Kitabı oku: «My Lords of Strogue. Volume 2 of 3», sayfa 8

CHAPTER VII.
SMITTEN WITH SERPENTS

Doreen was wrong. The French did not abandon so lightly their scheme of striking at Albion through Cinderella. They revictualled their fleet, made good the damage done by winds and waves, and looked forward to the accomplishment of their object within half a year or so of their first failure. To make victory doubly sure, a second fleet was got together in the Texel, under the command of the solid Dutchman, De Winter, who agreed with the Gallic Directory that now was the time or never; for the British navy was utterly disorganised-there were mutinies among the sailors at Plymouth and at Portsmouth, and one more serious still, under Parker, at the Nore. What moment could be better chosen for conveying an army to Ireland than one in which the mistress of the seas lay crippled; when the Channel-unusual circumstance-was open to the world? Wolfe Tone, however, did not recover his enthusiasm. The conduct of his brethren at home, when friendly vessels were in the offing, had been reprehensible-pusillanimous. Instead of rising and making a vigorous effort for freedom, those who pretended to be their chiefs had bickered and shilly-shallied among themselves-a sight to command the scorn of honest men-and the young hero was profoundly discouraged. He began to doubt his countrymen; yet would he not desert them though they seemed inclined to desert themselves, but joined the Texel fleet, under Daendels and De Winter, hoping and praying for the best. It was a fine fleet of fifteen sail of the line and ten frigates. If the wind would only blow fair-if the shoals and sandbanks of the Texel were once safely passed-then success was certain. For Admiral Duncan, who was watching, had but a few vessels under his command, and even some of these were called home in consequence of the Nore troubles.

'Hurry then!' cried De Winter and old Daendels. 'Ship the troops, and let us be off.'

The troops were shipped-everything was ready; but Daendels and De Winter whistled vainly for a fair wind. The elements, as usual, were on the side of England. Before, there had been too much wind; now, not a breath stirred the air. The sea was a dead calm. The admirals and generals marched up and down the deck-beautiful-in blue, with rainbow sashes, and hats prodigious with great plumes of the three colours. But no breeze moved a feather of the plumes. Exasperated, they descended to the cabin to while away the time with music, while the precious sand was dripping in the glass. De Winter had a pretty talent on the flute, as also had Tone, and so these two warriors obliged the company with duets-artistic trills and variations-what a strange spectacle! But by-and-by their patience oozed out of the flute-holes-they cursed themselves, and flung about the music in a passion; and indeed the clerk of the weather was vexing. June was merging into July-the mutinies were being put down-the golden opportunity was slipping visibly away; Lord Bridport cruised out with a fleet to watch the French at Brest; Duncan's handful became a squadron, swinging idly at the Texel's mouth; the soldiers, unaccustomed to close packing, showed signs of sickness; the provisions were sensibly diminishing; unless fortune should choose to turn her wheel with speed this expedition would be a greater fiasco even than the other.

Meanwhile there was a panic amongst the friends of Government in Dublin, who knew not that the elements were fighting for them. The position of England was most critical. Should this new enterprise succeed, what chance of succour could there be from Britain? None. She had quite enough to do to cope with her own difficulties. There were forty thousand soldiers who had been drafted into Ireland by degrees; but could these be relied on? The Hessians were beery brutal wretches, who would probably turn coward at a pinch. The Scotch and English regiments made no secret of their abhorrence of the attitude of the native yeomanry. As for the militia, it was disaffected, and would certainly fling itself into the balance on the side of probable success. The people were fiercely sullen-in a dangerous mood, like rats prepared to spring. If the French should come and be victorious, they would rally like one man round the tricolour, and then woe to the small knot of tyrants! Not one of the ascendency party could hope to escape. Not a Protestant lord or lady in the land but would be hacked in pieces with the inevitably accompanying atrocities of internecine strife. It was an awful prospect. My lords, who had been blindly following the lead of the executive, looked uneasily towards the Castle. They had done as they were bidden, aided by promises and pensions-but of what use is a pension when your throat is cut? Were they to be protected from the growling rabble-these hereditary legislators, who had abused their trust-these amateur colonels who had disgraced their cloth-this venal degraded senate which was a byword among senates? Members of both Houses were nervous. Had their zeal led them perhaps too far? Would it be better to hedge a little-to permit the miserable cottagers to exist in peace? The Privy Council debated long and anxiously. Lord Camden was frightened at the acts which were perpetrated in his name. Mr. Speaker ventured to remark that a line of commendation from Mr. Pitt, and a promise of help in case of need, would be consoling to his coadjutors. Arthur Wolfe became plunged in melancholy. He was drifting on a stream which sickened him, towards a palpable goal which he contemplated with terror. Was there no escape from the horror that was looming? He looked to Lord Clare as to a helmsman who is responsible for the safety of the crew.

