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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/24140-0.txt b/24140-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4104907 --- /dev/null +++ b/24140-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9262 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Northern Iron, by George A. Birmingham + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Northern Iron + 1907 + +Author: George A. Birmingham + +Release Date: January 23, 2008 [EBook #24140] +Last Updated: October 4, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE NORTHERN IRON *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +THE NORTHERN IRON + +By George A. Birmingham + +Dublin: Maunsel & Co., Limited + +1907 + + +TO FRANCIS JOSEPH BIGGER, + +ARDRIGH, BELFAST. + +_My Dear Bigger,_ + +_This story, as you have already guessed, is the fruit of a recent +holiday spent in County Antrim. The writing of it has been a great +pleasure, for almost every place mentioned in it recalls the goodness of +the friends who received me and made my holiday a happy one. I think of +kind people when I write of Dunseveric and Ballintoy--of hours spent in +their company among the Runkerry cliffs, the sandhills, the Skerries, +and of the morning on which I swam, like Neal and Una, into the Rock +Pigeons’ Cave, I remember a time--full of interest and delight--spent +with you when I mention Donegore, Antrim, and Temple-Patrick. My mind +dwells on an older, a very dear friend and relative, when I tell of +Neal’s visit to Belfast. And the book is more than the recollection of a +summer holiday. I go back in it to my own country--to places familiar +to me in boyhood as the mountains and bays of Mayo are now; to days very +long ago, when I caught cuddings and lithe off the Black Rock or Rackle +Roy and learned to swim in the Blue Pool at Port Ballintrae. Yet I know +that I could not, for all that I remembered of my boyhood or learned +during my holiday, have written this story without your help. You told +me what I wanted to know, you corrected, patiently, my manuscript, and +you have helped me to enter into the spirit of the time. For all this +I owe you many thanks, and if I have succeeded in writing a story which +interests my readers they, too, will owe you thanks._ + +_I have tried to be faithful to the facts of history and to represent +the thoughts and feelings of the men who took part in the_ + + “Out, unhappy far off things + And battles long ago,” + +_of which I chose to write. Most of my characters are purely imaginary. +Of the men who really lived and acted in 1798 only one--James +Hope--appears prominently in my story. In his case I have taken pains +to understand what manner of man he was before I wrote of him, and I +believe that, feeble though my presentation of his character may be, you +will not find it actually untruthful._ + +_I am your friend,_ + +_GEORGE A. BIRMINGHAM._ + + + + +THE NORTHERN IRON + + + + +CHAPTER I + +The road which connects Portrush with Ballycastle skirts, so far as any +road can and dare, the sea coast. Sometimes it is driven inland a mile +or so by the impossibility of crossing tracts of sandhills. The mounds +and hollows of these dunes are for ever shifting and changing. The +loose sand is blown into new fantastic heights and valleys by the winter +gales. No road could be built on such insecure foundation. Elsewhere the +road shrinks back among the shelterless fields for fear of mighty cliffs +by which this northern Antrim coast is defended from the Atlantic. No +engineer in the eighteenth century, when the road was made, dared +lay his metal close to the Causeway cliffs or the awful precipice +of Pleaskin Head. Still, now and then, in places where there are no +sandhills and the cliffs are not appalling, the road ventures, for a +mile or two, to run within a few hundred yards of the sea, before it is +swept, like a cord bent by the wind, further inland. Thus, after passing +the ruins of Dunseveric Castle, the traveller sees close beneath him +the white limestone rocks and broad yellow stretch of Ballintoy Strand. +Here, when northerly gales are blowing, he may, if he is not swept off +his feet, cling desperately to his garments and watch the great waves +curl their feathered crests as they rush shorewards. He may listen, +awestruck, to the ocean’s roar of amazement when it batters in vain the +hard north coast, the rocks and sand which defy even the strength of the +Atlantic. + +A quarter of a mile back from this piece of road there stood, in 1798, +the meeting-house of the Presbyterians and their minister’s manse. +The house stands on the site of a bare, shelterless hill. It is three +storeys high--a narrow, gaunt building, grey walled, black-slated. Its +only entrance is at the back, and on the shoreward side. This house +has disdained the shelter which might have been found further inland or +among its fellow-houses in the street of Ballintoy. It faces due north, +preferring an outlook upon the sea to the warmth and light of a southern +aspect. It is bare of all architectural ornament. Its windows are +few and small. The rooms within are gloomy, even in early summer. Its +architect seems to have feared this gloominess, for he planned great bay +windows for three rooms, one above the other. He built the bay. It juts +out for the whole height of the house, breaking the flatness of the +northern wall. But his heart failed him in the end. He dared not put +such a window in the house. He walled up the whole flat front of the +bay. Only in its sides did he place windows. Through these there is a +side view of the sea and a side view of the main wall of the house. They +are comparatively safe. The full force of the tempest does not strike +them fair. + +In one of the gloomy rooms on a bright morning in the middle of May +sat the Reverend Micah Ward, the minister. The sun shone outside on the +yellow sand, the green water, and the white rocks; but neither sun nor +sea had tempted Micah Ward from his books. Great leather-covered folios +lay at his elbow on the table. Before him were an open Hebrew Bible, a +Septuagint with queer, contracted lettering, and an old yellow-leaved +Vulgate. The subject of his studies was the Book of Amos, who was the +ruggedest, the fiercest, and the most democratic of the Hebrew prophets. +Micah Ward’s face was clean-shaved and marked with heavy lines. Thick, +bushy brows hung over eyes which were keen and bright in spite of all +his studying. Looking at his face, a man might judge him to be hard, +narrow, strong--perhaps fanatical. Near the window:--one of the slanting +windows through which it is tantalising to look--sat a young man, tall +beyond the common, well knit, strong--Neal Ward, the minister’s son. He +had grown hardy in the keen sea air and firm of will under his father’s +rigid discipline. He had never known a mother’s care, for Margaret Ward, +a bright-faced woman, ill-mated, so they said, with the minister, never +recovered strength after her son’s birth. She lingered for a year, and +then died. They laid her body in Templeastra Graveyard, near the +sea. Over her grave her husband set a stone with an austerely-worded +inscription to keep her name in memory:--“The burying-ground of Micah +Ward. Margaret Neal, his wife, 1778.” Such inscriptions are to be found +in scores in the graveyards of Antrim. The hard, brave men who chose +to mark thus the resting-places of their dead disdained parade of their +affliction and their heart-break, and held their creed so firmly that +they felt no need of any text to remind them of the resurrection of the +dead. + +Neal Ward, like his father, had books and papers before him, but his +attention was not fixed on them. Now and then, with spasmodic energy, +he copied a passage from the page before him. Then, with a sigh, he laid +his pen down and gazed out of the window. His father took no notice of +the young man’s want of application. No words passed between the two. +Then suddenly the silence was broken by a cry from the field below the +house-- + +“Hello! Neal! Neal Ward! Hello! Are you there?” + +The young man started to his feet and made a step to the window. +Then turning, he looked at his father. The frown on Micah Ward’s brow +deepened slightly. Otherwise he made no sign of having heard the cry. +He went on writing in his careful, deliberate manner. The voice from +outside reached the room again. + +“Neal! Neal Ward! Come out. What right has a man to shut himself indoors +on a day like this?” + +Neal stood irresolute, looking at his father. At last he spoke. + +“Can I go out, father? I have almost finished the transcription of the +passage which you set me.” + +Micah Ward laid down his pen, sprinkled sand on his paper, and looked +up. He gazed steadily at his son. The young man’s eyes dropped. He +repeated his question in a voice that was nearly trembling. + +“Can I go out, father?” + +“Who is it calls you, Neal?” + +“It is Maurice St. Clair.” + +“Maurice St. Clair,” repeated Micah Ward. Then, with a note of deep +scorn in his voice, “The Hon. Maurice St. Clair, the son of Lord +Dun-severic. Are you to do his bidding, to run like a dog when he calls +you?” + +“He is my friend, father.” + +“Is he a fit friend for you? Have I not told you that his people and our +people are enemies the one to the other? That the oppression wherewith +they oppress us--but there. Go, since you want to go. You do not +understand as yet. Some day you will understand.” + +Neal left the room without haste, closing the door quietly. Once free of +his father’s presence he seized a cap and ran from the house. Half-way +between him and the high road, knee deep in meadow grass, stood Maurice +St. Clair. + +“Come along, come along quick,” he shouted. “I had nearly given up hope +of getting you out. We’re off for a day’s fishing to Rackle Roy. We’ll +bag a pigeon or two at the mouth of the cave before we land. Brown-Eyes +is down on the road waiting for us with rods and guns. We’ve all +day before us. My lord is off to Ballymoney, and can’t be back till +supper-time.” + +“What takes Lord Dunseveric to Ballymoney to-day?” asked Neal. “There’s +no magistrates’ meeting, is there?” + +“No. He’s gone to meet our aunt, Madame de Tourneville. She’s been +coming these five years, ever since she ran away from Paris at the time +of the Terror; but it’s only now she has succeeded in arriving.” + +Together the two young men crossed the field and vaulted the wall which +separated the manse land from the road. The girl whom her brother called +Brown-Eyes waited for them. The name suited her well, and came naturally +from Maurice. He was tall and fair, yellow-haired, blue-eyed, large +limbed, a fine type of Antrim Irishman, the heir of the form and face +of generations of St. Clairs of Dunseveric. The girl, Una St. Clair, +belonged to a different race--came of her mother’s people. She was +small, brown-skinned, brown-eyed, dark-haired. She grew as the years +went on more and more like what her mother had been. Lord Dunseveric, +watching his daughter pass from childhood to womanhood, saw in her the +very image of Marie Dillon, the French-Irish girl who had won his heart +a quarter of a century before in Paris. + +“Take the guns, Neal. Here, Brown-Eyes, give me the rods and the basket. +There’s no need for you to break your little back carrying them.” + +“Why should I when I’ve two big men to carry them for me? Indeed, I’m +not sure but one of you ought to carry me, too. You’re big enough and +strong enough.” + +She smiled gaily at Neal as he shouldered the guns. They had built sand +castles together when they were little children, and tempted the waves +to chase them up the sand, flying barefoot from the pursuing lip of +foam. They had climbed and fallen, explored rocky bays, penetrated to +the depths of caves as they grew older. Always Una St. Clair had queened +it over the boys, teased them, petted them, scolded them. Now, grown to +womanhood, she discovered new powers in herself which made Neal at least +more than ever her slave. + +They reached the little bay where the boat lay pulled up among the +rocks. Maurice and Neal lifted her stern on to a roller and dragged her +towards the sea. Una, running before them, laid other rollers on the +pathway of slippery rock till the boat floated. Then she climbed the +gunwale and settled herself on the stern seat among the rods and guns. +The two young men shoved off into deep water, springing into the boat +with dripping feet as she slid out clear of the shore. They placed the +heavy oars between the wooden thole pins and steadied the boat while +Una shipped the rudder. The wind was off shore and the sea, save for the +long heave of the Atlantic, was still. The brown sail was hoisted and +stretched with the sprit. Then, sailing and rowing, they swept past +Carrighdubh, the Black Rock, which guarded the entrance of the little +bay, and passed into the shadow of the mighty cliffs. + +A silence fell on them. The laughter and gay talk ceased. The sense +of holiday joyfulness was overwhelmed by a vague awe of the ocean’s +greatness, the oppression of its strength, and the black towering rocks +which hung over the boat, casting a gloom across the sea. The feeling of +this solemnity abides through life with the men and women who have been +bred as children on this north Antrim coast. If they live their lives +out among its rugged harbours and stern ways they become, as the +fishermen are, people of slow thoughts, long memories, and simple +outlook upon life. The fear of the Lord is over their lives. If they +wander elsewhere, making homes for themselves among the southern or +western Irish, or, further still, to England or America, they may +learn to be in appearance as other men are--may lose the harsh northern +intonation from their talk, but down in the bottom of their hearts will +be an awful affection for their sea, which is like no other sea, and the +dark overwhelming cliffs whose shadow never wholly leaves their souls. +In times of stress and hours of bitterness they will fall back upon the +stark, rigid strength of those who, seeing the mightiest of His works, +have learned to fear the Lord. + +The boat lay off the entrance of the Pigeon Cave. The sportsman’s sense +awoke in Maurice. He gave a brief order to Neal, laid his oar across +the boat, stood up and took in the sprit, letting the sail hang in loose +folds. He unstepped the mast and sat down again. + +“You may unship the rudder, Brown-Eyes, You had better leave the boat to +Neal and me to bring up to the cave. Pass the gun forward to me and the +powder horn.” + +He loaded, ramming the charge down and pressing down the wad. Neal and +the girl sat silent. The solemn enchantment of the scene was on them +still. Then the two men took the oars again. Very cautiously they rowed +along the narrow channel which led to the opening of the cave. The rocks +lay low at first on each side of them; brown tangles of weed swayed +slowly to and fro with the onward sweep and eddy of the ocean swell. +Then, as the boat advanced, the rocks rose higher on each side, sheer +shining walls, whose reflection made the clear water almost black. +The huge arch of the cave’s entrance faced them. Behind was the +dark channel, and beyond it the sunlight on the sea, before them the +impenetrable gloom of the cave. The noise of the water dropping from its +roof into the sea beneath struck their ears sharply. The hollow roar +of the sea far off in the utmost recesses of the cave came to them. The +girl leaned forward from her seat and laid her hand on Neal’s arm. He +looked at her. Her eyes, the homes of laughter and quick inconsequences, +were wide with dread. Neal knew what she felt. It was not fear of any +definite danger or any evil actually threatening. + +It was awe, the feeling of mariners of other days who penetrated to +unknown seas, of men in primitive times who knew that fairy powers dwelt +in dark lakes and precipitous mountain sides. + +The bow of the boat touched the huge boulders which formed a bar across +the mouth of the cave. Maurice leaped out, gun in hand, and stood knee +deep in the water, feeling with his feet for a secure resting-place. + +“Keep the boat off, Neal, and take your shot if you get a chance.” + +He shouted--“Hello-lo-oh.” + +The rocky sides and roof of the cave echoed back his cry a hundred +times. Again he shouted, and again, until shouts and echoes meeting +clashed with each other, and it seemed as if the tremendous laughter of +gleeful giants mocked the solemn booming of the sea. There was a rush +of many wings, and a flock of terrified rock pigeons flew from the cave. +Maurice fired one barrel after another in quick succession, and two +birds dropped dead into the water. Neal, shaking the girl’s hand from +his arm, fired, too. From his seat in the swaying boat it was difficult +to aim well. He missed once, but killed with his second shot. The boat +was borne forward and bumped sharply on the boulders at the cave’s +mouth. The laughter of the echo died away. Instead of it came, like +angry threats, the repetition of their four shots, multiplied to a +fusilade of loud explosions. + +“Come back, Maurice,” cried Una. “Come back and let us get out of this. +I’m frightened. I cannot bear it any longer.” + +“You shall have all the four wings of my birds to trim your hats with, +Brown-Eyes,” said Maurice, as he clambered dripping into the boat. “Neal +will stuff his bird for you and perch him on a stone. You shall have him +to set on the top of your new bureau, the one Aunt Estelle sent you when +she escaped from Paris without having her head chopped off.” + +They pushed the boat cautiously back along the channel, travelling stern +first, for there was little room to turn, and even in calm weather men +do not willingly lay a boat across the sea in such a place. + +“Now for Rackle Roy and a basketful of glashins and lithe,” said +Maurice. + +East a little and out seawards from the mouth of the cave lies a long, +flat rock, dry at low water, and even at flood tide in calm weather, +swept with desolating surf when the Atlantic swell rolls in or the wind +lashes the nearer sea to fury. Right out of the centre of the rock the +waves have fashioned a deep bay, curved like a horse-shoe. This is a +famous fishing-place. As the tide rises, lithe and glashin, brazers, +gurnet, rock codling, and crowds of cuddings come here to feed, and the +fisherman, on those rare days, when he can land at all, may count on +bringing home with him great bunches of fish strung through the gills. + +The rock lay far enough from the cliff to be clear of the shadow. The +sun shone on its brown weed-clad sides, glistened on black clusters of +mussels, glowed on the red seams of the rock where the iron cropped +out, and baked the black basalt of the upper surface. The spirits of the +party revived when they landed. Una’s gaiety returned to her. + +“Have you forgotten the bait, Maurice? I’m sure you have. It would be +like you to come for a day’s fishing without bait.” + +“No, then, I haven’t. There are three large crabs in the boat, and even +if there wasn’t one at all we could do nicely with limpets. There’s +worse bait than a good limpet.” + +“Well, and if you have the crabs I expect you’ve forgotten the sheep’s +wool. What do you think, Neal? Yesterday we were fishing cuddings off +the Black Rock and Maurice ran out of wool. The fish simply sucked the +bait off our hooks and laughed at us. What did Maurice do but take my +hairs. He pulled them out one by one as he wanted them, and wrapped the +bait on with them.” + +“Your wool, Brown-Eyes, doesn’t come up to that of the sheep. It’s not +soft enough. But I shan’t want it to-day. I’ve got my pockets half full +of the proper sort.” + +Neal laughed, but he felt that to use Una’s hair as a wrap for the red +pulp of a crab’s back or the soft, black belly of a limpet was a kind +of profanation. He was a keen fisherman, but he would rather have missed +the chance of catching the largest lithe that ever swam than lure it +with a bait fastened with Una’s glossy hair. + +They fished till noon, and the tide rose slowly round their rock. Then +Una’s luncheon basket was fetched from the boat, the mooring rope +was made secure above high water mark, and the three sat down on the +sun-baked rock and ate with keen appetites. Maurice stared seawards. + +“That brig,” he said, “is lying very close inshore. Look at her, Neal.” + +“I saw her pass the point of the Skerries an hour ago.” said Neal. “She +must have hauled her wind since then to fetch in so close with the tide +running against her.” + +“I wonder why she’s doing it,” said Maurice. “She’ll have to run off +again to clear Benmore.” + +“She looks a big ship,” said Una. + +“Maybe she’s 250 tons,” said Neal. “She’s about the size of the brig +that sailed from Portrush for Boston last summer year with two hundred +emigrants in her.” + +“She’s fetching closer in yet,” said Maurice. “See, she’s hoisted some +flag or other, two flags, no, three, from the peak of her spanker. It’s +a signal. I wonder what they want. Now they’ve laid her to. She must +want a boat out from the shore. Come on, Neal, come on, Brown-Eyes. +We’ll go out to her. We’ll be first. There’s no other boat nearer than +those at the Port, and we’ve got a long start of them. Never mind the +fish. Or wait. Fling them in. I dare say the men on the brig will be +glad of them. She must be an American.” + +In a few minutes the boat was pulled clear of the little bay and out of +the shelter of Rackle Roy. The mast was stepped and the sail set. +The sheet was slacked out and the boat sped seawards before the wind. +Maurice was all impatience. He got out his oar. + +“It’s no use,” said Neal, “the breeze has freshened since morning. +She’ll sail quicker than we could row.” + +The brig lay little more than a mile from the shore. The boat soon +reached her. + +“Boat, ahoy,” yelled a voice from the deck. “Lower your sail, and come +up under my lee.” + +Maurice and Neal obeyed. The sea was rougher than it had been near +the shore. The boat, when Maurice had made fast the rope flung to him, +plunged up and down beside the brig, and needed careful handling to +prevent her being damaged. + +The crew looked over the side with eager curiosity. + +“Say, boys,” said the captain, “what will you take for your fish? I’ll +trade with you.” + +“I don’t want to sell them,” said Maurice. “I’ll give them to you.” + +His voice and accent, his refusal to barter, betrayed the fact that he +was a gentleman. + +“I guess,” said the captain, “that you’re an aristocrat, a British +aristocrat, too proud to take the money of the men who whipped you in +the States. That’s so.” + +“I’m an Irish gentleman,” said Maurice. + +“Well, Mr. Irish Gentleman, if you’re too darned aristocratic to trade, +I’ll give you a present of a case of good Virginia, and you may give +me a present of your fish. I’d call it a swap, but if that turns +your stomach I’ll let you call it a mutual present, an expression of +international goodwill.” + +“Fling him up the fish, Neal,” said Maurice. + +Then another man appeared beside the captain on the quarter-deck. He was +not a seafaring man. He was lean and yellow, and had keen grey eyes. His +face seemed in some way familiar to Neal, though he could not recollect +having ever seen the man before. + +“Yon are the Causeway cliffs,” he said, “and yon’s Pleaskin Head, and +the islands we passed are the Skerries?” + +“You know this coast,” said Neal. + +“I knew this coast, young man, before your mother had the dandling of +you. I know it now, though it’s five and twenty years since I set foot +on it. But that’s not the question. What I want to know is this. Can you +put me ashore? I could do well if you land me at the Causeway. I’d make +shift with my bag if you put me out at Port Ballin-trae. I don’t want to +be going on to Glasgow just for the pleasure of coming back again.” + +“I’ll land you at the Black Rock under Run-kerry,” said Maurice, “if +you can pull an oar. The wind’s rising, and I’ve no mind to carry idle +passengers.” + +“I can pull an oar,” said the stranger. + +“I guess he can pull enough to break your back, young man,” said the +captain. “He’s an American citizen, and he’s been engaged in whipping +your British army. I guess an American citizen can lick a darned +aristocrat at pulling an oar same as he did at shooting off guns.” + +“Shut your damned mouth,” said Maurice, suddenly angry, “or I’ll leave +you to land your passenger yourself and see how you like beating the +bottom out of your brig against our rocks. You’ll find an Irish rock +harder than your Yankee wood.” + +The passenger fetched a small hand-bag and lowered it into the boat. +Under a shower of jibes from the captain, Maurice and Neal pushed off +and started for the row home against the wind. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +The passenger took his seat in the bow of the boat and stripped off his +coat in readiness to pull an oar. But no oar was offered to him. Maurice +St. Clair seemed to have entirely forgotten the stranger’s presence. The +remarks of the American captain had angered him, and his mind worked on +the insults hurled at him in parting. Neal was angry, too. They pulled +viciously at the oars. From time to time Maurice broke out fiercely-- + +“An unmannerly brute! I wish I had him somewhere off the deck of his +brig. I’d teach him how to speak to a gentleman. + +“Is that his filthy tobacco at your feet, Brown-Eyes? Pitch it +overboard. + +“I suppose he’s a specimen of the Republican breed. That’s what comes of +liberty and equality and French Jacobinism and Tom Paine and the Rights +of Man. Damned insolence I call it.” + +“I’d like to remind you, young man------.” The words came with a quiet +drawl from the passenger in the bow. + +Maurice stopped rowing, and turned round. + +“Well, what do you want to say? More insolence? Better be careful unless +you want to try what it feels like to swim ashore.” + +“I’d like to remind you, young man, that Captain Hercules Getty, of the +State of Pennsylvania, who commands the brig ‘Saratoga,’ belongs to a +nation which has fought for liberty and won it.” + +“What’s that got to do with his insolence?” + +“I reckon that an Irishman who hasn’t fought and hasn’t won ought to +sing small when he’s dealing with a citizen of the United States of +America.” + +Neal turned in his seat. The stranger’s reproach struck him as being +unjust as well as being in bad taste. Maurice St. Clair was the son of a +man who had done something for Ireland. + +“You don’t know who you’re talking to,” he said, “or what you’re talking +about. Lord Dunseveric, the father of the man in front of you, +commanded the North Antrim Volunteers, and did his part in winning the +independence of our Parliament.” + +The stranger looked steadily at Neal for sometime. Then he said-- + +“Is your name Neal Ward?” + +“Yes. How do you know me?” + +“You’re the son of Micah Ward, the Presbyterian minister?” + +“Yes.” + +“Well, I just guessed as much when I took a good look at your face. Will +you ask your father when you go home whether the Volunteers won liberty +for Irishmen, and what he thinks of the independence of an Irish +Parliament filled with placemen and the nominees of a corrupt +aristocracy?” + +“Who are you?” asked Neal. + +“My name’s Donald Ward. I’m your father’s youngest brother. I’m on my +way to your father’s house now, or I would be if you two young men would +take to your oars again. If you don’t I guess the first land we’ll touch +will be Greenland. We’d fetch Runkerry quicker if you’d pass forward the +two thole pins I see at your feet and let me get an oar out in the bow. +The young lady in the stern can keep us straight with the helm.” + +“Give him the thole pins, Neal,” said Maurice, “and then pull away.” + +“Just let me speak a word with you, Mr. St. Clair,” said Donald Ward, as +he hammered the thole pins into their holes. “You’re angry with Captain +Hercules Getty, and I don’t altogether blame you. The captain’s too fond +of brag, and that’s a fact. He can’t hold himself in when he meets a +Britisher. He’s so almighty proud of the whipping his people gave the +scum. But there’s no need for you to be angry with me. I’m an Irishman +myself, and not a Yankee. I fought in North Carolina, under General +Nathaniel Greene, but I fought with Irishmen beside me, men from County +Antrim and County Down, and they weren’t the worst men in the army +either. When I fight again it’ll be in Ireland, and not in America. If I +riled you I’m sorry for it, for you’re an Irishman as well as myself.” + +Maurice’s anger was shortlived. + +“That’s all right,” he said. “Here, I say, you needn’t pull that oar. +Neal and I will put you ashore. We’ll show that much hospitality to a +County Antrim man from over the sea.” + +“Thank you,” said Donald Ward. “Thank you. You mean well, and I take +your words in the spirit you speak them; but when I sit in a boat I like +to pull my own weight in her.” + +He shoved out his oar as he spoke, and fell into time with the long, +steady stroke which Neal set. + +Una leaned forward and spoke in a low voice to Neal, timing her words +so that they reached him as he bent forward at the beginning of each +stroke. + +“Is’nt it curious, Neal, that Maurice and I are going back to welcome an +aunt whom we have never seen, and that you are taking an unknown uncle +home with you?” + +Then, after a pause, she spoke again. + +“It’s like a kind of fate, Neal, one of the things which happen to +people, and alter all their lives, and they can’t do anything to help +themselves. I wonder will we ever have good times together again, now +that this aunt of mine and this uncle of yours have come?” + +“Why shouldn’t we?” said Neal. + +“Oh, I don’t know. But your uncle seems to be one of the people who make +a great clatter about liberty and equality and the rights of man. And +you know Aunt Estelle belonged to the old aristocracy in France. They +wanted to guillotine her in the Terror. I don’t think she will love +Republicans.” + +“I suppose not,” said Neal, gravely. + +“But that won’t prevent our being friends, Neal?” + +“Una, my father is always talking about the struggle that’s coming in +Ireland. I don’t know much about politics. I think I hate the whole +thing. But if there is trouble I suppose that I shall be on one side and +you on the other.” + +“Don’t look so sad, Neal.” + +Then, as his spirits grew depressed, her’s seemed to rise buoyantly. She +raised her voice so that she could be heard in the bow of the boat. + +“Mr. Donald Ward! Mr. Donald Ward! Your nephew, Neal, is telling me that +when we have a reign of terror in Ireland you will make him cut off my +head. Please promise me you won’t.” + +Donald rested on his oar and gazed at the girl as she sat smiling at him +in the stern of the boat. + +“Young lady,” he said, “don’t trouble yourself. We didn’t hurt woman or +girl in America. No woman shall die a violent death in Ireland at the +hands of the people.” + +“And no man, either?” cried Una. “Say it again, Mr. Donald Ward. Say +‘And no man, either.’ Can’t we settle everything without killing men?” + +“Men are different,” said Donald. “It’s right for men to die fighting, +or die on the scaffold if need be.” + +A silence followed Donald Ward’s words. In 1798 talk of death in battle +or death on a scaffold moved even the youngest and most careless to +serious thought. The world was full then of the kind of ideas for which +men are well content to die, for the sake of which also they did not +hesitate to shed blood. The Americans had set mankind a headline to copy +in their Declaration of Independence. The French wrote Liberty with huge +red flourishes which set the heart of Europe beating high. Italians +were proclaiming a foreign army the liberators of their country, while +Jacobins growled fiercely against the Pope. Kosciusko, in Poland, +organised a futile revolution, and fell in the cause of national +freedom. Even phlegmatic Englishmen caught the spirit of the times, +hated intensely or worshipped enthusiastically that liberty which some +saw as an imperial goddess for the sake of whose bare limbs and pale, +noble face death might be gladly met; while others beheld in her +a blood-spattered strumpet whirling in abandoned dance round +gallows-altars which reeked with human sacrifice. + +Ireland in those days was intellectually and spiritually alive. Men were +quick to feel the influence of world-wide ideas, and in Ireland the love +of liberty glowed brightly; nowhere more brightly than among the farmers +and lower middle classes of the north-eastern counties. The position was +a strange one. The landed gentry, who themselves, a few years before, +claimed and won from England the independence of their Parliament, grew +frightened and drew back from the path of reform on which alone +lay security for what they had got. The wealthier merchants and +manufacturers, satisfied with the trade freedom which brought them +prosperity, were averse to further change. The Presbyterians and the +lower classes generally were eager to press forward. They had conceived +the idea of a real Irish nation, of Gael and Gall united, of Churchman, +Roman Catholic and Dissenter working together for their country’s good +under a free constitution. But it soon became apparent that the reforms +they demanded would not be won by peaceful means. The natural terror of +the classes whose ascendancy or prosperity seemed to be threatened, the +bribes and cajoleries of British statesmen, turned the hearts of those +who ought to have been leaders from Ireland to England. The relentless +logic, the clear-sighted grasp of the inevitable trend of events, +and the restless energy of men like Wolfe Tone, changed a party of +constitutional reformers into a society of determined revolutionaries. +Threats of repression were answered by the formation of secret +societies. Acts of tyranny, condoned or approved by terror-stricken +magistrates, were silently endured by men filled with a grim hope that +the day of reckoning was near at hand. Far-seeing English statesmen +hoped to fish out of the troubled waters an act of national surrender +from the Irish Parliament, and were not ill-pleased to see the sky +grow darker. Everyone else, every Irishman, looked with dread at the +gathering storm. One thing only was clear to them. There was coming a +period of horror, of outrage and burning, of fighting and hanging, the +sowing of an evil crop of fratricidal hatred whose gathering would last +for many years. + +The boat reached the little bay under the Black Rock. There was no need +to drag her far up the beach now, for the tide was full. Working in +silence, the three men laid her beside the broad-bottomed cobble used +for working the salmon-net, and pushed her bow up against the coarse +grass which fringed the edge of the rocks. They carried the oars and +sails into a fisherman’s shelter perched on a rock beside the bay. Then +Donald Ward turned to Maurice and said-- + +“I am going to my brother’s house. I shall walk by the path along the +cliffs, and my nephew will go with me. Your way home, unless I have +entirely forgotten the roads, is not our way. We part here, therefore. I +bid you good night, and thank you heartily.” + +“We had intended,” said Maurice, “to walk home with Neal. We have time +enough.” + +His sister, quicker than he to take a hint, pulled him by the arm, and +whispered to him. Then she spoke aloud. + +“Good night, Mr. Donald Ward. Good night, Neal. Perhaps we shall see you +to-morrow.” + +The uncle and nephew climbed the hill which led to the top of the cliffs +together. For a time neither of them spoke. The elder man seemed to be +absorbed in picking out the landmarks which had once been very familiar +to him. At last he spoke to Neal. + +“Does your father wish you to have Lord Dun-severic’s son and daughter +for your friends?” + +Neal hesitated for a moment, and then answered. + +“He knows that they are my friends.” + +“It would be better if they were not your friends. I have heard of +Lord Dunseveric, a strong man and an able man, a good friend of his own +class, not a good friend of the people.” + +He paused. Neal wished to speak, to say some good of Lord Dunseveric; to +declare the strength of his friendship for Maurice. He could not speak +as he wished to speak. An unfamiliar feeling of oppression tied his +tongue. His uncle’s will dominated his. + +“What is the girl’s name?” asked Donald. + +“Una.” + +“Yes, and what did her brother call her?” + +“Brown-Eyes.” Neal felt as if the words were dragged from him. + +“Are you the lover of this Una Brown-Eyes?” + +Neal flushed. “You have no right to ask any such question,” he said, +“and I shall not answer it. I will just say this to you. Do you suppose +that Lord Dunseveric would accept me, a penniless man, the son of a +Presbyterian minister, a member of a Church he despises, and connected +with a party he hates--do you suppose he would accept me as a suitor for +his daughter’s hand?” + +“You have answered my question, though you said you would not answer +it. You have told me that you love the girl. I have watched her smile +at you, and seen her eyes while she talked to you, and I can tell you +something more, something that perhaps you do not know--the girl loves +you.” + +Again Neal flushed. His uncle had put into words what he had never yet +dared to think. He loved Una. His uncle had assured him of something +else, something so glorious as to be incredible. Una loved him. Then he +became conscious that Donald Ward’s eyes were on him--cold, impassive, +unpitying; that Donald Ward was waiting till the throbs of joy and +excitement calmed in him, waiting to speak again. + +“Put the thought of the girl from you. She is not for you, nor you for +her. Forget her. It will be better for you and for her. You shall have +work to do soon. Work is for men. Seeing babies in brown eyes is only +for boys.” + +They left the path which skirted the tops of the cliffs, crossed a field +or two, and joined the road which led to Micah Ward’s manse. The sound +of the sea died away, though the smell of it and the feeling of its +neighbourhood were still with them. The savage grandeur of ocean and +cliff no longer oppressed their spirits. It seemed natural to talk of +common things and to leave high themes behind them in the lonely places +they had left. Donald Ward gazed with interest at the white-walled +thatched cottages on the roadside. He commented on the disappearance of +some homestead he remembered, or the building of a new one where none +had been before. It was evident that, in spite of his twenty-five years’ +absence, he cherished a clear and accurate recollection of the district +he was passing through. He inquired after the families who had lived +in the different houses, naming them. He learned how one or another had +disappeared, how old men were gone, and sons reigned in their stead. He +even supplied Neal with information now and then about some young man or +girl who had gone to America. + +They arrived at the manse. Neal led his uncle through the yard, meaning +to enter as usual by the kitchen door. On the threshold the housekeeper +met him. + +“Is that you, Master Neal? You’re queer and late. You’ve had a brave +time gadding with your fine friends and never thinking how you were +leaving your old father to eat his dinner his lone. And who’s this +you have with you? What sort of behaviour is this, to be coming here +bringing a stranger with you to a decent, quiet house, and he maybe----” + +“Whisht, now, Hannah. Will you hold your whisht (tongue?)?” said Neal. +“It’s my uncle I have with me. You ought to be able to remember him.” + +The old woman came forward to the place where Donald Ward stood, and +peered at his face. + +“Aye, I mind you well, Donald Ward. I mind you well. You hadna’ just too +much of the grace of God about you when you went across the sea, and +I’m doubting by the looks of you now that you’ve done more fighting than +praying where you were.” + +“Hannah Keady,” said Donald Ward. + +“Hannah Macaulay,” said the housekeeper, “and forbye the old minister +and Master Neal here, they call me Mistress Macaulay that have any talk +with me. I’m married and widowed since you crossed the sea.” + +“Mistress Hannah Macaulay,” said Donald, “you were a slip of a girl with +a sharp tongue when I mind you first, and a woman with a sharp tongue +when I said good-bye to you. You have lost your bonny looks and your +shining red hair; you’ve lost a husband, so you tell me, but you haven’t +lost your tongue.” + +The old woman smiled. The compliment pleased her. + +“Come in,” she said, “come in. The minister’ll be queer and glad to see +you. You know that fine. But have done with your old work. We’ve no more +call for Hearts of Oak boys, nor Hearts of Steel boys, nor for burning +ricks, nor firing guns.” + +She led the way through the kitchen, up a narrow flight of stone stairs, +and opened the door of the room where the minister sat over his bodes. + +“Here’s Master Neal home again,” she said, “and he’s brought your +brother Donald Ward along with him.” + +Micah Ward rose to his feet and met his brother with outstretched hands. + +“Is it you, Donald? Is it you, indeed? I’ve been thinking long for you +this many a time, my brother, and wearying for you. We want you, Donald, +we need you sore, sore indeed.” + +“Why, Micah,” said Donald, “you’ve grown into an old man.” + +The contrast between the two brothers was striking, more striking than +the likeness of their faces, though that was obvious. Micah was stooped +and pallid. He walked feebly. His limbs were shrunken. His hair was thin +and white. Donald stood upright, a well-knit, vigorous man. The point of +his beard and the hair over his ears were touched with iron grey, but +no one looking at him would have doubted his energy and capacity for +physical endurance. + +“Grey hairs are here and there upon us, and we know it not--Hosea, +7th and 9th,” said the minister. “But there’s fifteen years atween us, +Donald. It makes a difference. Fifteen years age a man, but I’m supple +and hearty yet.” + +“Will I cook the salmon for your supper?” said the housekeeper. “You’ll +not be contenting yourselves with the stirabout now that you have your +brother back again with you.” + +“Cook the salmon, Hannah; plenty of it, and some of the ham and the +eggs. And, Neal, do you take the key of the cellar and get us a bottle +of wine and the whisky that old Maconchy brought in from Rathlin last +summer. It’s not often I take the like, Donald, but it is meet that we +should make merry and be glad.” + +Mistress Hannah Macaulay was a competent cook and housekeeper. It is +noticeable that women with sharp tongues are generally more efficient +than their gentler sisters. Solomon, who knew a good many things, seems +also to have known this. He was of opinion that a peaceful dinner of +herbs is better than a stalled ox and contention therewith. He knew that +he could not have both. It is the shrew who succeeds in giving the males +dependent on her stalled oxen and such like dainties to eat. + +The caressing wife and the sweet-tempered cook accomplish no more +than dinners of herbs, and generally even they are not particularly +appetising. The fact is, that the management of domestic affairs is +the most trying of all occupations. Cooking, washing, cleaning, and +generally doing for men in a house means continuous irritation and +worry. A woman, however sweet-natured originally, who is condemned to +such work must either lose her temper over it, in which case she +may cook stalled oxen, but will certainly serve them with sauce of +contention, or she may give up the struggle and preserve her gentleness. +Then she will accomplish no more than dinners of herbs, boiled cabbages, +from which tepid water exudes, and dishes of pallid turnips, supposed +to be mashed but full of lumps. Solomon preferred, or said he preferred, +kisses and cauliflowers. On questions of taste there is no use +disputing. + +Mistress Hannah Macaulay’s salmon steaks came to the table with an +appetising steam rising from their dish. Her slices of fried ham formed +an attractive nest for the white-skinned poached eggs. She had plates of +curly oatcake and powdery farles. She had yellow butter in saucers. She +brought the porridge to table in well-scoured wooden bowls with horn +spoons in them. + +“The stirabout is good,” she said. “I thought you’d like to sup them +before you ate the meat.” + +Neal poured the wine into an old cut-glass decanter, and set Maconchy’s +bottle of whisky, distilled, no doubt, by Maconchy himself among the +Rathlin Hills, beside his father’s plate. + +Micah Ward said a long grace, in which he thanked the Almighty for the +fish, the ham, the eggs, the porridge, and his brother’s return from +America. As a kind of supplement, he added a prayer for the peace of +his household, in which Hannah Macaulay, appropriately enough under the +circumstances, was especially named. + +After supper the two brothers drew their chairs to the fire. It was late +in May, but the air was still chilly in the evenings. Hannah took down +from the mantel-piece two well-polished brass candlesticks, fitted them +with tall dipt candles, and set them on the table she had cleared of +plates and dishes. Donald took a tobacco-box from his pocket, and filled +a pipe. + +“Neal,” said his father, “you may go to your own room and complete the +transcription of the passages of Josephus which you left unfinished this +morning.” + +“Let the lad stay,” said Donald. + +“Neal knows nothing of the matters about which we must talk, brother, +nor do I think it well that he should know; not yet, at least.” + +“Let the lad stay,” repeated Donald. “I’ve seen younger men than he is +doing good work. Neal ought to be working, too. We cannot do anything +without the young men.” + +Micah Ward yielded to his brother. + +“Draw your chair to the fire, Neal,” he said. “You may stay and listen +to us.” + +At first the talk was of old days. An hour went by. Donald filled his +pipe more than once, and finished his tumbler of punch. Story followed +story of the doings of the Hearts of Steel and Hearts of Oak. Donald, +as a boy, had taken his part--and that a daring part--in the fierce +struggle by which the northern tenant-farmers gained fuller security +and a chance of prospering a whole century before their brethren in the +south and west, with the aid of the English Parliament, won the same +privileges. Then Donald, speaking oftener and smoking less, told of +his own share in the American War of Independence. Neal, listening, was +thrilled with the stories of unequal battles between citizen soldiers +and trained troops. He glowed with excitement as he came to understand +the indomitable courage which faced reverse after reverse and snatched +complete victory in the end. Donald dwelt much on the part which +Irishmen had taken in the struggle, especially on the work of Ulster +men, Antrim men, men of the hard northern breed, of the Presbyterian +faith. + +“There’s no breaking our people, Micah; men of iron, men of steel.” + +“Shall iron break the northern iron, and the steel?” quoted Micah Ward, +and then, with that wonderful Puritan accuracy of reference to the +Bible, gave chapter and verse for the words--Jeremiah the 15th and 12th. + +“And the spirit’s not dead in you at home, is it, Micah? The breed is +pure still.” + +It was Micah’s turn to speak. Neal sat in astonishment while his father +told of the wrongs which the northern Presbyterians and the southern +Roman Catholics suffered. Never before had he heard his father speak +with such passion and fierceness. There was a pause at last, and Donald +rose to his feet. He re-filled his glass from the punch-bowl, raised it +aloft, and said:-- + +“I give you a toast. Fill your glass, brother. No, that will not do. +Fill it full, and fill a glass for Neal. Stand now. I will have this +toast drunk standing. ‘Here’s to America and here’s to France, the +pioneers of human liberty, and may Ireland soon be as they are now!’” + +“Amen,” said Mica h Ward solemnly. + +“Drink, Neal, drink. Drain your glass, boy. I will have it,” said +Donald. + +“The northern iron, the northern iron, and the steel,” muttered Micah. + +Then the brothers drew their chairs closer together, and Micah, speaking +low, as if he dreaded the presence of some unseen listener, began to +tell of the plans of the United Irishmen. He mentioned the names of one +leader and another; told how the Government, vigilant and alert, had +already struck at the organisation; of the general dread of spies and +informers. He entered into details; told how the cannon, once given by +the Government to the Volunteers, were hidden in one place, how muskets +were stored in another, how the smiths in every village were fashioning +pike heads, how many men in each locality were sworn, how every male +inhabitant of Rathlin Island had taken the oath. Donald interrupted him +now and then with sharp questions. The talk went on and on. The tones +of the speakers grew lower still. Neal lost much of what was said. His +interest slackened. His eyes closed at last, and he fell fast asleep. + +It was late, close on midnight, when his uncle shook him into +consciousness again. The candles were burned down. The fire was out. The +atmosphere of the room was heavy with tobacco smoke. The punch-bowl was +empty, and the two bottles, empty also, stood beside it. It seemed to +Neal that his uncle spoke thickly in bidding him good night, and walked +unsteadily across the room. But Micah Ward’s voice was clear and his +steps were firm. Only, as Neal thought, his eyes shone more brightly +than usual, and he held himself upright. The stoop was gone from his +shoulders, and the peering, peaked look from his eyes. