! is it you?' she cried, throwing down her scissors. 'Ye've called to ask after my arm? It's mighty kind! The ruffin gave my poor hand a terrible wrench, and sprains are slow to cure. The bleeding's stopped this long while, but the docthor's eating the sowl out of me. I go to be bandaged three times a week. It's not your boys, meejor, that would outrage a leedy so!'

Major Sirr was disconcerted, and began to stammer:

'Glad ye're better, madam-hugely glad! I would not for the world do anything disagreeable to a lady-but business is business, isn't it?'

'What's up?' cried the amazed little woman.

'I'm here, I regret to say, on painful business. May we come inside? Thank you!'

'The meejor's always welcome,' affably returned the other, with one of those superb but ceremonious curtseys wherewith she was wont to electrify the Viceroy. Then, plucking off the kerchief, she whispered audibly to Norah, 'Begorrer, it's rooned we are! To be seen with a square of green silk round mee ould noddle! But the meejor won't tell.'

Major Sirr observed with sorrow that the lady was not so cordial as usual. There was an air of suspicious virtue with the ears set back which distressed him, for he was really partial to her, though he loved her claret better.

''Tis with deepest pain-' he was beginning, when she cut him short.

'Give tongue!' she said curtly. 'What ails you?'

This was a slap in the face. He was accustomed to be fondled and caressed by those whom it was his painful duty to flay alive. She could not be so hoighty-toighty if afraid.

'You are right,' he returned; 'business is business. I regret to say I must search your house, for I've reason to know that Councillor Crosbie is concealed here. I advise you to produce him, and have done with it.'

Oh, Major Sirr! Major Sirr! You should have sent your better-half to cope with Mrs. Gillin. What are a dozen men against one woman, in a battle of wits? What are two dozen men against one woman whose blood is roused, who stands like a tigress 'twixt her whelp and danger?

Major Sirr expected her to change colour, to betray at least a quiver of the lip, a tremor of the fingers; then, recovering herself, to deny largely and pour forth claret with effusion. Such signs would have been the sure tokens of guilt, and he would have known how to act accordingly.

Instead of this she stabbed him, rather too hard for playfulness, with her scissors, and skipped away laughing with elephantine grace. Then wagging her turban at him (which was wofully awry), she set her hands akimbo on her high waistband, thereby sending her elbows almost to the level of her ears, and remarked with unusual bluntness:

'Pah! ye stink of the Staghouse! Stale blood and brains! Go on, hangman; do your worst. Mr. Crosbie was here-has been here for weeks. I won't deny, since ye know all about it. If ye hadn't been a dolt, ye'd have found him long ago. Why, he walked out with Norah each evening on the shore. He was here when the yeoman blackguards wounded and hurt my arm. Do ye think, if it was otherwise, I'd have stooped to give them drink? Not likely! Mr. Crosbie was here, but the bird's flown. You may well look glum. Sorra a drop of the crathur your men'll get out of me this day. Go, search the house; turn it inside out. He lived in the right-hand garret. Ye'll find some of his things about, though he's in Wexford by this time. Here are all my keys (except the cellar key). Search!'

This was disheartening. Behaviour coarse and rude. But duty is duty. Sirr stooped to pick up the keys, which had been tossed to his feet, and, wrapping himself in a rag of dignity, proceeded to examine the premises. It was as she said. There was no one there, though there were signs of recent occupation. Ruefully the major looked into the dining-parlour. There were no nice things laid out for his behoof.

'I've only done my duty,' he urged, as he clutched the virtuous lady's fat hand. 'Don't be cross with me. I'm glad my mission's failed, though I should have won a thousand by it-there!'

But she shook him off and swept away, murmuring over her shoulder, with sniffing nostrils, that she had done with him; would never meet him as a friend again (though her house was open to examination whensoever he was anxious for an outrage); that she would take it as a personal favour if he would save her the pain of cutting him dead in public; for under no conditions whatsoever would she consent to condone this insult.

Sirr was sorry, but shrugged his shoulders. He ordered his men to march on to Strogue. Perhaps the culprit was not gone to Wexford, but was lying perdu in the vaults of the ancient Abbey. Mrs. Gillin screamed to old Jug, from an upper window, to run round to Larry in the farm-buildings, and bid him bring out the carriage. She must go to Dublin to the doctor. Her nerves were rooned now, as well as her spirits and poor arm.