But Lord Clare's nerves did not desert him at this crisis. His clear intellect told him that it was too late for hedging; now there was no retreat. King George hated the Catholics, and would smile on those who evilly entreated them. Mr. Pitt had sketched out a plan of action long ago, which must be carried out faithfully to the letter. Mr. Pitt had decided that Cinderella must be put on the rack; that her limbs must be given a good wrenching; and that afterwards-so soon as she should know by experience what agony really is-she should be tucked up cosily and made comfortably bedridden for the rest of her natural existence. It stood to reason that she would scream-so would you or I if thus surgically treated; but when once we grow used to it, there is a charm about being bedridden. People come to amuse us-to feed us with dainty things; they coddle us and comfort us, and we are really not unhappy. Therefore, although these unfortunate mutinies had somewhat complicated the case, it would never do to blench at so critical a moment. Having put his hand to the wheel, my lord chancellor knew that he must look steadily forward, and not backward. His countrymen must be taught that any régime would be better than the one under which they groaned; the senate must be made so to commit itself that it could never raise its head again so long as the world rolled; then what would be easier than to consummate the original plan, to abolish the senate, and absorb Ireland by stratagem into the body of a complete British empire-one and indivisible?

So wrote the chancellor to Mr. Pitt, who replied in courteous language; for his chief puppet was jumping admirably: he would soon be battered and worn out-would then have to be replaced by another. But the doll was not past service yet-it was still gay and bright with paint; was still capable of dancing: so Mr. Pitt wrote civil letters to Lord Clare, bidding him not to stick at trifles. Thus supported, Lord Clare spoke clearly at the Council Board. Desperate diseases must be met with desperate remedies, he said. Arthegal, figure of justice in the Faery Queen, is armed with an iron flail. The people are furious, are they? Then they must be made more furious still. When you want to tame a lion do you pat him? No, or he would rend you. You strike him with whips-touch him with red-hot irons. To be governed he must be ruled by fear; and so is it with the people of this island. Having gone as far as we have, it will never do to show that we're afraid of them. They must be ground down-must be rendered so passive by exhaustion that, French or no French, they will be too weak to do much harm. In the first place we'll arrest those lads again who have been playing the fool too long. We will make a plunge at the leaders, so that if the Gauls should happen to arrive, they will find nobody in authority to co-operate with them.

Lord Camden endorsed these sentiments, mumbling platitudes about self-preservation; that it has unpleasant duties, but that many unpleasant things have to be done, etc., etc., and the council broke up; my Lord Clare strutting forth to give his orders, Arthur Wolfe moving slowly homeward with a worn and troubled face. Then by deft hints and nods and winks, my Lord Clare brought those who served him to know what was expected of them. He rallied the members of the Houses on their nervousness.

'You wear his Majesty's uniform, my lords and gentlemen,' he said. 'I presume you would not wish to be mere carpet-knights. The Irish always were good fighters. You will defend the King's rights if it comes to a brush with the rabble?' He gave the squireens to understand that they were fine jovial fellows, with a strong sense of humour and a subtle appreciation of a practical joke. 'Now that recent invention of yours,' he observed airily, 'of wringing confession from a man by hanging him, then cutting him down before his soul has had time to escape, is vastly droll!'

Thereupon the jolly boys, determined to win yet further commendation, and delighted to give vent unrestrained to the native brutality of uneducated man, set their wits to work and gave birth to other inventions. We know that a demand invariably creates a supply. The gentlemen of the yeomanry vied one with the other in cultivation of their inventive faculty and the result was an array of practical jokes, novel and splendid indeed! Even the great French reign of terror was thrown into the shade. The French, as we all know, are not inventive or witty. A guillotine-a constant flow of blood and falling heads; a boat with a trap-door to drown people by the dozen-amusing rather for a minute, then nauseously dull and monotonous. The jolly Irish boys were much wittier than this, and more ingenious; and yet, by one of the strange chances of history, people shudder still over Robespierre and Marat and their doings, and are absolutely careless and ignorant as to what was done at home not ninety years ago.