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +The Lords of Dunseveric once lived in a castle perched on the edge of a +cliff, a place inferior to the neighbouring Dunluce as a stronghold, but +equally uncomfortable as a residence. The walls were thick, the rooms +little larger than prison cells, and the windows very small and narrow, +but they were wide enough to let the wind whistle through them and the +rain trickle over their sills to the stone floors inside. The doctor +of a modern sanatorium for consumptive people would have been well +satisfied with the ventilation of Dunseveric Castle. On stormy days in +winter it must have been most unsafe to venture out of doors. The worst +winds, fortunately, always blow inwards from the sea, but there are +eddies round buildings, and with precipices on three sides of him, +the ancient lord of Dunseveric had need to walk cautiously and provide +himself, when possible, with something to hold on to. Some time at the +end of the seventeenth century the reigning lord, giving up in despair +the attempt to render habitable a home more suited to a seagull than a +nobleman, being also less in dread than his ancestors of sea pirates and +land marauders, determined to build himself a house in which he could +live comfortably. He selected a site about a mile inland from the +original castle, and laid the foundations of Dunseveric House. Then, +despairing perhaps of living to complete his architect’s grandiose +plans, he gave up the idea of building and hired a house near Dublin. +During the early part of the eighteenth century he interested himself in +Irish politics, and succeeded, as influential politicians did in those +days, in providing comfortably for outlying members of his family from +the public purse. His son, when it came to his turn to reign, ignored +the foundations which his father had laid, and erected a mansion such as +Irish gentlemen delighted in at the time--a Square block of grey masonry +with small windows to light large rooms, a huge basement storey, and an +impressive flight of stone steps leading up to the front door. He also +enclosed several acres of land with a stone wall, called the space a +garden and planted it with some fruit trees which did not flourish. + +His son, the Lord Dunseveric of 1798, having little left him to do in +the way of building, devoted his early years to planting and laying out +pleasure grounds round the new house. His wife, a French woman of Irish +extraction, brought a cultivated taste to his aid. No doubt her ideas +and her husband’s energy would in the end have created a beautiful and +satisfying demesne round Dunseveric House if it had not been for the +north wind and the sea spray. These were hard enemies for a landscape +gardener to fight, and when Lady Dunseveric died her husband gave up the +struggle, having nothing better to show for his time and money than some +fringes of dejected-looking alders and a few groves of stunted Scotch +firs. He even neglected the glass houses which his wife had built. Irish +politics became extremely interesting just after Lady Dunseveric died, +and an Irish gentleman might well be forgiven for neglecting the culture +of his demesne when his time was occupied with drilling Volunteers, +passing Grand Jury resolutions in support of the use of Irish +manufactured goods, and subsequently preparing schemes for the internal +development of Ireland. + +Thus Dunseveric House was by no means an attractive place to Estelle, +Comtesse de Tour-neville, when she first visited it. Accustomed to the +scenery round her dead husband’s château in the valley of the Loire, and +attached to the life of the French Court, the appearance of Dunseveric +House struck her as utterly dismal. She had every reason beforehand to +suppose that it would be dismal, and was quite convinced that it would +not suit her as a place of residence. Forced to flee from France in +1793, she put off taking refuge in her brother-in-law’s house as long +as possible, and only arrived there after spending three years among +hospitable friends in England. + +“The poor Marie, my poor sister,” she said, when Lord Dunseveric, at +the end of the long drive from Ballymoney, turned the horses up the bare +avenue. + +To her maid, in the privacy of her bedroom, she opened her grief more +fully. + +“I remember very well when my sister married, though I was but a little +girl at the time, eight or perhaps nine years old. I remember that all +the world talked of her handsome Irish husband. He was a fine man then. +He is a fine man still, and has the grand manner. Oh, yes, he is very +well. And my nephew. He is well made, big and strong like all the men +of his race and blood. But he has no manner--none. If only my sister had +lived she might have formed him. But--poor Marie!” + +She sighed. The maid hazarded a suggestion that Lady Dunseveric had +found life _triste_, too _triste_ to be endurable. + +“You are right,” said the Comtesse, “she must have died of sheer +dulness. She had two children. That was occupation for a while, no +doubt. But, _mon dieu_, a lady cannot go on having children every year +like a woman of the _bourgeoisie_. It would be too tedious. She died. +She was right. And now I am here in her place. I am here with my lord, +who has good manners but does not care about me, wishes me anywhere but +in his house; a nephew who has no manners and a great deal of stupidity, +and a niece who is much too old to be my niece, and who is too like me +in face and figure for us to get on well together. Otherwise, truly, +she is not like me. She is content to spend all day in a boat on the sea +catching fish. Conceive it yourself, Susanne, she was catching fish, +and her companion was the son of the _curé_, a man of some altogether +impossible Protestant sect.” + +But the Comtesse had the good manners or the good sense not to grumble +about her surroundings to anyone except her maid. She so far understood +the philosophy of a happy life as to know that pleasure awaits those +only who succeed in making themselves pleasant. + +She came down the morning after she arrived in time for breakfast, +although the English breakfast was a meal she had learned to detest, and +the North of Ireland families have made an even more serious business of +it. She expressed a delight which she cannot be supposed to have felt at +the sight of salmon, fried, cold, kippered; ham, eggs, fowl, farles of +home-made bread, oat-cake, honey, jam, butter. To the secret amusement +of Lord Dun-severic she even accepted a bowl of porridge which her +nephew offered her, and then, to the astonishment of Maurice, asked if +she might eat honey with it. She was delightfully optimistic about the +prospects of amusement for the day. + +“Where are you going to take me, Una? There are so many things that +I want to see. I recall the letters which Marie, your mother, used to +write to me about wonderful cliffs and gloomy caves and white rocks and +long strands. Of course you have all the business of the house to attend +to. I quite understand. I will wait. But afterwards, where will you take +me?” + +Una glanced out of the window. The south wind of the day before had +brought, as south winds usually do in County Antrim, abundant rain. +Maurice, appealed to, gave it as his opinion that there was no chance +of the weather improving until three o’clock, and that there wasn’t much +chance of sunshine even then. + +“But, at least,” said the Comtesse, “I shall be able to see your old +castle? I have heard so much about the castle. Could we not even go +there?” + +“We might,” said Una dubiously, “but you will have to walk across two +fields, and the grass is long at this time of year. I don’t mind getting +wet, of course, but you----” + +“I think, Estelle,” said Lord Dunseveric, “that you had better give +up the idea of any expedition out of doors. Una will have a good fire +lighted for you in the morning-room, and you must make yourself as +comfortable as you can.” + +When breakfast was over, Lord Dunseveric himself conducted his sister to +the morning-room. He selected a chair for her. He placed a small table +beside her. He stirred the fire into a fair blaze. He even fetched some +books for her from the library. But the Comtesse was not content. + +“Please sit down,” she said, “and talk with me.” + +The prospect of a long morning spent sitting on a chair talking to a +woman was not one which pleased Lord Dunseveric very greatly, but his +manners were, as his sister-in-law had observed, excellent. He had +letters to write and an important communication from the general in +command of the troops in Belfast to consider. But he sat down beside +his sister-in-law as if he were really pleased at having the chance of +a long chat with her, as if she did him a favour in granting him the +privilege of keeping her company. + +“What shall we talk about?” she said. “About dear Marie? About old +times? That would be too sad. About Maurice and Una? What is Maurice to +do? Have you obtained for him--how do you say it?--a commission in the +army? There is nothing better for a young man than to spend a short +time in the army. He sees the world. He learns manners and how to bear +himself and speak to a woman. And Una? We must have Una presented at +Court. Will you take her to Dublin this year? I think that you ought to. +It is not good for a girl to grow up all alone here.” + +“I fear it will hardly be possible for me to go to Dublin either this +year or next.” + +“But why? Surely you would be well received? Or is it not so? I suppose +that you are one of the _grands seigneurs_ of Ireland, one of the +leaders of your aristocracy. Besides, _mon frère_, your appearance, your +manner----. There cannot be many of your Irish gentry----.” + +She paused and smiled on him most pleasantly. Lord Dunseveric was +sufficiently a man of the world to understand that this pretty lady was +flattering him. He even thought that she was not doing it very well, +that her methods were too obvious to be really artistic. Nevertheless, +he liked it. We most of us enjoy being flattered very much, especially +by pretty women, though we take a great deal of trouble to persuade +ourselves that we despise the flatterer and her ways. The Comtesse would +have said similar things to any man whom she wanted to please, and Lord +Dunseveric was quite aware of the fact. Still he was pleased. It was +a long time since a woman in a pretty dress, a woman who knew how to +assume a graceful attitude, had taken the trouble to flatter him. He +smiled response to her smile. + +“I’ve no doubt that I should be, as you put it, well received. I’m not +afraid that His Excellency would show me the cold shoulder, but the +present condition of the country is critical. I think it my duty to +stay at home. I am afraid that we are on the brink of an attempt at +revolution.” + +“_Mon dieu!_ And have you Jacobins, too? I thought there were no such +things in Ireland. Tell me about your Jacobins.” + +Again Lord Dunseveric was conscious that the Comtesse was trying to +please him, was displaying an interest, which did not seem wholly +natural, in a subject on which he would like to talk. + +“I’m afraid, Estelle, that an account of our Irish politics would +weary you. Politics are dull. You would send me away if I talked about +politics.” + +“I assure you, no,” she said. “In France we found politics most +exciting. The poor Comte, my husband, found them altogether too +exciting. Do tell me about your Irish Jacobins. Are they also +_sans-culottes?_” + +“They are mostly Presbyterians, dour, pigheaded, fanatical Republicans, +who want to get an army of your French friends over to help them.” + +“Presbyterians! How droll! I thought Presbyterians were----But is not +Maurice’s friend, the young man who goes out fishing in the sea with +Una, is not he a Presbyterian? I think they said last night that he was +the son of a _curé_.” + +“Yes, he is. His father has the reputation of being one of the most +fanatical of the whole lot. But the young fellow is all right, so far as +I know.” + +The Comtesse was silent for a minute or two. She appeared to be +considering Lord Dunseveric’s last remark. When she spoke again it was +evident that her thoughts had wandered from Neal Ward’s politics to +another subject. + +“Is it right, do you think, that this young man should be so intimate +with Una? She is a very attractive girl, and at a very dangerous age.” + +“Oh, they’ve played together since they were children. Young Ward is a +nice boy and a good sportsman.” + +“Still, he would not be suitable. Am I right?” + +“If you mean that he wouldn’t do as a husband for Una, you are right, +but I don’t think for a moment that any such nonsensical idea ever +crossed their minds. I like Neal. He’s a fine, straightforward boy, and +a good sportsman.” + +“I should like to see this model young man. Perhaps you English--pardon +me, my dear brother, you Irish--are differently made; but with us the +nicer a young man is the more dangerous we reckon him.” + +“There’s no difficulty about your meeting him. I’ll ask him to dinner +to-day if you like. I’m sure Maurice will be pleased to ride over with +the invitation.” + +“Charming,” said the Comtesse. “Then I shall judge for myself.” + +Neal Ward accepted the invitation when he received it. Perhaps he would +not have been able to do so had he been obliged to submit it to his +father and his uncle; but they had gone out together early in the day. +Neal understood that his uncle was to be introduced to several people +of importance, members of his father’s congregation, men who were deeply +involved in the plans of the United Irishmen. He was left alone with a +task to perform. He was not now transcribing passages from Josephus. +His uncle had decided that he was to be trusted, and, as a proof of +confidence, he was set to compile from various papers a list of those in +the neighbourhood who could be relied on to take up arms when the day of +the contemplated outbreak arrived. The work interested Neal greatly. +He knew most of the men whose names he copied. Some of them he knew +intimately. Now and then he was surprised to find that some well-to-do +and apparently well contented farmer was a member of the society. Once +he paused and hesitated about going on with his work. He came to a +statement of the fact that one, James Finlay, had been enrolled as a +United Irishman and admitted to the councils of the local committee. +Neal knew James Finlay, and disliked him. Once he had caught him at +night in the act of netting salmon in the river. Neal had threatened to +hand him over to Lord Dunseveric. The poacher blustered, threatened, and +even attempted an attack upon Neal. He got the worst of the encounter, +and after vague threats of future vengeance, relapsed into whining +supplication. Neal spared him, considering that the man had been +well thrashed, and having the dislike, common to all generous-minded +Irishmen, of bringing to justice a delinquent of any kind. But he +disliked and distrusted James Finlay, and he did not understand how +his father and the others came to trust such a man. He wrote the name, +reflecting that Finlay had left the neighbourhood some weeks before in +order to seek employment in Belfast. Shortly afterwards he completed his +task. Maurice St. Clair arrived with Lord Dunseveric’s invitation. Neal +locked up his papers, changed his clothes, and went through the rain to +Dunseveric House. He was not comfortable or easy in his mind. Yesterday +it was natural and pleasant to spend the day with Maurice and Una. +To-day he knew things of which he had been entirely ignorant before. He +knew that he himself was committed to a share in a desperate struggle, +in what might well become a civil war, and that he would be fighting +against Lord Dunseveric and against his friend Maurice. It did not +seem to him to be a fair and honourable thing to eat the bread +of unsuspecting enemies. Twice, as he tramped through the rain to +Dunseveric House, he stopped and almost decided to turn back. Twice he +succeeded in silencing his scruples and quieting the complaints of his +conscience. Each time it was the thought of Una which decided him. There +was in him a hunger to see the girl, to be near her, to touch her hand, +to hear her voice. Since his uncle had spoken to him about her on the +evening of his arrival Neal had become acutely and painfully conscious +of his love for her. Long ago he had loved her. Looking back he thought +that he had always loved her. Now he knew that he loved her. That made a +great difference. + +He was welcomed when he arrived by Lord Dun-severic with friendly +courtesy--by Una shyly. Her manner was not as it had been the day +before. The frank friendliness was gone. There was something else in +its place, something which thrilled Neal with hope and fear. Perhaps the +girl felt instinctively the change in Neal. Perhaps she was conscious +of her aunt’s keen laughing eyes. Who can tell how a girl first becomes +conscious of the fact that a young man loves her? The Comtesse also +welcomed Neal. She set herself to please and flatter him. At dinner +she talked brightly and amusingly. It seemed to Neal that she talked +brilliantly. She told stories of the old French life. She related her +recent experiences of English society. She rallied Lord Dunseveric on +his grave dignity of manner. She drew laughter again and again from Una +and Maurice. But she addressed herself most to Neal. He was intoxicated +with her vivacity, the swift gleams of her wit, her delicate beauty, her +exquisite dress. He had never seen, never even imagined, the existence +of such a woman. Lord Dunseveric watched her and listened to her with +quiet amusement. It seemed to him that his sister-in-law meant not +only to rescue Una from an undesirable lover, but to attach a handsome, +gauche youth to herself. He understood that a woman like Estelle de +Tourneville might find the attentions of Neal Ward vastly diverting in +a place like Dunseveric, where nothing better in the way of a flirtation +was to be looked for. + +The wine and fruit were placed on the table and the servants withdrew. +The Comtesse, with her wine-glass in her hand, stood up. + +“It is not at all the fashion,” she said, “for a lady to make a speech. +I shall shock you, my lord, but you will forgive me, for you know the +world. I shall shock my sweet Una, but she will forgive me because her +heart has no room in it for unkind thoughts of anyone. I shall shock +my nephew and the solemn Mr. Neal Ward, and they will not forgive me +because they are young and, therefore, have very strict ideas of how a +woman ought to behave herself. Nevertheless, I am going to make a speech +and propose a toast. I am Irish. Long ago my fathers lived in Ireland +and were _grands seigneurs_ as my good brother, Lord Dunseveric, is +to-day. They left Ireland for the sake of their faith and their king. +They went to France; but I am not, therefore, French. I am Irish. Now +that the French people have turned against us, have even wished to cut +off my head, which I think is much more ornamental on my shoulders than +it would be anywhere else--now I have returned to Ireland, I ask you all +to drink my toast with me. I propose--‘Ireland.’ I, who am loyal to the +old faith and the memory of the legitimate king, I will drink it. My +lord, who is of another faith and loyal to another king, will drink it +also. Mr. Neal, who has a third kind of faith, and is, I understand, not +loyal to any king, will, no doubt, drink it. My friends--‘Ireland.’!” + +She raised her glass to her lips and sipped the wine. All the four +listeners stood and raised their glasses. + +“‘Ireland,’” said Lord Dunseveric gravely. “I drink to Ireland.” + +Then, with the glass at his lips, he paused. There was a noise of horse +hoofs on the gravel outside. A horseman, in military uniform, cantered +by. He was followed by another, a trooper. The little company in the +diningroom stood still and silent. The bell at the door of the house +was rung violently. Its sound reached them. A vague uneasiness came +upon them. One by one they sat down and laid their glasses--the wine +untasted--on the table before them. A servant entered the room. + +“Captain Twinely, my lord, of the Killulta Company of Yeomanry, wishes +to see your lordship on important business.” + +“Ask him to come in here,” said Lord Dunseveric. + +Una rose as if to leave the room. + +“No,” said Lord Dunseveric, “stay where you are, and do you stay, too, +Estelle. This Captain Twinely must drink a glass of wine with us. He +passes for a gentleman. Then if he has business with me I shall take him +away. I must not break up our little party. It is not every day that +we have the pleasure of listening to such charming speeches as your’s, +Estelle.” + +Captain Twinely entered the room with a swagger. He made a great noise +with his heavy boots and with his spurs as he crossed the polished +floor. + +“I ask your pardon, my lord. I ask the ladies’ pardon. I am not fit for +your company. I have ridden far today, and the roads are bad, damned +bad. I rode on the king’s business.” + +“The ladies,” said Lord Dunseveric, “will be pleased if you will drink a +glass of wine with them. Are you alone?” + +“I left my troop in Ballintoy. The sergeant will see that they obtain +refreshment. My servant holds my horse outside.” + +“I shall send him some refreshment,” said Lord Dunseveric. “And your +horses must be stabled here till you have told me how I can serve you.” + +Captain Twinely drank his wine, bowed to the ladies, and then said-- + +“I come at an inconvenient hour, my lord. You have just dined and you +have pleasant company, but I must crave your attention for a letter +which I bring you. The king’s business, my lord.” + +Lord Dunseveric rose, and led the way to the library. + +“I don’t doubt,” said Captain Twinely, “no one could be such a fool as +to doubt the loyalty of every member of your lordship’s household and of +every guest in your lordship’s house; but in deliver-ing my letter and +my message I prefer to be where there is no chance of eavesdropping. +Will you allow me to make sure that we are not overheard?” + +Lord Dunseveric himself shut the door of the room and drew a bolt +across it. Captain Twinely took a sealed packet from his breast. Lord +Dunseveric looked carefully at the address, broke the seal, and read the +contents of the paper within. + +“Do you know the contents of this paper, Captain Twinely?” + +“My orders are to solicit your lordship’s assistance, as a Justice +of the Peace for the county, in arresting certain persons and taking +possession of some arms concealed in the neighbourhood. I do not know +the names of the persons or the place where the arms are concealed. I +have not been treated with confidence. I’m a loyal man, but I’m only +a plain gentleman. I may say that I feel aggrieved. I deserved more +confidence.” + +Lord Dunseveric read the letter again before he answered. + +“I am directed here to arrest, with your assistance, five persons. All +of them are men who are well known and respected in this neighbourhood. +I know nothing of the evidence against them, beyond the mere fact, +stated here, that from information received they are believed to be +engaged in a plot for an armed rebellion. Captain Twinely, I have not +a very high opinion of the men from whom the Government receives +information, and I have reason to believe that the information is not +always trustworthy. There have been recently---- but I need not go into +that. I am a loyal man. I am willing to assist the Government in any way +in my power, but my loyalty has limits. Two of the persons named in this +letter I shall not arrest. One of them I believe to be innocent of all +designs against the Government; the other is a very feeble old man, who +will not in any case be dangerous as a rebel, and whom I have private +reasons for not wishing to arrest. I am willing to go with you to +the houses of the other three and arrest them. As for the concealed +arms--cannon it is stated here--I do not believe they exist, but I shall +take you to the place named, and let you see for yourself. Will this +satisfy you?” + +“Your lordship has to consider whether it will satisfy my commanding +officer. I should have thought it better, more advisable, more prudent, +for your lordship to obey the orders you have received exactly.” + +The man’s words were perfectly civil, but his manner and tone suggested +a threat. Lord Dun-severic stiffened suddenly. + +“I shall consider your commanding officer,” he said, “when I am shown +that he has any right to command me.” + +“Your loyalty----,” began Captain Twinely. + +“My loyalty to the king and the Irish constitution is not to be +suspected or impugned by Mr. Twinely, of Killulta.” + +“My lord, I consider that an unhandsome speech. I am only a plain +gentleman, but I am loyal. We county gentlemen ought to stand together. +I expected more consideration from you, my lord. I do not like your +sneering tone. By God, if it were not that I am on the king’s busi--” + +“Yes, if you were not on the king’s business----” + +But Captain Twinely did not finish his speech. + +“I shall have some refreshment brought in here to you, Captain Twinely,” + said Lord Dunseveric. “I shall, with your permission, order a servant to +ride to Ballintoy and bring your troop here. When they arrive I shall be +ready to go with you. In the meanwhile, I beg you to excuse my leaving +you. I have some private matters to arrange before we start.” + +He walked to the door, drew back the bolt, bowed, and left the room. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +Lord Dunseveric returned to the dining-room. He found the Comtesse +seated on a chair which had been placed on the table to give dignity to +her position. On the floor, beneath this lofty throne, knelt Neal +Ward, his hands tied behind him with a dinner napkin. Maurice, with a +carving-knife in his hand, stood on guard over the prisoner. Una, her +eyes shining with laughter, was making a speech. + +“Please, don’t interrupt,” said the Comtesse, “we are holding a +courtmartial on Mr. Neal. Una is acting as prosecutor; I am the judge. +In a few minutes, when I have delivered my sentence, Maurice will flog +the prisoner, and afterwards hang him with one of the bell ropes.” + +“I want to speak to you, Neal,” said Lord Dunseveric, gravely. + +Neal pulled his hands from their bandage, and rose, blinking and +uncomfortable, to his feet. + +“How solemn you are!” said the Comtesse. “What has that very boorish +Captain Twinely been telling you? Has a rebellion broken out? Is there +going to be a battle? Have they come to arrest Mr. Neal in real earnest? +I believe they have. Never mind, Mr. Neal, we will organise a rescue +party. They are not real soldiers, you know--only---only--what do you +call them?--ah, yes, yeomen. We will fall upon these yeomen after dark +and carry you off to safety.” + +“Maurice,” said Lord Dunseveric, “have two horses saddled, and get on +your boots. I shall want you to ride along with me. Come, Neal.” + +The three men left the room. + +“Una,” said the Comtesse, “come quick and change your dress. We will go +and see what is happening. Oh, this is most exciting, and the day has +been so dull and long. Come, Una, come; we will not let anyone see +us. We will take the most delightful short cuts. We will lie hidden in +ditches while they pass. We must see everything. Come, come, come.” + +“But--my father----” + +“Oh, you dear dutiful child! Just for once don’t mind about your father. +I am sure something thrilling is going to happen. Haven’t you a duty +of obedience towards your aunt? I cannot go without you, for I should +certainly lose my way.” + +The arrival of Captain Twinely, Lord Dun-severic’s grave face, and his +summons to Neal had filled Una’s mind with an undefined dread of some +threatening evil. She was nearly as anxious as her aunt to know what +was to happen. The prospect of a scamper across country through the +rain daunted her very little. She had no doubt of her ability to keep in +touch with the horsemen without being discovered. They would keep to the +high road. To her every short cut was known, every hill for observation, +and every possible hiding-place were as familiar to her as the lawn of +Dunseveric House. + +Lord Dunseveric led the way to his own dressing-room, beckoning Neal to +follow him. + +“Sit down, Neal,” he said, “and listen. I must talk while I boot and +change my coat. This Twinely, who takes rank as a captain of yeomen, and +has, as I suppose, a following of blackguards, brings me orders which I +cannot disobey--at least which I mean to disobey in only one particular. +I am bidden to search your father’s meeting-house for cannon supposed +to be concealed there. I am going to search, and search thoroughly. Your +answer will make no difference to my action; but I should like you to +tell me, are the cannon there?” + +“I do not believe there are any cannon,” said Neal; “I never heard of +them, or had any reason to suspect their existence.” + +Lord Dunseveric watched him keenly as he replied. Then he said-- + +“I believe what you say, of course. If there are cannon there you know +nothing of it. Now, another question. I am to arrest several persons +whose names have been sent to me; your name stands second on the list. +Are you a United Irishman? Have you sworn the oath?” + +“No,” said Neal, without hesitation. “I have not sworn. I have not been +enrolled as one of the society.” + +“I may take it that the Government has acted on false information in +ordering your arrest?” + +“Yes. The man who gave that information certainly lied. I knew nothing +of the plans of the United Irishmen yesterday, but it is right that I +should tell you----” + +“It is not right that you should tell me anything more. You have +answered my two questions. I have your word for it that you are not a +United Irishman, and I have your word that the information received by +the Government is false. I want to hear no more on that subject. I shall +take the responsibility of refusing to arrest you. I am also bidden to +arrest your father. I ask you no questions about him. I simply inform +you that I am not going to arrest him either. I do not believe in his +innocence. I think it likely that he is implicated in the conspiracy, +but I am not going to arrest him. He is too old to fight, and when +the other three men on my list are in prison he will have ceased to be +dangerous. Further, your father, in his writings, has attacked, and, in +my opinion, slandered me personally.” + +“You mean in the _Northern Star?_” + +“Yes. In the series of articles called ‘_Letters of a Democrat,_’ which +are attributed, I think rightly, to your father.” + +Lord Dunseveric paused. Neal remained silent. He had not read the +articles, but he believed his father had attacked the landlord +aristocracy with great bitterness, and he thought it likely that Lord +Dunseveric had cause for complaint. + +“I do not choose,” said Lord Dunseveric, “to take part in the arrest of +a man who may be regarded as my personal enemy. You may tell your father +this, and you may tell him further that if he is a wise man he will +leave the country at once. The next magistrate charged with his arrest +may not have my scruples or my reasons for hesitating. Now, listen to +me, Neal, before I leave you, and mark what I say. I admit, and I always +have admitted, the justice of the claims which your people make. There +ought to be equality, full and complete, for you and the Catholics. +There ought to be an end to the tyranny under which you suffer, but +you are going the wrong way about getting your wrongs righted. Your +rebellion, if there is to be a rebellion, can’t succeed. You will be +crushed. And Neal, lad, that crushing will be an evil business. It will +be evil for you and your friends, but that’s not all. It will be made an +excuse for taking away the hard won liberty of Ireland. Keep out of +it, Neal. Take my advice, and keep out of it, for your own sake and for +Ireland’s.” + +He took the young man’s hand, wrung it, and then turned and left the +room. Neal stood for a while dazed and bewildered. He had known before +that his father was a supporter of the United Irishmen. He had guessed, +though until that morning he had not actually known, how deeply he was +versed in the secrets of the society. He had never imagined that the +doings and sayings of an obscure Presbyterian minister were being +watched and noted by Government spies. He found it hard to realise that +the eyes of remote authorities, of secretaries of state, of generals of +armies, were fixed on the wind-swept, desolate, northern parish, on +the gaunt, grey manse he called his home. Yet the evidence of this +incredible surveillance was plain and unmistakable. Men of his father’s +congregation, men whom he supposed he knew personally, were to be +seized and marched off, to be flogged perhaps as others had been, to be +imprisoned certainly, to be hanged very likely, in the end. His father +was a marked man, with the choice before him of exile or imprisonment, +perhaps death. He himself was suspected, had been informed against, lied +about, by someone. His mind flew back to the list of names he had copied +out that morning, to the one name which had arrested his attention +especially. He remembered that James Finlay owed him a grudge, desired +revenge; he felt sure that James Finlay was the informer. Others might +have betrayed the secrets of the society. James Finlay alone, so far as +he could recollect, had any motive for incriminating him, an entirely +innocent man. + +He was roused from his thoughts by the sound of horses trampling on the +gravel sweep outside. The yeomen, summoned from Ballintoy, had arrived +at Dunseveric House. They were laughing, talking, and singing as they +rode, a disorderly mob of horsemen rather than a troop of soldiers. +After a few minutes they rode past the window again. Captain Twinely was +at their head. Ten or twelve yards in front of him, as if disdainful of +his company, rode Lord Dunseveric and Maurice. + +They were wrapped in long horsemen’s cloaks, for the rain beat down on +them. The wind was rising, and blew in strong gusts. The sun had set and +the evening was beginning to darken. Neal ran down to the hall, seized +his coat and stick, and went out. The horsemen moved along the avenue +at a steady trot. Neal saw them turn to the right and go along the road +which led to the manse and the meeting-house. He started to run across +the fields. He hoped to reach the manse and warn his father before +the soldiers arrived at the meeting-house. He ran fast, choosing the +shortest and easiest way, avoiding boggy patches of ground which would +have checked his progress. After a while, from a point of vantage, he +was able to catch a glimpse of the road. He noted that he was level with +the yeomen, and he knew that from the point where he saw them the road +took a wide curve inland. He calculated that by running fast he would be +able to cross it in front of the troop, and by keeping along the cliffs +would be able to reach the manse before the soldiers did. He sped +forward. Suddenly, as he descended the hill to the road, he became aware +of two figures crouching behind the bank which divided the road from +the field. He was dimly aware that they were women. He did not look +carefully at them. His eyes were fixed on the horsemen against whom he +was racing. He gained the edge of the field and sprang upon the bank. He +heard his name called softly. + +“Neal, Neal, Neal Ward.” + +Then somewhat louder by another voice. + +“Mr. Neal, come and help us.” + +He recognised Una’s voice and then that of the Comtesse. He had no time +to think what they wanted or how they came to be crouching in a damp +ditch in the rain while the evening darkened over them. He leaped from +the bank, crossed the road, and raced off again towards his father’s +house. + +He arrived at the door, breathless, but sure that he was in good time. +He burst into the sitting-room and found his father and uncle, their +lamp already lighted, bending over a pile of papers which lay before +them on the table. + +“The soldiers, the yeomen, are on their way here,” he gasped. + +Micah Ward started to his feet. + +“What do you say?” + +“The yeomen are on their way to the meetinghouse. They are going to +search for arms, for cannon, which they say are concealed there.” + +Micah Ward stood stock still. His body seemed to have become suddenly +rigid. His face grew quite white. Donald, leaning back in his chair, +smiled slightly. + +“So,” he said, “they have begun. Are there cannon there, brother?” + +“Yes, there are,” said Micah, slowly. “Four six-pounders. They belonged +to the Volunteers. We kept them. We thought they might be useful some +day.” + +“Ah,” said Donald, “it’s a pity. We shall have the trouble of +re-capturing them. Come, let us go down to the meeting-house. I should +like to see these terrible yeomen.” + +“Some one has given them information,” said Micah. He was silent for a +minute. Then he muttered as if to himself-- + +“Some one has informed against us. Some one has brought this evil upon +us. Who has done this thing? Who is our secret enemy?” + +“Come,” said Donald, “don’t stand muttering there.” + +But Micah did not heed him. Raising both hands above his head, and +looking upward, he spoke slowly, clearly-- + +“May the curse of the Lord God of Israel light on the man who has +informed against us. May he be smitten with madness and blindness and +astonishment of heart. May he grope at the noonday as the blind gropeth +in the darkness. May his life hang in doubt before him. May he fear +day and night, and have none assurance of his life. May he say in +the morning--‘Would God it were even! And at even--‘Would God it were +morning!’ for the fear of his heart wherewith he shall fear and the +sight of his eyes which he shall see.” + +“That,” said Donald, “is a mighty fine curse. I’m darned if I ever heard +a more comprehensive kind of curse. We had a God-forsaken half-breed in +our company, under General Greene, who could curse quite a bit, and he +never came near that curse. But I reckon that a good deal of it will +have to be wasted. There isn’t a man living who could stand it for long. +Still, if you name the man for us, I’ll do the best I can with him. +I may not be able to work the blindness and the groping just as you’d +wish, but I’ll undertake that his life hangs in doubt before him for a +bit.” + +Micah Ward, without seeming to hear his brother’s speech, stalked +bare-headed from the room and led the way to the meeting-house. + +The yeomen were marching up the hill from the main road. They sang a +song with a ribald chorus, such as men sing in a tavern when they have +drunk deep. Lord Dunseveric and Maurice had already reached the door of +the meeting-house, and sat silent on their horses. + +“Mr. Ward,” said Lord Dunseveric, “will you give me the keys and save +me from the necessity of breaking open the door? I see Neal with you. I +suppose he has told you what we have come to do?” + +“I shall never render the keys to you,” said Micah Ward. “Do the work of +scorn and oppression that you intend, but do not ask me to aid you.” + +The yeomen, still singing, straggled up while Lord Dunseveric and Micah +Ward spoke. Suddenly their song ceased, and they listened in a silence +of sheer amazement while Donald Ward addressed their captain. + +“Say”--his voice was cold, clear, and contemptuous--“do you call +yourself a captain? And is this your notion of discipline? I guess, +young fellow, if we’d had you with General Greene in Carolina we’d have +combed you out and flogged the drunken ragamuffins you’re supposed to be +commanding. But I reckon you’re just the meanest kind of Britisher there +is, that kind that swaggers and runs away.” + +“Seize that man,” said Captain Twinely. “Tie him up. Flog him. Cut the +life out of him.” + +Lord Dunseveric touched his horse with the spur and rode forward. +“Captain Twinely, I told you I should have no flogging here. I mean to +be obeyed. And you, sir, you are a stranger here. Who are you?” + +“This,” said Micah Ward, laying his hand on his brother’s arm, “is my +brother.” + +“Captain Twinely, dismount two of your men. Let them conduct Mr. Ward +and his brother back to the manse and mount guard at the door. Maurice, +tie your horse to the tree yonder, and go with them. See that no +incivility is used. When they are safe in the manse you can return +here.” + +Neal walked to the rear of the troop, and stood at the side of the road +near the wall, while his father and uncle were marched away under charge +of two troopers and Maurice St. Clair. + +“Sergeant,” said Captain Twinely, “take four men and force this door.” + +Neal heard his name called in a low voice by some one near him. + +“Neal, Neal, Neal Ward.” + +It was Una’s voice. His father and uncle had passed down the road. The +yeomen were eagerly watching their comrades’ attempts to force the door. + +Neal stepped over the low stone wall. He felt a hand grasp his and heard +Una speak again. + +“Neal, stay with us. I’m frightened.” + +A low musical laugh followed, and then the voice of the Comtesse-- + +“You are a most ungallant cavalier, Mr. Neal. You left us alone in one +ditch this evening already. You really must not leave us in another.” + +The effort to force the door of the meeting-house was unsuccessful. + +“Put a musket to the key-hole,” said Captain Twinely, “and blow off the +lock.” + +There was an explosion. The woodwork was splintered and shattered. A +single push opened the door. + +“Now,” said Captain Twinely, “come in and search.” + +The little meeting-house was scantily furnished. A high, octangular +wooden pulpit with a precentor’s pew in front of it stood at the far +end. The place was bare of hanging or cupboard which could have been +used as a hiding-place. The men tramped about, upsetting the benches and +cursing as they tripped upon them. + +“It’s as dark as hell,” said Captain Twinely. “Send a man down to the +minister’s house and let him fetch up a bundle of bogwood to serve us +for torches. I must have light.” + +One of the men departed on the errand. The sergeant, mounted on the +pulpit, rapped on the desk in front of him to secure silence, and said +in a high-pitched, drawling voice-- + +“Beloved! Brands snatched from the burning! Sanctified vessels! Let +us, in this hour of trial and tribulation, when the ungodly triumph and +prosper in their way, let us sing the Ould Hunderd to the comfort of our +souls.” + +At the sound of his voice the troopers who remained outside crowded into +the building, leaving two or three of their number to take care of the +horses. Well satisfied with his congregation, the sergeant sang to the +tune sanctified by two centuries of Puritan worship:-- + + “There was a Presbyterian cat + Who loved her neighbour’s cream to sup; + She sanctified her theft with prayer + Before she dared to lap it up.” + +A burst of applause greeted the performance of this ribald parody. There +were calls for more such psalmody. “Give us another verse, Sergeant.” + “Tune up again, Dick.” “Goon, goon.” Lord Dunseveric, who had remained +outside, dismounted and stalked through the door. He had caught the +tune, though not the words of the sergeant’s song. He guessed at some +ribald irreverence within. His face was white with anger. + +“Silence,” he cried. + +The sergeant, half drunk, looked at him with an insolent grin. + +“Your lordship will like the second verse better-- + + “There was a Presbyterian wife--” + +Lord Dunseveric forced his way through the soldiers who stood between +him and the singer, and approached the pulpit with clenched fists and +lips pressed close together. + + “Who found her husband growing old; + She sanctified-----” + +sang the sergeant, leering at Lord Dunseveric, but before he got any +further a woman’s shriek rang through the building. The sergeant +stopped abruptly. The men crowded through the door, eager for some new +excitement. Lord Dunseveric and Captain Twinely followed as quickly as +they could. There was another shriek, a sound of blows and cursing. +Then men’s voices rose above the tumult. “Down with the damned croppy.” + “Throttle him.” “Knife him.” “Hold him now you’ve got him.” “Take a belt +for his arms.” “Ah, here’s Tarn with the torches.” “Strike a light, one +of you.” “There’s two of them, two wenches, by God, and young ones.” + “Fetch them into the meeting-house and make them dance.” “Ay, by God, +we’ll tie their petticoats round their necks and then make them dance.” + +There was a rush of men to the door of the meeting-house. Lord +Dunseveric and Captain Twinely were borne back before they could see +what was going on. Some one struck a light and illuminated a branch of +bogwood which he held above his head as a torch. + +“Drag in the prisoner,” yelled a voice. “We’ll give him a place in the +front and let him see his wenches dance.” + +Lord Dunseveric, unable to make his voice heard above the tumult, saw +Neal Ward, his arms bound to his sides by a belt strapped round him, +dragged into the meeting-house. His face was cut and bleeding slightly. +His coat was rent from collar to skirt. + +“Make way, make way, for the ladies.” + +A trooper entered with two women. He had an arm clasped round each. +Lord Dunseveric recognised with amazement and horror his daughter and +sister-in-law. Una made no resistance. She was terrified into a state of +helplessness. The Comtesse struggled desperately, tearing with her hands +at the trooper’s face. Captain Twinely recognised the ladies almost +immediately, and strove to reach them. Before he could make his way Lord +Dun-severic’s voice rang out above the tumult. + +“Maurice, are you there? Come in here at once.” + +There was something in his voice, a tone of authority, a note of grim +determination, which cowed the rabble of men for an instant. Maurice St. +Clair pushed his way through the door in silence. + +“Maurice,” said Lord Dunseveric, this time in quiet, even tones, “take +that scoundrel by the throat, and if he offers any resistance choke +him.” + +The man loosed his hold of the two women, and his hand flew to his sword +hilt, but before he could draw it, Maurice bounded upon him and flung +him to the ground. Once, twice, thrice, as the trooper strove to raise +himself, his head was dashed down on the hard earthen floor of the +meeting-house. + +After the third time he lay still. Maurice rose and stood over him. + +“Captain Twinely,” said Lord Dunseveric, “loose the belt from your +prisoner’s arms at once.” + +The order was obeyed, and Neal stood free. “Bid your men leave the +meeting-house, all but the man who holds the torch and the one who lies +there on the floor.” + +The men, cowed and sullen, went out. + +“Now,” said Lord Dunseveric, “I will have this matter cleared up and I +will have justice done.” He turned to Neal. + +“How came you here with my daughter and the Comtesse de Tourneville?” + +Neal stood silent. + +“It was my fault,” said the Comtesse. “I brought Una. I wanted to see +what was going on. Mr. Neal had nothing to do with it. He tried to save +us when, when that man”--she pointed to the soldier on the +floor--“found us.” + +“Is that so?” asked Lord Dunseveric of Neal. + +“It is.” + +“Maurice,” said Lord Dunseveric, “take your sister and your aunt home, +and when you get them there see that they do not leave the house again. +Stay. Take Neal with you. Those ruffians outside will scarcely venture +to molest you, but, in case any of them are drunk enough to try, you +will be the better of having Neal beside you. Captain Twinely, you +will kindly give orders to your men that my son and his party are to be +allowed to pass.” + +Lord Dunseveric was left alone in the meeting-house save for the man who +held the torch and the trooper who lay unconscious on the floor. + +“Give me the light,” he said, “and go you over to your comrade. Loose +his tunic and feel if his heart still beats.” + +The man did as he was bidden, and reported that the trooper whom Maurice +had stunned was still alive. Lord Dunseveric walked to the door of the +meeting-house and said-- + +“Captain Twinely, you will now be so good as to take the man who lies +here on the floor and hang him at once. We are not well off for trees in +this country, but there is at least one at the back of the meeting-house +tall enough for the purpose.” + +There was a threatening growl from the men outside. They drew together. +Their hands were on their swords. Captain Twinely stood a little apart +from them. His eyes were fixed on the ground. He made no motion, and +showed no sign of obeying the orders he was given. Lord Dunseveric +looked first at him and then at the group of angry troopers. He stepped +out of the meeting-house and faced them. He took out his watch and +looked at it. + +“I give you ten minutes,” he said, “in which to obey my order. If that +man is not hanged in ten minutes I shall march you back to Dunseveric +House, where there are trees enough, and hang every one of you there.” + +They could have killed him easily as he stood there. They probably would +have killed him if he had shown the smallest sign of fear. They knew +perfectly well that he could not have marched them to Dunseveric House +or anywhere else if they had chosen to resist. Nevertheless, they obeyed +him. A rope was fetched from the saddle of one of the troopers. In those +days the yeomen carried ropes fit for hanging men as they went through +the country. The unconscious man was carried from the meeting-house +and hung up on the only tree large enough to bear his weight. Lord +Dunseveric, with his watch in his hand, saw the thing done with a quiet +smile. Then he spoke again to Captain Twinely. + +“You had better proceed with your search for the cannon. It is getting +late, and you have already wasted a great deal of time.” + +More torches were lit. The men, now thoroughly cowed, dragged down the +pulpit and the precentor’s pew. The earth under them was not beaten hard +as was the earth of the rest of the floor. Captain Twinely took a torch +and peered at it. + +“Fetch a spade,” he said. + +They shovelled the earth into a heap against the wall and uncovered four +cannons. They were wrapped in oily rags, and well preserved, in spite of +their damp hiding-place. Lord Dunseveric looked at them carefully. + +“Ah,” he said. “Four of the six-pounders which I bought for my company +of volunteer artillery in 1778. I often wondered what had become of +them. Now, Captain Twinely, you have got the cannon, you had better go +on to arrest your prisoners. I shall go with you, and remember I shall +permit no violence unless resistance is offered. I have given your men +one lesson to-night already. I am quite prepared to give them another if +necessary.” + +The rain had ceased when Maurice and Neal, with their charge, left the +meeting-house. The direction of the wind had changed since sunset. It +blew in from the north and was sweeping the clouds away. The moon, then +in its first quarter, seemed to be racing across the sky among the torn +fragments of black cloud. Now and then it reached an open space and shed +a pale, white light over the landscape. Again, it was hidden and the +night was very dark. Already the wind had aroused the sea to its old +warfare against the rocks and strands. Its hollow roaring was borne far +inland. For a time the little party walked in silence. The Comtesse was +the first to speak. + +“If that is the way your loyal troops behave, Maurice, I think that I +prefer the _sans culottes_. Ugh! my clothes are half torn off my back. I +shall never be able to wear this dress again. It will smell, positively +smell, of the grimy hands of that drunken wretch.” + +“What brought you out?” asked Maurice. “If you had stayed at home +nothing would have happened to you.” + +“Now,” said the Comtesse, “if you begin to lecture me, to preach sermons +to me, I shall sit down and cry. I could scream and kick at this moment +with the greatest ease and pleasure. Then what would you do, my nephew?” + +“Maurice,” said Una, “let us go home across the fields. Don’t let us go +by the road. I’m afraid of meeting those men again. They will be coming +after us.” + +“Nonsense, Una,” said the Comtesse, “we have climbed walls enough +to-night; we have lain in ditches enough. For my part, if there is a +road I shall go along it. Come, Maurice.” + +She walked quickly on, and Maurice, puzzled and uncomfortable, followed +her. Then Neal laid his hand on Una’s arm. + +“This way,” he said. “I will take you home by the fields.” + +He sprang across the ditch and stretched out his hand to the girl. +Without a word she took it and followed him. They walked in silence over +the rough ground. They crossed a wall, and then another, and each time +Neal thrilled at the touch of her hand as he turned to help her. + +“You were very brave, Neal,” she said. + +“It’s not much to be brave for you, Una. Oh, I wish I could have saved +you.” + +He had her hand in his again, and this time it seemed as if it lingered +in his clasp. + +“Una,” he said. “Una.” + +But her face was turned away from him, and she made no answer. The tone +of his voice set her pulses beating with a strong excitement, so that +she could not look at him or speak. He was silent again. They reached +the high wall which bounded the demesne of Dunseveric House. Once more, +as they climbed, her hand was in his. + +This time he held it fast. It seemed to him that he was doing something +that would call down on him swift rebuke and angry reproach. He expected +to have the hand snatched from him. Then, with wonder and a glow of +rapturous delight, he felt it lie passive in his. He realised that he +was being swept beyond his self-control; that his desire for the girl +beside him was stronger than his reason. He yielded to an impulse of +sheer passion, clasped Una in his arms, and kissed her face. Again and +again he kissed her. He felt her arms tighten round him, knew that she +was clinging to him. Then suddenly he let her go and stood back from +her, terror-stricken. + +“Oh, Una, what have I done? I am mad.” + +She stood before him, her face covered with her hands. + +“Una, speak to me. Can you ever forgive me? My love made me mad.” + +She raised her face and looked at him. In the dim moonlight he saw in +her eyes a look of wonderful tenderness. He realised without a word from +her that she loved him, too. + +“Una--I ought never--I was wrong. But I love you more than my life. +Una, you are too far above me. You are a great man’s daughter. How did I +dare?” + +She came close to him and spoke. + +“There is no above or below, Neal, when we love each other. How can I be +far above the man who loves me?” + +“But there is no hope for us, none at all anywhere. Even to-morrow I may +have to go--Una, I may have to fight----” + +“Whatever comes, Neal, I know that you will be brave and good. Be brave +and good, dear Neal, and then God will give us our hearts’ desire. I am +not afraid of the future. Why should you be afraid? If you do what is +right and honourable what is there to fear? God is good.” + +They walked together to the house. Then Neal turned and went home. The +future, so far as he could see into it, was dark enough. His love seemed +utterly hopeless, yet his heart was full of unspeakable joy. He knew, +beyond all possibility of doubt, that Una loved him and would love him +whatever happened. Her strangely simple faith seemed to make all things +plain before him. Una loved him and God was good. It was enough. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +When Neal arrived at the Manse he found that the sentries who had stood +on guard at the door were gone. The yeomen had disappeared from before +the meeting-house. The broken door, the fragments of the wrecked pulpit, +and the figure of the dead trooper swinging from the branch on which he +had been hanged were left as witnesses of the Government’s methods of +keeping the peace in Ireland. + +Inside the house Micah Ward paced restlessly up and down the floor of +his study. Donald, his pipe in his mouth, sat on a chair tilted back +till its front legs were six inches off the floor, and watched his +brother. His attitude was precarious, but he seemed comfortable. Micah +paused in his rapid walking as Neal entered the room. + +“What have you been doing, Neal?” he said. “Your face is cut, your +clothes are torn; you look strangely excited.” + +“I have been fighting,” said Neal. He did not think it necessary to add +that he had also been love-making, though it was the interview with Una, +far more than the struggle with the yeoman, which was accountable for +the gleaming eyes and exalted expression which his father noticed. + +“I trust you were victorious,” said his father, “that your foot has been +dipped in the blood of your enemies, that you have broken their bonds +asunder, and cast away their cords from you.” + +“I was beaten,” said Neal, smiling. It did not just then seem to matter +in the least whether he got the better or the worse in any fight. + +“You take it easily,” said Donald. “That’s right. You’re blooded now, +my boy. You’ll fight all the better in the future for tasting your own +blood to-night. I’m glad you are back with us. Your father has been +giving out the most terrific curses against Lord Dunseveric for having +brought the yeomen down on us and taken away his little cannons. I tell +him he ought to be thankful they went into the meeting-house instead of +coming here. They’d have made a fine haul if they’d walked in and taken +the papers he and I had before us when you came here. They’d have had +the name of every United Irishman in the district, and could have picked +them out and hanged them one by one just as they wanted them.” + +“They’ve got as much information, pretty near, as they want,” said Neal. +“They are going to arrest three men to-night.” + +“God’s curse on Eustace St. Clair, him whom men call the Lord of +Dunseveric,” said Micah Ward. + +“Spare your curse,” said Neal. “It wasn’t Lord Dunseveric who brought +the yeomen on us, and what’s more, only for Lord Dunseveric you’d be +arrested yourself along with the others.” + +“What’s that you are saying, Neal?” + +“I’m saying that the yeomen brought orders from Belfast to arrest you, +and me, too, and that Lord Dunseveric refused to execute them.” + +“And so I owe my liberty to him! I must thank him for sparing me. I must +fawn on him as my benefactor, I suppose. But I will not. I refuse his +mercy. I scorn it. I cast it from me. I shall go out and offer myself to +the yeomen. They are to take my friends, my people, and spare me. I will +not be spared. Am I the hireling who fleeth when the wolf cometh? I go +to deliver myself into their hands.” + +“You’ll be a bigger fool than I take you for if you do,” said Donald. +“Listen to me now. From what Neal has told us it’s evident that you’re +wrong about Lord Dunseveric. It wasn’t he who brought the yeomen on us. +There is someone else giving information, and it’s someone who knows +a good deal. Come now, brother Micah, cudgel your brains; think, man, +think, who is it?” + +Micah sat down at his writing-table and passed his hand over his +forehead. + +“I cannot think,” he said. “I cannot, I will not believe that any of our +people are traitors.” + +“These orders which Neal speaks of came from Belfast,” said Donald. “Who +has lately left this place and gone to Belfast?” + +“I can tell you,” said Neal. “James Finlay. And James Finlay had a +grudge against me. The others whom he denounced were United Irishmen, +perhaps, I was not. Why was I marked down, unless it was out of private +revenge? And there is nobody, nobody in the world, I believe, who has +cause to wish for vengeance on me but only James Finlay.” + +“I cannot believe it of him,” said Micah. “He came to me himself and +asked to be sworn. He was a member of the committee.” + +“If you ask me,” said Donald, “I think the case looks pretty black +against James Finlay. I think, if things are to go on as they ought to, +it will be better to cut the throat of James Finlay. I don’t know him +myself. Perhaps you do, Neal.” + +“Yes,” said Neal, “I know him.” + +“And he is in Belfast,” said Donald. “Now, what was his reason for going +to Belfast?” + +“He went to obtain employment there,” said Micah. “He took letters from +me to some of our leaders. He went as my agent, properly accredited. My +God! If he is a traitor!” + +“I think, Neal,” said Donald, slowly, “that you and I will take a little +trip to Belfast. I should like to see Belfast. They tell me it’s a +rising town. I should also very much like to see our friend, James +Finlay. I suppose we shall be able to get horses to-morrow. Oh, yes, +I’ve money to pay for them. I didn’t come over here with an empty purse. +Anyway, I think Belfast would suit me better than this place. Your +people, Micah, don’t seem very fond of fighting.” + +“You are wrong, brother. They will lay down their lives right willingly +when the hour comes.” + +Donald shrugged his shoulders. “Their meeting-house has been sacked, +their minister has been insulted, three of their members are to be +arrested, and they haven’t offered to strike a blow. If they had the +courage of doe rabbits they’d have chopped up those yeomen into little +bits and then scattered them for dung over the fields. I reckon that +unless the Belfast people are better than these men of yours I’d be +better back in the States. We knew how to fight for our liberty there.” + +“You don’t understand, Donald. Believe me, you do not understand. We +must wait for orders before we strike.” + +“Oh, orders. Waiting for orders. I know the meaning of that. It means +waiting till the English have picked off your leaders one by one. I +know, I know.” + +Donald knocked the ashes out of his pipe, filled it, and lit it again, +and puffed slowly. Micah sat at the table, his head resting in his +hands. Neal sat down and waited. There was silence in the room for a +long time. Donald’s pipe was smoked out and lit again before he spoke. +Then he said-- + +“I’m sorry, brother, that I spoke as I did. I don’t doubt but that your +men are brave enough. They would have fought if they had known what was +going on.” + +“No, no,” said Micah. “You were right. I ought to have fought if there +were no one else. I ought to have died. I would to God that I had died +before our meeting-house was pillaged, before my people, the men who +trusted me, were taken captive. I was a coward. I am a coward.” + +“Then I am a coward, too,” said Donald, “and no man ever called me that +before. But I’m not, and you’re not. We were two unarmed men against +fifty. I’m fond enough of fighting, and I take on a job with long odds +against me, but not such long odds as that. Rouse yourself, brother. +Neal and I are going to Belfast. We shall want letters from you. We must +be accredited like Mr. James Finlay, whom we hope to meet. Stir yourself +now and write for us.” + +“I will, I will. Neal, there is no ink here. I remember that I used all +my ink yesterday. Neal, fetch me ink from the shelf beside the window.” + +In a few minutes Micah’s pen was travelling slowly over the paper. Neal +could hear its spluttering and scratching. Suddenly, there was a noise +of loud knocking at the door of the house. Donald started and laid down +his pipe. Neal rose to his feet, and stood waiting for some order from +his father. Micah stopped writing, and turned in his chair. All trace of +nervousness and agitation had vanished from his face. His expression was +gentle and joyous. He smiled. + +“They have come to take me also,” he said. “I am right glad. I shall not +be indebted to the oppressor for my liberty. I shall be where a shepherd +ought to be--with the sheep whom the wolf attacks.” + +Again came the noise of knocking, heavy, authoritative, threatening. + +“Be quick, my son, and open the door. Bid those who enter welcome.” + +Neal went to the door, and opened it. Lord Dunseveric stood outside, the +reins of his horse’s bridle thrown over his arm, his riding whip in his +hand. + +“I suppose your father is within, Neal. I want to speak to him. Will you +ask him if I may enter?” + +“He bid me say that you were welcome,” said Neal. + +Lord Dunseveric stared at him in surprise. “How did he know who was at +the door? But it does not matter. Show me where to tie my horse, Neal, +and I will enter.” + +Neal led the way into the room where his father and his uncle sat. +Lord Dunseveric bowed to Micah Ward, and then, with a glance at Donald, +said-- + +“The matter on which I wish to speak to you, sir, is somewhat private. +Is it your wish that this gentleman be present?” + +“It is my brother, Donald Ward,” said Micah. “He knows my mind. I have +no secrets from him.” + +Lord Dunseveric bowed again, and said, with a slight smile-- + +“It is possible that Mr. Donald Ward may find some of your secrets +rather embarrassing to keep.” + +“I can take care of myself, master,” said Donald, “or, maybe, I ought +to say, my lord. But your lordships and dukeships, and countships and +kingships stick somewhat in my throat. I come from America, where we +hold one man the equal of another.” + +“You are a young nation,” said Lord Dunseveric. “In time you will +perhaps learn courtesy. But I did not come here to-night to teach +manners to vagrant Yankees. I came to tell Mr. Ward that he has been +denounced to the Government as a seditious person, and that I received +orders to-night to arrest him.” + +“And why did you not execute them?” said Micah Ward. “Did I ask you to +spare me? Have you come here to be thanked for your mercy? I wish to God +you had arrested me.” + +“I assure you,” said Lord Dunseveric, “that I expect no thanks, nor do +I claim any credit for being merciful. You owe your escape solely to the +fact that I happen to be a gentleman. It did not consist with my honour +to arrest a man who was my personal enemy.” + +“Then,” said Micah Ward, “what have you come here for now?” + +“I have come, Mr. Ward, to warn you, if you will accept my warning, that +you are in great danger, that the ramifications of your conspiracy +are known to the Government, that your society is honeycombed with +treachery, that your roll of membership contains the names of many +spies.” + +“Is that all?” said Micah. + +“No, sir, that is not all. I have a regard for your son. He has been the +companion of my children. He has grown up at my feet. He has eaten at my +table. I like him and I respect him. I beg of you to consider what +the consequences will be for him if you drag him into this insane +conspiracy. His name was along with yours on the list of seditious +persons placed in my hands to-night. He has an hour or two ago incurred +the anger--the dangerous anger--of a body of yeomen and their commander. +I beg that you will consider his safety, and not take him with you on +the way on which you are going.” + +“Neal,” said Micah Ward, “is no more than a boy. He knows nothing about +politics. What has my action to do with Neal?” + +“His name,” said Lord Dunseveric, “stood next to yours on the list of +suspected persons which was put into my hands to-night.” + +“So be it,” said Micah, solemnly! “if my son is to suffer, if he is to +die, he can die no better than fighting for liberty against oppression.” + +“And I’m thinking,” said Donald, “that you are going a bit too fast with +your talk about dying. I’ve fought just such a fight as my brother is +thinking of. I’m through with it now, and I’m not dead. By God, we saw +to it that it was the other men who died. We won, sir. Mark my words, we +won. It was the people that carried the day in America. They carried +the day in France. What’s to hinder us from carrying the day in Ireland, +too?” + +Lord Dunseveric looked at Donald during this speech and kept his eyes +fixed upon him for some minutes afterwards. He was considering whether +it was worth while replying to this boastful American Irishman. At last +he turned again to Micah Ward. + +“I have still one more appeal to make to you, Mr. Ward. You care +for Ireland. Is it not so? I believe you do. Believe, me, I care for +Ireland, too.” + +“Yes,” said Micah, “you care for Ireland, but what do you mean by +Ireland? You mean a bloodthirsty, supercilious, unprincipled ascendancy, +for whom the public exists only as a prey to be destroyed, who keep +themselves close and mark men’s steps that they may lay in wait for +them; who forge chains for their country, who distrust and belie the +people, who scoff at the complaints of the poor and needy, and who +impudently call themselves Ireland. You have made the sick and the lame +to go out of their way. You have eaten the good pastures and trodden +down the residue with your feet. You care for Ireland, and you mean by +Ireland the powers and privileges of a class. I care for Ireland, but +I mean Ireland, not for certain noblemen and gentlemen, but Ireland for +the Irish people, for the poor as well as the rich, for the Protestant, +Dissenter, and Roman Catholic alike.” + +“I have never denied, nor do I wish to deny, the need of reform,” said +Lord Dunseveric, “but I see before all the necessity of loyalty to the +constitution.” + +“Ay, to the constitution which gives the whole power of the country to +a few proud aristocrats, which excludes three-fourths of the people +from its benefits, which allows eight hundred thousand Northerns to be +insulted and trampled on because they speak of emancipation, which uses +forced oaths, overflowing Bastilles and foreign troops for extorting the +loyalty of the Irish people.” + +“I will not argue these things with you now,” said Lord Dunseveric, “my +time is short. I would rather pray you to consider what the end of +your conspiracy must be. If you succeed, and I do not believe you can +succeed, you will deluge the country in blood. If your best hopes are +realised, and you receive the help you hope for from abroad, you +will make Ireland the cockpit of a European war. Our commerce and +manufactures, reviving under the fostering care of our own Irish +Parliament, will be destroyed. Our fields, which none will dare to till, +will be fouled with the dead bodies of our sons and daughters. But why +should I complete the picture? If you fail--and you must fail--you +will fling the country into the arms of England. Our gentry will be +terrified, our commons will be cowed. Designing Englishmen will make an +easy prey of us. They will take from us even the hard-earned measure of +independence we already possess. We shall become, and we shall remain, +a contemptible province of their Empire instead of a sovereign and +independent nation. The English are wise enough to see this, though you +cannot see it. Man, _they want you to rebel_.” + +“Is that all you have to say?” said Micah. + +“That is all.” + +“Then I bid you farewell, Eustace St. Clair, Lord of Dunseveric. You +have spoken well and pleaded speciously for yourself and your class. I +might listen to you if I had not seen your armed ruffians break into +our meeting-houses; if I had not in memory stories of burnt homesteads, +outraged women, tortured men; you might persuade me if I did not know +that to-night you have taken my friends, that you will drag them before +unjust judges, and condemn them on the evidence of perjured informers, +as you condemned William Orr. Human endurance can bear no more. Patience +is a virtue of the Gospel, but it becomes cowardice in the face of +certain wrongs. Go, I have done with you. Go, torture, burn, shed +innocent blood, and then, like the adulterous woman, eat and wipe your +mouth, and say ‘I have done no wickedness.’” + +“I came into your house on a mission of friendliness and mercy,” said +Lord Dunseveric. “I have been met with insults and lies, lies known to +be lies to you who speak them. I go, and I pray that we shall meet no +more until the day when, in the light of God’s judgment, you will be +able to see what is in my heart and understand what is in your own.” + +“Amen,” said Micah Ward, “I bide the test.” + +Lord Dunseveric bowed and walked to the door of the room. Then he +paused, turned, and held out his hand to Neal. + +“You will stay with your father, Neal,” he said. “I do not deny that you +are right, but I will not part from you in unfriendliness. God keep you, +boy, and remember, for old time’s sake, for the sake of the days when +you stood by my knee with my own children, you have always--whatever +happens--always a friend in me.” + +Neal’s eyes filled with tears. He could not speak. He carried Lord +Dunseveric’s hand to his lips, and then let it go reluctantly. He heard +the door shut, the trampling of the horse’s hoofs on the gravel outside. +Then, with a sudden sob, which he could not repress, went across the +room and sat down beside his father. + +Donald alone remained cheerful and unimpressed. + +“I know that kind of man,” he said. “A fine kind it is. We had some of +the same sort in America. They crossed the border afterwards to Canada. +I suppose you mean to ship your aristocracy to England, Micah? From all +I hear they like lords over there. But now to work. We can’t afford to +sit still while Master James Finlay is loose about the country with your +letters in his pocket. We must get on his trail, Neal, you and I. We +must hinder him from doing more mischief. The first thing we want is +horses. Micah, where are we to get horses--two strong nags, fit for the +road?” + +Micah Ward sat silent and absorbed. His eyes were fixed on the wall +in front of him. His lips moved, as if he were speaking, but no sound +passed them. His hands on the table in front of him twitched. He was a +prey to some violent emotion. Donald called him again, and again failed +to arouse his attention. Then he turned to Neal. + +“There’s no use in trying to rouse your father, Neal. He will not hear +us. Do you know anyone who will sell or hire us horses?” + +“Rab MacClure has horses,” said Neal. “He has two, I know. He lives not +far from this, about a mile along the road towards Ballintoy.” + +“Come, then,” said Donald, “I suppose the family will be all abed +by this time. We must rouse them. There’s Scripture warrant for it. +‘Friend, lend me three loaves.’ We must imitate the man in the Gospel. +If he won’t give us the horses for the asking we must weary him with +importunity.” + +It was ten o’clock when Donald and his nephew set out. The clouds were +blown away, and the sky clear. The moon rode high, and by its light they +caught glimpses from the road of the white foam of the sea breaking on +the dark strand below them. The roar of the waves came loud to them as +they walked. A quarter of an hour’s quick walking brought them to their +destination. + +“There’s the house,” said Neal. + +“They are not in bed,” said Donald, “I can see lights in the windows.” + +Neal led the way across a stile and over a field. Lights moved from +one window to another in the house. A sound of wailing rose! and fell, +mingling with the monotonous roar of the waves. The door stood wide +open. Within, a woman rocked herself to and fro on a low stool. Three +children clung to her petticoats and cried piteously. A farm labourer +stood, stupidly motionless, beside the dresser. A maid servant, with +a light in her hand, flitted restlessly in and out of the kitchen. Her +hair hung loose about her shoulders. She was but half dressed, like one +aroused suddenly from bed. A rush-light burned in an iron stand on +the floor, shedding a feeble light. Donald and Neal stood at the door +astonished. + +“Our friends the yeomen have been here,” said Donald. “I guess they +have taken the man of the house away with them. We’ve another account to +settle with James Finlay when we get him.” + +“Mistress MacClure,” said Neal, “I’ve come to know if you will hire or +sell us two horses. We must be travelling to-morrow morn.” + +“Horses,” cried the woman. “Who speaks o’ horses? I wouldna care if ye +were to rive horse and beast and a’ from me now. My man’s gone. Oh, my +weans, my weans, who’ll care for you now when they’ve kilt your da? Oh, +the bonny man, and the kind!” + +“Is it you, Master Neal?” said the farm servant. “Will you no fetch the +minister till her?” + +“I will, I will,” said Neal, conscience-stricken at having mentioned his +own need in a home so sorely stricken with grief. He ran from the house +back to the manse. + +Donald took the labourer outside the door and spoke to him. He explained +that he was the minister’s brother. He said that he had pressing need of +the horses. He offered money. The man shook his head. + +“They are no mine, and the mistress is in no way to bargain with you the +night.” + +“I want the horses,” said Donald, “to ride after the villain who +betrayed your master.” + +The man’s face brightened suddenly. + +“Aye, and is that so? Why couldn’t ye have tell’t me that afore? Keep +your money in your pouch. You’ll have the horses in the morn. I’ll take +it on myself to give them to you. I’d like fine to be going along. But +there’s the mistress and the weans. I darena leave them, and I willna. +There’s na yin only me and the God that’s above us all for her to look +to now.” + +Micah Ward, followed by his son, hastened to the MacClure’s house. He +stood for a moment on the threshold, lifted his hat solemnly from his +head, and invoked a blessing on the building and all in it. Then he +went to the woman, took one of her hands in his, and spoke to her with +wonderful tenderness. + +“Bessie, my poor bairn. Hearken to me, Bessie. Quit crying now, quit +crying. Do you mind, Bessie, the day I was in with you and Rab away at +Ballymoney? Do you mind how you said to me that every day you thanked +God for the good husband he had given you? Do you mind that? Ah, woman, +you mind it well. And you know rightly what the blessed book says to +you--’ The Lord gave and the Lord hath taken away. Blessed be the name +of the Lord.’ Are you to receive good at the Lord’s hand, my bairn, and +not evil, too?” + +He laid his hand upon her head and prayed aloud. The terrified maid +stood still, her light in her hand, her hair in tangled strings, half +covering her face. The labourer, Donald, and Neal stood together near +the door. The children buried their heads in their mother’s lap. Micah +Ward poured out his very soul in supplication. Very literally it might +be said that he wrestled with his God in prayer. It was in some such +terms that he himself would have described the spiritual effort which +he made. More than once, after a pause in his outpouring he repeated, +in tones which were almost fierce in their determination, the words of +Jacob to the angel--“I will not let you go until you bless me.” For +a long time he continued to pray, interrupted by no sound except an +occasional bitter cry from Bessie MacClune. One after another the feeble +lights flickered, guttered and went out. The room was in darkness. +Through the open door came the long roaring of the sea. Within, Micah +Ward’s voice rose to passionate cries or sank to a tender whisper. +Bessie MacClure’s grief found utterance now only in half-choked sobs. At +last even these ceased. Her hands ceased wandering over the curly heads +of the children, asleep now with her lap for their pillow. She felt +upwards along Micah Ward’s coat. Her fingers crept along his sleeve, +found his hand, pulled it down to her, and laid her cheek against it. He +ceased to pray. The victory was won. He had, by sheer violence, dragged +peace for a stricken soul from the closely-guarded treasury of the Lord +of Sabaoth. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +Early next morning Donald Ward and Neal set forth on their journey. +Rab MacClure’s horses served them well. By breakfast time they reached +Ballymoney. They sat in the inn kitchen while the woman of the house +broiled salmon for them. She was full of excitement, and very ready to +talk. The yeomen had ridden through the town the day before. They had +stopped at her house to drink. The officer and some of the men had paid +their score and ridden on. Ten of them remained behind, and demanded +more drink. Tumblers were brought to them as they sat in their saddles. +One of them had proposed a toast--“To hell with all Papists and +Presbyterians.” + +“And that was no civil talk to use to me, when all the town knows that +my man is an elder in the kirk.” + +But there was more to follow. The troopers had flung down the +tumblers--“the bonny cut glasses that were fetched from Wexford”--and +shattered them on the pavement of the courtyard. Then they rode off +without paying a penny, and when the mistress cried after them one man +came back with his sword drawn in his hand, and she was fain to flee and +hide herself. But the story of her own wrongs did not quench the good +dame’s curiosity. She recognised Neal as the son of the minister in +Dunseveric. It was towards Dunseveric that the yeomen had ridden. What +did they do there? Had there been hanging work or burning--the like of +what went on in other parts? Had they visited the minister’s house? Did +Neal see them? + +Donald Ward was a talkative man, and somewhat given to boasting; but, +apart from the fact that the business of the night before gave him +little excuse for glorying, he had plenty of sound sense--too much sense +to gossip with the mistresses of inns about serious business. He signed +to Neal to keep silent, and himself parried the shower of questions +so adroitly that his hostess got no information from him. She tired +at last, and with a show of disappointed temper, put the salmon on the +table. + +“There’s your fish for you,” she said, “and fadge and oaten farles, and +if you want more you’d better show some civility to the woman that does +for you.” + +She left the room, and stood, her hands on her hips, staring into the +street. + +“We’re well rid of her tongue,” said Donald. + +Before the travellers’ appetites were half satisfied she was with them +again. She ran into the kitchen with every sign of terror in her face. + +“They’re coming,” she said. “I seen them coming round MacCance’s corner, +and they have men with them and led horses. I seen them plain, and one +of them is Rab MacClure, of Ballintoy. Away with you, Neal Ward, away +with you. I’m thinking that them that has Rab MacClure and his feet tied +under the horse’s belly will be no friends of your father’s or yours.” + +Donald Ward rose to his feet and stretched himself. + +“The woman’s right, Neal.” He showed no signs of hurry in his speech. +“I’m thinking it will be safer for us to be out of this. Here, mistress, +what’s the reckoning?” + +“Not a penny, not a penny, will I take. Are them murdering devils to +drink without paying and me taking money from the son of Micah Ward +or any friend of his? But for God’s sake get you gone. I’ll keep them +dandering about the door for a while, and do you get your horses and +out by the back way into the field. You can strike the road again lower +down.” + +It was late in the evening when Donald and Neal, with weary horses and +wearier limbs, came close to Antrim. Neal was unused to riding long +distances, and Donald complained that a voyage across the Atlantic left +a man unfit for land travelling. They accosted a stranger on the road +and asked his guidance to the best inn. The man answered them in a civil +way. He spoke with a northern accent, but his voice was singularly sweet +and gentle, and his words were those of a cultured man. + +“I am on my way to the Massereene Arms,” he said. “I think you will find +the accommodation good both for yourselves and your horses.” + +He walked with them, chatting about the weather and the condition of the +roads. He said that he himself had that day walked from Ballymena, and +intended to spend the night in Antrim. He asked no questions and seemed +in no way concerned with the affairs of his chance acquaintances. + +Donald and Neal took their horses to the inn yard and saw them rubbed +down, stabled, and fed. Then they entered the public room of the inn, +sat down, and ordered their supper. The man who had guided them to the +door sat at a corner of the table eating a frugal meal of bread and +cheese. Beside his tumbler stood a large jug of buttermilk. In a few +minutes he rose from the table and took his seat on a bench near the +fire, where the light from a lamp, which hung on the wall, fell on +him. He drew a notebook from his pocket, and proceeded to write in it, +referring from time to time to scraps of paper, of which he seemed to +have a large number. He was a man of middle height, of a spare frame, +which showed no sign of great personal strength, but was well knit, and +might easily have been capable of great endurance. His face was thin +and narrow. He had very dark hair, and dark, gentle eyes. There was a +suggestion about the mouth of the kind of strength which often goes with +gentleness. + +To Neal the appearance of the man was not very interesting. He watched +him in mere idleness while waiting for the girl to bring the supper +Donald had ordered. If there had been anyone else in the room Neal would +not have wasted a second glance on the unobtrusive stranger. Yet, as +he watched the man he became aware of something about him which was +attractive. There was a dignity in his movements quite different from +Donald Ward’s habitual self-assertion, different, too, from the stately +confidence of Lord Dunseveric. There was a quiet seriousness in the +way he set to work at his writing, and a methodical carefulness in his +sorting of the scraps of paper which he drew one by one from his pocket. +The maid entered with the wine and food which Donald had ordered. + +“You’ll be for beds, the night,” she said. + +“Ay,” said Donald, “and do you see that the feathers are well shaken +and the beds soft. If you’d ridden all the miles I’ve ridden to-day, +my girl, after not being on the back of a horse for three months, you’d +want a soft bed to lie on.” + +The stranger looked up from his notebook. There was laughter in his +dark eyes, but it went no further than his eyes. His lips showed no +inclination to smile. + +Another man entered the room--a burly, strong man. He wore top boots, +as if he had been riding. He looked like a well-to-do farmer. He gave no +order to the girl, but walked straight to where the dark-eyed stranger +sat. Greetings passed between them, and then talk in a low voice. Both +of them looked at Donald and Neal. Then, beckoning to the girl, the +stranger asked if he could be accommodated with a private room. The girl +nodded, and went to prepare one. Donald Ward finished his supper, rose, +stretched himself, yawned, and then drawing a stool near the fire, sat +down and filled his pipe. Neal, interested to watch the evening street +traffic in a strange town, climbed on to the deep sill of the window and +pushed the lattice open. A blind piper sat on a stone bench outside the +inn and played a reel for some boys and girls who danced on the road. A +horseman--a handsomely-dressed man and well mounted--rode slowly up the +street towards Lord Massereene’s demesne. One of the dancers crossed +his way and caused the horse to shy. The rider cut at the girl with his +whip. An angry growl followed the retreating figure. The piper stopped +playing for a minute and listened. His face wore that eager look of +strained attention which is seen often on the faces of the blind. He +began to play again, and this time his tune was the “Ça Ira.” It was +well-known to his audience and its significance was understood. Several +voices began to hum it in unison with the pipes. More voices joined, +and in a minute or two the little crowd was shouting the tune. A grave, +elderly man, in the dark dress and white bands of a clergyman, stepped +out of a house opposite the inn and approached the piper. The dancers +and the onlookers stopped singing and saluted him respectfully. He spoke +to the piper. + +“Don’t be playing that tune, Phelim. Play your reel again. There’s +trouble where those French tunes are played. It was so in Belfast a +while ago. We want no riot in Antrim nor dragoons in our streets.” + +“I’m thinking,” said the blind man, “that it’s the voice of Mr. +Macartney, the Rector of Antrim, that I’m listening to. Well, reverend +sir, I’ll stop my tune at your bidding. Not because you’re a magistrate, +nor yet because you’re a great man, but just for the sake of the letter +you wrote to save William Orr from being hanged.” + +The pipes gave a long wail and were silent. Then another man came up the +street. Neal could not see his face, for his hat was slouched over it, +but the sound of his voice reached the open window. + +“What’s this, boys? What’s this? Which of you is it bids the piper stop +his tune? It’s only cowards and Orangemen that don’t like that tune.” + +The voice struck Neal as one that he had heard before, but he could not +recollect where he had heard it. He leaned out of the window to hear +better. + +The clergyman stepped out into the road and confronted the newcomer. + +“It was I who bid the piper stop that tune. What have you to say to me?” + +The other approached him swaggering, then hesitated, stood still, took +off his hat, and held it in his hand. + +“Oh, nothing to you, nothing at all, Mr. Macartney. I did not know you +were here. Indeed, you were quite right to stop the man. As for what I +said, I beg you to forget it. It was nothing but a joke, a little joke +of mine.” + +He bowed and cringed. He spoke in a deprecating whine, very different +from the blustering tone he had used before. Neal’s interest in the +scene before him became suddenly very acute. He was almost certain now +that he recognised the voice. The whining tone brought back to him the +night when he had interfered with James Finlay’s salmon poaching. The +voice was, he felt sure of it, Finlay’s voice. He drew back quickly, +and from within the window watched Finlay pass through the inn door. He +heard his steps in the passage, heard him open the door of the room in +which the travellers were gathered. Neal shrank back into the shadow of +the window seat and watched. + +Finlay swaggered across the floor and then paused and looked at Donald +Ward, who smoked his pipe in the chimney corner. Then he turned to the +other two. + +“I don’t know this gentleman,” he said. “Is he----?” + +He paused, his eyebrows elevated, his face expressing significant +interrogation. Neal saw him plainly in the lamp light. He had not been +mistaken in the voice. It was James Finlay. The man who had guided them +to the inn rose without speaking and led the way to the private room +which the maid had prepared for his reception. Neal jumped down from his +seat and approached his uncle. + +“Uncle Donald,” he said, “that was James Finlay, the man we are looking +for.” + +Donald took his pipe out of his mouth and looked hard at Neal. + +“Are you quite sure?” he said. “It won’t do to be making a mistake in a +job of this sort.” + +“I’m quite sure.” + +Donald replaced his pipe in his mouth and puffed hard at it for some +minutes. Then he said-- + +“You don’t know either of the other two, I suppose? No. Well it can’t +be helped. It would have been convenient if we had known. They may be +honest men or they may be another pair of spies. I think I’ll try and +find out something about them. Do you stay here, Neal, and watch. Let +me know if any of the three of them leave the house. I’ll go down the +passage to the tap-room. I’ll drink a glass or two, and I’ll see what +information I can pick up. You see, my boy, if the other two are honest +men we ought to warn them of our suspicions about Finlay. If they are +spies we ought to know their names and warn somebody else. Any way, keep +your eye on Finlay, and let me know if he stirs.” + +A sensation of horror crept over Neal when his uncle left him. He +realised that he was hunting a fellow-creature, that the hunt might end +at any moment in the taking of human life. In Dunseveric Manse, while +the anger which the yeomen’s blows and bonds had raised in him was +awake, while the enormity of Finlay’s treachery was still fresh in his +mind, it seemed natural and right that the spy should be killed. Now, +when he had seen the man swagger down the street, when he had just +watched him cringe and apologize, when he had sat within a few feet of +him, it seemed a ghastly and horrible thing to track and pursue him for +his life. A cold sweat bathed his limbs. His hands trembled. He sat +on the stool near the fire shivering with cold and fear. He listened +intently. It was growing late, and the piper had stopped playing in the +street. The boys and girls who danced had gone home. There were +voices of passers by, but these grew rarer. Now and then there was the +trampling of a horse’s hoofs on the road as some belated traveller from +Belfast pushed fast for home. A murmur of voices came to him from the +interior of the inn, he supposed from the tap-room to which his uncle +had gone, but he could hear nothing of what was said. Once the girl who +had served his supper came in and told him that his bed was ready if he +cared to go to it. Neal shook his head. Gradually he became drowsy. His +eyes closed. He nodded. Then the very act of nodding awoke him with a +start. He blamed himself for having gone near to sleeping at his post, +for being neglectful of the very first duty imposed on him. The horror +of the watch he was keeping returned on him. He felt that he was like +a murderer lurking in the dark for some unsuspecting victim. For Finlay +had no thought that he was distrusted, discovered, tracked. Then, to +steel himself against pity, he let his mind go back over the events of +the previous night. He thought of the scene in the MacClures’ cottage, +of the heart-broken woman, of her husband riding with the brutal +troopers to a trial without justice and a death without pity. He felt +with his hand the blood caked on his own cheek, the scab on the cut +where the yeoman had struck him. He remembered Una’s shriek and the +Comtesse’s frantic struggles as the soldiers dragged them from their +hiding-place. Of his own rush to their rescue he remembered little save +the momentary delight of feeling his fists get home on the men’s faces. + +He had nerved himself now with memories and conquered his qualms. He +felt that it would be easy work and pleasant to drag James Finlay to +earth and trample the life out of him. The thought of the insults of +the brutal men who held Una and his own impotent struggles with the belt +which bound him made him fierce enough. But the mood passed. His mind +reverted to the subject which had never, all day, been far from his +thoughts. He recalled each detail of his walk back to Dun-severic with +Una, her words of praise for his bravery, the resting of her hand in his +as they crossed stiles and ditches, the times when it rested in his hand +longer than it need have rested, the great moment when he had ventured +to clasp and keep it fast. He thrilled as he recollected holding her +in his arms, the telling of his love, and Una’s wonderful reply to +him. Emotion flooded him. Una loved him as he loved her. The future was +impossible, unthinkable. At the best of times he could not hope that +proud Lord Dunseveric would consent to let him marry Una; and now, of +all times, now, when he was engaged in a dangerous conspiracy, pledged +to a fight which he felt already to be hopeless; when he had the +hangman’s ladder to look forward to, or, at best, the life of a hunted +outlaw and exile to some foreign land; what could he expect now to come +of his love for Una? His mind refused to dwell on such thoughts for +long. It went back to the simple fact, the glorious, incredible thing +which he had learned. Una loved him. That was sufficient for him then. +He was happy. + +The door of a room somewhere within the house closed noisily. There +were footsteps on the stairs and then in the passage. Neal was alert. +He quenched the light which hung on the wall and stood in the darkness +looking out of the door. He saw three men pass him--James Finlay and +the other two. They stood at the street door speaking last words in low +voices. Neal sped down the passage to the tap-room. His uncle sat in +a cloud of tobacco smoke, with a tumbler in his hand. Round him was +gathered a knot of admirers, most of them somewhat tipsy. Donald was +telling them stories of the American war. At the sight of Neal he rose +quickly and laid down his tumbler. It was evident that he, at least, had +drunk no more than he could stand. + +“Well, has he moved?” he whispered. + +“Yes,” said Neal. “He and the second man are going. They had their hats +on and were bidding good night to the first, the man who brought us +here.” + +Donald left the tap-room quickly. The street door closed, and in the +passage he found himself face to face with the gentle-mannered traveller +whom he had accosted in the street. + +“I think,” said Donald, “that I have the honour of addressing Mr. Hope.” + +“James Hope,” said the other, “or Jemmy Hope. I am but a weaver, a +simple man. I take no pride in the titles men give each other.” + +“James Hope,” said Donald, “I’ve heard of you, and I’ve heard of you as +an honest man. I reckon there’s no title higher than that one. I think, +sir, that you have a room at your disposal in this house. May I speak +with you there? I have matters of some importance.” + +James Hope turned without a word and led the way upstairs to a small +room. Three candles stood on the table. There were also tumblers and +an empty whisky bottle. It was noticeable that there were only two +tumblers. James Hope had not been drinking. Donald walked over to the +table and blew out one of the candles. + +“I’m not more superstitious than other men,” he said, “but I won’t sit +in the room with three candles burning. It’s damned unlucky.” + +Again, as earlier in the public room, Neal thought that James Hope was +going to laugh. But again the laughter got no further than his eyes. + +“Now,” said Donald, “if you’ve no objection, I’ll have a fresh bottle on +the table and some clean glasses. You know this inn, James Hope, what’s +their best drink?” + +“I have but a poor head,” said Hope. “I drink nothing but water. But I +believe that the whisky is good enough.” + +“Neal, my boy,” said Donald, “the wench that bought us our supper is +gone to bed, and the landlord’s too drunk to carry anything upstairs. +You go and fill the jug there with hot water in the kitchen, and I’ll +get some whisky from the taproom.” + +Donald filled himself a glass with a generous proportion of spirit, and +lit his pipe again. + +“I’ve a letter here, addressed to you,” he said. + +He fumbled in his breast pocket, drew forth a leather case, and took +from it one of the letters which Micah Ward had written. James Hope read +it carefully. + +“You are,” he said, “the Donald Ward mentioned in this letter, and you +are Neal Ward, the son of a man whom we all respect and admire. I bid +you welcome.” + +He held out his hand, first to Donald, who shook it heartily, and then +to Neal. He fixed his dark eyes on the young man’s face, and looked long +and steadily at him. Neal’s eyes wavered and dropped before this earnest +scrutiny, which seemed to read his very thoughts. + +“God bless you and keep you, my boy,” said James Hope. “You are the son +of a brave man. I doubt not that you will be a brave man, too, brave in +a good cause.” + +Donald Ward seemed a little impatient at this long scrutiny of Neal and +the speech which followed. He took several gulps of whisky and water and +blew clouds of tobacco smoke. He cleared his throat noisily and said. + +“You’ll be satisfied, James Hope, by the letter I’ve given you that we +are men to be trusted?” + +“God forbid else,” said Hope. “Whom should we trust if not the brother +and son of Micah Ward?” + +“Then I’ll come straight to the point,” said Donald. “Who were the two +men that were with you just now?” + +“The one of them,” said Hope, “was Aeneas Moylin, a Catholic, and a +friend of Charlie Teeling. He’s a man that has done much to bring the +Defender boys from County Down and Armagh into the society. He has a +good farm of land near by Donegore.” + +“And the other?” + +“The other you ought to know, Neal Ward. He’s from Dunseveric. His +name’s James Finlay.” + +“I do know him,” said Neal, “but I don’t trust him.” + +“He came to me,” said Hope, “with a letter from your father, like the +letter you bring yourself. I have trusted him a great deal.” + +“Trust him no more, then,” said Donald, “the man’s a spy. My brother was +deceived in him.” + +“These are grave words you speak,” said Hope. “Can you make them good?” + +Donald told the story of the raid on the Dunseveric meeting-house. +He dwelt on the fact that only five or six people knew of the buried +cannon, that of these, only one, James Finlay, had left Dunseveric, that +Neal Ward’s name had appeared on the list of suspected persons, though +Neal had hitherto taken no part and had no knowledge of the doings +of the United Irishmen; that his name must have been given to the +authorities by some one who had a private spite against him; that James +Finlay, and he alone of the people of Dunseveric, had any cause to seek +revenge on Neal. + +“It’s a case of suspicion,” said James Hope, “of heavy suspicion, but +you’ve not proven that the man’s a traitor.” + +“No,” said Donald, “it’s not proven. I know that well, but the man ought +to be trusted no more until his character is cleared. He ought to be +tried and given a chance of defending himself.” + +James Hope sat silent. His fingers pushed back the lock of dark hair +which hung over his forehead. His face grew stern, and there was a look +of determination in his dark eyes. A frown gathered in deep wrinkles on +his forehead. At last he spoke. + +“You are on your way to Belfast. I shall give you a letter to Felix +Matier, who keeps the inn with the sign of Dumouriez in North Street. +You will find him easily. His house is a common meeting-place for +members of the society. I shall tell him to have a careful watch kept on +Finlay, and to communicate with you.” + +“I’ll deal with the man,” said Donald, “as soon as I have anything more +than suspicion to go on.” + +“Deal uprightly, deal justly,” said Hope. “Ours is a sacred cause. It +may be God’s will that we are to be victorious, or it may be written in +His book that we shall fail. He alone knows the issue. But, either way, +our hands must not be stained with crime. We must do justly, aye, and +love mercy when mercy can be shown without imperilling the lives of +innocent men.” + +“Traitors must be dealt with as traitors are in all civilised States,” + said Donald. + +“Ay, truly, when we are sure that they are traitors.” + +“I shall make sure,” said Donald, “and then----” + +“Then------,” Hope sighed deeply. “Then---- you are right. There is no +help for it. But remember, Donald Ward, that you and I must answer for +our actions before the judgment seat of God. Remember, also, that our +names and our deeds will be judged by posterity. We must not shrink from +stern necessities laid upon us. But let us not give the enemy an excuse +to brand us as assassins in the time to come.” + +“God damn it, man, you speak to me as if you thought me a hired +murderer. I take such language from no man living, and from you no +more than another, James Hope. You shall answer for your words and your +insinuations.” + +Donald stood up as he spoke. His face was deeply flushed. He had drunk +heavily during the evening. Even the best men, the leaders of every +class and section of society drank heavily in those days. He was an +exceptional man who always went to bed in full possession of his +senses. Donald Ward was no worse than his fellows. But the man whom +he challenged was one of the few for whom the wine bottle had no +attractions. He was also one of those--rare in any age--who had learnt +the mastery of self, whom no words, even insulting words, can drive +beyond the limits of their patience. + +“If I have spoken anything which hurts or vexes you, Donald Ward, I am +sorry for it. I had no wish to do so. Comrades in a great enterprise +must not quarrel with each other. I offer you my hand in token that I do +not think of you as anything but an honourable man.” + +“Spoken like a gentleman,” said Donald, grasping the outstretched +hand. “Enough said, you have satisfied me that you meant no insult. A +gentleman can do no more.” + +“I am not what they call a gentleman,” said James Hope, “I am only a +poor weaver with no claim to any such title.” + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +At breakfast the next morning James Hope spoke again about Finlay. + +“The man went home last night with Aeneas Moylin. I think that I ought +to go to Donegore to-day and tell Aeneas of our suspicions. I had +intended to go straight to Templepatrick, and I might have had your +company so far, but it will certainly be better for me to go round by +Donegore.” + +Donald Ward nodded. + +“I shall not see Finlay himself,” said Hope. “He was to leave early this +morning for Belfast. You must ride fast to be there before him.” + +He paused. Then, after a moment’s thought, he said: + +“I should like to have Neal with me, if you can spare him, Donald Ward, +if you do not object to riding