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

CHAPTER X.
CONSIGNED TO MOILEY

When the fatal moment arrived, Dublin was agog. The influence of the lords, so dearly purchased, was brought to bear with all its force upon the members, for whose return to parliament they were responsible. Jupiter was showering gold on Danæ, resolved to consummate the sacrifice of her virtue. Debate followed debate with unequal success. First one side considered that the day was theirs; then the other triumphed; then the pistol-heroes rushed forth, and howled and swaggered, and pinked their men, and returned to go on with the argument which had been dropped in their excitement. In fact, both parties seemed agreed as to one point only, viz., their determination to behave in as undignified a manner as might be. It was the old story of physical bullying doing its best to conceal moral cowardice and turpitude-a scene of hectoring and license and vulgar abuse and uproar, which shamed both parties in equal measure.

Lord Cornwallis had done his best. In the course of the year which elapsed between the two attempts to carry the union he made two state progresses-one in the southern counties and the other in the north, and preached the millennium according to St. Pitt. Clare and Castlereagh both laboured on in town as sure no negro slaves ever laboured; and yet when the time came all was still provokingly uncertain. This Irish senate was unutterably vile. Having surrendered its scrap of virtue, it repudiated, like an irreclaimable strumpet, even the maxim of honour amongst thieves. It was clear that further. delay would only make matters worse by inducing senators to open their mouths yet wider. Portentous debates occupied the Commons; the House frequently sat all night, breaking up only at midday. Members declared that they must give up the ghost or have a holiday; some sought refuge among pillows and boluses from the Herculean labours of the House, while others dragged themselves, like martyrs to the stake, through the dense masses of the populace that had taken possession of College Green, to cheer non-unionists with vociferous shouts, and hurl mud and putrid eggs at unpopular legislators. On Lord Castlereagh fell the onus of wielding the thunderbolts of Jove, and he acquitted himself of the task most excellently. Like the chancellor, he had the 'gift of the gab;' was not particular as to the language he employed; was well versed in forensic Billingsgate; could return anyone, in sledge-hammer fashion, a Roland for his Oliver. The modest were overwhelmed by flights of astounding rhapsody; the patriotic silenced by brazen lies; the uncertain routed by bewildering irony. As the dogmatic chancellor (now that he no longer feared the Viceroy) trampled the peerage under his feet, so did the clever chief secretary discomfit the Commons. Money was poured forth lavishly; threats and promises were distributed with profuse hands. The tussle was sharp, but none could doubt which side would in the end prove victorious. Concerning Grattan (the man of '82), Lord Cornwallis wrote that he was no better than an old doll. The jaws of the ancient lion were toothless. 'Grattan,' he said, 'degraded as he is in the opinion of the respectable portion of the community, yet has a certain influence with the Roman Catholics of Dublin, who are disaffected, and hate British connection.' Of Curran also he felt no dread, for the little man was no longer in parliament-his silver tongue was gagged; he was apparently worn out by his efforts on behalf of the state-prisoners-was sickening (as he put it) with a 'constitutional dejection of the heart, which could find no remedy in water or in wine.' No wonder if he felt unwell. He saw members moved, like beasts, in droves-a picture of human degradation never equalled since Nebuchadnezzar went to grass.