Lady Camden grew terrified at reports which reached her ears. Lord Camden shut himself up at the Viceregal Lodge, and promenaded the Phœnix Park, round which was a protecting military cordon. Lords and ladies left Dublin furtively. Some for England-some for their family acres in the far west; impelled-some by fear-some by the promptings of the chancellor-a few only by a sense of duty to their tenantry.

A certain earl set up a triangle in his barrack-yard, and was never weary of flaying the backs of the neighbouring peasants. To such lengths went he and his, that an English colonel, also quartered there, was forced to expostulate with his lordship, to the chagrin of the latter. My Lord Downshire retired to his hills, and kept his regiment within bounds. Indeed, he and my Lord Powerscourt were severely rebuked by the chancellor-the latter especially; for he dared to say that his tenants had been armed at his own expense for the protection of property, not for the commission of murders-upon which the chancellor groaned aloud; for this was a malignant example to others. My Lord Powerscourt, however, was not to be persuaded. He locked up his grand house in Dublin, and revisited it no more until the legislative struggle took place which concluded the century.

Nothing could be more dismal than the Irish capital now. There was a species of curfew at sunset, after which few ventured in the street. Major Sirr and his myrmidons glided hither and thither on their devilish errand of cajoling men to their destruction. It was the business of these miscreants to provide victims for the lash by any means. Bands of drunken yeomanry awoke the midnight echoes with their shouting as they returned from breaking into a dwelling, or from flogging victims in the riding-school. For Claudius Beresford's riding-school had been turned by one of the practical jokes into a torture-chamber, where men, kidnapped on mere suspicion, were dragged and tied up, and lacerated without mercy night and day; whilst scurrying passers-by fled onward with their fingers in their ears. Some died under the lash-some swooned, to wake up idiots afterwards-some recovered, to wear till death livid welts upon their backs and inextinguishable hatred in their hearts.

My Lady Camden, growing more and more apprehensive-for her lord's babble was incoherent-resolved to go down into the city and see for herself what passed there. She drove her four ponies along Ormond Quay, which was as deserted as if the town were plague-stricken; they swerved, and well-nigh upset her ladyship, for a single naked figure came tearing round a corner with wild yells and windmill arms, who, rushing past, flung himself over the parapet into the Liffey. Helter-skelter behind him came the hounds-in scarlet coats and pipe-clayed cross-belts-but the lady-lieutenant saw them not. The agonised victim of a joke wore a pitched cap upon his head, which was set ablaze and was grilling his living brains. This pleasantry was spoiled, for the wretch had presence of mind left to seek oblivion in the water. But another joke succeeded, which bade fair to end badly for the jokers. The Viceroy's lady lay back in a dead faint. Her ponies galloped along the street with her, their reins catching round their legs. The joke might have ended in the breaking of her excellency's precious neck. As soon as possible after this episode, she retired to England, and my Lord Clare made capital out of the circumstance. Were not the people behaving disreputably, when even the wife of the King's representative had thought it necessary to take refuge in flight? There had been, he averred, a new project to storm Kilmainham and set the criminals at liberty. To what a horrid nation was it his destiny to belong!

It is not surprising that at this juncture he should have found an annoying stumbling-block in Curran. That worthy could do nothing but protest; but people who protest can make themselves very disagreeable, especially if they chance to peer further than the mob, and choose to tell what they see. Cassandra was only a mad woman, but we all know how unpleasant she could make herself. Curran had a clear head, a sharp wit, a biting tongue, and he exercised all three in the House of Commons, much to Lord Clare's displeasure. Now we have all learned that as we mount the rungs of the social ladder, society bows more and more before conventionality. Such a thing is 'vulgar'-such another 'low;' why or wherefore nobody can tell, though it probably arises from the fact that the more rarified the atmosphere, the more artificial become those who breathe it, the less liable to think for themselves, the more ready to lean on others' crutches, the more likely to be shocked at the enunciation of new problems, which they are too idle or too prejudiced or too stupid or too sluggish to trouble about sifting for themselves. It might be taken for granted that the senators of both Houses were aware-down in their soul-caves-how base was their line of conduct. But for the sake of their own interest, they had agreed to fence themselves about with a quickset of make-belief, for the concealment of their shame and the protection of their phantom-honour. It was a very vexatious thing, then, for a man who was gifted with an epigrammatic way of crystallising truths to make a snuffy little Solomon Eagle of himself-to persist in uncovering cancers which were decorously sheeted over, to unveil sores which were neatly trimmed about with sham roses.