alone.” + +“I am sure,” said Donald, “that Neal will benefit much more by your +company than mine. He can join me in Belfast this evening.” + +This was Donald’s apology, his confession of contrition for the rough +language of the night before; his confession that in James Hope he had +met a man who was his superior. + +“So be it,” said Hope. “I shall not propose to you, Neal, that we ride +and tie as the custom of the country is for travellers who have only one +horse between them. You shall lead the horse, and so we shall be able to +talk to each other.” + +Neal agreed to the plan gladly. He was greatly attracted by James Hope, +and glad to spend some hours with him. + +The girl came running into the room, her face flushed with excitement. + +“Come, come,” she cried, “the soldiers are riding down the street in +their braw red coats. Oh, the bonny men and the bonny horses!” + +The three travellers went to the door of the inn. Four companies of +dragoons were passing through the town at a trot. It was Neal’s first +view of any considerable body of troops. He stared at them, fascinated +by the jingling and clattering of their accoutrements. These were very +different from the yeomen he had seen at Dunseveric. Everything about +them, the uniformity of their appearance, the condition of their arms +and horses, the regularity of their march, expressed the fact that they +were highly disciplined men. Donald Ward smiled grimly as he watched +them. + +“There are the men we’ve got to beat,” he said. “Fine fellows, eh, Neal? +They look as if they could sweep you and me and Jemmy Hope here, and a +crowd like us, out of their way; but I’ve seen men in those same pretty +clothes glad enough to turn their backs on troops no better organised +nor drilled than ours will be.” + +“Poor fellows!” said Hope “poor fellows! Paid to fight and die in +quarrels which are not their own. To fight for their masters, that their +masters may grow rich and great. And yet they are of the people, too. It +is just starvation, or the fear of it, that led them to enlist.” + +“Where are they going now?” asked Neal. + +“To Belfast,” said Hope. “I heard that the garrison there was deemed +insufficient and that a fresh regiment of dragoons had been ordered in +from Derry.” + +“Look at them well, Neal,” said Donald. “Look at them so that you’ll +know them when you next see them. You’ll meet them again before long.” + +James Hope and Neal started on their walk soon after the dragoons had +passed. Just outside the town they turned aside to view the round tower, +the most famous of the buildings of its kind in the north. + +“None knows,” said Hope, “who built these towers, or why, but it seems +certain to me that they were built by men with lofty thoughts, by men +who looked upward rather than to the earth. Some say that it was to +other gods they looked up and not to the true God. What does it matter? +Their hearts, like their towers, rose clear of earthly hamperings and +reached towards heaven.” + +He asked Neal many questions about his way of life and education, about +the books he had read, and the periods of history he found specially +interesting. + +“I had no such opportunities when a boy,” said Hope, “as you have had. +I am a self-educated man. I never had but fifteen months of schooling in +my life. What little knowledge I have I gained with great difficulty.” + +This surprised Neal, for it seemed to him that he had never talked to +anyone who possessed more of that sweetness and wide reasonableness of +outlook upon life which ought to be the end of education. He tried to +express something of what he felt, but Hope stopped him and turned the +talk into other channels. + +At Farranshane Hope bade him stand still and look at a farmhouse which +stood a little back from the road. + +“It was there,” he said, “that William Orr lived. His widow and weans +are there now. You know the story, Neal?” + +“I know it; yes, I know the outlines of it. Do you tell it to me again.” + +Hope repeated the story, which in those days hardly needed telling among +the Antrim peasants, of the man whose name had become a watchword; so +that men, seeking to revive failing enthusiasms, said to each +other--“Remember Orr.” It was a pitiful tale; a man marked down as +odious by a powerful faction, spied upon, informed against, tried by +prejudiced judges, condemned on the word of false witnesses, hanged. The +same tale might have been told of many another then, but William Orr +came first on the list of such martyrs, and even now his name is not +wholly forgotten. + +They reached Donegore. Moylin’s house--a comfortable, two-storeyed +building, built of large blocks of stone--stood on the side of the steep +hill, near the old church and the graveyard. Hope, bidding Neal wait for +him on the roadside, entered the house. In about a quarter of an hour he +returned. + +“It is as I thought,” he said. “Finlay left early this morning after +arranging for a meeting of the United Irishmen here next week. Well, +there is no more to be done for the present. I have warned Moylin to be +careful. Come and let me show you the ancient fort from which the parish +takes its name and the view from it.” + +“This,” said Hope, when they stood at last on the top of the great rath, +“is my Pisgah. From this I have looked many a time over the land. See, +west, south, east of you, how it spreads, rich, beautiful, from the +shores of Lough Neagh to the shores of Belfast Lough and the sea of +Moyle. Here great men, warriors of the past, had their hill-top burial, +and it may be fixed their fortress home. From this they looked over the +country which they took and held by strength of arm and courage of soul. +Are we a meaner race, men of a poorer spirit? Shall we not enter in and +possess the land in our turn? All over the world the voice of liberty +is heard now, clear and strong, bidding the people assert themselves and +claim right and justice. Are our ears alone deaf to the high call? Has +the pursuit of riches dulled our souls? Is the clink of gold and silver +so loud in our ears that we can hear nothing else?” + +They descended the grassy sides of the old fort, walked down the steep +lane from Moylin’s house, and joined the road again. Turning to the +right, they went under the shade of fine trees which reached their +branches over the road from the demesne in which they grew. + +“The big house in there,” said Hope, “belongs to one of the landlord +families of this county. It has been their’s for generations. On the +lawn in front of that house a company of Volunteers used to meet for +drill. The owner of the house, the lord of the soil, was their captain. +In those days we had all Ireland united--the landlords, the merchants, +and the farming people. Now it is not so. Our landlords won then what +they wanted--freedom and power. They have ruled Ireland since 1782. +The merchants and manufacturers also won what they chiefly wanted--the +opportunity of fair and free trade. They have grown rich, and are every +year growing richer. They bid fair to make Ireland a great commercial +nation--what she ought to be, the link between the Old World and the +New. But both the landlords and the traders have been selfish. Having +gained the object of their desires, they are unwilling to share +either power or riches with the people. They have refused to consider +reasonable measures of reform. They have goaded and harried us +until----” + +He ceased speaking and sighed. + +“But,” he went on, “they will not be able to keep either their power or +their riches. In refusing to trust the people they are ensuring their +own doom. They forget that there is a power greater than theirs--that +England is continually on the watch to win back again her sovereignty +over Ireland. Our upper class and our middle class are too jealous of +their privileges to share them with us. They will give England the +opportunity she wants. Then Ireland will be brought into the old +subjection, and her advance towards prosperity will be checked again as +it was checked before. She will become a country of haughty +squireens--the most contemptible class of all, men of blackened honour +and broken faith, men proud, but with nothing to be proud of--and of +ruined traders; a land of ill-cultivated fields and ruined mills; a +nation crushed by her conqueror.” + +Neal listened attentively. It was curious that the fear to which James +Hope gave expression was the very same which he had heard from Lord +Dun-severic. Each dreaded England. Each saw that out of the turmoil of +contemporary politics would come the restoration of the English power +over Ireland. But Lord Dunseveric blamed the schemes of the United +Irishmen. James Hope blamed the selfishness of the upper classes. +Neal tried to explain to his companion what he understood of Lord +Dunseveric’s opinions. + +James Hope broke in on him, interrupting him. + +“But the people are slaves, actually slaves, not a whit better. Are +nine-tenths of the people to be slaves to one-tenth? The thing +is unendurable. Look at the Catholics in the south, men without +representation, without power, without direct influence; men marked with +a brand of inferiority because of their religion. Look at the men of our +own faith here in the north. Our case is not wholly so bad, but it is +bad enough. We have asked, petitioned, begged, implored, for the removal +of our grievances. If we are men we must do more--we must strike for +them. Else we confess ourselves unworthy of the freedom which we claim. +They alone are fit for liberty who dare to fight for liberty. Think +of it, Neal Ward, think. It is we, the people, digging in the fields, +toiling at the looms, it is we who make the riches, who win the good +fruit from the hard ground, who weave the thread into the precious +fabric. And we are denied a share in what we create. It is from us in +the last resort that the power of the governing classes comes. If we +had not taken arms in our hands at their bidding, if we had not stood by +them, no English Minister would ever have yielded to their demands, and +given them the power which they enjoy. And they will not give us the +smallest part of what we won for them. ‘What inheritance have we in +Judah? Now see to thine own house, David. To your tents, O Israel!’” + +James Hope’s voice rose. His eyes flashed. His whole face was +enlightened with enthusiasm as he spoke. Neal listened, awed. Here was +the devotion to the cause of suffering and oppressed men, the spirit +which had produced revolution, which had begotten from the womb +of humanity pure and noble men, which had, in the violence of its +self-assertion, deluged cities with blood and defiled a great cause +with dreadful deeds. He had no answer to make, and for a long while they +walked in silence. + +Reaching Templepatrick, Hope took Neal to the house of John Birnie, a +hand-loom weaver, a cousin of his own. They were welcomed by the woman +of the house and given a share of a meal which even to Neal, brought +up as he had been without luxury in his father’s manse, seemed poor and +meagre. But no thought of the hardness of their fare seemed to trouble +the mind of the weaver and his wife. Theirs was the kind of hospitality +which disdains apology or pretence. They gave of their best. There was +no more that they could do. Also, it was evident that the tickling of +the palate with food, or the filling of the belly with delicate things +was not a matter of much importance to these people. Living hard and +toilsome lives, they had the constant companionship of lofty thoughts. +They felt as James Hope did, and spoke like him. + +Neal lingered so long in the company of these new friends that it was +far on in the afternoon when he started on his ride, and late in the +evening when he arrived in the outskirts of Belfast. It was his first +visit to the town, and he approached it with feelings of interest +and curiosity. Riding down the long hill by which the road from +Templepatrick approaches Greencastle on the way to the town, he was able +to gaze over the waters of the lough which lay stretched beneath him on +his left. In the Carrickfergus roads several ships lay at anchor, among +them a frigate of the English navy. Pinnaces and small craft plied +between them and the shore, or headed for the entrance of Belfast +Harbour by the tortuous channel worn through mud and sand by the Lagan. +Below him, by the sea, were the handsome houses which the richer class +of merchants were already beginning to build for themselves on the +shores of the lough. Between Carnmoney and Belfast he passed the bleach +greens of the linen weavers, where the long webs of the cloth, for which +Belfast was afterwards to become famous, lay white or yellow on the +grass. On his right rose the rugged sides of the Cave Hill. High above +its rocks towered MacArt’s fort, where Wolfe Tone, M’Cracken, Samuel +Neilson, and his new friend, James Hope, with others, had sworn the oath +of the United Irishmen. They had separated far from each other since the +day of their swearing, but each in his own way--Tone among the intrigues +of Continental politics, M’Cracken in Belfast, Neilson and Hope among +the Antrim peasantry--had kept the oath and would keep it until the end. + +Entering the town, he passed the recently-erected poorhouse and +infirmary, a building designed with a curious spacious generosity, as +were the buildings in Dublin and elsewhere which Irishmen erected during +the short day of their national independence. In Donegall Street he saw +the new church--Ann’s Church, as the people called it---thinking rather +of the lady of Lord Donegall, who interested herself in its building, +than the Mother of the Virgin in whose honour good Protestants were +little likely to build a church. But the classic portico and tall tower +did not hold his attention long. He could not but notice that there was +an air of anxious excitement in the demeanour of the citizens who passed +him in the street. They were all hurrying one way, making from one +direction or another for the side street whose entrance faced the +church. Neal accosted one or two, but received either no answer or words +uttered so hurriedly that he could not catch their import. Determined +at length to get some intelligible reply to his questions, he pulled his +horse across the path of an elderly gentleman of respectable appearance. + +“Will you tell me,” he said, “the way to North Street? I am a stranger +in your town.” + +“And if you are a stranger you will do well to keep out of North Street +the night.” + +“But I seek a house of entertainment to which I have been +directed--Felix Matier’s inn at the sign of Dumouriez.” + +“Who are you, young man, who seek that house? They say----. But let me +pass, let me pass. I am the secretary of William Bristow, the sovereign +of Belfast, and I must see for myself, I must see for myself what these +incarnate devils of dragoons are doing in our streets.” + +“I will not let you pass,” said Neal, “till you give me a civil answer +to my question. I think you citizens of Belfast are as uncivil as men +say you are, and are all gone mad to-night that you will not direct a +stranger on his way.” + +“A wilful man, a wilful man. Follow me. Or, let me lay my hand on your +bridle. The crowd gathers fast. It may be that your horse, if I keep by +it, will enable me to push my way through. But blame me not if you come +by a broken head through your wilfulness.” + +Neal’s guide, the sovereign’s pursy and excited secretary, led the horse +down the side street, along which the people were hurrying. Suddenly the +crowd hesitated, stopped, began to surge back again. Neal, standing up +in his stirrups, saw that the end of the narrow street along which he +rode was blocked by another crowd, which fled into it from a larger +thoroughfare beyond. There was much trampling and pushing and shouting. +Neal’s guide, clinging desperately to the horse’s bridle, was borne +back. The horse began to plunge. This was too much for the old +gentleman. He loosed his grip. + +“Go on,” he said, “go on if you can, young man. That’s the North Street +in front of you.” + +The reason for the crowd’s flight became obvious. A number of dragoons, +dismounted, half-clothed, and apparently free from all discipline, came +rushing down North Street. As they swept past the entrance of the side +street Neal had a clear view of them over the heads of the crowd. In a +moment they had passed out of sight again, but the moment was enough. +Running with the soldiers, his arm gripped by a dragoon, but running +with his own free will, was James Finlay. Neal was stung to fury by the +sight of this man. He had no doubt at all now that he had to do with +a traitor. He drove his heels against his horse’s side, lashed at the +creature’s flanks with his rod, and fairly forced his way through the +cursing, shouting crowd into North Street. + +At the far end of the street he saw the dragoons raging and rioting +round a house which stood a storey higher than any other near it. The +whole length of the street lay almost empty before him. The soldiers had +effectually cleared a way for themselves. He rode towards the scene +of the riot. He saw that two civilians were defending the front of the +house against the soldiers. They fought with sticks, and Neal recognised +one of them as his uncle, Donald Ward. Before he could reach them +they were forced into the house, and followed indoors by some of the +dragoons. James Finlay had disappeared. Neal hesitated and stopped, +uncertain what to do. Some of the soldiers placed a ladder against +the wall. One of them mounted, with a sledge hammer in his hand, and +battered at the iron supports which held a signboard to the wall. The +iron bars bent under his blows, the holdfasts were torn from the wall, +and the painted board fell into the street. A yell of triumph greeted +the fall. The soldiers stamped on the board with their heavy boots and +hacked at it with their swords. Then another man mounted the ladder with +a splintered fragment in his hand. He whirled it round his head, and +flung it far down the street. + +“There’s for the rebelly sign,” he shouted. “There’s for Dumouriez! +There’s the way we treat damned French and Irish croppies.” + +The crowd, which had gathered courage and followed Neal down the street, +answered him with a groan and a volley of stones. The man sprang from +the ladder, called to his comrades, and in a moment the dragoons drew +together and, their swords in their hands, charged the crowd. Neal’s +horse, terrified by the shouting, became unmanageable. Neal flung +himself to the ground, staggered, was knocked down and trampled on, +first by the flying people, then by the soldiers who pursued them. He +rose when the rush was over. The street around him was empty again. The +fragments of the shattered signboard lay around. The windows of the +house that had been attacked were all broken, either by the stones of +the people or the blows of the soldiers. There was a sound of fighting +within the house. Neal ran towards the door. A woman’s shriek reached +him, and a moment later a soldier came out of the door dragging a girl +with him. He had a wisp of her hair gathered in his hand, and he pulled +at it savagely. The girl stumbled on the doorstep, fell, was dragged a +pace or two, staggered to her feet, clutched at the soldier’s hand and +fastened her teeth in his wrist. Neal sprang forward at the man’s +throat, grasped it, and, by the sheer impetus of his spring, bore the +dragoon to the ground. He was conscious of being uppermost in the fall, +of the fierce struggling of the man he held, of the girl tearing with +her hands and writhing in the effort to free her hair, of shouting near +at hand, of a rush of men from the house. Then he received a blow on the +head which stunned him. He awoke to consciousness a few minutes later, +and heard his uncle’s voice. + +“Is the girl inside and the man? Have you got him? Then for the door. +They’ll hardly venture into the house again after the reception we gave +them. It was a mighty nice fight while it lasted. Now a light, a light. +Let us see if anyone’s hurt.” + +Someone brought a light. Neal tried to rise, but was too giddy. The +girl whom the soldier had dragged into the street stood beside him. +Her hair--bright red hair--hung about her shoulders. Her dress was in +tatters, she was spitting blood, and wiping it off her mouth with the +back of her hand. + +“Hullo, Meg, Peg, whatever your name is,” said Donald Ward, “you’re +bleeding. Where are you cut? Let me see to it?” + +“Thon’s no my blood,” said the girl. “It’s his. I got my teeth intil +him. Ay, faith, it’s his blood that I’m spitting out of my mouth. I did +hear tell that it was black blood was in the likes of him, but I see now +it’s red enough. I’m glad of it, for I’ve swallowed a gill of it since I +gripped his wrist, and I wouldna’ like to swallow poison.” + +“Well, then, Peg, my wench, since you’re not hurt, let’s take a look +at the man that helped you. He’s lying there mighty quiet. I’m afraid +there’s some harm done to him.” + +Donald Ward took the light and bent over Neal. + +“By God,” he said, “it’s Neal, and he’s hurt or killed.” + +“It’s all right,” said Neal, feebly, “I’m only dizzy. I got a bang on +the head. I’ll be all right in a minute.” + +“Matier,” said Donald, “come and help me with the boy. I must get him to +bed. Where can I put him?” + +“There’s not a room in the house with a whole pane of glass in the +window,” said Felix Matier, “except my own. It looks out on the back, +and the villains never came at it. We’ll take him there. I’ll lift his +shoulders, and go first.” + +He approached Neal and was about to lift him when the girl pushed him +aside and stooped over Neal herself. + +“Come now, what’s the meaning of this, Peg Macllrea? Are you so daft +with your fighting that you hustle your master aside?” + +“Master or no master,” said Peg, “you’ll not carry him. It was for me +that he got hurted, and it’s me that’ll carry him.” + +She put her arms under Neal and lifted him. He was a big man, but she +carried him up a flight of stairs and laid him on her master’s bed. +The long matted tresses of her red hair hung over his face, and an +occasional drop of the blood which still dripped from her fell on him. +Donald Ward and Matier followed her. + +“Let’s have a look at him,” said Donald. “Ah! here’s a scalp wound and a +cut on the head the length of my finger. This must be seen to. Run, Peg, +get me linen and a basin of cold water. It must have been a boot did +this. A kick from one of the rascally dragoons as they passed over him +when we chased them. Now, Neal, are you hurt anywhere else?” + +“I’m bruises from head to foot. Half the people in Belfast have trampled +over me this night, and when they wear boots they wear mighty heavy +ones.” + +Donald, with wonderful gentleness, took Neal’ clothes off him, put on +him a night shirt of Felix Matier’s, and laid him between cool sheets. + +“Sit you here, Peg,” he said, when he had bandaged the cut head, “with +the jug of water beside you, and keep the bandage wet. The other bruises +are nothing, but a broken head needs to be minded. Now, Neal, don’t you +talk.” + +Matier fetched a bottle of wine and set it with the light on the table +which stood near the window. + +“We’ll have to sit here,” he said, “if we don’t disturb your nephew. +Every other room in the house is in a state of scatteration. I have set +the girls to clean up a bit, and after a while they’ll have beds for us +to sleep in. It’s a devil of a business, but as poor Tone used to say +when things went wrong with him-- + + ‘Tis but in vain + For soldiers to complain.’” + +“What started the riot?” asked Donald. “The Lord knows. Those dragoons +only marched into the town this afternoon. I suppose the devil entered +into them, if the devil’s ever out of them at all.” + +“I guess,” said Donald, “those were the lads that marched through Antrim +this morning.” + +“The very same.” + +“They’re strangers to the town, then?” + +“Ay; I don’t suppose one of them ever saw Belfast before.” + +“Tell me this, then. How did they know what house to attack? They came +straight here.” + +“It was my sign angered them. They couldn’t abide the sight of +Dumouriez’ honest face in a Belfast street. + + “Then let us fight about, Dumouriez; + Then let us fight about, Dumouriez; + Then let us fight about, + Till freedom’s spark is out, + Then we’ll be damned no doubt--Dumouriez.” + +“You miss the point, man; you miss my point. How did they know about +your sign or you either, unless someone told them?” + +There was a knocking, gentle at first, and then more confident, at the +street door. Donald looked inquiringly at his host. + +“It’s all right,” said Matlier, “I know that knock. It’s James Bigger, a +safe man.” + +He left the room and returned with a young man whom he introduced to +Donald Ward. + +“We were just talking about the riot,” said Donald. “What’s your opinion +about it, Mr. Bigger?” + +“There are five houses wrecked,” said Bigger, “and every one of them the +house of a man in sympathy with reform and liberty and the Union.” + +Donald and Matier exchanged glances. + +“They were well informed,” said Donald. “They knew what they were at, +and where to go.” + +“They say,” said Bigger, “that the leaders of the different parties had +papers in their hands with directions on them. They were seen looking at +them in the streets.” + +“I’d like to put my hand on one of those papers,” said Donald. + + “Zipperty, zipperty, zand,” + +quoted Matier, + + “I wish I’d a bit of that in my hand.” + +“You know the old rhyme.” + +Neal lay quiet, but wide awake. The conversation interested him too +much to allow him to sleep. Twice he tried to speak, but each time Peg +Macllrea, determined now that he was under her care to keep him quiet, +put her hand over his mouth. At last he succeeded in asserting himself +in spite of her. + +“I saw James Finlay,” he said, “along with a party of the soldiers going +up this street.” + +The three men at the table turned to him. Donald seemed about to +cross-question him when Peg Macllrea spoke. + +“Is it a bit of the soger’s paper you’re wantin’? Here’s for you.” + +She fumbled in the pocket of her skirt and drew out a crumpled scrap of +paper. + +“I snapped it out of his hand in the kitchen. It was for grabbing it +that he catched me by the hair o’ the head. I saw him glowerin’ at it as +soon as ever he came intil the light.” + +Donald Ward took it from her hand and read-- + +“The house of Felix Matier, an inn at the far end of North Street, to be +known easily by the sign of Dumouriez which hangs before the door. Felix +Matier is + + +.” + +He passed it without comment to Matier, who read it and laughed. + +“They have me marked with three crosses,” he said. “I’m dangerous. But +what do they mean by it. How do they come to know so much about me? + + “‘Ken ye aught of Captain Grose Igo and ago. + Is he amang friends or foes? Iram, coram, dago.’ + +“Who set the dragoons on you?” said Donald. “That’s the question.” + +“By God, then, it’s easily answered,” said Matier. “I’ll give it to you +in the words of the poet-- + + “‘Letters four do form his name. + He let them loose and cried Halloo! + To him alone the praise is due.’ + +“P.I.T.T. Does that content you?” + +“Pitt,” said Donald. “Oh, I see. That’s true, no doubt. But I want +some one nearer hand than Pitt. Who gave them this paper? Whose is the +writing on it?” + +“I can tell you that,” said James Bigger. “I have a note in my pocket +this minute from the man who wrote that. It’s a summons to a meeting +for important business at the house of Aeneas Moylin, on the hill of +Donegore, next week.” + +“Have you?” said Donald. + +“Ay, and the man’s name is James Finlay.” + +A dead silence followed the statement. It was Donald who broke it. + +“I reckon, friend Bigger, that I’ll go with you to that meeting. We’ll +take Neal here along, too. He knows the man. There’ll be some important +business done that night, though maybe not quite the same as what James +Finlay has planned.” + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +Neal Ward was awakened next morning by the noise which Peg Macllrea made +sweeping and tidying the room where he slept. He lay for a few minutes +watching the girl. Her red hair was coiled up now in a neat roll at +the back of her head. Her freckled face was clean, and had apparently +escaped bruising in her conflict with the dragoon. She wore a short grey +skirt of woollen homespun. The sleeves of her bodice were rolled up, and +displayed a pair of muscular red arms. The girl was more than commonly +tall, and anyone listening to her heavy footfall, and noting her thick +figure and broad shoulders, would have understood that she was well able +to carry a young man, even of Neal’s height, up a flight of stairs. The +dragoon might easily have come to the worst in single combat with such +a maiden if he had not obtained an advantage over her at the start by +twisting her hair round his hand. + +It was not very long before she noticed that Neal was awake. She came +over to him smiling. + +“You’ve had a brave sleep,” she said. “It’s nigh on eleven o’clock. The +master and Mr. Ward are out this twa hours. They bid me not stir you. +I was just readying up the room a bit, and I went about it as mim as a +mouse.” + +“I’m thinking,” said Neal, “that I’ll be getting up now.” + +“‘Deed, then, and you’ll no. The last word the master said was just that +you were to lie in the day. I’m to give you tea and toasted bread, and +an egg if you fancy it.” + +“But,” said Neal, “I can’t lie here in bed all day.” + +“Whisht, now, whisht. Be good and I’ll get you them twa graven images +the master’s so set on and let you glower at them. Maybe you never seen +the like.” + +She spoke precisely as if she had a sick child to humour; as if she were +the nurse in charge, determined at any sacrifice to keep the peevish +little one from crying. She crossed the room to a book-case and took +down two bronze busts. With the utmost care she carried them over and +laid them on the bed in front of Neal. + +“The master’s one of them that goes neither to church nor mass nor +meeting,” she said. “If ever he says his prayers at all, at all, it’s +to them twa graven images he says them, and the dear knows they’re no so +eye-sweet.” + +She left the room, well satisfied apparently that she had provided her +patient with playthings which would keep him good till she returned with +his breakfast. Neal took up the busts and examined them. He would not +have known whose faces were represented had not an inscription on the +pedestal of each informed him. “Voltaire,” he read on one, “Rousseau” on +the other. These were strange household gods for a Belfast innkeeper to +revere. Neal, gazing at them, slowly grasped their significance. He had +heard talk of French ideas, had seen his father shake his head over the +works of certain philosophers. He knew that there was an intellectual +freedom claimed by many of those who were most enthusiastic in the cause +of political reform. He had not previously met anyone who was likely to +accept the teaching of either Voltaire or Rousseau. His eyes wandered +from the busts to the book-case on which they had stood. It was well +filled, crammed with books. Neal could see them standing in close rows, +books of all sizes and thicknesses, but he could not read the names on +their backs. Peg Macllrea returned with his breakfast on a wooden tray. +She put it down in front of him and then set herself to entertain him +while he ate. + +“Thon was a brave coup you gave the soger in the street,” she said. “You +gripped him fine, the ugly devil. But you did na hurt him much. He was +up and off when they got us dragged from him, as hard as ever he could +lift a foot. You’ll be fond of fighting?” + +“So far,” said Neal, “I have generally got the worst of it when I have +fought.” + +“Ay, you would. Your way of fighting is no just the canniest, but I +like you no the worse for it. You might have got off without thon bloody +clout on the top of your head if ye’d just clodded stones and then run +like the rest of them. But that’s no your way of fightin’. Did ye ever +fight afore?” + +“Just two nights ago,” said Neal, “and I got the scrape on the side of +my face then.” + +“And was it for a lassie you were fightin’ thon time? I see well by the +face of you that it was. And she liked you for it. Did she no? She’d +be a quare one that didna. Did she give you a kiss to make the scrab on +your face better? I wouldna think twice about giving you one myself only +you wouldn’t have kisses from the likes of me. Be quiet now, and sup up +your tea. I willna have you offering to slabber ower my hand if that’s +what you’re after.” + +Neal, who had felt himself goaded to some act of gallantry, returned +sheepishly to his tea and toast. + +“You’re no a Belfast boy?” said Peg. + +“No,” said Neal, “I’m from Dunseveric, right away in the north of the +county.” + +“Ay, are you? Do you mind the old rhyme-- + + ‘County Antrim, men and horses, + County Down for bonny lasses.’ + +Maybe your lassie, the one that kissed you, was out of the County Down?” + +“She was not,” said Neal, unguardedly. + +Peg Macllrea laughed with delight and clapped her hands. + +“I knew rightly there was a lassie, and that she kissed you. Now you’ve +tellt me yourself. But I willna split on you, nor I willna let on that +you tellt on her. But I hope she’s bonny, though she does not come from +the County Down.” + +Neal grew angry. It did not seem fitting that this red-haired, freckled +servant, with her bold tongue and red arms, should make game of Una St. +Clair’s kisses. They were sacred things in his memory. + +“Now you’re getting vexed,” she said. “You’re as cross as twa sticks. I +can see it in your eyes. Well, I’ve more to do than to be coaxing you.” + +She turned her back on him and began to sing-- + + “I would I were in Ballinderry, + I would I were in Aghalee, + I would I were on bonny Ram’s Island, + Sitting under an ivy tree. + Ochone! Ochone!” + +“Peg,” said Neal, “Peg Macllrea, don’t you be cross with me.” + + “I would I were in Ballinderry,” + +she began again. + +“Peg,” said Neal, “I’ve finished my tea, and I wish you’d turn round. +Please do, please.” + +She turned to him at last with a broad smile on her face. + +“Is that the way you wheedled the poor lassie out of the kiss? But there +now, I’ll no say a word more about her if it makes you sore. But I +can’t sit here crackin’ all day. I’ve the dinner to get ready, and the +master’ll be quare and angry if it’s no ready against he’s home.” + +She picked up the tray as she spoke. + +“Would you like me to leave you them twa graven images?” she said. + +“I’d like you to take them away,” said Neal, “and then get me a book out +of the case.” + +“I will, surely. What sort of a book would you like? A big one or a wee +one. There’s one here in a braw red cover with pictures of ships in it. +Maybe it might content you.” + +“Read me a few of their names,” said Neal, “and I’ll tell you which to +bring.” + +“Faith, if you wait for me to read you the names you’ll wait till the +crack of doom. Nobody ever learned me readin’, writin’, or ‘rithmetic.” + +“Bring me three or four,” said Neal, “and I’ll choose the one I like +best.” + +She deposited half a dozen volumes on the chair beside him and left the +room. Neal took them up one by one. There was a volume of “Voltaire,” + Tom Paine’s “Rights of Man,” “The Vindiciæ Gallicæ,” by Mackintosh, +Godwin’s “Political Justice,” Montesquieu’s “Esprit des Lois,” and +a volume of Burns’ poetry, not long out from a Belfast printer. Neal +already knew Godwin’s works and the “Esprit des Lois.” They stood on his +father’s bookshelves. He glanced at the pages of the others, and finally +settled down to read Burns’ poetry. The Scottish dialect presents little +difficulty to a man bred among County Antrim people. The love songs, +with their extraordinary freshness and vivid emotion, delighted Neal. +Like many lovers of poetry, he tasted the full pleasure of verse best +when he read it aloud. One after another he declaimed the marvellous +songs, returning again and again to one which seemed peculiarly suited +to his circumstances-- + + “It’s not the roar o’ sea or shore + Wad make me longer wish to tarry; + Nor shouts o’ war that’s heard afar-- + It’s leaving thee, my bonny Mary.” + +He read the song aloud for the fourth time. As he uttered the last words +he heard a laugh, and, looking up, saw his host, Felix Matier, standing +at the door of the room. + +“Well, Neal, good morrow to you. You’re well enough in body, to judge +by your voice. But if that poem’s a measure of the state of your mind +you’re sick at heart. Never mind Mary, man. There’s better stuff in +Burns than that. He’s no bad poet, is Rabbie Burns. Listen to this now. +Here’s one I’m fond of.” + +He took the book out of Neal’s hand, and read him “Holy Willie’s +Prayer.” His dry intonation’, his perfect rendering of the dialect of +the poem, the sly twinkle of his eyes as he read, added exquisite malice +to the satire. + +“But maybe,” he said, “I oughtn’t to be reading the like of that to you +that’s the son of the Manse, though nobody would think of Holy Willie +and your father together. I’m not very fond of the clergy myself, Neal, +either of your Church or another. I’m much of John Milton’s opinion that +new presbyter is just old priest writ large, but if there’s one kind +of minister that’s not so bad as the rest it’s the New Light men of +the Ulster Synod, and your father’s one of the best of them. But here’s +something now that Micah Ward would approve of. Just let me read you +this. I’ll have time enough before your uncle comes in. He’s not a +man of books, that uncle of yours, and I’d be ashamed if he caught me +reading at this hour of the day. But listen to me now.” + +He took up the volume of “Voltaire” and read-- + + L’âme des grands travaux, l’objet des nobles voeux, + Que tout mortel embrasse, ou désire, ou rapelle, + Qui vit dans tous les coeurs, et dont le nom sacré + Dans les cours des tyrans est tout bas adoré, La Liberté! + J’ai vu cette déesse altière + Avec égalité répandant tous les biens, + Descendre de Morat en habit de guerrière, + Les mains teintes du sang des fiers Autrichiens + Et de Charles le Téméraire.” + +Felix Matier’s manner of pronouncing French was somewhat painful to +listen to. Voltaire would probably have failed to recognise his solitary +lyric if he had heard it read by Mr. Matier. But if the poet had +discovered that the verses were his own and had got over his shudder at +a mangling of French sounds worse than the worst he can have heard at +Potsdam from the courtiers of Frederick William, he would probably have +been well enough satisfied with the spirit of the rendering. Mr. Matier, +of the North Street, Belfast, was obviously a sincere worshipper of +the _déesse altière_, and would have been delighted to see her hands +_teintes du sang_ of the men who had torn down his sign the night +before. Neal, though he could read French easily, did not understand +a single word he heard. He took the book from his host to see what the +poem was about. Mr. Matier did not seem the least vexed, although he +understood what Neal was doing. + +“The French are a great people,” he said. “Europe owes them all the +ideas that are worth having. I’d be the last man to breathe a word +against them, but I must say that it requires some sort of a twisted +jaw to pronounce their language properly. I understand it all right when +it’s printed, but as for Speaking it or following it when a Frenchman +speaks it----” + +He shrugged his shoulders. + +“But it’s time I stopped moidering you with poetry. I hope you’re really +feeling better. I hope Peg took good care of you, and brought you your +breakfast.” + +“Indeed she did. She took rather too good care of me. I thought one time +she was going to kiss me. + +“Did she make to do that? Well, now, just think of it! Isn’t she the +brazen hussy? And I’m sure her breath reeked of onions or some such +like.” + +“Oh,” said Neal, “we didn’t get as far as that. Her breath may be roses +for all I know.” + +“You kept her at arm’s length. Serve her well right. I never heard of +such impudence. But these red-haired ones are the devil. It’s the same +with horses. I had a chestnut filly one time--a neat little tit in her +way--but she’d kick the weathercock off the top of the church steeple +whenever she was a bit fresh. Never trust anything red. A red dog will +bite you, a red horse will kick you, a red wench will kiss you, besides +being a damned unlucky thing to meet first thing in the morning, a red +soldier will hang you. There’s only one good thing in the world that’s +red, and that’s a red cap--the red cap of Liberty, Neal, and may we soon +have all the red coats in the country cut up into such head-gear.” + +It was fortunate for Neal that he found Felix Matier’s conversation +amusing and Felix Matier’s books interesting. He had ample opportunity +of enjoying them during the week which followed the dragoons’ riot. +Donald Ward refused, as long as possible to allow him to get out of bed, +and even when Neal was up and dressed, peremptorily forbade him to leave +the house. He spoke weighty words about his experience of wounds, of +frightful consequences which followed cuts on the head when the cold of +the outer air got at them, of men who had died of lockjaw because they +would not take care of scalp wounds, of burning eruptions which broke +out on the unwary, of desperate fevers threatening life and reason. + +Neal was puzzled. He had tumbled about among the rocks at Ballintoy a +good deal during his boyhood, cutting and bruising most parts of his +body. Even his head had not escaped. There was a deep scar under his +hair which he had come by in the course of an attempt to enter a long +fissure among the rocks of the Skerries, off Port-rush. But such wounds +had troubled him very little. He had never made a fuss about them or +taken any special precautions on account of them, neither knowing nor +caring anything about the evils which may follow wounds, which do follow +wounds, in pampered bodies. He could not understand why his uncle, who +was certainly not otherwise given to morbid coddling, should insist upon +such excessive care of a cut which was healing rapidly. + +The fact was that Donald Ward was nervous about Neal, not at all on +account of his cut head, which was nothing, but because Captain Twinely +and his yeomen had returned to Belfast. It leaked out that the military +authorities were not pleased with Captain Twinely. He had brought back +three prisoners and the cannon, but he had not brought back Micah +Ward, who was particularly wanted. Captain Twinely, angry at his cold +reception, and furious at the hanging of his trooper, was anxious to +revenge himself upon some one. Lord Dun-severic was too great a man +to be attacked. The Government could not afford to interfere with his +methods of executing justice in North Antrim. Captain Twinely was given +a broad hint that he must hawk at lower game, and keep his mouth shut +about the hanging of his trooper. There was no objection to the yeomen +outraging women so long as they confined themselves to farmers’ wives, +but an insult offered to Lord Dunseveric’s sister and daughter, under +Lord Dunseveric’s own eyes, was a different matter. The less said the +better about the hanging of the man who had distinguished himself by +that exploit. Captain Twinely, growing savage at this second snub, +and afraid lest perhaps he himself might be sacrificed when Lord +Dunseveric’s story of his raid came to be told, sought to ingratiate +himself with the authorities by offering them a fresh victim. He gave +an exaggerated version of Neal Ward’s attack on the troopers outside the +meeting-house, and drew an imaginary picture of the young man as a deep +and dangerous conspirator. He even managed to shift the responsibility +for the hanging of the trooper from Lord Dunseveric’s shoulders to +Neal’s. He knew that Neal had left Dunseveric, and he assured Major Fox, +the town major, that Neal was at that moment in Belfast arranging for +the outbreak of the rebellion. Major Fox was worried by the complaints +which respectable citizens were making about the dragoons’ riot. He +was anxious to prove, if possible, that the soldiers’ conduct had been +provoked by the violence of the United Irishmen. He produced the man +whom Peg Macllrea and Neal had mangled and set him before the public as +an object of pity, his wrist tied up and his head elaborately bandaged. +A great idea flashed on him. He allowed it to be understood that he was +on the track of a most dangerous rebel--a young man who had hanged +a yeoman in Dunseveric and nearly murdered a dragoon in Belfast. In +reality he was too busy just then with more important matters to make +any real search for Neal Ward. But a week later he offered a reward of +fifty pounds for such information as would lead to his apprehension. + +But the rumours of Captain Twinely’s sayings were sufficient to frighten +Donald Ward. He did not shrink from danger himself, and, had his own +life been threatened, would have taken measures to protect himself +without any feeling of panic, but his apprehension of peril for Neal +was a different matter. He felt responsible for his nephew, and did not +intend to allow him to be captured if caution could save him. Therefore, +he insisted on Neal’s remaining indoors, and plied him with the most +alarming accounts of the danger of his wound. He hoped in a few days to +get Neal out of Belfast to the comparative safety of some farmhouse. He +was particularly anxious that Finlay, who would certainly recognise the +young man, should not see him. + +News reached Belfast that the United Irishmen in Wexford were in arms +and had taken the field against the English forces. The northern leaders +became eager to move at once and to strike vigorously. Everything seemed +to depend on their obtaining the command of Antrim and Down, and opening +communications with the south. James Hope arrived in Belfast. Henry Joy +M’Cracken was there. Henry Monro rode in every day from Lisburn. +Meeting after meeting was held in M’Cracken’s house in Rosemary Lane, in +Bigger’s house in the High Street, in Felix Matier’s shattered inn, or +in Peggy Barclay’s. Robert Simms, the general of the northern United +Irishmen, resigned his position. His heart failed him at the critical +moment, and when pressed by braver men to take the field at once he hung +back and gave up his command. He forgot his oath on MacArt’s Fort, where +he stood side by side with Wolfe Tone. Henry Joy M’Cracken, a man of +another spirit, was appointed in his place. With extreme rapidity and an +insight into the conditions of the struggle, marvellous in a man with +no military training, he laid his plans for simultaneous attacks upon a +number of places in Down and Antrim. + +The Government was not idle. The northern United Irishmen were the best +organised and most formidable body to be dealt with. During the pause +before the outbreak of hostilities spies went busily to and fro. Reports +were carried to the authorities of every movement made, of almost every +meeting held. Men were arrested, imprisoned, flogged in the streets of +Belfast. Information was forced from prisoners under the lash. Parties +of yeomen rode through the country burning, ravishing, and hanging as +they went. + +James Finlay earned his pay with the best of his kind, denouncing men +whom he knew to be United Irishmen, and giving information about their +whereabouts. He was settled in Bridge Street, and, strangely blind to +the fact that he was no longer trusted, invited the leaders to confer +with him, and allowed his house to be used as a store for ammunition. +Donald Ward, grimly determined that this man should get his deserts, +insisted that nothing should be said or done to alarm him. + +“We can’t deal with him here,” he said. “Wait, wait till we get him down +to Donegore next week. If we frighten him now he won’t go.” + +Of all these doings Neal heard only vague rumours. Sometimes Peg +Macllrea, crimson with horror and rage, came to him and told him of a +flogging, sparing him no details of the brutality. Sometimes his uncle +sat an hour with him and talked of the fight that was coming. He seemed +neither impatient nor excited. He looked forward with calm satisfaction +to the day when he would have a gun in his hand and an opportunity of +shooting at the men who were harrying the country. + +“We have a couple of brass cannons, Neal. They’re not much to boast of, +but if they are properly served they will do some mischief. I have a +little experience of artillery, though it wasn’t in my regular line of +fighting. I think I’ll perhaps get charge of one of them.” + +Felix Matier came often to see Neal. As things grew darker outside +he became more and more extravagantly cheerful. His talk was all of +liberty, of the dawn of the new era, of the breaking of old chains, and +the rising of the peoples of the world in unconquerable might. + +“We’re to do our share in the grand work, Neal Ward, you and me; we’ll +have our hands in it in a day or two now. + + “‘May liberty meet with success! + May prudence protect her from evil! + May tyrants and tyranny tine in the midst + And wander their way to the devil.’ + +“Ora, but fighting’s the work for a man after all. Here am I that have +spent my life making up reckonings and seeing to drink and men’s dinners +and the beds they were to sleep in. But I never was contented with such +things, and the money I made didn’t content me a bit more. _They_ taught +me better, boy.” He put his hand on the pile of books which lay on the +table in front of Neal. “They taught me that there was something better +than making money and eating full and living soft, something in the +world a man might fight for. Eh, but I wasn’t meant for an innkeeper--I +was meant for a fighter. + + “‘I’d fight at land, I’d fight at sea; + At hame I’d fight my auntie, O! + I’d meet the devil and Dundee + On the braes o’ Killiecrankie, O!’” + +James Hope also came to see Neal. His talk was very different from the +flamboyant exultation of Felix Matier; very different also from Donald +Ward’s cool delight in the prospect of battle. James Hope seemed +to realise the awful gravity of taking up arms against established +government. He alone understood the very small chance there was of +victory for the United Irishmen. Yet Neal never for an instant doubted +Hope’s courage. He felt that this man had argued out the whole matter +with himself and thought deeply and prayed earnestly and had made up his +mind. + +“I do not think that we are sure to win, Neal, but I hope that our +fighting will enable those coming after us to obtain by other means the +liberty and security which will surely be withheld from them unless we +fight. I do not say these things to every one, but I feel safe in saying +them to you. You will not fear to die, if death is to be the end of it +for us.” + +Neal felt convinced that Hope himself would go calmly, steadfastly on if +he were quite sure that the gallows waited for him. It was to Hope, more +than to either of the others, that he complained about his confinement +in Matier’s house. + +“I cannot bear,” he said, “to be shut up here. I am not ill. The cut +on my head is cured now. There must be some other reason for keeping +me here. Am I not to be trusted? You say that you believe I will not +shrink. Why keep me here as if you were all afraid of my turning coward +or traitor?” + +Hope parried these complaints as well as he could, telling Neal that a +soldier’s first duty was obedience, that in good time he would be given +something to do; that in the meanwhile he must show himself brave by +being patient! + +“It is harder,” he said, “to conquer yourself than to conquer your +enemy.” + +One day, when Neal had been a week in captivity, he broke out +passionately to Hope-- + +“I cannot bear this any longer. I hear of you and my uncle and the +others risking your lives. I hear of the brutality of the soldiers. +I hear of great plans on foot. I claim my share of the danger that +surrounds us. I understand now why you all combine to keep me here. You +are afraid of my running risks. I claim, I claim as a right, that I be +allowed to take the same risks as the rest.” + +James Hope sat silent. His fingers played with the dark lock of hair +which hung over his forehead. Neal knew the gesture well. It was common +with Hope when he thought deeply and painfully. His fine dark eyes were +fixed on Neal’s, and there was the same curiously gentle expression in +them which had attracted Neal the first time he noticed it. + +“I admit your claim,” said Hope, slowly, at last. “I shall speak to your +uncle. To-morrow, I think I may promise this; to-morrow you shall come +with me, and we shall do something which will be difficult, and I think +a little dangerous too.” + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +James Hope kept his promise. About noon the next day he came to the inn +and found Neal waiting for him impatiently. + +“We are going,” he said, “to James Finlay’s house. Before we start I +think I ought to tell you that in any case you could not stay here any +longer. I saw this morning a proclamation offering a reward of fifty +pounds for your capture, and I have no doubt that Finlay will earn it if +he can, even if the soldier you mauled does not trace you here.” + +“I am ready,” said Neal. + +“You are not afraid? I see you are not, and we are not going to run into +any unnecessary danger. Finlay will not betray you at once. He will not +run out and call soldiers to take you the moment he sees you. He has a +deeper plan. He has arranged that a meeting of our leaders will be held +in Aeneas Moylin’s house to-morrow night. He is to be there himself, and +he has received assurance that most of our chief men will be there. We +have little doubt that he has given information about the meeting, and +made his arrangements for capturing us all. We shall tell him that you +are to be there, too. Then he will not want to risk exposing himself +by betraying you at once. He will wait for you till to-morrow. But when +to-morrow comes he will not find our leaders at Donegore. I have not +asked, and I do not wish to know, what he will find when he gets there.” + +“I understand,” said Neal. “When we meet I am to pretend that I trust +him thoroughly.” + +Hope smiled. + +“You are a good soldier. You are prepared to obey, and you do not ask +too many questions. But I am going to trust you fully, and tell you +why we are going to Finlay’s house to-day. Some time ago we stored some +cases of ball cartridges there. They are in a cellar, and I have no +doubt that Major Fox knows all about them, and thinks them as safe as +if they were in the munition room of the barrack. You and I are going to +carry off those cases. We want the cartridges badly, and we cannot wait +for them. We shall be using them, I hope, the day after to-morrow, and +if we leave them there till Finlay goes to Donegore to-morrow evening I +fear they may be seized by the soldiers. We must take them at once, and +it seems to me that our best chance will be to walk off with them in +broad daylight without an attempt at concealment. We shall bring them +here.” + +“How many cases are there?” asked Neal. + +“Eight,” said Hope. “We must manage to carry four each, but the distance +is not very great.” + +Neal drew a deep breath of relief when he reached the street. Any +service, however dangerous, any form of activity in the open air, was a +joy to him after his long confinement in the house. + +The streets, as he and Hope passed through them, were full of soldiers. +Companies of yeomen marched and countermarched in indifferent order +through every thoroughfare. Pickets of regulars, their bayonets fixed, +stood at the street corners and in front of the principal buildings. +Troops of dragoons, rattling and jingling, trotted briskly in one +direction or another. Orderlies cantered their horses from place to +place. Business in the town was almost suspended. Many of the shops +were shut. Grave citizens, engaged in pressing affairs, hurried, with +downcast eyes, along the causeways, seldom stopping to speak to each +other, greeting acquaintances with hasty nods. Women of the better sort, +if they ventured out at all, walked quickly, heavily cloaked and veiled. +The trollops and street walkers of a garrison town emerged from +their lairs even at midday, and stood in little groups at the corners +exchanging jests with the soldiers on picket duty, or shouted ribaldries +to the yeomen and dragoons who passed them. Idle maid servants, sluttish +and dishevelled, leaned far out of the upper windows of the houses +to gaze at the pageant beneath them. In the High Street a crowd of +loafers--coarse women and soldiers off duty--was gathered in front of +an iron triangle where, it was understood, some prisoners were to be +flogged. Town, Major Fox, Major Barber, and some other officers in +uniform, strolled up and down in front of the Exchange, rudely jostling +such merchants as ventured to enter or leave the building. + +James Hope walked slowly through the streets, chatting cheerfully +to Neal as he went. Now and then he even stopped to watch a troop of +dragoons go by or to gaze at the uniforms of the soldiers who stood on +guard. In crowded places he waited quietly until he saw a way of passing +on without pushing or attracting attention to his movements. The trial +was a severe one for Neal’s nerves. It was hard to pose as a curious +sightseer within a few feet of men who could have earned fifty pounds by +arresting him. + +At last, after many pauses, and what seemed an interminable walk, Hope +stopped at the door of a respectable looking house and knocked. A woman +half opened the door and eyed them suspiciously. Then, recognising +a whispered pass-word of some sort from Hope, she admitted them and +ushered them into a room on the ground floor. James Finlay sat at a +table with writing materials spread before him. He started slightly when +he saw Neal, but recovered himself instantly. He came forward, shook +hands with Hope, and then said to Neal-- + +“You and I know each other, Mr. Ward. I trust your father is in good +health, and that all is well at Dunseveric?” + +Neal, though he had schooled himself beforehand to greet Finlay +cordially, shrank back. He felt a violent loathing for the man. It +became physically impossible for him to take Finlay’s hand in his, to +speak smooth words to this hypocrite who inquired of the good health of +the very people he had betrayed. Hope saw the hesitation and tried to +cover it with a casual remark. Finlay also saw it and misinterpreted it. + +“I hope,” he said, “that you do not bear me any malice on account of the +little trouble there was between us long ago in the north. You ought to +forgive and forget, Mr. Ward. We are both workers in the same cause now. +At least, I suppose you are a United Irishman like your father or you +wouldn’t come here with James Hope to-day.” + +“Neal Ward,” said Hope, “is going to the meeting at Donegore to-morrow +evening.” + +Neal recovered himself and held out his hand to Finlay. + +There was another knock at the door of the house. Finlay started +violently and ran to the window. + +“It’s all right,” he said, “it’s only a lad I keep employed. I sent +him out an hour ago to find out what was going on in the streets and to +bring me word.” + +He returned to Hope with a smile on his face, but he had grown very +white, and his hands were trembling slightly. A boy burst into the room, +followed by the woman who had opened the door for Hope and Neal. + +“Master,” he cried, “they’ve brought out Kelso into the High Street. The +soldiers are dragging him along. They are going to flog him.” + +The boy’s eyes were wide with excitement. Having delivered his message, +he turned and fled. A flogging was too great a treat for Finlay’s boy +to miss. The woman, without staying to don hat or shawl, went after him. +Finlay called to her to stay. She shouted her answer from the threshold. + +“Do you think I’m daft to be sitting my lone in your kitchen and them +flogging a clever young man in the next street?” + +Then the hall-door slammed. Finlay turned to Hope. He was whiter than +ever, and his whole body shook as if with an ague. + +“Kelso will tell,” he said. “Kelso knows, and they’ll flog the secret +out of him. He’ll tell, I know he will. He must tell; no man could help +it.” + +If Finlay was pretending to be terrified he acted marvellously well. It +seemed to Neal that he really was afraid of something, perhaps of some +sudden betrayal of his treachery, of vengeance taken speedily by Hope. + +“What ails you?” said Hope. “You needn’t be frightened.” + +“The cartridges, the cartridges,” wailed Finlay. “Kelso knows they are +here.” + +“If that’s all,” said Hope, “Neal Ward and I will ease you of them. We +came here to take them away.” + +“You can’t, you can’t, you mustn’t. They’d hang you on the nearest lamp +iron if they saw you with the cartridges.” + +There was a bang on the door and a moment later a knocking on the window +of the room, and then a woman’s fate was pressed against the glass. Hope +sprang across the room and flung open the window. The servant woman who +had gone to see the flogging pushed her head into the room and said-- + +“They’re taking down Kelso, and he’s telling all he knows. Major Barber +and the soldiers are getting ready to march. It’s down here they’ll be +coming.” + +“It’s time for us to be off, then,” said Hope. + +“Come along, Neal, down to the cellar, and let us get the cartridges.” + +James Finlay followed them downstairs, begging them not to attempt to +carry off the cartridges. He held Hope by the arm as he spoke. + +“Don’t do it,” he said, “for God’s sake don’t do it. The soldiers are +coming. They will be here in a minute. They will meet you. They will +hang you. I know they will hang you. Oh! for God’s sake go away at once +while you have time. Leave the cartridges.” + +Hope shook off the grip on his arm with a gesture of impatience. He +pushed open the cellar door. + +“Now, Neal,” he said, “pick up as many of the cases as you think you can +carry.” + +James Finlay turned from Hope and seized Neal by the hands. The man was +trembling from head to foot; his face was deadly white; the sweat was +trickling down his cheeks in little streams. + +“Don’t let him. Oh! don’t let him. He won’t listen to me. Stop him. Make +him fly.” + +He fell on his knees on the floor and clasped Neal’s legs. He grovelled. +There was no possibility of doubting the reality of his emotion. This +was not acting. The terror was genuine. James Finlay was desperately +frightened. + +“Get out of my way. No one is going to hurt you in any case.” + +“It’s not that,” he said. “Believe me if you can. Believe me as you hope +to be saved. I can’t, I won’t see _him_ hanged. I can’t bear it.” + +He was speaking the literal truth. He believed that James Hope would be +caught and would then and there be hanged. Finlay had betrayed many men, +had earned the basest wages a man can earn--the wages of a spy. He knew +that his victims went to flogging and death, but he never watched them +flogged, he never saw them die. He even bargained never to stand in a +witness box. The results, the inevitable issues of his betrayals, were +never immediately before his eyes. Between him and the punishment of +his victims there was always some space of time spent in prison, some +appearance of a legal trial, some pretence of a just judgment. He was +able, with that strange power of self-deception which most men possess, +to conceal from himself that it was his information which led to the +brutalities which followed it. If James Finlay had been obliged himself +to execute the men whose execution his testimony secured; if he had been +forced to lay the lash on quivering flesh or fit the noose round the +necks of living men; it is likely that no bribe would have bought him, +that sheer cowardice and an instinctive horror of death and pain would +have saved him, as no consideration of honour and truth did, from the +extreme baseness of an informer’s trade. Here lay part of the meaning +of his terrified desire for Hope’s escape. He could not bear to see men +hanged before the door of his own house, or hear with his ears their +shrieks under the lash. + +But there was more behind this feeling than utter cowardice. He knew +James Hope, knew him intimately, though he had known him only for a +short time. Like Neal Ward he had walked with Hope along the roads and +lanes of County Antrim, had heard him talking, had seen--as no man, even +the basest, could fail to see--the wonderful purity and unselfishness +of Hope’s character. James Finlay had sold his own honour, but there +remained this much good in him, he refused to sell Hope’s life. God, +reckoning all the evil and baseness of James Finlay’s treachery and +greed, will no doubt set on the other side of the account the fact that +even Finlay recognised high goodness when he saw it, that he did not +betray Hope, that he grovelled on the floor before a man whom he hated +for the chance of saving Hope from what seemed certain death. + +Neal pushed Finlay aside and stepped forward. He took five of the cases +of cartridges--three under his right arm two under his left. Hope raised +the other three. Then, picking up a bundle from a corner, he said-- + +“There is more gear here, which we may as well take with us. There is +a green jacket which some of our young fellows may like to wear, and a +flag; we ought to have a flag to fight under.” + +They turned to leave the house. Neal cast one glance behind him and saw +Finlay lying curled up on the ground, his face covered with his hands, +as if he were already trying to shut away from his eyes the sight of +Hope’s body dangling from a lamp iron. + +Reaching the street, Hope stood for a moment and glanced up and down +it. A party of soldiers was marching towards them. Hope looked at them +carefully. + +“These are not the men whom the woman warned us of. Major Barber, if he +were coming here from High Street, would be marching the opposite way. +This is some company of yeomen.” + +A band played at the head of the approaching company, and the men +stepped out briskly to the tune of “Croppies Lie Down.” Their uniforms +were gay, their arms and accoutrements in good order, the officer in +command was well mounted; a crowd of idle young men and some women were +walking beside and behind the soldiers, attracted by the music and the +unusually smart appearance of the men. + +“I know these,” said Hope, “they are the County Down Yeomanry. They +have just marched in, and are no doubt going to report themselves. Come, +Neal, this is our chance.” + +He joined the crowd which walked with the soldiers. Neal followed him +closely. Hope, as if feeling the weight of the boxes he carried, walked +slowly until he found himself in that part of the crowd which followed +the regiment. Then, pushing forward briskly, he and Neal came close +behind the last soldiers. The ranks were not well kept, nor the march +orderly. Hope made his way forward until he and Neal were walking +amongst the yeomen. As they swung out of the street they were met by +another body of troops. + +“These are regulars,” whispered Hope, “and Major Barber is in command of +them. That is he.” + +The two bodies of troops halted. There was a brief conversation between +their commanding officers. Then an order was given. The yeomen, their +band playing briskly again, marched on. Hope and Neal, now in the very +middle of the ranks, marched with them. The royal troops presented arms +as they passed. Major Barber watched them critically. + +“It’s a pity these volunteers won’t learn their drill,” he said to a +young officer beside him. “Look at that for marching. The ranks are as +ragged as the shirt of the fellow we’ve just been flogging; but they’re +fine men and well armed. By Jove, they have two country fellows with +them carrying spare ammunition. I’ll bet you a bottle of claret there +are cartridges in those cases.” + +He pointed to Hope and Neal. + +“Ought to have a baggage waggon,” said the officer, “or ought to put the +fellows into uniform. They might be damned rebels for all any one could +tell by looking at them.” + +“I’d expect to meet a rebel pretty near anywhere,” said Major Barber, +“but, by God, I would not expect to find one marching in the middle of a +company of yeomen.” + +The yeomen passed and the infantry marched again towards Finlay’s house. +Hope turned to Neal. Laughter was dancing in his eyes, but, except for +his eyes, his face was grave. + +“Now,” he whispered, “we’ve got to slip out of the ranks and make our +way into North Street.” + +As he spoke he lurched against the yeoman next to him and allowed the +bundle he carried to slip from his arm. The soldier cursed him for a +clumsy drunkard. Hope, in return, abused the soldier for knocking the +parcel out of his arms, and then called to Neal-- + +“Wait for me, mate, wait till I gather up my goods again.” + +He deposited his cartridge cases on the ground, went after the bundle +which had rolled into the gutter, and then, arranging his load slowly, +allowed the yeomen to march past. + +“Did you hear Major Barber say that he’d be ready to bet that these +cases held cartridges? A sharp man, Major Barber! But there are more men +than him about with eyes in their heads. The next officer we meet will +be wanting to know where we are taking the cartridges. We won’t have +another company of yeomen to vouch for our characters. I think, Neal, +we’d better get something to cover these up. There’s a man here in +charge of a carman’s yard who is sure to have a couple of sacks which +will suit us very well.” + +He passed under an archway, followed by Neal, and entered a small yard. + +“Charlie,” he cried, “are you there, Charlie?” + +A young man emerged from one of the stables. He started at the sight of +Hope. + +“Are you mad, Jemmy Hope?” he said. “Are you mad, that you come here, +and every stable full of dragoons’ horses? They have them billeted on +us, curse them, and the villains are in the coachhouse polishing their +bits and stirrup irons. Hark to them.” + +“I hear them,” said Hope. “Get me two of your oat sacks, Charlie, good +strong ones. I have goods here that want protecting from the sunlight.” + +The man cast a swift glance round, ran to one of the stables, and +fetched the sacks. + +“Now, Neal, pack up, pack up.” + +He pushed his own cases into one of the sacks. Neal followed his +example. + +“It won’t do,” said Hope, “the sacks don’t look natural. There are too +many sharp corners bulging out. Charlie, lad, fetch us some straw--a +good armful.” + +While they were stuffing the sacks with the straw one of the dragoons +swaggered across the yard. He stood watching Hope and Neal for a minute +or two, and then said. + +“What have you there that you’re so mighty careful of?” + +“Whisht, man, whisht,” said Hope, “it’s not safe to be talking of what’s +here.” + +He winked at the soldier as he spoke--a sly, humorous wink--a wink which +hinted at a good joke to come. The dragoon, a fat, good-natured man’, +grinned in reply. + +“I won’t split on you, you young thieves. I’ve taken my share of loot +before this, and I expect some pickings out of the croppies’ houses +before I’ve done. I won’t cry halvers on you. What’s yours is yours. But +tell us what it is.” + +“It’s cases of cartridges,” said Hope, winking again. “We’re taking them +to the general in command of the rebel army, so don’t be interfering +with us or maybe they’ll hold a courtmartial on you.” + +The fat dragoon laughed. The idea of packing up ammunition for the +croppies in the temporary barrack of a squadron of dragoons, and using +His Majesty’s straw to stuff the sacks, appealed to him as extremely +comic. Hope and Neal shouldered their bundles and left the yard. + +“I’m afraid,” said Hope, “that we can’t store these in Matier’s house. +When Barber learns that the cases are gone he’ll search high and low for +them, and Matier’s will be just one of the places he’ll look sooner or +later. Are you good for a tramp, Neal, with that load on your back?” + +“Yes,” said Neal, “I’ll carry mine for miles if you like.” + +“Then,” said Hope-, “we’ll just look in at Matier’s as we pass, and if +the coast’s clear I’ll leave word where we’re going. I know a snug place +on the side of the Cave Hill where we can lie for the night. To-morrow +you can join your uncle at Donegore.” + +There were no soldiers round the inn when they reached it. Felix Matier +and Donald Ward were both out. Hope left his message with Peg Macllrea, +who was sanding the parlour. + +“So you’re going to sleep out the night on the Cave Hill?” she said to +Neal. “That’ll be queer and good for your clouted head I’m thinkin’.” + +“It’ll do my head no harm,” said Neal. “You know well enough, Peg, that +there never was much the matter with it.” + +They shouldered their loads again, walked up the street, and then, +quickening their pace, tramped along the Shore Road for about three +miles. + +“Now,” said Hope, “turn to the left up that loaning, and we’ll strike +for the hill.” + +They crossed the fields round the homesteads which lay between the hill +and the road, reached uncultivated and stony ground, and then commenced +their climb. Neal was strong, active, and accustomed to fatigue, but he +began to feel the weight of his sack of cartridge cases before he had +climbed five hundred feet. When Hope bade him halt he was glad enough to +lie panting on the springy heather. + +“We’re safe now,” said Hope, “but we’ve got further to go before night. +We must make the place I named so that the men will be able to find me +and the cartridges to-morrow morn.” + +Neal, ashamed of his weariness, bade Hope lead on. + +“I might have trysted with them for Mac Art’s Fort,” said Hope. “It was +there that Neilson and Tone and M’Cracken swore the oath. That would +have been a brave romantic spot for you and me to spend the night. We +might have thought of great things there with the stars over us and +nothing else between us and God’s heaven. But it’s a draughty place, +lad.” The laughter came into his eyes as he spoke. “A draughty place and +a stony, like Luz, where Jacob lay, and maybe the angels wouldn’t come +near the likes of us. The place I have in my mind is warmer.” + +They reached it at last--a little heathery hollow, lying under the +shelter of great rocks. + +“You might sleep in a worse place, Neal. It was here that Wolfe Tone and +the men I told you of dined three years ago--and a merry day they had +of it. I could wish we had a few of the scraps they left. It’s cold work +sleeping in the open on an empty stomach, but we must just cheer each +other with Tone’s byword-- + + “‘’Tis but in vain + For soldiers to complain.’” + +Neal, lying full length on the heather in the warmth of the afternoon +sun, dropped off to sleep. He had undergone severe physical exertion, +which told on him. He had been through an hour and more of great +excitement, which exhausted him far more than the exertion. When he woke +the sun had sunk behind the hill, and the air was pleasantly cool. Hope +sat beside him, gazing out across the Lough and the town which lay below +them. + +“I’ve been thinking, Neal, of that man Finlay. He was frightened to-day +when we were in his house. Now what had he to be frightened about?” + +“I don’t know,” said Neal, “but I agree with you. The man certainly +wasn’t play-acting. He was in real fear.” + +“I think,” said Hope, “that he was afraid the soldiers would take us and +hang us.” + +“But,” said Neal, “why should he fear that when he has betrayed us?” + +“The human heart,” said Hope, after a pause, “is a strange thing. The +Book tells us that no man is altogether good; no, not one, and that’s +true. Never was a truer word. We try, lad, we try, and the grace of God +works in us, but there remains the old leaven of evil; ay, it’s there, +even in the heart of a saint. Now, it isn’t written, but I think it’s +just as true that there’s no man altogether bad. There’s a spark of good +somewhere in the worst of us, if we could but get at it. There’s a spark +of good in Finlay.” + +“How can there be?” said Neal, angrily. “The man’s a spy, an informer, a +paid liar, a villain that takes gold and perjures himself.” + +“That’s true, over true. And yet he wanted to save our lives to-day. I +tell you the man’s not all bad. There’s something of the grace of God +left in him after all.” + +Neal was not inclined to argue about the matter. He sat silent, watching +star after star shine out of the moonless sky. After a long silence Hope +spoke again. + +“There are men among us who mean to take Finlay’s life. I can’t +altogether blame them. He deserves to die. But Neal, lad, don’t you have +act or part in that. Remember the word,--‘Vengeance is mine and I will +repay, saith the Lord.’ If there’s a spark of good in him at all, who +are we that we should cut him off from the chance of repentance? ‘The +bruised reed shall he not break; the smoking flax shall he not quench.’ +Remember that, Neal.” + +From far down the side of the hill the sound of a woman’s voice reached +them faintly. It drew nearer. + +“That’s some slip of a lassie from off the farms below us,” said Hope. +“She’s looking out for some cow that’s strayed.” + +“She’s singing,” said Neal. “I catch the fall of the tune now and then.” + +“She’s coming nearer. It can’t be a cow she’s seeking. No beast would +stray that far up amongst the heather and the stones.” + +The voice came more and more clearly. The words of the song reached +them-- + + “I would I were in Ballinderry, + I would I were in Aghalee, + I would I were in bonny Ram’s Island + Sitting under an ivy tree. + Ochone, ochone!” + +“I know that song,” said Neal. + +“Everybody knows that song. There isn’t a lass in Antrim or Down but +sings it.” + +“But I know the singer too. I heard Peg Macllrea sing it once, Matier’s +Peg, and I’m not likely to forget her voice.” + +“If you’re sure of that, Neal, I’ll let her know we’re here. Anyway +it can do no harm. There isn’t a farm lass in the whole country would +betray us to the soldiers. Wait now till she sings it again.” + +By the firesides of Irish cottages when songs are sung during the long +winter evenings the listeners often “croon” an accompaniment, droning in +low voices over and over again a few simple notes which harmonise with +the singer’s voice. When the girl began her tune again Hope sang with +her, repeating “Ochone, ochone” down four notes from the octave of the +keynote through the mediate to the keynote again. When she reached the +end of the last line his voice rose suddenly to an unexpected seventh, +which struck sharply on the ear. Prolonging the note after the girl’s +voice died away, he rose to his feet and waved his arms. Soon Peg +Macllrea was beside them. + +“I tell’t the master where ye were,” she said, “and I tell’t Mr. Donald. +They couldn’t come theirsells, and they were afeard to let me out my +lone. But I knew finely I could find you. I knew Neal here would mind my +song. I brought you a bite and a sup so as you wouldn’t be famished out +here on the hillside.” + +She took a basket from her arm and laid it at Neal’s feet. + +“Sit down, Peg,” said Hope, “sit down and eat with us. You’re a good +girl to think of bringing us the food, and you’ll be wanting some +yourself after your walk.” + +“I canna bide with you, and I ate my supper before I made out. I must be +gettin’ back now. But I’ve a word to give you from your uncle, Neal. He +bid me tell you that you’re trysted with him for Aeneas Moylin’s house +the morrow night at eight o’clock.” + + + + +CHAPTER X + +Early next morning Neal bade farewell to Hope and started on his walk +to Donegore. For a while he kept along the side of the hill above the +homesteads that clustered on the lower slopes. Nearing Carnmoney he +descended and entered a small inn in order to obtain some breakfast. He +found the master and his wife in a state of great excitement at the news +which had just reached them that their son had been arrested in Belfast. +It was some time before Neal could persuade the poor people to attend to +his wants, and it was a wretched breakfast which he obtained in the end. +Leaving the inn, he walked along the high road through Molusk. He felt +tolerably safe, though bodies of troops and yeomen occasionally passed +him. His appearance was known to very few, and the people of the +district through which he was going were either United Irishmen or in +strong sympathy with the society. It was unlikely that any small body of +troops would venture to make an arrest unless the officer in command +was perfectly certain of the identity of his prisoner. So bold and +determined were the people that Neal, stopping opposite a forge, saw the +smith fashioning pike heads openly, and apparently fearlessly. A number +of men stood round the forge door talking earnestly together. Among them +was Phelim, the blind piper, whom Neal had seen in the street of Antrim. +They did not care to be silent or to lower their tones when Neal came +within earshot. + +“The place of the muster,” said the piper, “is the Roughfort. Mind you +that now, and let them that has guns or pikes bring them.” + +“And will M’Cracken be there?” + +“Ay, he will. Did you no see the proclamation?” + +“Will Kelso,” said some one to the smith, “are you working hard, man? +We’ll be needing a hundred more of them pike heads by the morrow’s +morn.” + +The smith let his hammer fall with a clang on the anvil, and wiped his +brow. + +“If you do as good a day’s work the morrow with what I’m working on the +day there’ll be no cause to complain of you.” + +For the first time since he left Dunseveric Neal felt a glow of hope for +the success of the movement. He knew what kind of men these farmers +and weavers of Carnmoney and Templepatrick were--austere, cold men, +difficult to stir to violent action; much more difficult to cow into +submission when once roused. And it appeared to him that they were +effectually roused now. He recalled his father’s fanciful application of +the verse from the prophet Jeremiah. He felt, as he listened to the men +round the forge, the hardness of “the northern iron and the steel.” Was +there among the blustering yeomen and the disciplined troops of the King +iron strong enough to break this iron? + +He left the forge and passed on. His thoughts wandered from the +enterprise to which he had pledged himself, and went back, as time after +time during the last week they had gone back, to Una. He walked slowly, +wrapped in a delicious day dream. Neglecting all fact, driving from his +mind the pressing realities which separated him hopelessly from the girl +he loved, he imagined himself walking with her hand-in-hand in some +fair place far from strife and the oppression which engendered strife. +A feeling of fierce anger succeeded his day dream. The sun shone around +him, the fields were fair to see. Life ought to be like the sun and +the fields--simple and good and beautiful. Instead it was difficult and +cruel. He was being dragged into a vortex of hate and battle. He loathed +the very thought of it. He wanted peace and love. And yet, what escape +was there for him? Did he even want to escape if he could? The wrong +and tyranny he was to resist were real, insistent, horrible. He would +be less than a man, unworthy of the love and peace he longed for, if he +failed to do his part in the struggle for freedom and right. + +At midday he reached Templepatrick village, and found the inn occupied +by a company of yeomen. He sought the house of the weaver with whom he +had dined, in company with James Hope, on his way to Belfast. The +door was closed, which struck Neal as strange, for the day was hot and +bright. Coming near, he was surprised not to hear the rattle of the +loom. Birnie was a diligent man; it was not like him to leave his loom +idle. And the house was not empty; he could hear a woman’s voice within. +He tapped at the door, intending to ask for a meal and for leave to rest +awhile in the kitchen. There was no answer, and yet he heard the woman +still speaking in low, even tones. He tapped again, and then, despairing +of attracting attention, raised the latch, half opened the door, and +looked in. + +In the centre of the room, before the table, a young woman knelt +motionless, her hands stretched out before her. Neal heard her words +distinctly. She was praying aloud, steadily, quietly, but with intense +earnestness, repeating petition after petition for her husband’s safety. +Very softly Neal withdrew, and closed the door. He might go dinner-less, +but he would not interrupt the woman’s prayer. He turned, to find a +little girl gazing at him. He recognised her as the Birnies’ child. + +“Were you wanting my da?” + +“Yes, little girl, but I see he’s gone away.” + +“Ay, but if any stranger come for him I was to tell my mammy.” + +“Never mind,” said Neal, “you mustn’t disturb her now.” + +“Will I no, then, when I was bid? Mammy I Mammy!” + +In answer to the child’s cry, the mother opened the door. + +“What ails you, Jinny? I beg pardon, sir, were you waiting long on me?” + +“You don’t know me, Mrs. Birnie. You don’t remember me, but I came here +one day before with James Hope.” + +“I mind you rightly, now,” she said. “Come in and welcome, but if it’s +my Johnny you’re wanting to see, he’s abroad the day.” + +“I won’t disturb you,” said Neal. + +“You’ll come in. You’ll no be disturbing me. There’s time enough for me +to do what I was doing when the wean called me.” + +Neal entered the house and sat down. + +“You’ll be wanting a bite to eat,” said Mrs. Birnie. “It’s little I have +to set for you. The wee bit of meat we had I cooked for him to take with +him. It’s no much Jinny and I will be wanting while he’s awa from us. +Ay, and it’s no much Jinny and I will get if he doesna come back to us.” + +“Where has he gone?” said Neal. + +“He’s gone to the turn-out,” she said, “to the turn-out that’s to be the +morrow. It’s more goes to the like, I’m thinking, than comes back again. +He’s taken the pike with him that lay in the thatch over our bed this +year and more. But the will of the Lord be done.” + +“May God bring him safe home to you,” said Neal. + +“Ay, for God can do it, God can do it. I take no shame to tell you, +young as you are, that I was just beseeching the Lord to do that very +thing the now while you were standing at the door with Jinny. But the +Lord’s ways are not our ways.” + +She set a plate of oatcake and a jug of buttermilk on the table before +Neal, and bade him eat. When he had finished, he sat and talked with her +awhile, trying to cheer her. But she was not a woman to whom it was easy +to speak comfortable platitudes. She knew the risks her husband ran--the +risk of battle, and the worse risks which would follow defeat. Neal rose +at last and bid her farewell. + +“When you are saying a prayer for your husband,” he said, “say one for +me; I’ll be along with him. I’m going to fight, too.” + +“And will you be for the turn-out, then, with the rest of them? Ay, +I’ll say a prayer for you, And--and, young man, will you mind this? When +you’re killing with your pike and your gun, even if it’s a yeo that’s +forninst you, gie a thought to the woman that’s waiting at home for him, +and, maybe, praying. What would hinder her to pray for her husband even +if he’s a yeoman itself?” + +It was seven o’clock when Neal reached Aeneas Moylin’s house, after +climbing the steep lane that led to Donegore Hill. He found six men +seated in the kitchen--Donald Ward, Felix Matier, James Bigger, Moylin, +and two others whom he did not know. + +“It’s Neal Ward,” said Donald. “It’s my nephew. Sit you down, Neal.” + +No one else spoke, though all nodded a welcome to Neal, and room was +made for him at the table round which they sat. Aeneas Moylin rose and +fetched another chair from the next room. Neal noticed that all six men +were armed with swords and pistols. Donald Ward sat at the head of the +table, and had the air of presiding over the assembly. There was dead +silence in the room, save for the ticking of a clock which stood in a +dark corner out of reach of the rays of the lamp. No man looked at any +of his fellows. They stared fixedly at the ceil-ing, the table, or the +walls of the room. After about ten minutes, Felix Marier rose, crossed +the room, and peered at the face of the clock. He went to the door and +looked down the lane. Then, with a sharp in drawing of the breath, he +took his seat again. The movement roused Donald Ward. He fumbled in +his pocket and took out his tobacco box and pipe. He held up the box--a +round metal one--between his finger and thumb. Neal, watching, noticed +with surprise that his uncle’s hand trembled. Donald held the box +without opening it for perhaps two minutes. Then, when he was satisfied +that his hand had become quite steady, he filled his pipe. He rose, took +a red peat from the hearth, and pressed it into the bowl of the pipe. +He did not sit down again, but stood with his back to the fire, smoking +slowly. + +Aeneas Moylin spoke in a harsh, constrained voice. + +“Would you like to drink while you wait? I have whisky in the house.” + +“No,” said Donald. + +No one else spoke. Several of the men passed their tongues over their +dry lips. They would have liked to drink. Their mouths craved for +moisture, their nerves for stimulant, but they did not dispute Donald +Ward’s emphatic refusal of the offer. + +THE NORTHERN IRON. 175 + +Felix Matier rose again. Again he peered at the clock, again he +opened the door and looked down the lane. This time he turned almost +immediately, and said in a whisper-- + +“There’s a man coming up the lane, a single rider. I hear the tramp of +his horse.” + +He hurried back to his seat, as if he were afraid of being found apart +from his comrades, as if he expected to discover safety in being just as +they were. Donald Ward took his seat at the head of the table. His pipe +was still between his teeth, but he ceased to puff at it. It went out. +The noise of the approaching horse was plainly audible in the room. +Felix Matier suddenly laughed aloud, and then, half chanting the words +in a cracked falsetto, quoted-- + + “What is right and what is wrang by the law? + What is right and what is wrang? + A short sword and a lang, + A stout arm and a Strang, + For to draw.” + +“Silence,” said Donald. + +“It is the man,” said Aeneas Moylin, “I hear him putting his horse into +the shed. It must be he, for no stranger would know the ways of the +place.” + +James Bigger drew a pistol from his pocket, looked carefully at the +priming, cocked it, and laid it on the table before him. He sat at the +end of the table opposite Donald Ward, and was nearest to the door. + +The latch was lifted from without, and James Finlay entered the room. + +“You are welcome,” said Donald, and every man at the table repeated the +words. + +Something in the tone of the greeting, some sense of the feeling of +those who sat in the room, startled Finlay. He glanced quickly at the +faces before him, became deadly white, took a step forward, and then +turned to the door. It was shut, and James Bigger, pistol in hand, stood +with his back against it. Finlay stood stock still. Neal, looking at +him, saw in his eyes an expression of wild terror--an agonised appeal +against the horror of death. In a single instant the man had understood +that he was to die. Neal felt suddenly sick. Then a faintness overcame +him. He leaned back in his chair unable to move or speak. He heard, as +if from a great distance, as if out of some other world, his uncle’s +voice-- + +“The men you expected are not here, friend Finlay. M’Cracken is busy +elsewhere, Munro has an engagement this evening, Hope, whom you let slip +through your fingers yesterday, is not here to meet you.” + +“I wear to you,” said Finlay, “that I tried to save Hope yesterday.” + +Donald took no notice of the words. He went on in a cool, not unfriendly +voice-- + +“We are here instead, and I think we are quite competent to conduct the +business for which we have met; but you will agree with us that this +house will not be a suitable place for our meeting. We think it possible +that Aeneas Moylin’s house may be honoured to-night by a visit from some +dragoons or yeomen. They will probably be here in half an hour or so. +In the meanwhile, we shall adjourn. There is near at hand a building +in which we may do our business with perfect safety. You have heard, no +doubt, of the custom of body-snatching. Certain men--resurrectioners, I +think, they are called--have of late been robbing the graves of the dead +and selling the bodies to the medical schools for the use of students. +The good people of Donegore have built in their churchyard a very strong +vault with an iron door, of which Aeneas Moylin keeps the key. Here +they lock up the bodies of their dead for some time before burying +them--until, in fact, the natural process of decay renders them +unsuitable for dissection. This is their plan for defeating the +resurrectioners. There is no corpse in the vault to-night. We shall +adjourn to it for our meeting. The walls are so thick, I am told, that +remarks made even in a loud tone inside will be perfectly inaudible to +eavesdroppers. The door is very small, and we can hang a cloak over it, +so that our light will not be visible. It will be quite safe, I think; +besides, it will be very comforting to think that if one of us should +die suddenly his body will not become a prey to the ghoulish people of +whom we have been speaking.” + +He paused. Then, changing his tone, gave a series of orders sharply-- + +“Bind his hands; gag him; bring a lantern and means of lighting it; +bring the key of the vault; leave the light burning in this room. Come.” + +The orders were quickly obeyed. It was evident that every man had his +part assigned to him beforehand, and was ready to perform it. There was +no confusion, and no talking. + +Aeneas Moylin led the way. Two others followed, holding Finlay, gagged +and bound, by the arms. Donald Ward, his sword drawn, brought up the +rear. They moved like shadows, silent as the prowling body-snatchers +of whom Donald had spoken. In front of them, a dark mass in the June +twilight, stood the church, and round it rows and rows of gravestones. +Moylin crossed the stile. Finlay sank helplessly in a heap in front of +it. He could not, or would not, put his feet on the stone steps. Without +a word his two guards lifted him over and set him down among the graves. +Donald crossed last. Moylin, skirting the north side and east end of the +church, led the way to a corner of the cemetery where as yet there were +no graves. Here, barely visible among the tangle of brambles, nettles, +and high grass which surrounded it, was the vault. Kneeling down, Moylin +fumbled with the lock, turned the key with a harsh, grating sound, and +swung open the iron door. It was so low that he had to crawl through. +Once inside, he lit the lantern which he carried, and set it on a +projecting ledge of the rough masonry. Finlay was dragged in. The others +followed, until only Neal and his uncle stood outside. + +“Go next, Neal.” + +“I cannot, uncle, I cannot. I am not able to bear this. Let me go away.” + +“No. Go in, Neal. I want you. I shall let you go before the end.” + +The vault was very small inside. It was hardly possible to stand +upright, and there was little room for moving. James Finlay, still bound +and gagged, lay at full length on the floor. Round him, their backs +against the walls, crouched the other men. Moylin’s lantern cast a +feeble, smoky light. The air was heavy and close. It was the air of a +charnel house. + +“Take from the prisoner the arms he has about him,” said Donald. “Search +his pockets, and hand me any papers you find. Now unbind his hands and +free his mouth. + +“James Finlay, we are here to do strict justice. You shall have every +opportunity of making any defence you can when you hear the charges +against you. If you clear yourself you shall go free. If you fail to +clear yourself you must abide the sentence we shall pronounce on you.” + +“You mean to murder me,” said Finlay. + +“We do not mean to murder you. We mean to try you fairly, to acquit or +condemn you in strict justice. The first charge against you is +this. Having been sworn a member of the United Irishmen’s society in +Dunseveric, having been elected a member of the committee, you did in +Belfast betray the fact that there were cannons hidden in Dunseveric +meeting-house, and gave the names of your fellow-members to the military +authorities.” + +“I deny it,” said James Finlay. “You have no proof of what you assert. +Will you murder a man on suspicion?” + +“Neal Ward,” said Donald, “is this the James Finlay who was sworn into +the society by your father?” + +“Yes,” said Neal. + +“Tell us what you know about the visit of the yeomen to Dunseveric.” + +Neal repeated the story, telling how he knew that his own name was on +the list of persons to be arrested. There was a short silence when he +had finished. Then James Bigger said-- + +“You have not proved that charge. The circumstances are suspicious, but +you have proved nothing.” + +Donald Ward bowed. Finlay raised his eyes for the first time since he +had been dragged into the vault, and looked round him. There had risen +in him a faint gleam of hope. + +“You are charged,” said Donald again, “with having provided the dragoons +who rioted in Belfast last week with information which led them to +attack and wreck the houses of those who are in sympathy with the +society.” + +“I deny it. I was not in Belfast that day. I was here in Donegore with +Aeneas Moylin.” + +“You were here the day before,” said Moylin. “You left me that day +early. You might have been in Belfast.” + +“I was not,” said Finlay. + +Donald Ward produced the scrap of paper which Peg Macllrea had taken +from the dragoon. + +“Is that your handwriting?” he asked. + +James Finlay looked at it. + +“No,” he said. + +“James Bigger, give me the last letter you had from Finlay. Now put the +lantern down on the floor.” + +He looked steadily at the two papers, and then said-- + +“In my opinion these two are written in the same hand.” + +He passed them to the man next him. They went from one to another, and +the lantern followed them on their round. Each man examined them, and +each nodded assent to Donald’s judgment. + +“Let me see them,” said Finlay. + +They were handed to him. + +“I wrote neither of them,” he said. + +“Your name is signed to one,” said Donald. + +“I did not write it. I had hurt my hand on the day that note was +written. I employed another man to write for me. The writing is his, not +mine.” + +“Name the man you employed.” + +“Kelso, James Kelso.” + +“Kelso was flogged yesterday,” said Donald, “and is in prison now. Do +you expect us to believe that he is an informer? Is flogging the wages +the Government pays to spies?” + +“I tried to save Hope yesterday,” said Finlay. “Neal Ward, you have +borne witness against me, tell the truth in my favour now.” + +“I believe,” said Neal, “that he did his best to save Hope and me +yesterday. I believe that he wanted to save us.” + +He told his story, and he told of the conversation on the Cave Hill +afterwards. Again the flicker of hope crossed Finlay’s face. + +“You hear,” he said. “Would I have done that if I had been a spy? Could +I not have handed them over to Major Barber if I had wished?” + +“I shall give you credit for wishing to save Hope,” said Donald. “Now I +shall pass on to examine the papers found on your person to-night.” + +Finlay protested eagerly. + +“I beg that you do not examine the papers you have taken from me. They +are of a very private nature.” + +“I can believe,” said Donald, “that they are of such a kind that you +would willingly keep them private.” + +“I protest against your reading them. You have no right to read them. +They concern others besides myself. I give you my word.” Donald smiled +slightly. “I swear to you, I will take any oath you like that there is +no paper there concerned with politics. You will be sorry if you read +them. I assure you that you will repent it afterwards. You will be +doing a base action. You will pry into a woman’s secrets. You will bring +dishonour on the name of a lady, a noble lady.” + +“Do you expect us to believe,” said Donald, “that any lady, noble or +other--that any woman, that any soldier’s drab even--has written love +letters to you?” + +He opened the first which came to hand of the pile of papers which lay +at his feet on the ground. Finlay suddenly collapsed. His impudence, +his ready tongue, deserted him. He had fought hard for his life, had +lied--though he lied clumsily in his terror--had twisted, doubled, +fought point after point. Whatever the papers were that had been found +on him, he recognised that they condemned him utterly and hopelessly. +The game was up for him. He saw death near at hand, as he had seen it +earlier when he first realised that he was trapped in Moylin’s kitchen. +Donald read paper after paper silently. Some he laid aside, some he +passed to the man next him to read. Finlay rallied again. He made +another effort to save himself. + +“Listen,” he said, “I have influence with the Government. I don’t deny +it. Call me an informer, a spy, any name you like, but admit that I have +served my masters well. I can claim my reward from them. Let me go, and +I swear to obtain pardons for you. I can save you, and I will. I offer +you your lives as a ransom for mine.” + +“Would you make us what you are?” said Donald, sternly. “Would you buy +our honour, you that have sold your own?” + +Finlay, who had knelt during his last appeal, fell forward. He grasped +Neal with his hands. It was impossible in the dim light to see the faces +of the men around him, but some instinct told him that Neal alone felt +any pity for him, that from Neal alone he could look for mercy. + +“Save me, Neal Ward,” he cried. “For God’s sake, save me. Plead for me. +They will listen to you. I am not fit to die. Grant me one day, only one +day. I will do anything you wish. I will---- Oh God, Oh Christ, Oh save +me, save me now.” + +Neal felt drops fall on his hands, sweat from Finlay’s brow or tears +from his eyes. He spoke-- + +“Spare him,” he said. “Who are we to judge and to slay? James Hope said +to me last night that we should refrain from taking vengeance. I ask +you to respect what he said. Think of it. This man’s case to-day may +be your’s to-morrow. Remember you may take life, but you cannot give it +back again. Oh, this is too horrible--to kill him now, like this.” + +He felt, while he spoke, Finlay’s clasp tighten on him. He felt the +wretched man cover his hands with kisses, mumble, and slobber over them. +There was silence for a while when Neal ceased speaking. Then Donald +Ward said-- + +“Neal, you had better go outside. This is no work for a boy. It is, as +you say, horrible. To inflict death is horrible, but it is sometimes +just. If ever it is just for man to shed the blood of his brother man it +is just to shed James Finlay’s. He has broken oaths, has brought death +on men, has made women widows and children fatherless; has wrecked the +happiness of homes. He has done these things for the sake of gain, for +money counted out to him as the priests counted money out to Judas.” + +It was impossible to plead his cause any more. Moylin pushed open the +iron door of the vault. Neal dragged his hands from Finlay’s grasp, and +crawled out. He heard the door clang behind him, shut fast again upon +the broken, terrified wretch and his judges--relentless men of iron, the +northern iron. + +No sound reached him from the vault. Save for the occasional belated +cawing of some rooks in the trees which shadowed the graveyard, no sound +reached him at all. He sat down among the nettles, the brambles, and the +rank grass and burst into tears. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +The paroxysm of tears swept Neal as the Atlantic waves sweep foaming and +furious over Rackle Roy. Then it passed and left him panting, shaking +with recurrent sobs, and a prey to an hysterical dread of hearing some +sound from the vault beside him. He sat absolutely motionless. He +hardly dared to breathe. He waited in horrible expectation of hearing +something. He listened intent, agonised, feeling that if a sound reached +him he would cry aloud and on the instant become a raving madman. The +scene inside the vault rose to his imagination. Far more really than he +saw the dim church and the trees, he saw Finlay grovelling on the +ground and the stern men crouching over him. He saw a knife gleam in the +lantern’s light. He shut his eyes, as if by shutting them he could +blot out the pictures of his imagination. He waited to hear a shriek, +a smothered cry, a groan, the laboured breath of struggling men, the +splash of blood. The suspense became an agony. He rose to his feet and +fled. + +He stumbled over a grave, and fell headlong, bruising his outstretched +hands against a tombstone. He rose instantly and fled again. Stumbling +again, he struck his head against the wall of the church. Dizzy and +bewildered, he hastened on, driven forward by the terror of hearing some +death noise from the vault. Tripping, staggering, rushing blindly, he +reached the stile at last, and stood beyond it on the road. Before him +was Moylin’s house. The window was lighted up, the door was open. He saw +men seated within, and heard them laugh aloud. They seemed to him not +men, but fiends making merry over murder, and the winning for their hell +of a new damned soul. He fled from them as he had fled from the sound +he dreaded. He rushed down the steep lane. Loose stones rolled under his +feet. Sparks started into sudden brightness where the nails in his boot +soles struck flints. The hedges rose high on each side of him, making +the lane, even in the pale June night, intolerably dark. He fled on, +blind, reckless, for the moment mad. + +Suddenly he was stopped short. Strong arms were round him. He was flung +to the ground. A man knelt on his chest. Rough hands grasped his throat. + +“Who have you there, Tarn?” + +“A damned fool for certain, whoever he is. What brings him down a hill +like this in the dark, as if the devil was after him?” + +“Loose his throat; do you want to choke him. Let him speak. Now, then, +man, tell us who you are, and what you’re doing here.” + +Neal’s powers of reasoning and thought returned to him. With the +presence of real danger his fear vanished. He saw the forms of the men +above him, discerned against the dull grey of the sky that they were +armed and in uniform. He understood at once that he had fallen into the +hands of soldiers, perhaps of yeomen. + +“Who are you?” said the voice again. + +Then the man who knelt on him added a word of warning-- + +“If you won’t speak, we’re the boys who know how to loose your tongue. +We’ve made many a damned croppy glad to speak when we’d dealt with him.” + +Neal remained silent. + +“Get him on his feet, Tam, and we’ll take him to the Captain. If he’s +not a rebel himself he’ll know where the rebels are hid.” + +Neal was pulled up by the arms and marched along the lane again to +Moylin’s house. He was led into the kitchen. Two men sat at the table +drinking. They were in uniform. Neal recognised it as that of the +Kilulta yeomen, the men who had raided his father’s meeting-house. He +recognised one of the officers--Captain Twinely. The sergeant made his +report. He and his men had been patrolling the lane as they had been +ordered. They had heard a man running fast towards them, had stopped +him, and arrested him. + +“Who are you, and what are you doing here?” asked Captain Twinely. + +Neal made no answer. The sergeant peered closely at his face. + +“I think I know the man, sir. He’s the young fellow that was with the +women at the meetinghouse in the north. The man the old lord made us +loose when we had him. What do you say, Tarn?” + +“You’re right as hell,” said the trooper who stood by Neal. “I’d know +the young cub in a thousand.” + +Captain Twinely rose, tools the lamp from the hook where it hung, held +it close to Neat’s face, and looked at him. + +“I believe you’re right,” he said. “Now, young man, we know who you are; +You’re Neal Ward.” He drew a paper from his pocket and looked it over. +“Yes, that’s the name, ‘Neal Ward, son of the Reverend Micah Ward, +Presbyterian minister of Dunseveric. A young man, about six foot high, +well built, fair hair, grey eyes, active, strong.’ Yes, the description +fits all right. Now, Mr. Neal Ward, since I’ve answered my first +question myself, perhaps you’ll be so good as to answer my second for +me. Where are your fellow-rebels?” + +Neal was silent. + +“Come now, that won’t do. We know there’s a meeting of United Irishmen +here to-night. We know that the leaders, M’Cracken, Monro, Hope, and the +rest are somewhere about. Where are they?” + +“I don’t know,” said Neal, “and if I did I wouldn’t tell you.” + +The sergeant struck him sharply across the mouth with the back of his +hand. + +“Take that for your insolence. I’ll learn ye to say ‘sir’ when ye +speak to a gentleman.” + +“Answer my question,” said Captain Twinely, “or, by God, I’ll make you.” + +“Try him with half hanging,” said the other officer, speaking for the +first time. “I’ve known a tongue wag freely enough after it’s been +sticking black out of a man’s mouth for a couple of minutes.” + +“Too risky, Jack. The last fellow you half hanged wouldn’t come to life +again; turned out to be whole hanged, by gad.” He laughed. “There’s +fifty pounds on the head of this young cock, and it’s ten to one but the +rascally Government would back out of their promise if we brought +them nothing but a damned corpse. Besides, I want the information. The +vermin’s nest must be somewhere round. I want to get the lot of them. +No, no; there’s more ways of making a croppy speak than half hanging +him. We’ll try the strap first, any way. Now, Mr. Neal Ward, will you +speak or will you not?” + +“I will not.” + +“Hell to your soul! but I’m glad to hear it. I owe you something, young +man, and I like to pay my debts. If you’d spoken without flogging I +might have had to bring you into Belfast with a whole skin. Now I’ll +have you flogged, and you’ll speak afterwards. Tam, give the sergeant +your belt. Sergeant, there’s a tree outside. Tie the prisoner up and +flog him till he speaks, but don’t kill him. Leave enough life in him to +last till we get him to Belfast, unless he speaks at once.” + +“Yes, sir, but if your orders are so particular I’d rather you’d be +present yourself to see how much he can stand.” + +“I’m not going to leave my bottle,” said Captain Twinely, “to stand +sentry over croppy carrion. Flog him till you lay his liver bare, +sergeant, but don’t cut it out of him.” + +The sergeant saluted, and marched Neal out of the house. His coat was +dragged off him, his shirt stripped from his back, his hands tied to the +tree which stood before Moylin’s house. He set his teeth and waited. +The predominating feeling in his mind at first was not fear but furious +anger. He had shrunk in terror from the near prospect of seeing Finlay +die. He felt nothing now except a passionate desire for revenge. + +The sergeant swung the trooper’s belt round his head, making it whistle +through the air. Neal shivered and shrank, but the blow did not fall. +The sergeant was in no hurry. + +“You hear that,” he said, swinging the belt again. “Will you speak +before I lay it on you? You shall have time to consider. Nobody shall +say I hurried a prisoner. We’ll sing you a psalm, my dearly beloved, a +sweet psalm to a most comfortable tune. At the end of the first verse +I’ll give you another chance. If you don’t speak then----. Now Tarn, +now lads all, tune up to the Ould Hunderd, + + “‘There was a Presbyterian cat + Who loved her neighbour’s cream to sup; + She sanctified her theft with prayer + Before she went to drink it up.’” + +The troopers, who appeared to have learned both tune and words since the +night when the sergeant sang them in Dunseveric meeting-house, shouted +lustily. Following their sergeant, they drawled the last line until it +seemed to Neal as if they would never reach the end of it. + +“Now, Mr. Neal Ward,” said the sergeant, “you’ve had a most comfortable +and cheering psalm for the hour of your affliction. Will you speak, +or----. Damn your soul, Tam, what are you at?” + +The man next him lurched suddenly forward, clutching at the sergeant. +In another instant there was a dull thud, and Donald Ward stood over +the sergeant with a pistol, grasped by its barrel, in his hand. He had +brought the butt of it down on the man’s skull. Two more of the yeomen +fell almost at the same instant. The rest, three of them with wounds, +fled, yelling, down the lane. + +“The croppies are on us! Hell and murder! We’re dead men!” + +There were about twenty of them, all well armed, but a night surprise +has a tendency to shake the firmest nerves. Captain Twinely and his +fellow-officer played no very heroic part. At the first sound of the +shouting and the footsteps of the flying troopers they rushed into the +inner room and crawled under the bed, fighting desperately with each +other for the place nearest the wall, but Donald Ward had no time to go +after them. + +“Cut the boy down,” he said. + +It was Felix Matier who set Neal free. + +“Oh, whistle and I will come to you, my lad,” he quoted, as he hustled +the shirt over Neal’s shoulders. “Why didn’t you whistle, Neal, or +shout, or something? Only for that devil’s song we’d never have found +you. I guessed he was at some mischief when I heard him begin it.” + +“Silence,” said Donald, “and let us get out of this. The place must +be swarming with troops, and those yelling cowards will arouse every +soldier within a mite of us. It may not be so easy to chase the next +lot. Over into the churchyard again, and then, Moylin, we must trust to +you. You know the country, or you ought to, and I don’t.” + +Aeneas Moylin led the way into the churchyard again, and across the wall +at the lower end of it. The noise of many horsemen riding fast reached +them from the lane they had left. The frightened yeomen had gathered +troops to aid them, dragoons who had been posted on the main road down +below. From the top of the rath, which rose dark above even the tower of +the church, there came shouts. Men had been placed there, too, and were +gathering to their comrades opposite Moylin’s house. The hunt would +begin in earnest soon. Donald called a halt and, cowering under +the shadow of a thick hedge, the little party of fugitives held a +consultation. + +“We might go back to the vault,” said James Bigger. “They would find it +hard to get at us there, even if they discovered us. They couldn’t burn +us out, for the walls are solid stone and four foot thick at least.” + +“I’m not going to spend the night with---- with what’s there,” said +Felix Matier. “I’m not a coward, but I won’t sit in the dark all night +with my knees up against--ugh!” + +“James Finlay?” said Bigger. “He won’t hurt you now.” + +“I’m for getting away if possible,” said Donald. “I’m not frightened of +dead men, but I want to be at the fight tomorrow. If we stay here all +night we’ll miss it.” + +“Hark!” said Moylin, “they’re in the churchyard. I hear them stumbling +about among the graves. We can’t get back now, even if we want to. +Follow me.” + +Creeping along the side of the hedge, they crossed the field they were +in, another, and another after that. They came upon a by-road. + +“We must cross this,” said Moylin, “and I think there are soldiers nigh +at hand.” + +Suddenly the sky behind them grew strangely bright. A flame, which cast +black shadows from hedge and tree and wall, which lit up every open +space of ground, shot up. + +“Down,” said Donald, “down for your lives, lie flat. Where the devil +have they got the fire?” + +“It’s my house,” said Moylin, quietly, “the roof is thatched. It burns +well, but it won’t burn for long.” + +The shouts of the soldiers round the burning homestead reached them +plainly. A body of horsemen cantered along the lane in front of them. + +“Now,” said Donald, “now, while their backs are turned, get across.” + +They crossed unseen, and gained the shelter of the ditch at the far +side. They crept along it, seeking some boundary wall or hedge running +at right angles which would cast a shadow over them. The horsemen passed +again, but this time the risk of discovery was less. The thatch of +Moylin’s house had almost burned itself out. Only a red glow remained, +casting little shadow, lighting the land dimly. They crossed the field +in safety and reached a grove of trees. + +“We’re right now,” said Moylin. “We can take it easy from this on.” + +“Neal Ward,” said Felix Matier, “next time you get yourself into a +scrape I’ll leave you there. I haven’t been as nervous since I played ‘I +spy’ twenty years ago among the whins round the Giant’s Ring. Fighting’s +no test of courage. It’s running away that tries a man.” + +“Phew!” said Donald, wiping his brow. Even he seemed to have felt the +strain of the last half-hour. “I did some scouting work for General +Greene in the Carolinas. I’ve lain low in sight of the watch-fires of +Cornwallis’ cavalry, but I’m damned if I ever had as close a shave as +that. I felt jumpy, and that’s a fact. I think it was the sight of your +bare back, Neal, and that blackguard brandishing his belt over you that +played up with my nerves.” + +“Let’s be getting on,” said Moylin, “my house is ashes now, the house I +built with my own hands, the room my wife died in, the bed my girl was +born in. She’s safe out of this, thank God. I want to be getting on. I +want to be in Antrim to-morrow with a pike in my hand and a regiment of +dragoons in front of me.” + +Under Moylin’s guidance they travelled across country through the night. +About three in the morning, when the east was beginning to grow bright +with the coming dawn, they reached a substantial farmhouse and climbed +into the haggard. + +“We’re within twenty yards of the main road now,” said Moylin, “about +a mile and a half outside the town of Antrim. We can lie here till +morning. It’s a safe place. The man that owns it won’t betray us if he +does find us here.” + +At six o’clock Donald Ward awoke. The rest of the party lay stretched +around him, sleeping as men do after severe physical exertion and mental +strain. He sat still for a while, and then crept out of the barn where +they slept, and reconnoitered the farmhouse. He was surprised to find no +sign of life about it. Doors and windows were fast shut. No dog barked +at him. No cattle lowed. Not even a hen pecked or cackled in the yard. +He returned to the barn and roused the rest of the party. + +“I’ve been looking round,” he said, “to see what chance we have of +getting breakfast. As far as I can make out the place is deserted.” + +“I wouldn’t wonder,” said Moylin, “if the man that owns it has cleared +out. He’s a bit of a coward, and he’s not much liked in the country +because he tries to please both parties.” + +“I thought you said last night,” said Donald, “that he wouldn’t betray +us.” + +“No more he would,” said Moylin, “he’d be afraid of what might happen +him after, but I never said he’d help us. It’s my belief he’s gone off +out of this in dread of what may happen in Antrim to-day. He’ll be at +his brother’s farm away down the Six Mile Water.” + +“Well,” said Donald, “it doesn’t matter about him. The question is, how +are we to get something to eat?” + +A long consultation followed. There were serious difficulties. The +amount of food required for seven hungry men was considerable, and +Donald Ward insisted strongly on the necessity of having a good meal. It +was decided at last that two of the party should venture into Antrim to +buy bread and wine. No one knew what troops there might be in the town. +It would not be safe to count on the support of the inhabitants if they +happened to have soldiers in their houses. The inns might be full of +officers. The shops might be in the hands of the royal troops. + +“It’s no use discussing the difficulties and dangers,” said Donald at +last. “We’ve got to risk it. We can’t fight all day on empty stomachs. +We’d fight badly if we did. I and Neal here will go into Antrim, we’re +the least likely to be recognised. The rest of you are known men. We’ll +bring you back something to eat.” + +At eight o’clock they set out, and reached the town just as the people +were beginning to open their doors. Donald Ward pressed some money into +Neal’s hand. + +“Go into the inn where we stopped,” he said. “Get a couple of bottles +of wine and some cold meat if you can. I’ll go on to the baker’s. We’ll +meet again opposite the church. If I’m not there in twenty minutes go +back without me; I’ll wait that long for you. Walk in as if you owned +the shanty. There’s nothing starts suspicion as quick as looking +frightened. Bluster a bit if they look crooked at you, and answer no +questions for anybody.” + +Neal did his best to follow the advice. But it is not easy for a man who +has slept two successive nights in the open, who has had no opportunity +of shaving, and who has crawled in ditches for several miles, to assume +the airs of an opulent and self-contented tourist. Neal was painfully +conscious that he must look like a disreputable tramp. Nevertheless he +squared his shoulders, held up his head, and jingled his money in +his pocket as he passed through the door. He called valiantly for the +master. A girl, tousle-headed and heavy-eyed, looking as if she, too, +had slept on a hillside or slept very little in bed, came to him. He +recognised her as the same who had waited on him and Donald when they +spent the night in the inn. She was sharp-sighted in spite of her +sleeplessness. She knew Neal. + +“In there with you,” she said, pointing to a door, “I’ll get you what +you’re after wanting. The dear knows there’s broken meat in plenty here +the morn.” + +Neal entered the room. The table was littered with the remains of +breakfast. A large party had evidently been there and had gone. Neal +guessed that at least a dozen people had sat at the table. With his back +to the room, looking out of the window, stood a young man, booted and +spurred for riding, well dressed, well groomed, a sword by his side. His +figure struck Neal as being familiar. A second glance made him sure that +this was Maurice St. Clair. For a moment he hesitated. Then he said-- + +“Maurice.” + +“Neal,” said the other, turning quickly. “What brings you here? God, +man, you mustn’t stay. My father is in the house and Lord O’Neill. Thank +God the rest of them are gone.” + +“What brings you and your father to Antrim, Maurice?” + +“There was to have been a meeting of the magistrates of the county here +to-day. My father rode in last night and brought me with him, but there +came an orderly from Belfast this morning with news which fluttered our +company. The rebels are to attack the town to-day. Oh, Neal, but it was +fun to see the hurry the worshipful justices were in to get home this +morning. There were a round dozen of them here last night drinking death +and damnation to the croppies till the small hours. This morning it +was who would get his breakfast and his horse first. You never saw such +scrambling.” + +“You and your father stayed,” said Neal. + +“Yes. Is it likely my lord would ride away from danger? You know him, +Neal.” + +The girl entered with a basket on her arm. With a glance at Maurice St. +Clair she came close to Neal and whispered-- + +“There’s for you. There’s plenty wine and cold meat for half a score. +I’ll be tongued by the master after, it’s like, but I’ll give it for the +sake of Jemmy Hope, who’s a better gentleman than them that wears finer +coats, that never said a hard word or did an uncivil thing to a poor +serving wench no more than if she’d been the first lady in the land.” + +Neal took the basket and bade farewell to Maurice, but as he turned to +leave the room Lord Dunseveric and another gentleman entered. Neal stood +back, hoping to escape notice, but Lord Dunseveric saw and recognised +him. + +“O’Neill,” he said to his companion, “pardon me a moment. This is a +young friend of mine to whom I would speak a word.” + +He led Neal to the window. + +“Are you on your way home, Neal?” + +“No, my lord.” + +“I suppose I must not ask where you are going or what you mean to do. I +don’t ask, but I advise you strongly to go home. The game is up, Neal. +The plans of your friends have been blown upon. Their secrets are known. +See here.” + +He held out a printed paper. Neal took it and read-- + +“To-morrow we march on Antrim. Drive the garrison of Randalstown before +you, and haste to form a junction with the commander-in-chief.--Henry +Joy M’Cracken. First year of Liberty, 6th June, 1798.” + +“That paper was handed to General Clavering last night,” said Lord +Dunseveric, “and half a dozen more copies were sent to other officers. +Is it any use going on now?” + +“My lord,” said Neal, “I have heard things--I have seen things. Last +night I myself was stripped for flogging. They have set a price on my +head. I put it to you as a gentleman, as a just man and a brave, would +it be right to go back now?” + +“It is no use going on.” + +“But would you go back? Would you desert friends who did not desert you? +Would you leave them?” + +“A wise man does not struggle against the inevitable, Neal.” + +“But a man of honour, my lord. What would a man of honour do?” + +“A man of honour,” said Lord Dunseveric, “would act as you are going to +do.” + +“Farewell, my lord, I go with an easy mind now, if I go to my death, for +I have your approval.” + +“Neal Ward,” said Lord Dunseveric, “I have known you since you were a +boy, and I’ve loved you next to my own children. I don’t say you are +acting wrongly or dishonourably, but you and your friends are acting +foolishly. You cannot win. You and hundreds of innocent people must +suffer, and Ireland, Neal, Ireland will come to the worse, to the +old subjection, to the old bondage, to the old misery, through your +foolishness. I say this, not to dissuade you from going on, for I think +that you must go on now, but in order that when you look back on it all +afterwards you may remember that there were true friends of Ireland who +were not on your side.” + +Neal bent over Lord Dunseveric’s hand and kissed it solemnly. + +“I have known two great and good men,” he said. “You, my lord, and one +whose name you might count contemptible, James Hope, the weaver, of +Templepatrick. I think myself happy that I have had the goodwill of +both. And, my lord, I think Ireland the most unhappy country in the +world because to-day these two men will be in arms against each other.” + +He sobbed. Then, lest he should betray more emotion, went quickly from +the inn. + +He found his uncle waiting for him outside the church. + +“Well, Neal,” he said, “how have you sped? You have a basket; I hope it +is full. See here, I have four loaves of bread. The baker man would have +denied me. He suspected me, but I had my answer for him. I told him I +was groom to a great lord who was staying in the inn. I made free with +the name of your friend, Lord Dunseveric. I told him that if he refused +my lord the bread he wanted he would hang him for his insolence. I got +the bread. For the first time and the last I have been a serving man. +Now, back, back as fast as we can go to our hungry comrades.” + +After they left the town Donald Ward grew grave again. + +“My lad,” he said, “we shall have a fight to-day--a fight worth +fighting. It won’t be the first time I’ve looked on bare steel or heard +the bullets sing. I know what fighting means, and I know this, that many +of us will lie low enough before the sun sets. It may be my luck to come +through or it may not. I have a sort of feeling that I am to fire my +last shots to-day. Don’t look at me like that, boy, I’m not frightened. +I’ll fight none the worse. But I want to settle a little bit of business +with you now that we are alone. I have a paper here, I wrote it +last night while you slept; I signed it this morning, and I have it +witnessed. I got a parson to witness it, a kind of curate man, a poor +creature. I caught him going into the church to say prayers, and made +him witness my signature. I had time enough, for you were longer at the +inn than I was at the baker’s. Here it is for you, Neal. In case of my +death it makes you owner of my share of a little business in the town +of Boston. My partner is managing it now. We own a few ships, and were +making money when I left. But it did not suit me. I got the fighting +fever into my blood during the war. I couldn’t settle down to books and +figures. Maybe you’ll take to the work. If you do you ought to stand a +good chance of dying a rich man, and you’ll be comfortably off the day +you hand that paper to my partner. Not a word now, not a word. I know +what you want to say. Twist your lips into a smile again. Look as if you +were happy whatever you feel, and when all’s said and done you ought to +be happy. Whatever the end of it may be we’ll get our bellies full of +fighting to-day, and what has life got to give a man better than that?” + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +After breakfast Donald Ward led his party along the road up which +M’Cracken’s force must march to reach Antrim. At about noon he met the +advance guard of United Irishmen. Several of Donald’s companions were +recognised by these men, and his party were led back to where M’Cracken +himself marched with the central division of his army. It was then +that Neal first saw this leader--a tall, fair-haired, gentle-faced man, +dressed in a white and green uniform, armed with a sword. He spoke to +Donald Ward, and then calling Neal, questioned him about the condition +of the town of Antrim. Neal repeated all that Lord Dunseveric had said, +and told how he had been shown a copy of the proclamation. + +“You will not tell anyone else what you have told me, Mr. Ward,” said +M’Cracken, “the news that our plans are known to the enemy might be +discouraging to the men. It does not alter my determination to take +Antrim to-day. Now I must give you your orders and your posts.” He +called Donald Ward to him. “You will take charge of our two pieces of +cannon,” he said. “They are at the rear of the force. Neal Ward, you +will join the first division of the army--the musketeers--and place +yourself under James Hope’s command. I think this is what both you and +he would wish. Felix Matier and James Bigger will do likewise. Moylin, +you and your two friends will march with the pikemen, whom I lead +myself. Some of the men have arms for you.” + +The party had fallen somewhat to the rear of the column during this +conversation with M’Cracken. Neal and his two companions hurried forward +at once in order to reach the division of musketeers which was in the +van. They had opportunity as they passed along to admire the steady +march and the determined bearing of the men. Green flags were everywhere +displayed. The long pikes, iron spear-heads fastened on stout poles, +were formidable weapons in the hands of strong men. An almost unbroken +silence was preserved in the ranks. The northern Irishmen are not great +talkers at any time. Set to work of deadly earnest, they become very +silent, very grim. + +There were men in the little army belonging to some of the finest +fighting stocks in the world. There were descendants of the fiery Celtic +tribes to whom Owen Roe O’Neill taught patience and discipline; who, +under him, if he had lived, might well have broken even Cromwell’s +Ironsides and sent the mighty Puritan back to his England a beaten man. +Despised, degraded, enslaved for more than a century, these had yet in +them the capacity for fighting. There were also the great-grandsons of +the citizen soldiers of Derry--of the men who stood at bay so doggedly +behind their walls, whom neither French military art nor Celtic valour, +nor the long suffering of famine and disease, could cow into surrender. +There were others--newcomers to the soil of Ireland--who brought with +them to Ulster the traditions of the Scottish Covenantors, memories +of many a fierce struggle against persecution, of conflict with the +dragoons of Claverhouse. All these, whose grandfathers had stood in arms +for widely different causes, marched together on Antrim, an embodiment +of Wolfe Tone’s dream of a united Ireland. Their flags were green, +vividly symbolic of the blending of the Protestant orange with the +ancient Irish blue. M’Cracken, with such troops behind him, might march +hopefully, even though he knew that the cavalry, infantry, and artillery +were hurrying against him along the banks of the Six Mile Water, from +Blaris Camp and Carrickfergus. + +James Hope greeted Neal warmly. + +“There is a musket for you,” he said, “and your own share of the +cartridges you helped to save. There’s a lad here, a slip of a boy, who +is carrying them for you.” + +He looked round and pointed out the boy to Neal. + +“There he is; you may march in the ranks along with him.” + +Neal took his place beside a boy with bright red hair and a pleasant +smiling face, who handed him a musket and a pouch of cartridges. + +“Them’s yours, Neal Ward. Jemmy Hope bid me bring them for you.” + +“But what are you to do?” said Neal. “You have no musket for yourself.” + +“Faith I couldn’t use it if I had. I never shot off one of them guns +in my life. I’d be as like to hit myself as any one. I’ll just go along +with you, I have a sword, and I’ll be able to use that if I get the +chance.” + +Neal looked at the lad beside him, noted his smooth face and sparkling +eyes. + +“You must be very young,” he said, “too young for this work.” + +“I might be older than you now, young as I look. But is thon Mr. Matier +coming till us? Go you and talk to him if you want. I won’t have him +here, marching along with me.” + +At about half-past one Hope halted his musketeers. He was in sight of +Antrim, and he waited for orders. It was clear that the town was held +by English troops. Their red coats were visible in the main street, +but, without that, the houses which burnt here and there gave sufficient +evidence of the presence of a ravishing army. + +M’Cracken made a speech to his men--an eloquent speech. Now-a-days +we are inclined to look with some contempt on men who make eloquent +speeches. We are so accustomed to the perpetual flow of our Sunday +oratory that we have come to think of speeches as mere preliminaries +to copious draughts of porter in public-houses--a sort of grace before +drink, to which no sensible man attaches any particular importance. +But the orators of M’Cracken’s day spoke seriously, with a sense of +responsibility, because all of them--Flood, Grattan, and the rest--spoke +to armed men, who might at any time draw swords to give effect to the +speaker’s words. M’Cracken spoke to men with swords already drawn and +muskets loaded. Therefore, he had some right to be eloquent, and his +hearers had some right to cheer. + +Felix Matier had somehow laid hands on Phelim, the blind piper, and set +him playing. A hundred voices, voices of marching men, caught the tune, +whistled, and sang it. Matier’s own voice rang out clearest and loudest +of all. It was, the “Marseillaise” they sang--a not inappropriate anthem +for soldiers about to fight for the liberty of man. But James Hope had +something else in his mind besides the storming of a French Bastille +and the guillotining of a French aristocracy. He believed that he was +fighting: for Ireland, and the foreign tune was not to his mind. Laying +his hand on Matier’s shoulder he commanded silence. Then whispering to +Phelim, he set a fresh tune going on the pipes. An ancient Irish war +march shrilled through the ranks--a tune with a rush in it--a tune which +sends the battle fever through men’s veins. Now and then the passion of +it reaches a climax, and the listeners, almost in spite of themselves, +must shout aloud. It is called “Brian Boroimhe’s March,” and it may be +that his warriors shouted when the pipers played it marching on Clontarf +against the Danes. Hope’s musketeers heard it, whistled it as the piper +played, hummed it in deep voices, and always, when the moment came, +shouted aloud. + +The musketeers halted, and the pikemen passed them by. The broad, +straight street lay before them, and at the end of it, half sheltered by +the market house, were the English infantry. Behind them, blocking the +end of the street, splitting it as it were into two roads, which run to +the right and left, was the wall of Lord Massereene’s demesne. Across +the bridge the English cannon, almost too late, were being hurried by +an escort of sweating dragoons. There was work with them for Hope’s +musketeers and Donald Ward’s two brass six-pounders. But between the +infantry and M’Cracken’s men was a body of cavalry, sitting in shelter +behind the wall which surrounded the church. These would cut the +musketeers to pieces. The pikemen must face them first. + +The horsemen wheeled from their shelter and charged. The long pikes +were lowered, steadied, held in bristling line. There was trampling, +shouting, cursing, torn horses, wounded men, dust, and confusion. Then +the horsemen turned back, musket bullets followed them, men reeled from +the saddles, horses stumbled, the pikemen at the lower end of the street +shook themselves and cheered. They had tasted victory. A louder cheer +followed. Another body of pikemen, true almost to the moment of their +time, marched in along the Carrickfergus Road and joined M’Cracken. +The whole body moved forward together. Down the street to meet them +thundered the dragoons who had brought the cannon in across the bridge. +Hope’s musketeers fired again, but no bullets could stop the furious +charge. The dragoons were on the pikes--among the pike men, There was +stabbing and cutting, pike and sabre clashed. Again the cavalry were +driven back, again the musket bullets followed them--musket bullets +fired by marksmen. M’Cracken, at the head of his men, pushed forward. +The dragoons took shelter, the English artillery and infantry opened +fire. The street was swept with grape-shot and bullets. + +Neal, in the front rank of Hope’s men, was loading and firing rapidly. +He heard a shout behind him. + +“Way there, make way!” + +He turned. Donald Ward and two men with him had got one of their +six-pounders mounted on a country cart. They dragged the gun to the +middle of the road. Donald, sweating and dusty, but calm and alert, with +a grim smile on his face, laid the gun, loaded, fired. Again he fired. +The gun was well aimed. His shot ploughed its way among the men who +served the English guns, but at the second discharge a round shot flung +it from its carriage and laid it useless on the road. The man who stood +beside it cursed and flung his hands up in despair. Donald Ward turned +quickly. + +“Back,” he said, “get the other gun.” + +The pikemen pressed on against the storm of grape and cannister and +bullets. The guns ceased firing to let the dragoons charge. Again the +pikemen knelt to receive them, and flung them back. At last the wall of +the churchyard was reached. The pikemen leaped into the churchyard and +breathed in safety. A flag was raised above the wall, a green flag. A +wild cheer greeted it. Hope shouted an order to his men. They rushed +forward along the ground that had been so hardly won, and took their +places with their comrades behind the wall. Leaning over it, or finding +loopholes in the rough masonry, they opened fire on the infantry before +them. A large body of pikemen crossed the road and entered a lane. They +pressed along behind the houses of the street to turn the flank of the +English infantry who were drawn up against the demesne wall. The English +commander saw his danger, and sent dragoons charging down the street +again. But Hope’s musketeers were in the churchyard this time. They +fired at close range. The dragoons hesitated. The remaining pikemen +rushed out on them. The colonel reeled in his saddle, struck by a +bullet. His men wavered. In one instant the pikemen were among them. +Three horsemen shouted to the men to rally, and with the flats of their +swords struck at those who were retreating. But the dragoons had had too +much of the pikes. They turned and fled up the street. Sweeping to the +left they galloped in confusion from the battle. The three horsemen +who did not fly were surrounded. The main body of the pikemen pressed +forward; the flanking party joined them. The English infantry and +gunners were driven through the gates and took shelter behind the walls +of the demesne. + +In the middle of the street the three horsemen fought for their lives +against a handful of men who had held back from the main charge. Neal +recognised two of them--saw with horror Lord Dun-severic and Maurice +cutting at the pikes with their swords. He leaped the wall and rushed +to their help. The third horseman--the unfortunate Lord O’Neill--was +separated far from them. He fell from his saddle, ripped by a pike +thrust. Lord Dunseveric’s horse was stabbed, and threw its rider to the +ground. Maurice leaped down and raised his father. The two stood back to +back while the pikemen pressed on them. Then Neal reached them. With his +musket clubbed he beat down two of the pikes. The men cursed him, and, +furious at his interference, thrust at him. A sword flashed suddenly +beside him, and a pike, which would have pierced him, was turned aside. +Neal saw that the red-haired boy who marched with him in the morning had +followed him from the churchyard and was fighting fiercely by his side. +The pikemen realised that they were attacking their friends. Leaving +Neal and his protector, they ran to join their comrades. + +“Yield yourselves,” shouted Neal. “You are my prisoners. Yield and you +are safe.” + +Lord Dunseveric bowed. + +“Thank you, Neal,” he said, quietly, “we yield to you.” + +A bullet struck the ground at their feet, and then another. The soldiers +behind the demesne wall were firing at them. The boy who had saved Neal +from the pike thrust gave a sudden cry and sank on the ground. + +“I think,” said Lord Dunseveric, “you had better pick up that boy and +walk in front of us. It is possible that our men will cease firing when +they see that Maurice and I are between them and you.” + +Neal stooped and raised the boy. + +“I can walk fine,” he said, “if you let me put my arm round your neck.” + +There was a pause in the fighting. The English infantry drawn up on the +terrace behind the wall would not fire on Lord Dunseveric and his son. +Hope’s musketeers in the churchyard watched in silence while the little +procession approached them. Neal, with his arm round the wounded boy, +walked first. Lord Dunseveric, following, drew his snuff-box from +his pocket, tapped it, and took a pinch, drawing the powder into his +nostrils with deliberate enjoyment. + +“It seems, Maurice,” he said, with a slight smile, “that we are people +of considerable importance. Two armies are looking on while we march to +captivity, and yet we do not appear in a very heroic light. We are the +prisoners of one badly-armed young man and a wounded boy.” + +“Neal saved us,” said Maurice. + +“Yes,” said Lord Dunseveric, “that is, no doubt, the way to look at it. +We should certainly have been piked if it had not been for Neal.” + +Neal lifted the wounded boy over the churchyard wall and knelt beside +him on the grass. + +“Where are you hit?” he said. + +“It’s my leg, the calf of my leg, but it’s no that bad, I could get +along a bit, yet.” + +The English infantry opened a furious fire on M’Cracken’s pikemen, who +stood around the cannon they captured. Hope’s musketeers replied, firing +rapidly. Many of them had fallen. There were muskets to spare, and the +wounded men, crawling round their comrades, loaded for them, and passed +the guns up to those who still could shoot. The whole churchyard was +full of smoke, and a heavy cloud of it hung in the still air before the +wall. It became impossible to see plainly what was happening. Neal was +aware that Felix Matier stood beside him, and that Lord Dunseveric was +somewhere behind him watching, with cool interest, the progress of the +fight. Suddenly Felix Matier shouted-- + +“We’re blinded with this smoke. We must see to shoot. We must see to +aim. Follow me who dare!” + +He leaped into the street, and knelt down. The air was clearer there +than in the churchyard. He aimed steadily, fired, loaded, and fired +again. The bullets of the infantry splashed on the ground around him +like rain drops in a heavy shower. His clothes were cut by them. It +seemed a miracle that he did not fall. He began to sing, and this time +there was no one to forbid his “Marseillaise.” Then, while his +voice rose to its highest, while he seemed, out there alone in the +bullet-swept street, a very incarnation of the battle spirit--the end +came for him. He flung up his arms, rose, staggered towards the shelter +of the churchyard, turned half round in the direction of the men who +fired at him, and dropped dead. + +Lord Dunseveric stepped forward and tapped Neal on the shoulder. + +“Listen,” he said. + +From the Belfast Road, along which the United Irishmen had marched in +the morning, came the sound of drums. Through the smoke it was possible +to discern dimly that a large body of troops was approaching the town. +There could be no doubt as to who they were. No reinforcements for +M’Cracken’s army could be looked for from the south. Neal grasped the +meaning of what he saw. Hope’s men in the graveyard, which they had held +so long, were caught between the soldiers in the demesne and these fresh +troops who marched on them. Others besides Neal saw what was happening. +The firing slackened. Here and there a man dropped his musket and +stared wildly around. At the top of the street the dragoons who had fled +appeared again. They attacked M’Cracken’s pike-men once more, and this +time victoriously. Shaken by the fire of the soldiers behind the wall, +disheartened by the appearance of the enemy in their rear, these men, +who had fought so well, could fight no more. Some fled, some, with their +leader, faced the dragoons and, their pikes still forming a bristling +hedge in front of them, retired sullenly eastwards from the town. + +The musketeers were left alone. Their position seemed desperate. Neal +stopped firing, and looked round. Hope stood bare-headed, his sword in +his hand. + +“We have fought a good fight, men, and we’ll fight again, but we must +get out of this now. Load and reserve your fire till I give the order. +Follow me.” + +He stepped into the street. His men, gaining courage from the cool +confidence of his voice, loaded their muskets and went after him. + +“Neal,” said Lord Dunseveric, “this is madness. Stay. There are at least +a thousand men in front of you. You can’t cut your way through them.” + +But Neal did not listen. To him, for the moment, it was enough that Hope +was leading. + +“Neal, Neal, don’t leave me.” + +It was the voice of the boy who had stood by him in the street and +turned the pikes aside. + +“See, I have bound up my leg. I can walk.” + +Neal took him by the arm, and together they joined the remnant of Hope’s +musketeers in their march against the fresh troops who approached them. + +Lord Dunseveric, heedless of the bullets which still swept the street +from the demesne, stood on the graveyard wall. He was excited at last. + +“Maurice,” he cried, “these men are going to certain destruction, but, +by God, their courage is glorious. Look, they are out of the town. They +have halted. They fire. Now, if the English officer has any horse he can +cut them to pieces. He should advance, cavalry or no cavalry. A charge +with the bayonets would settle it. See, Maurice, the red coats have +halted. They are forming a square; they expect to be charged. The rebels +have turned. They are satisfied with having checked the advance. They +are making back into the town. Are they mad? No, by God, they wheel to +their right. They are off. They have escaped.” + +The meaning of Hope’s manoeuvre broke suddenly on Lord Dunseveric. There +was a road at the end of the town leading north-east to Done-gore. By +going along it Hope could join M’Cracken and the remains of the +army. But to keep it open he had to check the advance of the English +reinforcements. He feinted against them, calculating that their +commander would not know how the fight had gone in Antrim, and must of +necessity move cautiously. He risked the utter destruction of his little +force in making his bid for safety. He reaped the reward of courage +and skill, extricating his musketeers from what seemed an impossible +position. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +General Clavering seemed in no way disconcerted by the escape of Hope’s +musketeers. He marched through the town with drums beating and +colours flying, having very much the air of a victorious general. Lord +Dunseveric stepped out of the graveyard and saluted him. + +“Accept my congratulations,” he said, “on your timely arrival. You +have released me and my son from what might have been an unpleasant and +uncomfortable captivity.” + +“I am glad,” said the general, “to have been of any service to your +lordship. I trust you suffered no ill-usage at the hands of the rebels. +If you did-----, well, we have an opportunity of settling our scores +with them now.” + +He smiled, but the look on his face was by no means pleasant to see. + +“I received no ill-usage at all,” said Lord Dunseveric. “On the +contrary, I was treated with as much courtesy as was possible under the +circumstances. I would ask your forbearance towards any prisoners you +may take, and your kindness to the wounded. There are many of them in +the churchyard.” + +“You may be sure that your lordship’s recommendation shall have due +weight with me.” + +The words were civil, but Lord Dunseveric detected a sneer in the voice +which uttered them. He was not well pleased. + +“I trust, sir,” he said coldly, “that I am to take your words literally +and not interpret them in accordance with the tone in which they are +spoken.” + +“If you want plain speaking, Lord Dunseveric,” said the general, “I +shall deal with the rebels, whole or wounded, as rebels deserve. I mean +to make these Antrim farmers as tame as gelt cats before I’ve done with +them.” + +He beckoned to an officer of his staff, and gave some orders. In a few +minutes several companies of mounted yeomen and dragoons trotted out of +the town. + +“It is a good job,” said General Clavering, “that the rebels succeeded +in getting away. If we had cut off their retreat we might have had some +hard fighting. There is nothing nastier than tackling a rat in a corner. +It is a much simpler business to cut up flying men. All beaten troops +straggle and desert. Irregulars, operating in their own country, simply +melt away after a defeat. They sneak off home, hide their arms in hay +stacks, and pretend they never left their ploughs. I know their ways, +and, by God, I’ll track them. I’ll ferret them out.” + +General Clavering’s estimate of the conduct of irregular troops had +something in it. Even James Hope’s influence failed to keep his men from +straggling. They had fought well while there was any chance of victory, +but war was strange to them. The horrors of wounds and death, the bitter +disappointment of defeat, the hopeless outlook of the future, depressed +them. Their homes were near at hand. Within a few miles of them were the +familiar cottages, the waiting, anxious wives, the little children with +eager faces. There was always the chance for each man that he might +escape unknown, that his share in the rising might be forgotten. One and +another dropped out of the ranks, slipped across the fields, sought to +get home again along by-paths. It was not possible for Hope to delay his +march in order to reason with his men--to hearten and steady them. He +knew that the enemy would be swift in pursuit, that he must press on if +he were to meet M’Cracken at Donegore. He did what he could. He went +to and fro through the ranks, speaking quiet, brave words. Donald Ward, +cool and determined as ever, talked of the American war. + +“You’re young at the work, yet,” he said to the disheartened men. “Wait +till you’ve been beaten half a dozen times. It was only by being beaten, +and standing up to our beatings, that we won in the end. I remember when +I was with General Greene in the Carolinas----” + +The men listened to him and listened to Hope. Their spirit began to +return to them. The ranks closed up. The march grew more regular, but +the straggling did not altogether cease. The lure of home, the thought +of rest after struggle, was too strong for some of them. Neal marched +near the rear of the column. He had no thought of deserting a beaten +side, of trying to save himself, but he knew that he could not go on for +very long, and that he would not be able to reach Donegore. The boy whom +he supported leaned heavily on him, until he almost had to carry him. +The strain became more and more severe. He gave his musket to a comrade +to carry for him. He lifted the boy upon his back and staggered on. + +After nearly an hour’s march Hope called a halt. Half a mile behind them +on the road was a body of dragoons advancing rapidly. Hope drew his men +up across the road, the few pikemen who were with him kneeling in front, +the musketeers behind them. The dragoons came on at a trot. Then a word +of command was given by their officer, and they galloped forward. Hope +waited, and only at the last moment gave the word to fire. Horses and +men fell. The charge was checked. A few staggered forward against the +pikes. Most turned and fled. A wild cheer burst from Hope’s men. Without +waiting for orders they rushed after the retreating dragoons. The misery +of defeat was forgotten for a moment. They tasted the joy of victory +again. But the horsemen rallied, turned on their pursuers, and rode +through them, cutting with their sabres. Neal, who had sat down on the +roadside after firing his musket, saw Hope trying to recall his men, saw +Donald Ward far down the road gather a few pikemen round him and stand +at bay. The dragoons, who had had enough of charging pikes, dismounted, +unslung their carbines, and fired. Neal saw his uncle fall. Hope +reformed his men and bade them load again, but the dragoons had no taste +for another charge. Their officer was wounded. They turned and rode back +towards Antrim. + +Hope gave the word to march again, but Neal could carry the boy no more. + +“I can’t do it,” he said. “We must stay here and take our chance.” + +“Go on,” said the boy, “go you on. I’ve been a sore trouble to you the +day, have done with me now.” + +“I will not leave you,” said Neal, “we’ll take our chance together.” + +He watched Hope’s little force disappear up the road. Then he dragged +the boy through the hedge into the meadow beyond it, and lay down in the +deep grass. + +“Is your leg very bad?” said Neal. + +“It’s no that bad, only I canna walk. It’s bled a power, my stocking’s +soaked with the blood. Maybe if we could tie it up better we might stop +it and I’d get strength to go again.” + +Neal dragged the lining from his coat, and tore it into strips. He cut +the stocking from the boy’s leg with his pocket-knife, and bandaged a +long flesh wound as best he could. + +“Rest now,” he said, “and after a while we’ll try and get on a bit.” + +They lay in the deep, cool grass. There was pure air round them, and +they drew deep breaths of it into throats and lungs parched by the fumes +of sulphurous smoke. A delicious silence wrapped them, folded them as if +in a tender, kind embrace. A faint breeze stirred the grass, waved the +white plumes of the meadow sweet, shook the blue vetch flowers and the +purple spears of lusmor. In the hedge the reddening blooms of faded +hawthorn still lingered. The honeysuckle fragrance filled the air. +Groups of merry-faced dog-daisies nodded in the ditch, and round +their stalks were buttercups, and beyond them the rich yellow of marsh +marigolds. Neal fancied himself awaking from some hideous nightmare. It +became impossible to believe in the reality of the battle, the fierce +passion of it, the smoke, the sweat, the wounds, the cries. He was +lulled into delicious ease. Rest was for the time the supreme good of +life. His eyes closed drowsily. He was back in Dunseveric again, and in +his ears the noise of a gentle summer sea. + +He was roused by a touch of his companion’s hand. + +“I’m afraid there’s a wheen o’ sogers coming up the road.” + +Neal rose to his hands and knees and peered cautiously through the +hedge. He saw mounted men riding slowly along the road from the +direction of Antrim. They were still about half a mile off. Every now +and then they halted and peered about them. They rode as if they feared +an ambush, or as if they sought something or some one in the fields at +each side of the road. + +“They’re yeomen,” said Neal, “and they’re coming towards us. We must lie +as still as we can. Perhaps they may pass without seeing us.” + +“They willna,” said the boy, “they’ll see us. We’ll be kilt at last.” + +Neal peered again. The yeomen had reached the spot where Donald and his +pikemen had made their stand. They halted and dismounted to examine, +perhaps to plunder, the bodies. Neal could see their uniforms plainly. +He shivered. They were men of the Kilulta yeomenry, of Captain Twinely’s +company. + +“Neal Ward, there’s something I want to say to you before they catch +us.” + +“Well, what is it? Speak at once. They’ll be coming on soon, and then it +won’t do to be talking.” + +“Ay, but you mustn’t look at me while I tell you.” + +Neal turned away and waited. He was impatient of this making of +mysteries in a moment of extreme peril. + + “I would I were in Ballinderry, + I would I were in Aghalee, + I would I were in bonny Ram’s Island + Trysting under an ivy tree-- + Ochone, Ochone!” + +The words were sung very softly, but Neal recognised the voice at once. +He turned at the second line and gazed in open-eyed astonishment at the +singer. + +“Ay, it’s just me, just Peg MacIlrea.” She smiled up at him as she +spoke. + +“But, Peg, how could you do it? Peg, if I’d only known. Why did you +come?” + +“It wasna right. It wasna maidenly. If that’s what you want to be saying +to me, Neal Ward. The other lassie wouldna have done it. Maybe not. But +a’ the lads I knew well were turning out and going to the fight, and +what was to hinder a poor, wild lassie, that nobody cared about, from +going, too? Ay, and being there at the break, the sore, sore break, in +Antrim town?” + +Neal heard the tramp of the yeomen’s horses on the road. He heard their +voices, their laughter, their oaths. + +“Neal,” said Peg, “you’re a brave lad and a kind. I aye said it of ye +from thon night when you throttled the dragoon. Do you mind it? D’you +mind how I bit him?” + +The yeomen were almost opposite their hiding-place now. + +“Neal,” whispered Peg, “will ye no gie me a kiss? The other lassie +wouldna begrudge it to me now, I’m thinking.” + +He bent over her, put his arms round her neck, raised her head, and +kissed her lips. + +“Hush, Peg, hush,” he whispered. + +“There’s a musket on the road in front of you, sergeant.” Neal +recognised Captain Twinely’s voice. “There might be some damned croppy +lurking in the meadow there. Dismount and beat him up. Hey! but we’ll +have some sport hunting him across country if he runs. The earths are +all stopped. We’ll have a fine burst, and kill the vermin in the end.” + +Neal stood upright. + +“I surrender to you, Captain Twinely. I surrender as a prisoner of war.” + +It seemed to him the only chance of saving Peg MacIlrea. It was just +possible that the yeomen would be satisfied with one prisoner. + +“By God,” said the captain, “if it isn’t that damned young Ward again. +Come, croppy, come, croppy, I’ll give you a run for your life. I’ll give +you two minutes start by my watch, and I’ll hunt you like a fox. It’s a +better offer than you deserve.” + +Neal stood still, and made no answer. + +“To him, sergeant, prick him with your sword. Set him running.” + +The sergeant came blundering through the hedge. Neal stepped forward to +meet him, in the hope of keeping Peg concealed, but the sergeant caught +sight of her. + +“There’s another of them, Captain, lying in the grass.” + +“Rout him out, rout him out,” said Captain Twinely, “we’ll run the two. +We’ll have sport.” + +The sergeant stepped forward and kicked Peg. Neal flew at the man and +knocked him down. + +“Ho, ho,” laughed Captain Twinely, “he’s a game cub. Get through the +hedge, men, and take a hold of him. We’ll hunt the other fellow first.” + +“The other seems to be wounded, sir,” said one of the men. “He has his +leg bandaged.” + +“Then slit his throat,” said the captain, “he can’t run, and I’ve no use +for wounded men.” + +Neal, his arms tightly gripped by two troopers, made a last appeal. + +“It’s a girl,” he said, “would you murder a girl?” + +Captain Twinely rolled in his saddle with mirth. + +“A vixen,” he cried. “Damn your soul, Neal Ward, but you’re a sly one. +To think of a true blue Presbyterian like you, a minister’s son, God rot +you, lying and cuddling a girl in a field. A vixen, by God. Strip her, +sergeant, till we see if he’s telling the truth.” + +Neal, with the strength of a furious man, tore himself from the grasp of +his guards. He plunged through the hedge and leaped at Captain Twinely. +He gripped the horse’s mane with his left hand, and made a wild snatch +at the throat of the man above him in the saddle. A blow on the face +from the hilt of Twinely’s sword threw him to the ground. He fell half +stunned. He heard Peg shriek wildly, and then lost consciousness of what +was happening. + +He was roused again by a prod of a sword, and bidden to stand up. His +hands were tied and the end of the rope made fast to the stirrup iron of +one of the trooper’s horses. + +“We’re going to take you back into Antrim,” said Captain Twinely. “I +don’t deny that I’d rather deal with you here myself, but you’re a +fifty-pounder, my lad, and my men won’t hear of losing their share of +the reward. It’ll come to the same thing in the end, any way. Clavering +isn’t the man to be squeamish about hanging a rebel. Mount men and +march.” + +“Maybe the young cub would like to see his lass before he leaves her. +Her face is a bonny one for kissing now.” + +Neal shuddered, and turned sick. Beyond the hedge in the trampled grass, +among the meadow sweet and the loose strife, lay unnamable horror. +He shut his eyes, dreading lest he should be forced to look, but the +suggestion was too brutal even for Captain Twinely. + +“Shut your devil’s mouth,” he said to the sergeant, “isn’t what you’ve +done enough for you? If the croppy that came on you at Donegore had +broken your skull, instead of just cracking it, he would have rid the +country of the biggest blackguard in it.” + +“Thon’s fine talk,” growled the sergeant, “but who bid us strip the +wench? Is bloody Twinely turning chicken-hearted at the last?” + +Captain Twinely did not choose to hear the sergeant’s words, or the +grumbling of the men around him. He put his troop in motion, and trotted +off towards Antrim. Neal, running and stumbling, dazed, utterly weary +and dejected, was dragged with them. + +General Clavering sat at dinner in a private room of the Massereene +Arms. He had with him Colonel Durham and several of the officers who +had commanded troops during the battle. The landlord, obsequious and +frightened, waited on the party himself. He had the best food he could +get on the table, and the best wine from the cellar was ready for +his guests. In the public room a larger party was gathered--yeomanry +officers, captains, and lieutenants of the royal troops, and a few of +the country squires who had ridden into the town after the fighting was +over. Lord Dunseveric and Maurice were in the room where they had slept +the night before. Lord O’Neill lay on one of two beds. Life was in him +still, but he was mortally wounded. Lord Dunseveric sat beside him, +holding his hand, and speaking to him occasionally. Maurice was at the +window. The laughter of the party in the room below reached them, and +the noisy talk of the troops who thronged the streets. Jests, curses, +snatches of song, and calls for wine mingled with the groans which his +extreme pain wrung from the wounded man and the solemn, quiet words +about strength and courage which Lord Dunseveric spoke. + +A party of horsemen clattered up the street, and halted at the inn +door. They had a prisoner with them--a wretched-looking man, with torn +clothes, a bruised, bloody face, and hair matted with sweat and grime. +But Maurice recognised him. It was Neal Ward. He turned to his father. + +“A company of yeomen has just marched in and they have Neal Ward with +them. Their officer, I think it was that blackguard Twinely, has asked +for General Clavering, and entered the inn.” + +“Very well, Maurice.” Lord Dunseveric turned to the wounded man. “I must +leave you for a few minutes, my friend; keep quiet and be brave. I shall +be back again. Maurice will stay with you, and get you anything you +want.” + +“Where are you going, Eustace?” + +“I’m going to the general, to this Clavering man. He has a prisoner now +whom I want to help if I can--the young man I told you about, who saved +me from being piked in the street to-day. I would to God he could have +saved you, too.” + +“That’s past praying for now,” said Lord O’Neill, “but you’re right, +Eustace, you’re right. Save him from the hangman if you can. There’s +been blood enough shed to-day--Irish blood, Irish blood. There should be +no more of it.” + +Lord Dunseveric entered the room where General Clavering and his +officers sat at dinner. Captain Twinely stood at the end of the table, +and Lord Dunseveric heard the orders he received. + +“Put him into the market-house to-night. I’ll hang that fellow in the +morning, whatever I do with the rest.” + +“The market-house is full, sir,” said Captain Twinely, “the officer in +command says he can receive no more prisoners.” + +“Damn it, man, shut him up somewhere else, then, but don’t stand there +talking to me and interrupting my dinner. Here, landlord, have you an +empty cellar?” + +“Your worship, my lord general, there’s only the wine cellar; but it’s +very nigh on empty now.” + +A shout of laughter greeted the remark. + +“Fetch out the rest of the wine that’s in it,” said the general, “we’ll +make a clean sweep of it. Or, stay, leave the poor devil one bottle of +decent claret. He’s to be hanged tomorrow morning. He may have a sup of +comfort to-night.” + +Captain Twinely saluted and withdrew. + +“General Clavering,” said Lord Dunseveric, “I ask you to spare this +young man’s life. I will make myself personally responsible for his +safe keeping, and undertake to send him out of the country at the first +opportunity.” + +“It can’t be done, Lord Dunseveric. I am sorry to disoblige in a small +matter, but it can’t be done.” + +“I ask it as a matter of justice,” said Lord Dunseveric. “The man saved +my life and my son’s life to-day in the street at the risk of his own. +He deserves to be spared.” + +“I’ve given my answer.” + +Lord Dunseveric hesitated. For a moment it seemed as if he were about to +turn and leave the room. Then, with an evident effort, he spoke again. + +“I ask this man’s life as a personal favour. I am not one who begs often +from the Government, or who asks favours easily, but I ask this.” + +“Anything else, my lord, anything in reason, but this I will not grant. +This young man has a bad record--a damned bad record. He was mixed up +with the hanging of a yeoman in the north------” + +“He was not,” said Lord Dunseveric. “I hanged that man.” + +“You hanged him,” said General Clavering, Angrily, “and yet you come +here asking favours of me. But there’s more, plenty more, against this +Neal Ward. He tried to choke a dragoon in the street of Belfast, he +took part in a daring capture of some ammunition for the rebels’ use, +he helped to murder a loyal man at Donegore last night, he was in arms +to-day. There’s not half a dozen deserve hanging more richly than he +does, and hanged he’ll be. Never you fret yourself about him, Lord +Dunseveric; sit down here and drink a glass with us. We’re going to make +a night of it.” + +“I beg leave to decline your invitation,” said Lord Dunseveric, stiffly. +“I have asked for mercy and been refused. I have asked for justice and +been refused. I have begged a personal favour and been refused. I bid +you good night. If I thought you and your companions were capable of any +feeling of common decency I should request you to restrain your mirth a +little out of respect to Lord O’Neill, who lies dying within two doors +of you. But I should probably only provide you with fresh food for your +laughter if I did.” + +He bowed coldly, and left the room. The company sat silent for a minute +or two. No man cared to look at his neighbour. Lord Dunseveric’s last +words had been unpleasant ones to listen to. Besides, Lord Dunseveric +was a man of some importance. It is impossible to tell how far the +influence of a great territorial lord may stretch. Promotion is +sometimes stopped mysteriously by influences which are not very easily +baffled. There were colonels at the table who wanted to be generals, +and generals who wanted commands. There was a feeling that it might have +been wiser to speak more civilly to Lord Dunseveric. + +General Clavering himself broke the silence. + +“These damned Irishmen are all rebels at heart,” he said. “The gentry +want their combs cut as much as the croppies. I’m not going to be +insulted at my own table by a cursed Irishman even if he does put lord +before his name. I’ll write a report about this Lord Dunseveric. I’ll +make him smart with a sharp fine. You heard him boast, gentlemen, boast +before a company of men holding His Majesty’s commission, that he hanged +a soldier in discharge of his duty.” + +“A yeoman,” said Colonel Durham, “and some of the yeomen deserve +hanging.” + +“God Almighty!” said Clavering, “are you turning rebel, too? I don’t +care whether a man deserves it or not, I’ll not have the king’s troops +hanged by filthy Irishmen.” + +He looked round the table for applause. He got none. General Clavering +had boasted too loudly--had gone too far. It was well known that in the +existing state of Irish politics Pitt and the English ministers would +probably prefer cashiering General Clavering to offending a man like +Lord Dunseveric. There were plenty of generals to be got. A great Irish +landowner, a man of ability, a peer who commanded the respect of all +classes in the country, might be a serious hindrance to the carrying +out of certain carefully-matured schemes. General Clavering attempted to +laugh the matter off. + +“But this,” he said, “is over wine. Men say more than they mean when +they are engaged in emptying mine host’s cellar. Come, gentlemen, +another bottle. We must hang the damned young rebel, but we’ll do him +this much grace--we’ll drink a happy despatch to him, a short wriggle at +the end of his rope, and a pleasant journey to a warmer climate.” + +Lord Dunseveric returned to his room and sat down again beside Lord +O’Neill. He said nothing to Maurice. + +“Well,” said Lord O’Neill, “will they spare him?” + +“No.” + +“More blood, more blood. God help us, Eustace, our lot is cast in evil +times. Would it be any use if I spoke, if I wrote! I think I could +manage to write.” + +“None, my friend, none. Keep quiet, you have enough to bear without +taking my troubles and my friend’s troubles on your shoulders.” + +For a long time there was silence in the room, broken only by an +occasional groan from the wounded man and a word or two murmured low +by Lord Dunseveric. Maurice took his place at the window again. He +understood that his father’s intercession for Neal had failed, but he +was not hopeless. He did not know what was to be said or done next, but +he waited confidently. It was not often that Lord Dunseveric was turned +back from anything he set his hand to do. It was likely that if he +wanted Neal Ward’s release the release would be accomplished whatever +General Clavering might think or say. + +The evening darkened slowly. Lord O’Neill dropped into an uneasy dose. +Lord Dunseveric rose, and crossed the room to Maurice. + +“You heard what I said, son? They are to hang Neal Ward to-morrow.” + +Maurice nodded. + +“I can do no more. Besides, I am tired. I want to rest.” + +Maurice looked at his father in surprise. He could not recollect ever +having heard before of his being tired or wanting rest. + +“I shall sleep here in your bed, Maurice, so as to be at hand if Lord +O’Neill wants me. You must go down to the public room of the inn or to +the tap-room. You can get James, the groom, to keep you company if you +like. You cannot go to bed to-night, you understand. You must sit by the +fire till those roisterers have drunk themselves to sleep. James +will keep you company, There will be sound sleep for many in this inn +to-night, but none for poor Neal, who’s down in some cellar, nor the +sentry they post over him, nor for you, Maurice, nor for James. Maybe +after all Neal won’t be hanged in the morning. That’s all I have to +say to you, my son. A man in my position can’t say more or do more. You +understand?” + +“I understand,” said Maurice, “and, by God, they’ll not hang----” + +“Hush! hush! I don’t want to listen to you. I’m tired. I want to go to +sleep. Good night to you, Maurice.” + +With a curious half smile on his face Lord Dun-severic shook his son’s +hand. It appeared that he had the same kind of confidence in Maurice +that Maurice had in him. Like father, like son. When these St. Clairs of +Dunseveric wanted anything they generally got it in the end. And none +of the race of them had ever been over-scrupulous in dealing with such +obstacles as stood in their way, or particularly careful about what +those glorified conventions that men call law might have to say about +the methods by which they achieved their ends. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +Men who have eaten sufficiently and drunk heavily are not anxious to +admit into their company any one who has not dined, and whose last glass +of wine was drunk the day before. The gentlemen in the public room of +the Massereene Arms were not, most of them, drunk when Maurice St. Clair +came among them, but they were gay. Their hearts, to use a Scripture +phrase, were made glad with wine. They were in the mood in which men +crack jokes and laugh loud at jokes which would not pass muster before +dinner. They were ready to sing out of time and tune or to applaud +the songs of others without criticising them. But they were, with the +exception of one or two, men of feeble capacity, sober enough to be +conscious of the fact that they were liable to make fools of themselves, +and to resent the intrusion of a cool-headed stranger. + +They stared angrily at Maurice St. Clair. They said in audible tones +things which showed him plainly that his presence was most unwelcome, +but Maurice remained unabashed. He crossed the room and sat down on the +window seat--the same seat from which Neal had watched the piper and the +dancers a week or two before. He beckoned to the harassed and wearied +girl who waited on the party. + +“Get me,” he said, “something to eat--anything. I do not mind what it +is, and bring a cup of milk. Then send my groom to me.” + +“The gentleman,” said a young squire, who had certainly crossed the +undefined line which separates sobriety from drunkenness, “is going to +drink milk. Now, what I want to know is this--has any gentleman a right +to drink milk on an evening like this, after the glorious victory which +we have won?” + +“It’s damned little you had to do with winning it,” said an officer who +sat beside him. “You can drink, but----” + +“The man that says I can’t drink lies,” said the other. “No offence +to you, Captain; no offence meant or taken. I give you a toast, and +I propose that the milky gentleman in the window--the milk-and-water +gentleman--drinks it along with us. Here’s success to the loyalists +and a long rope and short shrift to the rebelly croppies. Now, Mr. +Milk-and-Water----” + +Maurice rose to his feet. + +“I understand, gentlemen, that this is a public room in which any +traveller may be supplied with what he calls for. I have no wish to push +myself into your company. I trust that you will allow me to enjoy my own +unmolested.” + +The intoxicated proposer of the toast laid his hand on his sword, +blustered out an oath or two, and was pulled down again into his +seat. There was good feeling enough left among the better class of +his companions to understand that a stranger should be treated with +civility. There was sense enough among the rest to recognise that +Maurice was not the kind of man whom it would be safe to bully. The girl +returned and informed Maurice that his groom was in the kitchen, but +refused to attend him. + +Maurice rose and sought the man himself. The reason of the refusal was +sufficiently obvious. The kitchen was full of troopers who had advanced +much further on the way to absolute drunkenness than their officers. +James, Lord Dunseveric’s groom, was decidedly the most drunken of the +party, but Maurice wanted the man, and was prepared to take some trouble +to reduce him to a condition of serviceableness again. He grasped him +by the collar of the coat, and pushed him through the back door into the +yard. A delighted stable boy worked the pump handle while Maurice held +the groom under the stream of cold water. The cure was ineffective. +Maurice walked him up and down the yard for half an hour, and then put +him under the pump again. The man remained obstinately drunk. Maurice +flung him down in a corner of a stable and left him. + +He returned to the room where the feasters sat, and looked in. The +company had advanced rapidly since he had seen them last. The squire who +had proposed the toast was under the table. Several others were lying +back helplessly in their chairs. Those who could talk were talking +loud and all together. The amount of liquor still to be consumed was +considerable. Maurice smiled. These officers and gentlemen were little +likely to interfere with anything he chose to do at midnight. He went +out of doors and sat on the stone bench in front of the inn. + +He had no plan in his head for the rescue of Neal Ward, only he was +quite determined to accomplish it somehow before morning. He did not +even know where his friend was imprisoned, or how he was guarded. His +father had spoken of a cellar somewhere in the inn. He supposed that foe +would sooner or later be able to find it, overpower the sentry, and set +Neal free. In the meanwhile, he had nothing to do but wait. + +He felt a touch on his shoulder, and looked round to see the girl, the +inn servant, standing beside him. + +“You’re the gentleman,” she whispered, “that was speaking till the young +man here the morn--the young man that I give the basket to, that is a +friend o’ Jemmy Hope’s?” + +Maurice recollected the incident very well. + +“He’s here the now,” whispered the girl again. “He’s down in the wine +cellar, and the door’s locked on him, and there’s a man with a gun +forninst the door, and, the Lord save us, it’s goin’ to hang him they +are.” + +“Will you show me where the cellar is?” said Maurice. + +“Ay, will I no? I’ll be checked sore by the master, but I’ll show you, I +will.” + +The girl led him down a long passage, which was nearly dark, opened a +door, and showed him a flight of stone steps. + +“There’s three doors,” she said. “It’s the one at the end forninst you +that’s the cellar door. Are ye going down? It’s venturesome ye are. +Whisht, then, and go canny, and dinna go ayont the bottom of the steps.” + +Maurice went cautiously. When he reached the bottom of the steps he saw +before him a long passage, stone-flagged, low-roofed, narrow. From an +iron hook at the far end hung a lamp. Beyond it stood a sentry, one of +Captain Twinely’s yeomen. The man was awake and alert. There was no sign +of drunkenness about him. He was well armed. The light from the lamp was +dim and feeble at Maurice’s end of the passage, but it shone brightly +enough for a space in front of the sentry. Maurice saw that it would +be impossible to approach the man unseen, impossible to steal on him or +rush at him without having a shot fired which would startle every one in +the inn. He crept up the stairs again. The girl was waiting for him. + +“Is the door of the cellar locked?” he asked. + +“Ay, it is, I fetched the last bottles of wine out mysel’, and I saw +them put the man in--sore draggled he was, and looking like a body in a +dwam. The master locked the door himsef, and the captain took the keys +off with him. But there’s no harm in that. There’s another key that the +mistress used to have afore she died, the creature. It’s in a drawer in +the master’s room, but it’s easy got at.” + +“Get it for me,” said Maurice. + +He looked into the public room again. The revel was far advanced now. +It was nearly midnight, and only three or four of the most seasoned +drinkers survived. Even they, as Maurice saw, were in no position to +assert themselves, or to understand anything that was going on. A +few minutes later even these veterans felt that they had had enough. +Supporting each other, reeling against tables and chairs, they staggered +upstairs to their beds. The greater part of the merry company lay on +the floor in attitudes which were neither dignified nor comfortable, +and snored. The rest of the inn was silent. From outside came the steady +tramp of the soldiers who patrolled the town, and from far off their +challenges to the sentries on watch at the ends of the streets. + +The girl came back to Maurice with the key in her hand. + +“I got it,” she said. “The master’s cocked up sleepin’ by the kitchen +fire. There was a man in his bed, or maybe twa, but I didna wake them.” + +“Come back to me in half an hour,” said Maurice, “I may want your help. +And listen, my lass, if you stand by me to-night I’ll see you safe +afterwards. You shan’t want for a handful of silver or a bran new gown.” + +“I want none of your siller nor your gowns,” said the girl. “I’ll lend +ye a han’ because you’re a friend of the lad that’s the friend of Jemmy +Hope.” + +At about half-past twelve the sentry who stood in front of Neal’s cellar +heard some one descend the stairs into the passage with shuffling steps. +A slatternly girl with shoes so down at the heel that they clattered +on the stone flags every time she lifted her feet, approached him. She +rubbed her eyes and yawned like one lately wakened out of sleep. She +carried a lantern in her hand. + +“What do you want here?” said the man. + +“The master sent me, sir, with another lamp. He was afeard the yin ye +had would be out again the morn. There isna that much oil in it.” + +“Your master’s civil,” said the man. “I’ve no fancy for standing sentry +here in the dark. He’s a civil man, and I’ll speak a good word for him +to-morrow to the captain. I hope you’re a civil wench like the man you +serve.” + +“Ay, amn’t I after fetchin’ the lamp till ye?” + +“And a kiss along with it,” said the soldier. “Come now, you needn’t be +coy, there’s none to see you.” + +He put his arms round her waist and pulled her towards him. + +“Mind now, mind, will ye, have you neither sense nor shame? Ye’ll have +the lamp spilt and the house in a blaze this minute.” + +She escaped from him, and, standing on tip-toe, reached the lamp which +hung from the roof and put it on the ground. The soldier caught her +again, and this time succeeded in kissing her. + +“Ye may hang the fresh lamp up yourself,” said the girl. “I willna lay a +finger on it for ye now.” + +Rubbing her mouth with her hand, as if to wipe away the kiss forced on +her, she shambled down the passage, taking the first lamp with her. The +sentry heard her shuffle up the stairs again, making a great deal of +noise with her clattering shoes. Then he hung the fresh lamp on his hook +and stood back again against the door of the cellar. + +It was very dull work standing all night in the passage, but he was +determined to keep awake. Neal Ward had slipped through the fingers of +Captain Twinely’s men twice. There was not much chance of his escaping +this time, but the sentry, for the honour of his corps, and for the sake +of the personal ill-will that every member of it bore to the prisoner, +was not going to run the smallest risk. Earlier in the night he had +amused himself by shouting insults of various kinds through the door +of the cellar. Later on he had given the prisoner a vivid and realistic +description of the way in which men are hanged, but Neal had made no +sign of hearing a word that was said to him, so the occupation grew +uninteresting. Now he whistled a few of his favourite airs, speculating +on the amount of the fifty pounds reward offered for Neal’s capture +which would fall to his share, and estimating his chances of taking +some of the other United Irishmen for whom the Government had offered +substantial sums. Then he began to count the flagstones on the floor of +the passage. He had done this once or twice before, and had been able to +distinguish as many as twenty-five, which brought him more than half way +to the staircase, before the light failed him. This time he could +only count twenty. Beyond that the floor lay dimly visible, but it was +impossible to distinguish one stone from another. + +“Damn it,” He growled, “this isn’t near as good a lamp as the first.” + +He counted again, and only reached a total of eighteen slabs of stone. +He glanced down the passage, and found that he could not see the end of +it. He looked at the lamp. It was burning very low. It occurred to him +as an unpleasant possibility that the girl had taken away the wrong +lamp--had taken the one with the oil in it and left him the empty one. +He reassured himself. This lamp was a different shape from that which +hung in the passage when he first took his post as sentry. He made up +his mind that its wick must require to be turned up. Perhaps it had been +badly trimmed. The girl who brought it was evidently sleepy; she would +be very likely to forget to trim it. He stepped forward to where the +lamp hung. He paused, startled by a slight noise at the far end of the +passage. He listened, but heard nothing more. It was necessary to lift +the lamp off the hook before he could trim the wick. He laid his musket +on the ground and reached up to it. As he did so he heard swift steps, +steps of heavy feet, on the flagged passage. They were quite close to +him. He looked round and caught a glimpse of Maurice St. Clair in the +act of springing on him. He was grappled by strong arms and flung to the +ground before he could do anything to defend himself. Maurice, kneeling +on him, put the point of a knife to his throat. + +“If you speak one word or utter the slightest sound I cut your throat at +once.” + +The unfortunate soldier lay still. Maurice, the knife still pricking the +man’s throat, crept slowly off him and knelt on the floor. With his left +hand he unclasped the soldier’s belt. + +“Now,” he said, “turn over on your face, and put your hands behind you.” + +The man obeyed, and felt the sharp point of the knife slip slowly round +his neck until it rested behind his ear. + +“‘Remember,” said Maurice, “one good cut downwards now and you are a +dead man. Put your hands together.” + +He pulled the leather belt clear with his left hand, then, dropping the +knife, he knelt on the man’s back and gripped his wrists. + +In a moment he had them securely strapped together with the leather +belt. Then he stuffed a cloth into the soldier’s mouth and bound it +there with a stout cord tied tight round his head. Another cord--Maurice +had come well supplied with what he was likely to want--was made fast +round the man’s legs. Then Maurice stood up and surveyed his handiwork. +He laughed softly, well satisfied. The lamp flickered and went out. + +“It’s a good job for you,” said Maurice, “that the light lasted as long +as it did. I couldn’t have gagged and tied you in the dark. I should +have been obliged to kill you.” + +He felt along the wall until he came to the cellar door and found the +keyhole. After much fumbling he got the key in, turned it, and pushed +open the door. + +“Neal,” he called. “Neal, are you there?” + +“Yes. Who is that? Is it you, Maurice? It’s like your voice.” + +Stumbling forward through the pitch dark, Neal gripped Maurice at last. +Hand in hand they went cautiously along the passage and up the stairs. + +“Come in here,” said Maurice. “There’s a light here, and I want to +see if it’s really you. Oh! you needn’t be afraid. There are plenty of +soldiers, but they won’t hurt you. They’re all dead drunk. Now, Neal, +there’s lots to eat and drink. Sit down and make the best of your time. +You’ll want a square meal. I’ll just take a light and go down to that +fellow in the passage. I’ve got a few fathom of good, stout rope--I’m +not sure that it isn’t the bit that they meant to hang you with in the +morning--and I’ll fix him up so that he’ll neither stir nor speak till +some one lets him loose.” + +In a quarter of an hour Maurice returned. + +“The next thing, Neal, is to get you out of this town. It’s full of +soldiers, and there are sentries at every turn, but I’ve got the word +for the night, and I think we’ll be able to manage.” + +He walked round the room peering carefully at the drunken men who lay on +the floor. + +“‘Here’s a fellow that’s about your size, Neal. He seems to be a captain +of some sort, a yeomanry captain by the look of him. I’m hanged if it +isn’t our friend Twinely again. We’ll take the liberty of borrowing +his uniform for you. There’ll be a poetic justice about that, and he’ll +sleep all the better for having these tight things off him.” + +He knelt down and stripped Captain Twinely. + +“Now then, quick, Neal. Don’t waste time. Daylight will be on us before +we know where we are. Take your own things with you in a bundle. Change +again somewhere when you get out of the town, you’ll be safer travelling +in your own clothes. Take some food with you. Here, I’ll make up a +parcel while you dress. I’ll stick in a bottle of wine. Now you’re +right. Walk boldly past the sentries. If you’re challenged curse the man +that challenges you. The word for the night is ‘Clavering.’ Travel by +night as much as you can. Keep off the main roads. Strike straight for +home. It’ll be a queer thing if you can’t lie safe round Dunseveric for +a few days till we get you out of the country.” + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +Lord Dunseveric and Maurice breakfasted together at eight o’clock on the +morning of Neal’s escape. They sat in the room where Lord O’Neill lay, +and had a table spread for them beside the window. It was impossible +to eat a meal in any comfort elsewhere in the inn. Indeed, but for +the special exertions of the master and his maid it would have been +difficult to get food at all. Maurice was triumphant and excited. Since +Neal had not been brought back it was reasonable to suppose that he had +made good his escape out of the town, and there was every hope that he +would get safe to the coast. Once there he had friends enough to feed +him, and hiding-places known to few, and almost inaccessible to soldiers +or yeomen. + +Lord Dunseveric asked no questions about Maurice’s doings in the night. +He felt perfectly confident that Neal had got off somehow. The details +of the business he would hear later on. For the present he preferred to +know nothing about them. + +An officer entered the room and handed a letter to Lord Dunseveric. +It was a request, in civil language enough, that he would meet General +Clavering in the public room of the inn at nine o’clock, and that +Maurice would accompany his father. + +General Clavering sat at the head of the table when Lord Dunseveric and +Maurice entered. Three or four of the senior officers of the regular +troops sat with him. Captain Twinely, in a suit of clothes he had +borrowed from the master of the inn, and one of his men, stood near the +fireplace. The room had been cleared of the drunken sleepers, but a good +deal of the _débris_ of their revel--empty bottles, broken glasses, and +little pools of spilt wine--were still visible on the floor. + +“I have to announce to you, Lord Dunseveric,” said the general, “that +the prisoner who was confined in the inn cellar last night, Neal Ward, +has escaped.” + +Lord Dunseveric bowed, and smiled slightly. His eye lighted on Captain +Twinely, and his smile broadened. The landlord’s suit fitted the captain +extremely ill. + +“Indeed,” he said, “Captain Twinely seems to be unfortunate with regard +to this particular prisoner. This is, let me see, the third time that +Neal Ward has--ah!--evaded his vigilance.” + +“The sentry who guarded the door of the cellar,” said General +Clavering, “was attacked, overpowered, bound, and gagged.” + +“By the prisoner?” + +“No, my lord, by some one who assisted the prisoner to escape, who, +after dealing with the sentry as I have described, unlocked the door of +the cellar with a key, the duplicate of that which Captain Twinely had +in his pocket. This man and the prisoner subsequently stripped Captain +Twinely of his uniform, and, as I learn from my sentries, Neal Ward +passed through our lines in the disguise of a captain of yeomanry.” + +“You surprise me,” said Lord Dunseveric, “a daring stratagem; a +laughable scheme, too. I trust you took no cold, Captain. I confess that +I should have liked to have seen you in your shirt tails this morning. +You were, I presume,” he stirred a little heap of broken glass with his +foot as he spoke, “_vino gravatus_ when they relieved you of your tunic. +But what has all this to do with me?” + +“Merely this,” said General Clavering, “that your son is accused of +having effected the prisoner’s escape.” + +Lord Dunseveric looked at Maurice, looked him quietly up and down, as if +he saw him then for the first time. + +“I can believe,” he said, “that my son might overpower the sentry. He +is, as you see, a young man of considerable personal strength, but +I should be surprised to learn that he dressed the prisoner in the +captain’s uniform. I may be misjudging my son, but I have hitherto +regarded him as somewhat deficient in humour. You must admit, General +Clavering, that only a man with a feeling for the ridiculous would have +thought of----” + +“It will be better for you to hear what the sentry has to say, my lord, +and I beg of you to regard the matter seriously. I assure you it will +not bear joking on. The rescue of a prisoner is a grave offence. Captain +Twinely, kindly order your man to tell his story.” + +“Since I am not a prisoner at the bar,” said Lord Dunseveric, “I shall, +with your permission, sit down. As to the seriousness of the business +in hand, I confess that for the moment the thought of the worthy Twinely +waking this morning not only with a splitting headache but without +a pair of breeches on him keeps the humorous side of the situation +prominent in my mind.” + +The sentry told his story. To Maurice’s great relief, he omitted all +mention of the girl who had supplied the lamp which so conveniently +burnt low, but he had recognised Maurice and was prepared to swear to +his identity. + +“No doubt,” said General Clavering, “you will wish to cross-question +this man, my lord.” + +Lord Dunseveric yawned. + +“I think that quite unnecessary,” he said, “a much simpler way of +arriving at the truth of the story will be to ask my son whether +he rescued the prisoner or not. Maurice, did you bind and gag this +excellent trooper?” + +“Yes.” + +“Did you subsequently release Neal Ward from the cellar?” + +“Yes.” + +“Now, Maurice, be careful about your answer to my next question. Did you +take the clothes off Captain Twinely?” + +“Yes.” + +“And was that part of the scheme entirely your own? Did the idea +originate with you or with the prisoner whom you helped to escape?” + +“It was my idea.” + +“I apologise to you, Maurice. I did you an injustice. You have a certain +sense of humour. It is not perhaps of the most refined kind, still you +have, no doubt, provided a joke which will appeal to the officers’ mess +in Belfast, Dublin, and elsewhere; which will be told after dinner in +most houses in the county for many a year to come. And now, General +Clavering, I presume there is no more to be said. I wish you good +morning.” + +“Stop a minute,” said General Clavering, “you cannot seriously suppose +that your son, simply because he is your son, is to be allowed to +interfere with the course of justice?” + +“Of justice?” asked Lord Dunseveric in a tone of mild surprise. + +“With His Majesty’s officers in the execution of their duty--that is, +to release prisoners whom I have condemned--I, the general in command +charged with the suppression of an infamous rebellion. Your son, my +lord, will have to abide the consequences of his acts.” + +“Maurice,” said Lord Dunseveric, “it is evident that you are going to +be hanged. General Clavering is going to hang you. It is really +providential that you didn’t steal his breeches. He would probably have +flogged you first and hanged you afterwards if you had.” + +“Damn your infernal insolence,” broke out General Clavering furiously, +“You think that because you happen to be a lord and own a few dirty +acres of land that you can sit there grinning like an ape and insulting +me. I’ll teach you, my lord, I’ll teach you. By God, I’ll teach you and +every other cursed Irishman to speak civil to an English officer. You +shall know your masters, by the Almighty, before I’ve done with you.” + +Lord Dunseveric rose to his feet. He fixed his eyes on General +Clavering, and spoke slowly and deliberately. + +“I ride at once to Dublin,” he said. “I shall lay an account of your +doings and the doings of your troops before His Majesty’s representative +there. I shall then cross to England, approach my Sovereign and yours, +General Clavering. I shall see that justice is done between you and the +people you have outraged and harried. As to my son, I have work for him +to do. I shall make myself responsible for his appearance before a court +of justice when he is summoned. In the meanwhile, I neither recognise +you as my master nor your will as my law. I appeal to the constitutional +liberties of this kingdom of Ireland and to the right of every citizen +to a fair trial before a jury of his fellow-countrymen. You shall not +arrest, try, or condemn my son otherwise than as the law allows.” + +General Clavering grew purple in the face. He stuttered, cursed, laid +his hand on his sword, and took a step forward. Lord Dunseveric, his +hands behind his back, a sneer of contempt on his face, looked straight +at the furious man in front of him. + +“Do you propose,” he said, “to stab me and then hang my son?” + +This was precisely what General Clavering would have liked to do, but he +dared not. He turned instead on Captain Twinely. + +“Let me tell you, sir, that you’re a damned idiot, an incompetent +officer, a besotted fool, and your men are a lot of cowardly loons. +You had this infernal young rebel safe and you let him go. You not only +allowed him to walk off, but you actually provided him with a suit of +clothes to go in. You’re the cause of all the trouble. Get your troop +to horse. Scour the country for him. Don’t leave a house that you don’t +search, nor a bed that you don’t run your sword through. Don’t leave a +dung-heap without raking it, or a haystack that you don’t scatter. Get +that man back for me, wherever he hides himself, or, by God, I’ll have +you shot for neglect of duty in time of war, and your damned yeomen +buried alive in the same grave with you.” + +The general was still bent on teaching the Irish to know their masters +and making good his boast of reducing them to the tameness of “gelt +cats.” With Captain Twinely, at least, he seemed likely to succeed. + +“I can imagine, Maurice,” said Lord Dun-severic, when they were alone +together again, “that Captain Twinely and his men have at last got a job +to suit them. Sticking swords through old wives feather beds is safer +work than sticking them through rebels. Scattering haystacks will be +pleasanter than scattering pikemen. Raking dung heaps will, I suppose, +be an entirely congenial occupation.” + +His tone changed, He spoke rapidly and seriously. + +“You will ride with me as far as Belfast. From there you must find some +means of communicating with the captain of that Yankee brig of which you +told me. If necessary, go yourself to Glasgow and find the man. Pay him +what he asks and arrange that he lies off Dunseveric and picks up Neal. +You must then go home and see to it yourself that Neal gets safe on +board. It may not be easy, for the yeomen will be after him; but it has +got to be done. I go to Dublin as I said. I shall have some trouble +in settling this business of yours. It really was an audacious +proceeding--your rescue of the prisoner. It will take me all my time +to get it hushed up. Besides, I must use my influence to prevent bad +becoming worse in this unfortunate country of ours. By the way, did you +make any arrangement for the return of Captain Twinely’s uniform when +Neal had finished with it?” + +“No, I never thought of that.” + +“You ought to have thought of it. Poor Captain Twinely looks very odd in +the inn-keeper’s clothes, which do not fit him in the least.” + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +It was obvious to Captain Twinely that Neal Ward’s instinct would be +to make for Dunseveric. He spread the men under his command, and the +members of a couple of corps similar to his own, in bands of five +or six, across a broad belt of country. He arranged what he called +a “drive,” and pushed slowly northward, searching every possible +hiding-place as he went. It seemed to him totally impossible that +Neal could escape. Sooner or later he was sure to come on him, and +then--Captain Twinely chuckled grimly at the thought that he would leave +no chance of a fourth escape. + +This excellently-planned search resulted in the discovery of Captain +Twinely’s clothes, damp and somewhat muddy, in a ditch about a mile out +of the town. It did not end in the capture of the fugitive, because +it was founded on a miscalculation. Neal did not make straight for +Dunseveric. When he got out of the town and changed his clothes he went +to Donegore Hill. M’Cracken and Hope were there with the remains of +their army, and Neal was most anxious to join them. The murder of Peg +MacIlrea had made him so furiously angry that he cared nothing about his +own safety. His escape from Antrim was a matter of satisfaction mainly +because it seemed to afford him another opportunity for fighting. He +neither attempted to weigh the chances of success nor considered the +uselessness of continuing the struggle. He wanted vengeance taken on men +whom he hated, and he wanted to have some share himself in taking it. + +He found the roads round Donegore Hill guarded by sentries. The camp +on the top of the old rath had all the appearance of being held by +disciplined troops. There was little sign of the disorganisation and +panic which often follow defeat. The men were calm, self-possessed, and +reasonable, but they were hopeless. Neal realised that this army, at +least, would do no more serious fighting. The men were anxious to make +terms for themselves and for their leaders. They were perfectly well +aware that they were beaten, and could not expect to make any head +against their enemies. + +Neal found James Hope, and was warmly greeted by him. + +“When I discovered that we’d left you behind,” said Hope, “I made up +my mind that you must have been shot down along with your uncle and the +fine fellows who made a stand with him. Ah, Neal, we’ve lost many--your +uncle, Felix Marier, poor Moylin, and many another. One killed here, +another there, but all of them in doing their duty. But we mustn’t talk +of these things, lad. Tell me, what brings you here?” + +“Need you ask?” said Neal. “I am come to fight it out to the last.” + +“Take my advice and slip off home. There’s no good to be done by +stopping with us. Things are desperate. Most of our people are going +home to-day. M’Cracken and a handful--not more than a hundred--are going +to Slievemis in the hope of being able to join Monro in County Down, or +perhaps to get through to the Wexford men.” + +“I will go with you.” + +“No, no, lad, you’ve done enough. You’ve done a man’s part. Go home +now.” + +“What are you going to do?” + +“I? Oh, I’m only a poor weaver. It doesn’t matter what I do. I’m going +on with M’Cracken.” + +“So am I. Listen to me, James Hope, till I tell you what is in my +mind--till I tell you what has happened to me since yesterday.” + +They sat on the grassy slope of the old rath. The wide plain stretched +before them--green, well wooded, beautiful. There lay Adair’s +plantations, the Six Mile Water winding like a serpent among the fields, +the woods of Castle Upton, and the young trees on Lyle Hill, with the +distant water of Lough Neagh glistening in the sunlight. Nearer at hand +thatched farmhouses smoked, signs that the yeomen were enjoying the +fruits of victory. Hope pointed to Farranshane, where William Orr’s +house was burning--a witness to a malignity so bitter that it wreaked +the vengeance from which the dead man was safe on his widow and his +orphans. + +Neal told his story, and spoke of the passionate desire for revenge +which burned in him. Hope listened patiently to every word. Then he +spoke. + +“If I were to tell you now, Neal, as I told you once before, that +vengeance belongeth only unto the Lord, you would turn away and listen +to me no more. Therefore, I shall not speak to you in that way at all, +or appeal to those higher feelings which the great God has planted +in the breasts of even the humblest of His servants. I will, instead, +appeal to that which is lower and smaller than the religion of Christ, +and which yet may be in its way a noble thing. I will speak to you as to +a man of honour. I am not fond of the title of gentleman, but I think I +know what is meant by honour. Sometimes it is no more than a fantastic +image bred of prejudice and pride; but