Practically the question was already settled long before young Robert looked out for the running up of the new flag. Not but what the Dublin populace were quite prepared for riot. They seized private carriages and tossed them into the Liffey; marched about with political effigies, and danced round the bonfires which consumed them. All this was very harmless vapouring in the eyes of those who yet heard the shrieks of the victims of '98-yet saw the Reign of Terror, with its pitch-caps, its cardings, its picketings, and triangles. No one took heed of the street mobs, even though my Lord Clare himself, in his carelessness, came once quite near to danger. It was on the morning of one of the last struggles. The debate had lasted, without a pause, for eighteen hours, and the members were wearily dispersing, when the crowd manifested a desire to 'shilloo' the speaker, who had behaved with refreshing patriotism. His horses were taken from his carriage, a hundred men dashed forward to seize the pole. At this moment the lord chancellor appeared upon the steps, with insolent chin in air, dressed in his great flapped wig and rustling laced robes. 'Harness him to the carriage!' cried a wag. My Lord Clare started round with an indignant reprimand; but perceiving from his vantage-ground a sea of some ten thousand threatening heads, he retreated backwards with caution, as a countryman might do before a bull, flourishing a toy-pistol in his hand, with which he swore to blow out the brains of the first man who came within six paces of him. The extraordinary pageant moved slowly along; so singular a spectacle that it tickled the humorous side of the Hibernian character-the lord chancellor of Ireland walking backwards through the mud, holding up his robes with one hand lest he should trip over them, pointing with the other a tiny firearm at ten thousand enemies. Sure, this alone was a glorious triumph for King Mob. Choosing his moment, he whisked with a swift dash into a house, the door of which withstood the battering of myriad kicks until Lord Clare made good his escape by a back way. But there were mobs and mobs, in Dublin as elsewhere. This one happened to be a good-tempered mob, for the patriotic speaker had gained a point that day. But there were other mobs abroad made up of desperate men-of men whose skins bore the scars of the Riding-school, whose hearths were desolate, whose homes were bereft of dear ones. It was to these, and such as these, whom no jests could soften, that young Robert looked for the realisation of his dream. His natural fear of bloodshed was washed away by the woes that had been the portion of his friends. He clung to the notion that the mantle of Theobald had fallen on his shoulders; that as Moses was forbidden to enter the Promised Land, so, for some Divine reason, Theobald was punished; and that he, Robert, was to play the part of Joshua. His green uniform failed to please him. A new one was designed-gorgeous-of scarlet, faced with green and laced with gold. He tried it on in secret before a glass, and minced hither and thither to see what the figure would look like that was to storm the Castle and kill Cornwallis in his bed. Yet, for all these childish pranks, none could be more earnest than he, or more genuinely prepared to do or die. The hordes of banditti which still infested Wicklow were taken into partnership. On the signal of a rocket they were to rush to their posts. Some were to seize the desecrated Senate-house; others to attack Chapelizod; others to secure important streets. Young Robert reserved to himself and a selected band of braves the sacred right of storming the Castle and pulling down the objectionable ensign.

To one only of his friends did he confide a vague suspicion of his intentions as they approached maturity. That one was gentle Sara, whom he bound by awful oaths, though she was in nowise fitted for a heroine, to divulge nothing of what she knew, but to keep her chamber, and pray there for his success. The poor child knelt by her virgin bed, and prayed and wept with terrible forebodings. Truth to tell, he told her very little. What was this venture which was to produce such marvels? What means could he employ to prevent the parliament from voting. Would he come to stand in the dock as so many had done who were now at rest? No. By Divine mercy he had been kept in England during the awful agony-had been specially preserved from peril. It could not have been in sport that the beloved undergraduate had been withheld from temptation-merely to be dashed down at last, when the tide of bloodshed was stemmed? No, no! Sara, with scared eyes, swept the ripples of flaxen hair from off her pure girlish brow, and rebuked herself for want of trustful faith as she folded her hands together and tried to pray. But her mind wandered. She could not help seeing in memory the distracted gestures of the trail of widows-of the wives who were worse than widows, for their husbands languished in lifelong duress. Who was she that she might hope to fare better than they? She was a feeble girl, who loved her father and her lover, and had no room in her being for more than that. If any evil befel Robert, what would become of her? Could she hope to rally? She was not one of those who bend before a storm and rise again but little the worse for buffeting. She was one of the sensitive sort, who may linger for a brief space perhaps before they wither. Even strong, haughty-browed Doreen was broken by what she had passed through. What if Sara were likewise summoned at the last moment to pass under the yoke? She would succumb at once. She prayed for help, and implored mercy with the desperate energy of a young creature who clings to the sweets of life, while tears rained down her cheeks. Doreen, looking for her by-and-by, found the maid lying on the floor asleep, and sobbing as she slept, with reddened lids and trembling baby lips. What was it that ailed her? Doreen inquired tenderly. Silly chit! to allow a dream to vex her thus. Sara said 'Yes, it was a dream;' and sent a prayer to heaven that an idle dream-no more-the fearsome vision might prove to be.

Doreen went upstairs to seek her friend, because the shadow of trouble still hung over the inmates of Strogue Abbey, and at the best it was not a gay house to be alone in. Now solitude reigned in its reception-rooms, for Curran shut himself in his chamber to forget the impending union; Shane was madly rollicking in Dublin; Terence had disappeared, and my lady had taken to her bed.