Lord Clare, in his wrath, resolved to make another attempt to crush the viper. He set a specially rowdy band of jokers at free quarters at the Priory. They rollicked about, frightened Sara out of her wits, drank the lawyer's best whisky; but that vexed him not, for he was incorrigibly hospitable. He locked himself into his bedroom with his child, and droned out, to soothe her, a fantasia on the violoncello. It may possibly have soothed Sara (though she was in awful trepidation lest young Robert should ride up and perceive how she was insulted), but it most certainly succeeded in irritating the jovial sons of Mars in the dining-parlour below. They yelled to Curran to come forth. He came. They took his violoncello and smashed it into bits. Sara quailed lest her father's choler should outstrip his reason; but he only murmured:

'They are actors, playing parts which are set down for them;' and addressing them, said, with scorching contempt: 'Sirs, you are sent here to insult, under his own roof, a man old enough to be your parent, and a young lady whose health is delicate. I sorrow to think that you are Irish, and that the fine cloth you wear should not exclusively be used by gentlemen.' Then, passing through their midst, he saddled his nag, and, trotting into town, related his story to his friend Arthur Wolfe.

The attorney-general was terribly distressed. This stream, on whose bosom he had elected to sail, was taking him-whither? He flew to Ely Place, scolded the chancellor in terms which made the autocrat stare-in such terms of burning reproach that the latter saw he had made a blunder; that he had outstripped prudence, and sulkily signed the order to remove the obnoxious soldiery.

But he was not to be turned from his purpose by any maundering sentimentality on the part of the attorney-general. It was necessary, was it, to leave Mr. Curran alone? That was a pity, but all the more reason for a display of energy in another quarter. In pursuance of his determination, so sweetly expressed in metaphor, to tame the lion with blows and hot irons, Lord Clare proceeded, as chancellor of the University, to hold a visitation there, in order publicly to deplore the doings of the undergraduates.

The worthy gentleman was pained, he said. Alma Mater had taken the fell disease, the contagious epidemic (there could be no doubt about it), the only remedy against the spread of which was cautery. A number of students were ignominiously expelled; foremost amongst them Robert Emmett, (who was conspicuous for a tendency to inconvenient argument,) although his tutor, Mr. Graves, pleaded hard for him. Robert, filled with glee, rushed off to his brother's office to tell the glorious news-that he, boy though he were, had been deemed worthy of the martyr's crown. But when he reached the place he found that there were to be other martyrs besides himself. For the second time the house of his brother Tom was attacked and gutted. As he turned into the street, the presses were being pitched out of window, the types strewn in the mire, the tables and office-stools broken up to make a bonfire. Knitting his brows, he crossed his arms and stood watching the yeomanry at play; then wheeling about, he made the best of his way to Cutpurse Row, where, in the cellar of a crazy tenement, the patriots were accustomed to assemble, instead of riding out to the 'Irish Slave,' as they used more warily to do, before the destruction of the shebeen.

Russell, Bond, Dease, and others were there, delegates of the society for Dublin and its environs. Robert, looking round, perceived Cassidy fidgeting in a corner. Terence was not present. Cassidy observed this, and growled with disappointment between his teeth.

Tom Emmett was finishing a speech, wherein he declared to his audience that his opinions were changed. The French were coming; were, indeed, expected hourly. But it would not do to wait for them, as on a late disastrous occasion; a blow must be struck, a heavy and united blow. If the French came to follow it up, so much the better. The shocking behaviour of the friends of Government was becoming hourly more unbearable; the outrages committed by soldiers at free-quarters daily more flagrant and atrocious. He spoke with Irish hyperbole and a burning fervour of conviction which just suited the temper of his hearers.