Then, closing the window, she called on the fugitives to come forth.

'There's no time to be lost,' she said. 'Sirr suspects nothing, but the other will. The serpent! He is capable of coming down himself, in a friendly way, to spend the evening; and that's more than I could endure, even for you.'

'Of whom do you speak?' asked Terence, bewildered.

'Don't chatter!' interrupted the kind lady. ''Twill be twilight in an hour or so. You must get out of this before Sirr gets back, and reports to the other what he's done. Then the brute may come, and welcome. It'll be a pleasure to laugh at him. Sirr'll be an hour or so rummaging through the Abbey. Meanwhile you'll take my place in the coach. You're just my size and figure. Your arm looks awful bad. You want a doctor sadly. But that gossoon there; he can't go too, as I've always gone alone. Unlucky! He can't stay, either; that's certain. What'll we do at all?' She tore off the soiled turban to rub her head, for the better coaxing of her ingenuity. Presently she clapped her hands. 'That's it. Ye'll go separate to the same rendezvous. You, Phil, shall go first, for ye must walk. It's like a masquerade in the good old times; yet my heart is dreadful sore-ochone!'

Rapidly Madam Gillin produced some sailor-slops which her own boatman used to wear when she took her pleasure on the bay. 'Phil will wear these and start at once,' she explained. 'His face must not be seen; it's too well known. In the boathouse yonder he'll find a coil of rope. He must bear it on his shoulders as a motive, and let a loop or two fall over his forehead. Be off now, and be careful. Take a knife, in case of accidents. Ye must be clear off before Sirr returns from the Abbey. If by ill-luck ye were to come face to face, stab at his legs. He wears a coat of mail. I felt it with my scissors. Away!'

Phil departed, quite glad of the excitement, delighted to break through his long and weariful incarceration.

Terence was packed in the celebrated wrapper, which once to see was never to forget. A beaver bonnet and veil covered his head. An arm was deftly bandaged. He stepped into the coach, drew up the glasses, and leaning back in the shadow as the coachman whipped his horses, began to collect his thoughts. Whew! What a whirl it was! Why dear Madam Gillin should suddenly become nervous, and wag her plumes so, he could not imagine. Unpleasant things are ofttimes for the best. Concealed in the capital itself he would be all the better able to superintend in person the proceedings of New Year's Eve. Yes! It was quite fortunate that she should thus have sent him off. He would see some of the delegates that very evening; concert passwords and signals. Five minutes' talk is worth a dozen letters. He would send round for Cassidy, who, faithful to his rôle, should be able to unravel for them the ins and outs of the Castle tactics, some of which seemed hazy. He would- What was that? Sirr and his men! Then they had not lingered at the Abbey, but had started Dublinwards before him? No matter. All was right. The major had peered into the carriage, and, perceiving the wounded arm and well-known wrapper, had turned away his head abruptly. How cleverly Mrs. Gillin had managed the whole thing! Why had she taken such a fancy to him? If he were her own son, she could not be more loving and considerate. – What was that? A man bending under a load. Phil, of course. How slow he walked! Sirr's men seemed stepping out. Please Heaven they would not overtake him. No. And if they did, what then? A boor with a burthen of rope. A guilty conscience; how it racks and torments us about nothing!

Hark! a sound-audible through the rumbling coach-wheels. A shout-a cry! Unable to resist the impulse, Terence lowered a glass and protruded his head, with the beaver bonnet and veil. Great heavens! The soldiers had gained on Phil, whose burthen impeded movement; had, from sheer brutality, torn it from him and disclosed his features. He had been recognised! Sirr saw through the trick, and shook his fist with balked fury. He was gesticulating in the road. Some soldiers were hailing the coach from afar, but Larry whipped his horses with a will. Some more, jumping a ditch, had broken through a hedge and vanished. Poor Phil! he would be murdered. Was it not base to leave him thus unaided? Yet-the Cause. Terence felt that his life was not his own. Eagerly he looked backwards as the road took a loop-turn. He must see the last of poor Phil-probably the very last of his faithful henchman. Phil had ceased struggling. Terence drew in his head, and, man though he was, burst into a flood of tears. Poor, faithful Phil! What a sad end!