Yes, Terence had disappeared; none knew how or whither. Shane professed bitter anger, and cried out about family disgrace, till, on meeting the calm eye of Miss Wolfe fixed on him, he stammered and was silent. As for her, she knew not what to think. Perceiving his mother's grief, had he, in his chivalry, withdrawn himself, lest his presence should add poignancy to it? But how about the breaking of his parole? Sure, he was too honourable a man to do such a thing! She went and took counsel of Madam Gillin, who scratched her head and looked serious. This was a trick of Cassidy's-of that she felt quite certain, for that worthy had shown private spite in the way he had tried to run the young man down before. Yet what could be his object now? She soothed Doreen's anxiety as much as possible, affecting herself to be quite comfortable on the subject; but privately resolved to make another attack upon the chancellor as soon as his mind was free about the union, if the vanished one did not return. So Doreen waited in suspense, tending her aunt, who seemed very ill, and her young friend, who was singularly disturbed and wretched; while Mr. Curran moped, and the Abbey was as gloomy as a sepulchre.

Soon the one engrossing subject occupied every mind, to the exclusion, for the moment, of all others. A mob, by no means so good-tempered as that which had pursued Lord Clare, gathered about the House at the second reading of the bill, and assumed so threatening an attitude that the military were called out, who fired a volley among the people, and so dispersed them. Strange beacons were seen at night upon the Wicklow Hills. Rumour whispered that something was afoot. Timid people wished that the crisis was well over. Major Sirr and his lambs made a raid on a certain house, where they found a hundred bottles filled with powder, several bushels of musket-balls, meshes of tow mixed with tar and gunpowder, a large quantity of pikes. Of these they took quiet possession, and drove away, without seeking to follow the matter up. Did this point to a new conspiracy? M.P.s asked each other. How deeply laid was it? By whom organised? Why had no arrests followed the discovery of the stores? Rumour said that the ill-conditioned brother of Lord Glandore was plotting again; that he had broken his parole, notwithstanding the extreme kindness with which he had been treated. Well, well! Some folks were born to the halter-as some are to the purple, and others to misfortune. The sooner the great measure was carried, and the fate of Ireland decided, the better it would be for all parties. So said the members, as for the last time they strolled under the shadow of the Senate-house.

That last day was one of breathless excitement. All knew that the affair was settled; yet they waited, as if in expectation of a miracle. False reports flew hither and thither in distracting numbers. Messengers rode out with bulletins hour by hour to Strogue and other important country places, where fine ladies waited. Lord Clare, taking a lesson from his recent predicament, surrounded the House with cavalry. Foot-soldiers, with matches burning, lined the colonnades. No demonstration of popular feeling was permitted. Those who were about to cancel the national charter were well protected; yet seemed they ill at ease. Many anti-unionists, seeing how hopeless was the case, withdrew with sad looks before the third reading of the bill; others, urged by a morbid curiosity, waited for the curtain's drop. The lobbies were crammed; the galleries crowded. A monotonous murmur ran along the benches. Some were ashamed, some shameless, some-too late-sorrow-smitten. Among the latter was Lord Kilwarden, who despatched a courier to his daughter to say that he would stop to the last.

So the hours waned, and it was night ere Doreen's father arrived at Strogue. He was deeply, miserably dejected. So much so, that his daughter marvelled at him.

'It's all over!' he cried, in indignation mingled with contrition. 'The men who forgot their country have slain her, that she may not survive to remember them. The slave's collar has been slipped on-its lock snapped to for ever! But there's something yet to come. I have a hint from Clare that there will probably be more trouble to-morrow. Glandore told me the same thing just now, who has it, he says, from the Staghouse people, who are sure to know. Lord Cornwallis will have taken his measures, doubtless, for as a soldier he is above praise. I have business with him to-morrow, so we had better return at once to Dublin.'

'Now?' Doreen said, in wonder.

'You are not afraid?' her father asked, with a weak smile. 'My coach is below. Its liveries are well known. No one would harm me, thank Heaven!'

Afraid? Doreen was not given to physical fear. Then her father explained that Shane was coming home, and with him Cassidy and some more choice spirits, who were to close the lower rooms of the Abbey and remain on the defensive, lest the anti-unionists should attempt revenge.