'We must heed no more,' he cried, 'the glare of hired soldiery or aristocratic yeomanry. War, and war alone, must occupy every mind and every hand in Ireland, till its oppressed soil be purged of all its enemies. Vengeance, Irishmen! vengeance on your oppressors! Remember the crimes of years! Remember their burnings, their torturings, their legal murders! Remember Orr!'

At the end of a long peroration he paused for breath; and Cassidy, who was evidently anxious to 'catch the speaker's eye,' trolled forth in his rich voice the words which were becoming familiar to every one's lips:

 
'What rights the brave? The sword!
What frees the slave? The sword!
What cleaves in twain the despot's chain, and makes his gyves and dungeons vain? The sword!
 

All present took up the chorus, and looked towards the giants as though waiting for the next verse; but he raised his hand for silence, and said:

'Bedad, ye're right, friends. The sword's the only thing for poor Pat. But be careful now. Where's the young lordling who makes himself so busy?'

'Councillor Crosbie should have been here,' returned a delegate. 'Maybe he's bin detained.'

Cassidy smiled a smile of meaning, and leisurely surveying the knot of men before him, replied with a dry cough:

'Maybe he has! Let's hope it's upon honest business. I've come here to give ye a word of warning, a friendly hint I gleaned up at the Castle. I'd advise none of yez to go back to their own homes this day.'

'Why? Speak out, man. We are all friends here,' said Tom Emmett, calmly.

'Becase ye'll chance to find visitors if you do,' was the blunt rejoinder. 'Now I'm off.'

Robert Emmett eagerly corroborated the giant's hint. He had seen the soldiery but now in his brother's house. It was likely that if one was attacked, the dwellings of the rest would likewise receive a visit. It would never do for the prime movers in the conspiracy all to be trapped. Perhaps it was a false alarm, though. At Tom Emmett's a seditious print was published, which it was a wonder had been spared so long. The case of the delegates was different, for strict secrecy had been maintained concerning them. None save the members themselves knew who formed the central committee. Government spies had no means of knowing their names. In this at least they were cautious. That they had all taken the oath, was neither here nor there. If Government intended of a sudden to lay hands upon every Irishman who had taken the oath, they would do well to follow Herod's example at once, and order a general massacre. No, no. It was absolutely impossible that either my Lords Clare or Camden, or Secretary Cooke, could possibly know who all the leading spirits were by whose agency the vast machine of conspiracy was set in motion. Tom Emmett must disappear for a while. His paper put him too much en evidence. It was good of faithful Cassidy to keep his ears open. Blunderer though he was, and lamentable as had more than once been the fruit of his blundering, yet was he now and then most useful, and deserved a special vote of thanks from the Directory, which then and there they passed on him.

Apparently he was modest as well as virtuous, for in the cackle which followed his announcement he departed, his flat face aglow, his eyes twinkling with satisfaction at their compliments.

'So Emmett's paper was to be stopped at last,' they said one to another. 'The only marvel was that it should have been permitted so prolonged an existence. The last mouth which had lifted up its voice to speak the truth was to be gagged. It was indeed time to draw the sword.

Then Robert proudly told of his expulsion from Alma Mater; of my Lord Clare's overbearing mien at the visitation; of the many warm hands which had gripped his, as, disgraced but proud, he quitted the quadrangle.

Tom, his eye kindling with emotion, laid his hand upon his younger brother's head.

'Robert,' he said, 'what e'er betide, if, in the conflict which is imminent, we two be separated, the one who survives will be proud of him who's fallen. We shall conquer. Erin shall be free! But many must first lay down their lives for her! I pray God that it may be His pleasure to spare yours!'