Half-way betwixt Strogue and Dublin the road leaves the shore, and winds inland with an intricate series of doubles-arranged so for the benefit of certain small villa-holders, round whose tiny properties the way meanders. Terence forgot this fact, so absorbed was he in the fate of his attached servant, otherwise he would have seen his danger, and, throwing off his disguise, would have trusted to a hare's tactics in the open. But, clad in woman's attire, he was weeping like a woman, and bemoaning his fate, when the carriage came to a standstill with a shock. A detachment of soldiers, taking a short cut, had come upon the carriage, and, springing on the bits, had thrust back the horses on their haunches.

Deception was futile now. Dragging off the ignoble bonnet and wrapper, Terence sprang lightly out, and drawing a pistol, prepared to barter his life against as many of the foe as possible.

One man shot poor Larry on his box, lest he should take part in the scuffle; another hamstrung the off-horse, which whinnied, and leaped up with pain. The shot was answered by a hulloo and rush of feet. Through the hedge-gap appeared Sirr, breathless but foaming, urging on his men, two of whom dragged Phil, an inert mass, between them.

'Murther!' groaned Phil. 'That the masther should be tuk, and through me!'

'Yes,' jeered Sirr; 'we have him now. Having detected you, I knew at once that he could not be far off!'

Terence discharged his pistols with good effect. A man fell to each of them. Then, drawing a dagger, he leaned his back against a tree.

Sirr, as his way was on these occasions, withdrew to the rear, content with egging on his hounds from a safe distance. The men waited for a second, watching the eye of the man who stood at bay. Phil saw his opportunity, and took it. With a jerk he freed himself, stabbed one fellow, and, lunging at another, slipped, and tumbled on the moist earth. But he was not to be thus foiled. Wriggling along the ground, he reached Major Sirr, and slashed him across both legs, who, springing into the air with a howl, tossed away the sword-cane that he had unsheathed and fell disabled. Phil caught it, and stabbed the shrieking major again and again till it broke. 'Right she was!' he said; 'the dastard does wear mail!'

The diversion seemed likely to save Terence, who, turning, sped swiftly along the furrows, favoured by sinking twilight.

'Run, masther, run!' Phil screamed. 'Please the Lord, he'll be safe yet.'

'Dead or alive!' howled Sirr, who clawed the ground with his fingers in his pain.

A man levelled his musket and fired. Terence turned like a top, dropped on his knees, then struggling up, moved on as swiftly as before. Another fired, but missed. The fugitive flew on, but not so fast. A mere youth outstripped him, and stooping down in front, tripped him by the feet. Both fell heavily. The bigger of the two being uppermost-his right arm swinging loose-made a desperate effort to throttle the boy with his left hand. It took several men, pressing his chest with heavy muskets, to tear his prey from him, and bind him in such a way as to prevent further resistance.

Terence and Phil were taken to the provost, whilst Sirr (vowing vengeance especially against the latter) was borne away to have the wounds dressed which disfigured his comely calves.

Madam Gillin sat at home in a perspiration, waiting for news. No news! That looked well. It was dawn before she sought her couch, determined to try and sleep. A hubbub aroused the three occupants of the Little House. What was it? eight o'clock! An enormous detachment of soldiers' wives, with kettles, equipage, and baggage, demanding hospitality, producing an official order to that effect. Free quarters; and for women, too-the dirty, drunken drabs! Madam Gillin clasped her fat hands in anguish. Then the stratagem must have been discovered. One had been taken-which? or both? Oh, Heaven! Would no one tell her?

A blowsy wife, more compassionate than the rest, said that all the world knew by this time that the meejor had won the big reward.

Madam Gillin tightened her lips, and said no more, while Jug whistled lamentations through her gums. 'It's the curse of Crummell on the farriers-breed, seed, and branch. If he'd gone alone he'd have been safe.' Which, in all probability, was true enough, though not because Phil chose to wield a firing-iron. But Madam Gillin would not listen to her nurse. Poor lad! To be taken without striking a blow-without even the threadbare satisfaction which belongs to a leader of forlorn hopes-of laying down life, perhaps, but at a heavy price. What an unjust world it is! Mrs. Gillin felt it more and more.