'You will be equally safe here or in Dublin, dear,' Lord Kilwarden said. 'But I seem to think that you would prefer my company to that of cousin Shane.'

Locked up with Shane-and Cassidy! No, indeed. Knowing what she knew, that would be too dreadful. Thanking her father with a look, she fetched a shawl, kissed pale Sara, and, bidding her be of good cheer, for the Abbey would be well protected, climbed into the coach, which started forthwith for Dublin.

'If Glandore is cautious, so will we be,' remarked Lord Kilwarden, with an attempt at cheerfulness. 'Wanderers may be hanging about the high-road, waiting for a signal in the morning. See, the beacons are all alight along the hilltops! Do they not remind you of the time-not so long ago-when we were expecting a French invasion? I trust the Viceroy has been warned, for he does not comprehend our mercurial temperament, and Sirr's people are strangely apathetic. A new regime has begun to-night, my love, which I hope may in time bring peace to our distracted land. My vote went for union, for I know that we are unstable, but excellent if wisely controlled. The Scotch, you will remember, hated their union at first. England has her way at last, so her rule will soften, and Erin will be at peace. I know you are too Irish to agree with me, Doreen. The young are always apt to judge hastily of their elders, without considering that the gulf that divides them is one of experience as well as years.'

It was seldom that Lord Kilwarden became expansive on this delicate subject with his daughter. Even between those who love each other much, there are subjects that are best left alone. But he was loquacious this evening, seeming anxious to deprecate a harsh verdict on her part. His recent emotion set loose his tongue, and he chatted softly on, explaining his motives and his views-he who was usually so silent and reserved-as the coach rumbled over the rough by-road, which led to the capital by a circuitous route.

When its wheels died away in the distance, Sara sat down to meditate. Robert, then, who had spoken in parables, was planning something which would place him in peril. Perhaps she would look on him no more. She tried to realise what that would mean for her. During the months when he was in England she was glad not to see him, looking forward to a happier day when he would be all hers, as side by side and hand in hand they would stroll down the hill's shadowed side to the churchyard at its base. She had often wondered which of them would first be summoned hence-picturing a cosy hearth with two aged figures in the chimney-corner, who, their career over, were awaiting a release. On such occasions she had always decided that they would be so old-so old-that a day or two only could possibly intervene between their flitting. After clinging so closely one to the other, in joy and sorrow, through a prolonged probation, but a brief space could keep the pair asunder ere they were joined again for all eternity. So had the simple damsel dreamed, and had been happy in her castle-building, withdrawing her mind to the love-labour of that delicious task, from the tragic scenes in which she wandered-in them, not of them-like one in a mesmeric trance. But now, in the oppressive stillness, she sat resolutely down to look upon herself as a possible actor in the tragedy; to look for her own image among the troop of women who importuned Heaven to call them hence. She tried to think of herself as she had seen the widows whilst gazing on their swinging husbands-as she had seen the mothers-stony, tearless, with their murdered sons across their knees. But it was not possible. There are situations so opposed to the order of things that we cannot realise them. Her mind's retina declined to accept the image-threw it back again as one contrary to nature; and yet it was all but certain that Robert-the sensitive, the ardent, the enthusiastic-had deliberately placed his foot upon the bridge of stars which conducts by a track of light to the Walhalla-which leads by the rugged path of torment and of martyrdom to the platform of immortality. She strove, with all the resolution she could muster, to conjure up the dreadful picture, but succeeded only in making her head spin round. Taking up a taper-nervous by reason of the silence of night and her lugubrious mental exercise-she thought she would pay a visit to her father, and look in at my lady's door to announce Doreen's abrupt departure, and prepare the invalid for the noisy coming of Shane and of his guests.

She moved through the chintz sitting-room-past the dark staircase, grim in the flicker of her candle with the panoplies of swords and antique armour-into the great hall with its black oak panels, and was turning to the left, where a rise of a few sculptured steps led into my lady's bedchamber, when her attention was arrested by a noise. What was that? A hum and subdued clatter-growing louder-louder-as it approached. It must be Shane and his convoy-many horsemen, judging by the sound. Was the danger then so pressing? Her heart beat fast. They would bring certain news, that was some comfort; anything was better than lying on this rack.