Robert turned white, though his heart was stout. He was brave with the highest of all bravery, for though the sight of a cut finger made him ill, yet was he determined now to face the sea of blood, if need were, without blenching. His was a higher courage than that common one which looks on danger without fear. He knew that in action he should be in mortal dread; but he knew too that, upheld by duty, he would nevertheless be always in the van. A thought crossed his mind which brought with it a momentary tremor. When the fiery cross was at last lighted-when the hands of kinsmen were at each other's throats-when Dublin was burning-her gutters running red-what would be the fate of delicate sensitive natures like that of Sara-of sweet, pale Sara Curran, round whose form his heart-strings were softly wrapping themselves? What if he were to fall? what if fortune should not smile upon the patriots? He was quite aware that Heaven frequently delights in persecuting those who do well, and showering favours on the most undeserving, almost offering a premium for evildoing. Therefore, however just the cause of Erin, it was possible that her probation was not over-in such a case what would become of Sara, and such as her? Dear gentle Primrose! He thrust the unwelcome thought aside. There were enough lugubrious subjects which might not be escaped, without wilfully conjuring up baleful images. He returned the pressure of his brother's hand, and with ardent eyes upraised, broke out into song once more, in which all joined solemnly, as though offering up a war-hymn:

 
'What shelter's right? The sword!
What makes it might? The sword!
What strikes the crown of tyrants down-
And answers with its flash the frown?
The sword!'
 

Truly there must have been something ill-omened about this special hymn. For the second time it served to cloak the advancing footsteps of the enemy. For the second time it was interrupted by the rap of the same unfriendly fingers.

Somebody was knocking-somebody gave the password 'Mr. Green.' It must be Terence. He had promised to come, in order that a military scheme of his might be discussed; one of which Emmett approved highly, though stupid Cassidy had affected to laugh at it. Certainly it must be Terence, who bade fair to become the leader they had all been sighing for so long in vain. Why did not some one run and open the door? It is but poor manners to keep a gentleman waiting in the street. Robert was hastening to do so-for he loved Terence dearly-when he was stopped by the old woman who kept the house.

'Whisht! Master Robert, darlint,' she said in a terrified whisper. 'Sure, I looked from the garret window and saw the glint of bayonets. For the love of the Holy Mother have a care!'

Swiftly the boy climbed the stairs and looked out. The hag's aged eyes had not deceived her. The street was surrounded by a cordon of soldiers, who stopped passengers at either end at the bayonet's point. A guard of yeomanry was stationed at the front door; another at the private back-entrance, which was accessible by a tortuous passage into a side-street. A short person with hooked beak, eyes too close together, shaded by brows which met in a tuft over his nose, was knocking. It was Major Sirr. How could he know of this back-entrance? How did he know that the watchword was 'Mr. Green'? There was of a surety hideous treachery somewhere!

Robert returned to his comrades and told them who was outside. Then Cassidy had been muddleheaded once again! The news he had brought was worse than none, for it was misleading. Instead of bidding them escape forthwith from Cutpurse Row, he had told them to avoid their homes. The houses was surrounded. The secret back entrance upon which they relied was known. Who was the Judas?

Having revealed so much, how much more might he not reveal? With troubled brain and clouded eye Tom Emmett looked on one and then another of the haggard faces before him.

The knocking continued. Some step must be taken. Happily half a dozen of the delegates were absent. The town-major might smoke out the nest. Some of the hornets were abroad. This was a mercy. The entire brood would not be taken. Who were the absent ones? Terence! Tom Emmett wrung his hands together as the light broke on him. How blind! It was to him Cassidy had vaguely pointed. What a snake in the grass, with his clever military plan and pinchbeck enthusiasm! Tom remembered now the behaviour of Miss Wolfe to her cousin at the ball. Her veiled warnings. She was as true as steel. Alas! She could aid them no longer with her counsels. She had seen through her cousin, and, her family feeling coming into jarring juxtaposition with her devotion to unhappy Erin, had retired from the field, too deeply wounded to take any further part in the affray. Yes! It must be Councillor Crosbie who was the Judas. Tom Emmett saw it now that it was too late. In a few hasty words he conveyed his impression to his brother.

Robert opened his mouth indignantly to defend the councillor; but he only sighed, for, from whatever side the treachery came, it was soul-wearing. His forebodings of a few minutes since crowded up again like visions in a nightmare. A pitfall had been cunningly prepared for the patriots to their undoing. A few were yet abroad who might take a responsible part, but this was a withering blow. Treachery? Of course there was. It was altogether a bewildering occupation to pass trusted characters and names in mental review with an eye to the detection of the traitor. That there was a traitor there could now be no doubt, but Robert swore to himself with sturdy faith, that, be he whom he might, his name was not Terence Crosbie!