Yes, it was Shane's party. There was a ring of many hoofs as the riders wheeled round the turn of the avenue on the crisp gravel under the ancient archway into the stable-yard. Shane's voice could be plainly detected adjuring his guests to abstain from needless noise, since the countess lay ill. Leaving their horses there, they came round to the front on foot, where Sara met them, unbarring the door herself, an apparition of innocence against the background of that gloomy hall. There was Shane, somewhat the worse for liquor, flushed and wild, his hair unribboned, his boots caked thick with mud; and Cassidy smart and neat in a riding-coat, with capes of many colours, and a high-peaked hat of silvery beaver-wondrous fine; and half a dozen followers, evidently not of gentle birth, who bowed with servility to the young lady and sidled cringing along the wall.

The vision of Sara surprised them not a little. 'This was not proper in ticklish times,' Cassidy cried out, after the authoritative manner of a parent. 'Young ladies should not open doors alone at night. How did she know that the party were not Croppies, intent on murder-villainous rapscallions who ought to be strung up, every man jack of 'em? There were hosts of such about. What was Miss Wolfe thinking of-she who had a head upon her shoulders-to permit of such imprudence?'

'Where were the servants?' Shane shouted, forgetful of his mother's health. 'Wine, wine! at once; and beds for these honest gentlemen. They were come to stop for a few days, and must be treated well.'

Sara struck the bell to summon the servants, and said that Doreen had started an hour since for Dublin-with her father.

Shane and Cassidy exchanged glances, and both looked put out. 'Gone to Dublin! where-what for?' stammered Shane, disconcerted. 'I told my uncle this very day that I intended to bring some friends to help to defend the house, that his anxiety on her account might be at rest. How imprudent-how silly-how provoking-when the Croppies are mustering along the quays!'

Cassidy frowned him to silence. Where did her father take her? Sure, he would bring her back again? How was it they had not met his carriage on the road?

'They were gone to the Castle,' responded Sara, beginning to be frightened, 'where they would doubtless be quite safe. What was this about Croppies along the quays? Oh! would they please tell her something? People seemed all agreed to keep things back, as if she were a child. Croppies, did he say? Were not Croppies put down long since? Who was their leader?'

'Croppies 'tis,' grunted Cassidy. 'They'll be at it by this time, the fools! Who's their leader? That young donkey Emmett, who'll swing for it-the idiot!'

Sara clung to a heavy piece of furniture. Like cold steel the certainty cut through her brain that her edifice of cards, erected in simple faith, would fall-had tumbled ere this perhaps; that the tender intercourse of years was not to be; that she was destined to bear her portion of the common cross. She was all at once convinced that Robert and she would never meet upon this globe again. She essayed to speak, but her head whirled; lights danced with shifting colours before her eyes; the floor seemed to heave and rise in billows-yet she did not faint. The servants had brought candles which burned blue and dim and danced up and down, changing to red and green and violet a long way off. She was aware somehow that after a brief consultation Shane had countermanded the claret-that his obsequious friends had received new orders-that the party, donning cloaks again, had mounted and gone clattering away by the unused by-road. The hall-door-wide open-admitted a chill gust which set the candles guttering, but revived her perturbed faculties. Staggering against the doorpost, the girl watched the beacons on the hills, as, fed with furze, they flared up and glowed awhile, then dwindled and died out one by one. She looked across the bay towards Dublin, which was like an anthill possessed by glow-worms, beyond a black abyss. With straining eyes she looked. What would she not have given to know what was passing there? Was Cassidy merely playing off an untimely jest on her by saying what he did? No. Her sick heart whispered that it was all true. Robert's mysterious parable of good things in store clung cold about her heart like a dead hand. Perhaps at this very instant he was being slain-better even that than that he should be taken and undergo the mockery of justice, and pass as others passed-upon the scaffold. Oh! that ardent face-transfigured and inspired by his pure enthusiasm-was she indeed no more to look on it? Was she-see! what was that! A rocket soared into the air from the glow-worms' hill, turning the deep blue to sable, and bursting, vanished in a shower of sparks. What could that mean? It must be a signal. What did it portend? Sara swung-to the heavy door, and, drooping on a sofa, sat down and waited.