sometimes it is high and holy, +next to God. I think, Neal, that you would like to reckon yourself a man +of honour.” + +Already James Hope’s words were producing an effect on Neal’s mind. The +extreme bitterness of his passion was dying away from him. + +“You are right,” he said, “I wish to act always as a man of honour, but +my honour is engaged----” + +“That is not what you said before. Before, you spoke of revenge and not +of honour. But let that pass. I will try to show you, as a truly noble +man would, as your friend, Lord Dunseveric, would if he were here to +advise you, how your honour really binds you. You were rescued from +your imprisonment last night and from death this morning by your friend, +Maurice St. Clair, and he bid you go home. He set you free in order that +you might go home. I think he would not have done what he did unless he +had believed that you would go home. You are in honour bound to him. You +are in reality still a prisoner--a prisoner released on parole, although +no formal promise was required of you. Do you understand what I mean?” + +“Yes, I understand; but you are advising me to do a cowardly thing--to +desert you, whom I reckon my friend, in the time of your extremity.” + +“Maurice St. Clair was your friend before I was, Neal. You are bound to +him by earlier ties. Besides, he has given you your life.” + +“But he is in no danger.” + +“I am not sure of that. If it is discovered that he let you go last +night he will surely suffer for it. They have hanged men for less, and +imprisoned or exiled others.” + +“Oh,” said Neal, “I could find it in my heart to wish they would hang +Maurice. Hope, you know many men and many things, but you don’t know +Lord Dunseveric. Why, man, if they hanged Maurice the old lord would +hang them--he would hang them in batches of a score at a time. If any +escaped him he would wait for them till the resurrection morning. He +would meet them as they stepped out of their graves and hang them then. +He would hang them if there wasn’t another tree in the whole universe to +put the rope round except the tree of life which stands by the river in +the New Jerusalem.” + +He laughed exultingly. Hope looked at him with pitying tenderness. He +understood the hysterical passion which had dragged such words from him. + +“I am glad,” he said, “that your friend is in no great danger, but that +does not alter the truth of what I say. You are his prisoner, released +on your parole, and you must present yourself to him when he calls for +you at Dunseveric. Besides, Neal, you owe a duty to your father and to +those at home who love you. For their sakes you must not throw your life +away.” + +The anger died out of Neal’s heart. This last appeal left him with no +feeling but tenderness. He thought of his father, a lone man, waiting +for news of him, of Donald, of the battle, and the cause. He thought of +Una St. Clair and the ever-new marvel of the love that she had confessed +to him. Still he hesitated. Brought up in the stern faith of the +Puritans, he believed that because a thing offered a prospect of great +delight it must somehow be wrong. The longing to see Una again came +on him, sweeping over all other thought and emotion as the flowing +spring-tide in late September sweeps over the broad sands of the +northern coast. To see her, to hear her, to touch her, perhaps to kiss +her again, was the one thing supremely desirable in life. Therefore, he +felt instinctively that it must be a tempter’s voice which showed him +the way to the fulfilment of such desire. + +“Are you sure,” he asked, “that you are not, out of love for me, +advising me to do wrong?” + +“I am sure,” said Hope. + +Afterwards they talked of how Neal might best accomplish his journey to +Dunseveric. It was clear to Hope, as it had been to Maurice St. Clair, +that the main roads must be avoided, and that all travelling must be +done by night; but it was not very easy to go through an unknown country +by night, and until Neal got as far as Ballymoney he could not be sure +of being able to find his way. + +“I might manage it,” he said, “if I could keep to the main road. I have +travelled it once and I think I should not miss it even at night, but +how am I to get along lanes and across fields which I have never seen +without losing myself?” + +“Ah,” said Hope, “that is a difficulty, and yet there is a way out of +it. Phelim, the blind piper, is with us here. God knows how he got safe +from the battle yesterday, and found his way to us. He will be no use to +us any more, only a hindrance. We shall not march to battle again with +our pipes playing and our colours flying. I think I shall be able to +persuade him to act as your guide. The blind leading the ignorant, eh, +Neal? But Phelim knows every lane and path in the country. How he does +I don’t know. Perhaps some new sense is developed in the blind. +Anyway, night and day are alike to him. If he takes you as far as the +neighbourhood of Ballymoney you’ll be able to find the rest of the way +afterwards yourself.” + +That night, while M’Cracken marched the remnant of his army to +Slievemis, Neal and blind Phelim set off on their journey north. They +travelled safely in the rear of the yeomen who were searching the +country side. Neal lay hid all one day in a little wood while +Phelim, who seemed to want little rest and no sleep, wandered in the +neighbourhood and brought back tidings of the doings of the yeomen who +had passed. Before daybreak the next morning Neal left his guide behind +him and made his way to the sandhills near Port Ballin-trae. He lay in a +hollow near the mouth of the river Bush. He understood from what Phelim +had told him that Captain Twinely and his men had pushed northwards in +pursuit of him, and that he had followed in their tracks. He realised +that there must be a large force gathered in Bushmills and Ballintoy, +and that the whole country would be scoured to find him. Therefore, +though he was within a few miles of his home, he dare not stir in the +daytime. He lay in his sandy hollow through the long hot day, with the +sound of the sea in his ears. He slept for an hour or two now and then. +Once he crept among the dunes to a place where a little stream trickled +down, in order to get a drink, but he did not venture to stay beside +the stream. For some time he amused himself by plaiting the spiked grass +into stiff green rods, and then, from a razor shell which he found in +his hollow, he fashioned pike heads for the ends of the rods. Afterwards +he picked all the yellow crow-toes within reach, and the broad mauve +flowers of the wild convolvulus. He set them out in gay beds, like +flowers growing in gardens, and edged them round with borders of wild +thyme. Then, with great labour, he collected forty or fifty snail shells +and laid them in rows, making each row consist only of those like each +other in colouring. He had lines of dark brown shells, of pale yellow, +and of striped shells. These again he subdivided according to the width +and number of their stripes. Once he ventured to creep to a place from +which he could watch the sea. He saw that the tide was flowing. Below +him on the strand were a number of seagulls, strutting, fluttering, +shrieking, splashing with wing-tips and feet in the oncoming waves. He +supposed that the young fry of some fish must have drifted shorewards, +and that the birds were feasting on them. Then’, at the far end of the +bay, he saw men’s figures moving, near the Black Rock, among the boats +hauled up on the shore in the creek from which he and Maurice and Una +had set out to fish on Rackle Roy. A dread seized him that these might +be yeomen. Since he had come within reach of home, since he had seen and +heard the sea, since he had breathed the familiar salt-laden air, his +courage had left him. He felt a very coward, desperately anxious not to +be caught and dragged back again to the horror of death. He wanted to +live now that he was back at home and almost within reach of Una. +He eyed the distant figures anxiously, and then crept back and lay +trembling in his hollow among his ordered snail-shells and the flowers, +already withered, which he had plucked and planted in the sand. + +At last the sun set. Neal waited for an hour while the June twilight +slowly faded. He watched the sandhills round his lair turn from bright +yellow to grey, watched them while they seemed in the fading light to +grow loftier, and assume a weird majesty which was not their’s in +the daytime. The objects near at hand, the faded flowers, and the +snail-shells, and the rods of woven bent, lost their bright colours and +became almost invisible. The eternal roaring of the sea seemed to be +subdued, as if even it felt awed by the stillness of the June night. +The sand on which he lay was damped with dew. Only the sharp cry of the +corncrake broke the solemnity of the night. + +He rose, and, peering anxiously before him as each fresh stretch of his +way became visible, crossed the sandhills. Avoiding the stepping-stones +and the regular crossing-place, he waded through the brook which ran +gurgling between the sandhills and the rough track beyond them. He +crossed it, and, skirting the rear of a cottage, reached the top of the +Runkerry cliffs. Far below him the sea rushed, white-lipped, against the +rocks. The tide was almost full. The scene was as it had been ten days +ago, ten years ago, a whole lifetime ago, when he walked this same way +with Donald Ward. Still keeping close to the sea, he avoided the high +road near the Causeway, plodded along the stony track past the Rocking +Stone and the Wishing Well, climbed the Shepherd’s Path, and once more +walked along the verge of the cliff above Port na Spaniard and the Horse +Shoe Bay and Pleaskin Head. He reached Port Moon, and saw far below +him the glimmer of a light in the rude shelter where fishermen lodge in +summer time. Avoiding the farmhouse near him on his right, and the lane +which led past it to the high road, he went on, clinging close to the +sea as if for safety. He rested a while in the shelter of the ruins of +Dun-severic Castle, and then went on till his feet were stumbling among +the graves of Templeastra, where the dust of his mother lay. It was dark +now. He guessed that he must have been an hour and a half on his way. He +came close to the manse--his home. Below him lay Ballintoy Strand, with +its sentinel white rocks which keep eternal watch against invading seas. +Between him and his home there was the road to cross and the meadow to +wade through. It must, as he guessed, be eleven o’clock. His father +and Hannah Macaulay would be in bed. He would have to rouse them with +cautious tapping upon window panes. + +He reached the back of the house at last, and saw, to his amazement, +that a light burned in the kitchen, and that the door stood wide open. +A dread seized him. Perhaps the house was occupied by soldiers. For a +moment he thought of turning back again to the sea and the cliffs. But +he wanted food, and it was absolutely necessary for him to communicate +with some one. His plan was to lie hid in the Pigeon Cave, but he must +have food brought to him day by day, and he must let his father or +Hannah know where he was going. + +Very cautiously he crept forward and peered through the window. There +was a candle in its tall iron stand on the floor, and the peat fire +burned brightly on the hearth. A row of brass candlesticks were on the +mantel-board. Hannah Macaulay sat on a chair near the door knitting. The +room, he saw, was neat and orderly as ever. + +The lids of the pots and the metal dish-covers gleamed from the nails +on which they hung round the walls. The pewter plates, bronze jugs, +and upturned noggins stood in shining rows on the dresser shelves. Neal +waited. Not a sound reached him from the house. He took courage and +slipped through the open door. + +“Is that you yoursel’, Master Neal?” said Hannah, quietly, “I ha’ your +supper ready for ye. I was sitting up for you. You’re late the night.” + +She rose from her seat and, without a sign of surprise or excitement, +closed the door and bolted it. + +“Hannah, how is it that you are expecting me? You can’t have known that +I was coming. How did you know?” + +Hannah took plates from the dresser and food from the cupboard while she +answered him. + +“Master Maurice’s groom, the lad they call James, rode in from Antrim +the day afore yesterday with a note for Miss Una ower by. She tellt +me that you’d be coming and that it was more nor like you’d travel by +night. I’ve had your supper ready, and I’ve sat waiting for you these +two nights, I knew rightly that it was here you’d come first.” + +“Where is my father?” + +“He’s gone, Master Neal. The sojers came and took him, but he bid me +tell you not to be afeard or taking on about him. He was thinking they’d +send him across the sea, maybe to Scotland, he said, but they wouldna +hurt him. So eat your bit and take your sup, my bairn. You must be sore +troubled with the hunger. How ever did ye thole?” + +“I have your bed ready for you,” she said as Neal ate, “and it’s in it +you ought to be by right. I’m thinking it’s more than yin night since ye +hae lain atween the sheets, judging by the looks of ye.” + +“It’s five, Hannah, and it will be twice five more before I sleep in a +bed again. I dare not stay here.” + +“Thon’s what Miss Una said. But, faith, if it’s the yeomen you’re afeard +of, I’ll no let them near you.” + +“I daren’t, Hannah; I daren’t do it. I must away to-night and lie in the +Pigeon Cave. I’ll be safe there, and you must manage somehow to get food +to me.” + +“Is it me that you look to be climbing down them sliddery rocks and +swimming intil the cold sea among your caves and hiding holes? I’m too +old for the like, but there’s a lassie with bonny brown eyes that’ll do +that and more for ye. Don’t you be afeard, Master Neal. She’d climb +the Causey chimney pots and take the silver sixpence off the top if +she thought you were wanting it. Ay, or swim intil them caves, that God +Almighty never meant for man nor maid to enter, and if were waiting for +her at the hinder end of one of them. She’s been here an odd time or twa +since ever she got the letter that the groom lad fetched. I’ve seen the +glint in her eyes at the sound o’ your name, and the red go out of her +cheek at word of them dratted yeos, bad scran to them! I’m no so old +yet, but I mind weel how a young lassie feels for the lad she’s after. +Ay, my bairn, it’s all yin, gentle or simple, lord’s daughter or +beggar’s wench, when the love of a lad has got the grip o’ them. And +there was yin with her--the foreign lady with the lang name. For all +that she mocks and fleers as if there was nothing in the wide world but +play-actin’ and gagin’ about. Faith, she’s an artist, but she might be +more help than Miss Una herself if it came to a pinch. She’s a cunning +one, that. I’m thinking that she’s no unlike the serpent that’s more +subtle than any beast of the field. She has a way of glowerin’ a body +and giving a bit of a girn to her mouth. Man or woman or red-coated +sojer itself, they’d need to be up gey an’ early that would get the +better o’ her. A bird might be lang afore it could find time to build a +nest in her ear, so it might. Eh! but, my poor lad, it’s a sorry thing +to think of ye lyin’ the night through among the hard stones and me in +my warm bed. Eh! but it grieves me sore---- whisht, boy, what’s thon?” + +Hannah started to her feet. Hand to ear, lips parted, with eager eyes +and head bent forward she listened. + +“It’s the tread of horses; they’re coming up the loany.” + +“I must run for it,” said Neal, “let me out of the door, Hannah.” + +“Bide now, bide a wee, they’d see you if you went through the door.” + +She put out the lamp as she spoke. + +“Do you slip through to the master’s room and open the window. Go canny +now, and make no noise. Get through and off with ye into your cave as +hard as ever you can lift a foot, I’ll cap them at the door, lad. I’m +the woman can do it. Faith and I’ll sort them, be they who it may, so as +they’ll no be in too great a hurry to come ridin’ to this house again, +the black-hearted villains. But I’ll learn them manners or I’m done wi’ +them else my name’s no Hannah Macaulay.” + +Neal, as he slipped silently from the room, was aware that Hannah +meditated a vigorous attack upon her midnight visitors. She took the +long kitchen poker in her hand, shook it with a grim smile, and thrust +the end of it into the heart of the fire. + +There was a knock at the door. Hannah, standing in a corner of the room, +and hidden from any one looking in through the window, neither spoke nor +stirred. The knocking was repeated, and again repeated. Hannah remained +silent. + +“Open the door,” shouted a voice from without, “open the door at once.” + +Still there was no reply. + +“We know you’re within, Hannah Macaulay, we saw the light before you put +it out. Open to us, or we’ll batter in the door, and then it will be the +worse for you.” + +“And who may be you that come knocking and banging the door of a dacent +house at this time o’ night, making a hullabaloo fit for to wake the +dead; and it the blessed Sabbath too?” + +“Sabbath be damned; it’s Thursday night.” + +“Is it, then, is it? There’s them that wouldn’t know if it was Monday +nor Tuesday, nor yet Wednesday, nor the blessed Sabbath day itself, and, +what’s more, wouldn’t care if they did know. That just shows what like +lads you are. Away home out o’ this to your beds, if so be that you have +any beds to go to.” + +In fact the men outside were perfectly right. The day was Thursday, +though it neared Friday. The Sabbath was a long way off yet, as Hannah +knew quite well. + +“You doited old hag, open the door.” + +“I’m a lone widow woman,” said Hannah, plaintively, “I canna be letting +the likes of ye in and me in my bed. It wouldna be dacent if I did. +Where’d my good name be if I did the like and me not know ye?” + +A savage kick at the door shook it on its hinges. + +“Bide quiet, now,” said Hannah, “and tell me who ye are afore I open +to you. Would you have me let robbers intil the house, and the master +awa’?” + +“We’re men of the Killulta yeomanry, we’re here to search the house by +order of Captain Twinely. Open in the King’s name.” + +“Why couldn’t ye have tellt me that afore? There isn’t a woman living +has as much respect for the King as mysel’. Wait now, wait till I slip +on my petticoat. You wouldna have a woman come to the door to you in her +shift, would ye?” + +There was a long pause--too long for the yeomen outside. Another kick, +and then another, shook the door. Hannah went over to it and began to +fumble with the bolt. + +“I’m afeard,” she said, “that the lock’s hampered.” + +“I’ll soon cure that; stand clear of the keyhole till I fire.” + +“For the Lord’s sake, man, dinna be shootin’ aff your guns, I canna +abide the sound o’ the like. It dizzens me. Dinna be hasty, fair and +easy goes far in the day. Who is it you said you were?” + +“The yeomen, you deaf old hag.” + +“The yeomen, God bless us, the yeomen. That’s the kind of lads that +dresses themselves up braw in sojers’ coats and then, when there’s any +fighting going on, let’s the real sojers do it, and they stand and look +round to see the gommerels admiring them. Faith I’ll let you in. There’s +no call even for a hirplin ould woman with one foot in the grave and the +ither out of it to be afeard of the likes of you.” + +Hannah Macaulay’s description of her bodily condition erred on the +side of self-depreciation. The one foot which remained out of the grave +carried her across the kitchen floor with remarkable speed. She took the +poker now red, almost white, hot at the end, darted back to the door, +and flung it open. With a wild whoop she rushed at the two yeomen who +stood on the threshold. There were other yells besides her’s, a smell +of burning cloth and singed flesh, a hurried treading of feet, and a +clattering of the hoofs of frightened horses. Hannah sent into the night +a peal of derisive laughter, and then turned into the house and shut the +door. + +“I said I’d sort them,” she chuckled, “and I’ve sorted them rightly. Yin +o’ them will carry a mark on his mug to the day of his death, and lucky +if he hasn’t lost the sight of an eye. There’ll be a hole in the breeks +of the other that’ll tak a quare width of cloth to make a patch for +it. And, what’s more, thon man’ll no sit easy on his horse for a bit. +They’ll not be for chasing Master Neal the night any way. But, faith, +this house will be no place for me the morrow. I’ll just tak my wee bit +duds under my arm and away with me up to Dunseveric House. Miss Una’ll +take me in when she hears the tale I ha’ to tell. I’d like to see the +yeos or the sojers either that would fetch me out of the ould lord’s +kitchen. If they tak to ravishing and rieving the master’s plenishins I +canna help it. Better a ravished house nor a murdered woman.” + +Neal got out of the window, and once more crossed the meadow. He lay for +a minute in the ditch beside the road listening intently. He feared that +he might have been tracked home, that the house might be surrounded, and +that escape might be difficult or impossible. But there was no sound +of any sort on the road--neither voices of men, treading of horses, or +jangling of accoutrements. Evidently the men at the door of the manse +were no more than a patrol. They were entering the house out of wanton +desire to annoy Hannah Macaulay or on the chance of discovering there +something which might give them a clue--not because they actually +suspected that he was within. He heard the crash of the first kick on +the door, rose from the ditch, crossed the road, and took to the edge of +the cliffs again. He walked quickly, frightened and shaken. He started +into a breathless run when Hannah’s battle whoop reached him on the +still air. He heard distinctly the men’s shrieks, and even the noise of +the runaway horses galloping on the hard road. He went the faster--a mad +terror driving him. + +He passed Port Moon again, crossed the majestic brow of Pleaskin Head, +skirted the Causeway, and reached the Runkerry cliffs. He went more +slowly, ceased running, sat down, drawing deep laboured breaths. The +food he ate in the manse had strengthened him. The assurance of the care +and watchfulness of his friends cheered him, but his mind was like that +of a hunted animal. He had no courage left, nothing but an overmastering +desire to hide himself. + +He rose, and went on again, reached the cliff above the Rock Pigeons’ +Cave, and found the place where descent to the sea was possible. There +was no path, just a precipitous grass slope, and then steep rocks, and +below them the dark, moaning sea. A timid man might shrink from the +climb in daylight, a bold man would be rash to attempt it at night, but +of this short, slippery grass and these sharp rocks Neal had no fear at +all. He knew them all too well to fear them. He let himself slide down, +sure of the resting-place his feet would find. With firm hand-grips and +confident steps he descended from rock to rock until he stood at last +on a flat shelf, a foot or two above the sea. He saw the long channel, +rock-bounded, narrow, dark, along which he and Maurice had piloted +their boat. He saw beyond it the mouth of the cave--a space of actual +blackness on the gloomy face of the cliff. He heard the water drop from +the roof into the sea with heavy splashes. At his feet the long swell +writhed between the walls of rock, reached up black lips and drew them +down again with hollow, sobbing sound. From the extreme darkness of the +cave came the dull moaning of the ocean, as of some inarticulate monster +bowed with everlasting woe. A swim through this cold, lonely water, +between the smooth walls which rose higher and higher on either side, +into the impenetrable gloom of the echoing cavern and on to the extreme +end of it, was horrible to contemplate. But for Neal there were worse +horrors behind. His cowardice made him brave. He stripped and stood +shivering, though the night air was warm enough. He wrapped his clothes +into a bundle and, with his neck scarf, bound them firmly on his head. +He slipped without a splash into the water and struck out towards the +mouth of the cave. + +The dull swell lifted him on its breast and drew him down again as if to +wrap him with huge cold hands. An undertow of receding water pulled him +to the rocks and he touched them with his hands. He reached the mouth of +the cave, and felt the splash of the drops which fell from it. He moved +very cautiously, fearing to strike suddenly on the sunken rocks. He felt +for them with his feet, reached them, stood upright waist-deep. Then, +with cold limbs and a numb terror in his heart, he plunged forward +again into the deep water within the cave. He swam on, with set teeth, +close-pressed lips, and eyes strained to see a foot in front of him into +the blackness. Once he turned and looked back. Through the mouth of the +cave he saw the dim grey of the June night--a framed space of sky which +was not actually black. He felt as if he were looking his last at the +familiar world of living things--as if he were on his way to some gloomy +other world of moaning, forlorn spirits, of desolate, disappointed +loves, of weary, spent souls floating aimlessly on chill, unfathomable +sorrow. He swam on, and heard at last the splash of the waves on the +shore. His feet touched bottom. He slipped and slid among large slimy +stones, worn incredibly smooth by their age-long washing in this sunless +place. He struggled forward breast-deep, waist-deep, knee-deep, in the +black water. He reached dry ground, crawled upwards till he felt the +boulders no longer damp, and knew that he lay above the reach of the +tide. He unbound the bundle from his head, clothed himself, and felt +the blood steal warm through his limbs again. He staggered further up, +groped his way to the side of the cave, as if the touch of solid rock +would give him some sense of companionship. Then, like a benediction +from the God who watched over him, sleep came. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +The next morning broke cloudless. As the day advanced the sun grew hot. +The land at noon seemed to gasp for breath. The sea lay glowing in the +light; the waves broke in slow rhythm on the sand and rocks, as if the +warmth had imposed even on the Atlantic a mood of luxurious laziness. + +Una St. Clair and the Comtesse de Tourneville, attended by Hannah +Macaulay, walked shorewards from Dunseveric House. It appeared that +they were going to bathe, for they carried bundles of white sheets and +coloured garments, large bundles well wrapped together and strapped. +Hannah Macaulay had, besides, a little raft made of the flat corks which +fishermen use to mark the places where their lobster pots are sunk and +to float the tops of salmon nets. It seemed as if one of the party were +no great swimmer, and did not mean to venture into deep water without +something to which to cling. + +A hundred yards from the gate were two yeomen on horseback. The Comtesse +greeted them cheerfully as she passed. The men followed the ladies along +the road. + +“What are we to do?” said Una, “they mean to watch us.” + +“Perhaps not,” said the Comtesse, “let us make sure.” + +She motioned Una to stop, and sat down on the bank on the roadside. The +men halted and waited also. It became obvious that they intended to keep +the ladies in view. + +“This is abominable,” said Una. “How dare they follow us when we are +going to bathe?” + +“My dear,” said the Comtesse, laughing, “they very likely think that we +are not going to bathe. So far as I am concerned, their suspicions are +quite just. I am certainly not going to undress on a nasty rock which +would cut my feet, and then go into cold salt water to have my toes +nipped by crabs and lobsters. The worthy Hannah is not going to bathe +either. She has too much good sense. Even these stupid yeomen must guess +that we are carrying something else besides towels.” + +“But I am going to bathe,” said Una, “and it is intolerable that I +should be spied upon and watched.” + +The Comtesse rose and approached the men. + +“Where is Captain Twinely this morning?” she asked, smiling. + +“Here he is, coming along the road forninst you, Miss.” + +The man spoke civilly enough. It was natural to be civil to the Comtesse +when she smiled. She had fine eyes, and was not too proud to use them in +a very delightful manner even when the man before her was no more than a +trooper in a company of yeomen. + +“So he is!” she said. “And my good gentleman trooper, how nice your +manners are. I am, alas! no longer ‘Miss,’ though it pleases you to +flatter me. I am ‘Madam,’ a widow, quite an old woman.” + +She left him and hurried forward to greet Captain Twinely. + +“I am charmed to meet you, Captain Twinely. But why have you never +been up to call on us? We hear that you have been two whole days in our +neighbourhood and not even once have you come to see us. How rude and +unkind you are. I would not have believed it of you. But perhaps you +have been very busy chasing the odious rebels and had no time to visit +us poor ladies.” + +“I didn’t think I was wanted at Dunseveric House, my lady,” said the +captain. + +Like his trooper, he was aware that the Comtesse smiled at him, and that +she had beautiful eyes. + +“I will not take that as an excuse,” she said. “Surely you must know, +Captain Twinely, that we are two lonely women, that my lord and my +nephew are away. You must have guessed that we should suffer, ah, so +terribly, from ‘ennui’. Is it not the first duty of an officer to +pay his respects to the ladies and to amuse them, especially in this +terrible country where it is only the military men who have any manners +at all?” + +Captain Twinely was delighted and embarrassed. He wished that he had +brushed his uniform more carefully in the morning, and that he had not +been too lazy to shave. He would gladly have been looking his best now +that the eyes of this elegant lady of title and fashion were on him. + +“I am at your ladyship’s service,” he murmured. + +“Now that is really kind of you. Please get down from your horse. How +can I talk to you when you are so high above me?” + +The captain dismounted and gave his horse to one of the troopers. The +Comtesse laid her hand on his arm and smiled at him. + +“We have a little _fête_ planned for to-day,” she said. “We are going to +have a pic-nic by the sea. Will you not join us. It will be so kind of +you. My niece wishes also to bathe. But I--I am not very anxious to go +into the sea. Perhaps you and I might wait for her in some pleasant spot +and prepare the pic-nic while she and her maid go to the bathing-place. +What do you say, captain?” + +“I shall be delighted,” he said, “quite delighted.” + +Captain Twinely had never before been so smiled on by a pretty +woman. Never before had such fine eyes looked into his with such an +unmistakable challenge to flirtation. He was almost certain that he felt +the Comtesse’s hand press his arm slightly. He grew pink in the face +with pleasure. + +“We must tell my niece.” + +She leaned towards Captain Twinely and whispered in his ear. Her breath +touched his cheek. The delicate, faint scent of her clothes reached him. + +A confidence, entailing the close proximity of this desirable lady, was +an unlooked-for delight. + +“My dear niece is very young--a mere child, you understand me, unformed, +gauche, what you call shy. You will make excuse for her want of manner.” + +The apology was necessary. In Una’s face, if he had eyes for it at all, +Captain Twinely might have seen something more than shyness. There was +an expression of loathing on the girl’s lips and in her eyes when he +stepped up to her, hat in hand. + +“Una,” said the Comtesse, “the dear captain will take pity on us. He +will send one of his men back to the house to fetch a cold chicken and +some wine--and all the delightful things we are to eat and drink. Give +him a note to the butler, Una, we will go on with Captain Twinely.” + +Una, puzzled, but obedient to a quick glance from her aunt, wrote +the note. The troopers, leading Captain Twinely’s horse, rode back to +Dunseveric House. The Comtesse, still leaning on the captain’s arm, +picked up her bundle of bathing clothes. + +“Allow me to carry that for you,” said the captain, “allow me to carry +all the bundles.” + +“Oh, but no. Have we got a cavalier with such trouble and shall we turn +him into a beast of burden, a--how do you say it?--a baggage ass? The +good Hannah will carry my bundle.’” + +The good Hannah became a baggage animal, but she was not an ass. She +was, indeed, struggling with suppressed mirth. She was confirmed in her +opinion that the Comtesse possessed a subtlety not unlike that of the +serpent in Eden. + +The Comtesse led the way, chatting to Captain Twinely, saying things +more charmingly provocative than any which poor Twinely had ever heard +from a woman’s lips. Her eyes flashed on him, drooped before his gaze, +sought his again with shy suggestiveness. She even succeeded, when his +glance grew very bold, in blushing. They reached the little cove where +Maurice’s boat lay. + +The Comtesse sat down, and then lolled back on the short grass. Her +motions and her attitudes were the most easy and natural possible, yet +her pose was charming. There was not a fold of her skirt but fell round +her gracefully. From the challenging smile on her lips to the point of +the little shoe which peeped out beneath her petticoat, there came an +invitation to Captain Twinely--a suggestion that he, too, should sit +gracefully on the grass. + +“Now, Una,” she said, “go and have your bathe, if you must do anything +so foolish. We will wait for you here, the captain will amuse me till +you return. Kiss me, child, before you go.” + +Una bent over her. + +“I’ll keep him,” whispered the Comtesse, “I’ll keep him, even if I have +to allow the animal to embrace me. But, dear Una, do not be very long.” + +Una sped away. Hannah, heavily laden, and laughing now outright, +followed her. + +“I never seen the like,” she said. “Didn’t I say to Master Neal last +night that she was an early one? Eh, Miss Una, did you no take notice of +the eyes of her? She’d wile the fishes out of the sea, or a bird off a +bush, so she would, just by looking sweet at them. It’s queer manners +they have where she comes from. I’m thinking that silly gowk of a +captain’s no the first man she’s beguiled. I was counted a braw lass +myself in me day, and one that could twine a lad round my thumb as fine +as any, but I couldna have done thon, Miss Una.” + +Una gave a little shudder of disgust. + +“How could she bear to? How could she touch such a man?” + +“Ay, I was wondering that myself, her that’s so high falutin’ in her +ways, and no like a common lassie. Not but what thon captain’s a clever +enough cut of a man for them as thinks of nothing but a clean figure and +a good leg. He’s no that ill-looking; but, eh, there’s a glint in his +eye I wouldna trust. I pity the lassie that loves him. But there’s no +fear of thon lady falling into sic a snare. She can mine herself well, +I’m thinkin’.” + +They reached the cliff above the Pigeon Cave, and Una began her downward +climb. Hannah stared at her in horror. + +“Mind yourself, Miss Una. You’re never going down there, are ye? And +you expect me to break my old bones going after you, do ye? Faith and +I willna avaw, I’d rather be back rolling my eyes at the captain and +letting on to him that I wanted a kiss than go down yon cliff.” + +“Come,” said Una, “it looks worse than it is. Come, Hannah, you must +come. Would you have the poor boy starve in the cave?” + +The appeal was too strong to be resisted. Hannah, with much grumbling, +climbed down. Una carried the bundles one by one to the shelf of rock +from which Neal had slipped into the dark water the night before. She +took the straps from them, and unwound the sheets and bathing clothes. +Within was store of food--parcels of oatcake, baps, cold meat, butter, +cheese, a bottle of wine, a flask of whisky and water, a package of +candles. She had determined that Neal should feast royally in his +hiding-place, and that he should not sit in the dark, though he had to +sit alone. She floated the raft of corks, and very carefully loaded it +with her good things. Then, with a piece of cord, she moored it to the +rock. + +“Are ye no afeard, Miss Una?” said Hannah. “Eh, but it’s well to be +young and strong, I wouldna go in there, not for all the gold and silver +and the spices that King Solomon gave to the Queen of Sheba. I wouldna +go in a boat, let alone swimming. Miss Una, could you no shout, and let +him come for the food himself?” + +Una looked at her with a wondering reproach in her eyes. + +“Am I the only one that’s to do nothing for him? Didn’t Maurice get him +free in the town of Antrim? Didn’t you chase the yeomen from him last +night? Isn’t Aunt Estelle sitting with that Captain Twinely now? And may +I not do something, too? I think mine’s the easiest thing of the four.” + +“You’re a venturesome lassie, so you are. I dinna like the looks of thon +water. It’s over green for me, so it is. I can see right down to the +bottom of it, and that’s no natural in the sea, and it so deep, too. And +thon cave, Miss Una, with the smooth, red, clampy sides to it. What call +has the rocks to be red? I’m thinking when God made the rocks black, +and maybe white, it’s black and white he meant them to be and no red. I +wouldna say but what there’s something no just canny about a cave with +red sides to it higher than a man can stretch. Eh, but you’ve the chiney +white feet, Miss Una. Mind now you dinna scrab them on the wee shells. +Bide now, bide like a good lassie, till I spread the sheet for you to +tread on. You will no be for going right intil the cave? Would it no +do you to shout when you got to the mouth of it? I dinna like that cave +with the red sides till it. I’m thinking maybe there was red sides to +the cave where the witch of Endor dweft. Are you no sure that there isna +something of that kind, something no right in the gloom beyond there?” + +“Neal’s in it,” said Una, “what’s to frighten me?” + +“Ay, sure enough, he’s there, the poor bairn. Lord save us, and keep +us! The lassie’s intil the water, and it up ower her head, and she’s +drownded. No, but she’s up again, and she’s swimmin’ along like as if +she was a sea maiden with hair all wet. Eh, but she swims fine, and +she’s gotten hold of the wee boatie wi’ the laddie’s dinner on it. Look +at the white arms of her moving through the water, they’re like the +salmon fish slithering along when the net is pulled in. She’s bonny, so +she is. See till her now! See till her if she hasna lighted on some kind +of a rock. She’s standing up on it, and the sea no more than up to the +knees of her. The water is running off her, and she’s shaking herself +like a wee dog. She doesna mind it. She’s waving her hand to me and her +in the very mouth of thon awful cave. Mine yourself, Miss Una, take heed +now, like a good lass. Dinna go further, you’re far enough. Bide where +you are, and shout till him. Lord save us, she’s off again, and the wee +boatie in front of her. I’ve known a wheen o’ lassies in my time that +would do queer things for the lads they had their hearts set on, but +ne’er a one as venturesome as her. I’m thinking Master Neal himself +would look twice e’er he swam into thon dark hole. Eh, poor laddie, but +there’ll be light in his eyes when he sees the white glint of her coming +till him where he’s no expecting her or the like of her.” + +Indeed, Una was not so brave as she seemed. Her heart beat quicker as +she struck out into the gloom of the cave. The water was colder, or +seemed colder, than it had been outside. The splashing of drops from +the roof, and the echoing noise of the sea’s wash awed her. She felt a +tightening in her throat. She swam with faster and faster strokes. The +sides of the cave loomed huge about her. The roof seemed immensely, +remotely, high. The water was dark now. It was a solemn thing to swim +through it. She began to wonder how far it was to the end of the cave. +A sudden terror seized her. Suppose, after all, that Neal was not in +the cave, suppose that she was swimming in this awful place alone. She +shouted aloud-- + +“Neal, Neal, Neal Ward, are you there?” + +The cave echoed her cries. A thousand repetitions of the name she had +shouted came to her from above, from behind, from right, from left. The +rocks flung her words to each other, bandied them to and fro, turned +them into ridicule, turned them into thundering sounds of terror, turned +them into shrill shrieks. The frightened pigeons flew from their rocky +perches; their wings set new echoes going. Una swam forward, and, +reckless with fright now, shouted again. She heard some one rushing down +to meet her from the remote depths of the cave. The great stones rolled +and crashed under his feet with a noise like the firing of guns. Then, +amid a babel of echoes, came a shout answering her’s. + +“I’m coming to you, Una.” + +She felt the bottom with her feet. She stood upright. At the sound +of Neal’s voice all her fears vanished. She could see him now. He was +stumbling down over the slippery stones which the ebb tide left bare. He +reached the water and splashed in. + +“Stay where you are, you must not come any further.” + +“Una,” he said, “dear Una, you have come to me.” + +She laughed merrily. + +“Don’t think I’ve come to live with you here, Neal, like a seal or a +mermaid. No, no. I’ve brought you something to eat. Here, now, don’t +upset my little boat.” She pushed the raft towards him. “Isn’t it just +like the boats we used to make long ago when we were little? Oh! do you +remember how angry the salmon men were when you and Maurice stole all +the corks off their net? But I can’t stay talking here, I’m getting +cold, and you, Neal, go back to dry land. What’s the use of standing +there up to your knees in water? There’s no sun in here to dry your +clothes afterwards. No, you must not come to me, I won’t have it. You’d +get wet up to your neck. Keep quiet, now. I’ve something to say to you. +Maurice has gone to Glasgow to see that funny Captain Getty, who made +you both so angry the day we took your uncle from the brig. He is +arranging for the brig to lie off here and pick you up. Maurice and I +will take you out in the boat. We will come in to the mouth of the cave +and shout to you unless it’s rough. If it’s rough, Neal, you must swim +out and hide somewhere among the rocks. But I hope it will stay calm. +Maurice may be back to-morrow or next day. I’ve given you enough to eat +for two days. I may not be able to come to-morrow.” + +“Do come again, Una, it’s very lonely here.” + +“I will if I can, Neal. Good-bye. Keep a good heart. Good-bye. Oh, but +it’s hard to be leaving you in this dark place, but I think it’s safe, +and the country is full of yeomen. Good-bye, Neal. God bless you.” + +When Una and Hannah reached the little cove again, they found luncheon +spread out on the grass ready for them. The troopers who had brought +the baskets from Dunseveric House sat on their horses at the end of the +rough track which led to the strand. The Comtesse reclined on a cloak +spread for her on the grass. Captain Twinely, a worshipper with bold +eyes and stupid tongue, sat at her feet and gazed at her. He had ceased +even to wonder at his own good fortune in captivating so fair a lady. He +had forgotten all about the angular daughter of a neighbouring squire, +who was waiting for him to marry her. He was hopelessly, helplessly, +fascinated by the woman in front of him. Estelle de Tourneville had +never made an easier conquest. And she was already exceedingly weary of +the flirtation. The man bored her because he was dull. He disgusted her +because he was amorous. + +“Oh, Una,” she cried, “how quick you’ve been! It hardly seems a moment +since you left. Captain Twinely and I have had such a delightful talk. I +was telling him about the Jacobins in Paris, and how they wanted to cut +my head off in the Terror. My dear, your hair is all wet. You look just +like a seal with your sleek head and your brown eyes. Just fancy, Una, +Captain Twinely thought that we were in sympathy with the rebels here. +He had actually told his men to watch us in case we should try to help +some horrid _sans-culotte_ who is hiding somewhere. Just think of his +suspecting me--me, of all people.” + +She cast a glance at Captain Twinely. Her eyes were full of half serious +reproach, of laughter and enticement. + +“I’m very hungry after my swim,” said Una, “let us have our lunch.” + +Captain Twinely, awkward but anxious to please, was on his feet in +an instant. He waited on the ladies, waited even on Hannah, whom he +supposed to be Una’s maid. He did not notice that Una shrank from him. +He probably would not have cared even if he had seen that she avoided +touching his hand as she might have avoided some loathsome reptile. His +thoughts and his eyes were all for the Comtesse. She did not shrink from +him. Her wonderful eyes thrilled him again and again. He touched her +hand, her hair, her clothes, as he handed her this or that to eat +or drink. He grew hot and cold in turns with the excitement of her +nearness. He was ecstatically, ridiculously happy. + +He walked back to Dunseveric House with her. He promised to call on her +the next day. He promised to leave troopers on guard round the house all +night in case a fugitive rebel, wandering in the demesne, might frighten +the Comtesse. He suggested another pic-nic. At last, reluctantly, +lingeringly, he bade her farewell. + +“Adieu, Monsieur le Capitaine,” said the Comtesse, “we shall expect you +to-morrow then.” + +She stretched out her hand to him. He stooped and kissed it. Then she +turned from him and ran up the avenue after Una and Hannah. The captain +watched her. He pulled himself together, reassumed his habitual swagger, +tried to persuade himself that he looked on the Comtesse as he had long +been accustomed to look on other women. + +“A damned fine woman,” he said, “and a bit smitten with me. Begad, these +French women have a great deal to recommend them. Thy catch fire at +once. A man does not have to spend a month dilly-dallying with them, +dancing attendance and looking like a fool while they are as cold as ice +all the time. Give me a good full-blooded filly like this one.” + +“Una,” said the Comtesse, when she overtook her niece. “Una, I +positively can’t stand another day of that man. He’s odious. You’ll +have to do him yourself to-morrow, and let me go to the young man in the +cave.” + +“But, Aunt Estelle, I thought you--you liked it. You looked as if you +liked it.” + +“_Mon dieu!_” said the Comtesse, laughing, “of course I looked as if I +liked it. If I had looked as if I disliked it I could not have kept +him for ten minutes, and then what would have happened to you, +mademoiselle?” + +“It was very, very good of you,” said Una, penitently. “I can never +thank you enough.” + +“Oh, it wasn’t so very good of me, and I don’t want to be thanked at +all. I’ll tell you a secret, Una, and Hannah shall hear it too. I did +like it. Now, what do you think?” + +“You would, my lady,” said Hannah. “I know that finely, I’d have liked +it myself when I was young and frisky like you.” + +“What would you have liked, Hannah?” asked the Comtesse. + +“Eh! just what you liked yourself, my lady; just seeing a man making +himself a bigger fool nor the Lord meant him to be for the sake of my +bonny face. I’m thinking you’re the same as another for a’ you’re a +countess and have a braw foreign name. You just like what I’d have +liked, and what all women ever I heard tell on liked in their hearts, +though maybe they wouldna own up till it, from thon wench, that might +have been a gran’ lady, too, for a’ I ken, who made the great silly gaby +of a Samson lie still while she clipped the seven locks off of his head. +She liked fine to see him sleeping there like the tap he was for all the +strongness of him.” + +“You are right, Hannah, you are right. Oh, Una dear, if you could have +seen him--but you wouldn’t understand. What’s the good of telling you? +Hannah, if you’d seen him sitting there like a great woolly sheep, with +the silliest expression in his eyes; if you’d seen him putting out his +hand to touch me, pretending he did it by accident, and then pulling it +away again like one of those snails that crawl about in the sandhills +when you touch his horns with the end of a blade of grass. If you’d seen +him. Oh, I wish you’d seen him!” + +“Faith, I seen plenty.” + +“You did not, Hannah; you didn’t see half. He was far, far better before +you came back.” + +She burst into a peal of half hysterical laughter. She may have enjoyed +the captain’s company, but he had evidently tried her nerves. + +“But, Una dear,” she said, when she grew calm again, “I hope Maurice +will come soon, or that American ship, or something. I won’t be able to +go on very long.” + +“There’s been an easterly breeze since noon,” said Una, “and there’s a +haze out at sea.” + +“Do talk sense, Una. Here I’ve been sacrificing myself for you all day, +and when I ask you for a little sympathy you talk to me about an east +wind.” + +“But the east wind will bring the brig, aunt. How could she get here +from Glasgow without the wind?” + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +The Comtesse underrated her powers of endurance. For two more whole days +she encouraged Captain Twinely to make love to her. She sat with him in +the sandhills, she walked with him along the strand, she flattered him, +ogled him, enticed him, till the man was beside himself with the +desire of her. But in private it was not safe to speak to her about the +captain. Her temper, when the hours of her love-making were over for the +day, was extremely bad. Even Hannah, who was a match for most women in +the use of her tongue, shrank from the sharp gibes of the Comtesse. Una +tried in vain to soothe the ruffled lady, and had to bear much from her, +but Una could have borne anything patiently. The east wind blew gently +day and night, bringing--surely bringing--the white sails of the brig. +The sea remained calm and she was able to go twice more to the cave. She +saw the yeomen spread over the country, searching everywhere, through +fields and hills and along the river banks, by the shore, among the +rocks, over the Causeway cliffs, through the sandhills, the ruins of +Dunluce, among the white cliffs of Port-rush Strand, at high tide and +low tide, everywhere except the one place--the nook where Una bathed. +Estelle de Tourneville secured that spot from the searchers’ gaze. No +man dared go there. Una could forgive the worst of tempers to the woman +who purchased such security. And the Comtesse was excusable. Doubtless, +she paid a heavy price for a delicately-nurtured and fastidious lady. No +one ever knew what she endured. Neither to Una nor any one else did she +tell at the time or afterwards the details of the captain’s courtship. + +At last, one evening after dusk, Maurice rode in from Ballycastle. +He brought glorious news. Captain Getty was on his way. He might be +expected off the coast the next day. Maurice had left the brig at the +quay at Greenock ready to sail. Next morning he was up early. He took +bread and meat and went alone to Pleaskin Head, carrying his father’s +long telescope with him. All morning he lay on the edge of the cliff +peering eastward across the sea. He was strangely nervous now that the +critical moment had arrived. He understood that the coast was being +carefully watched, that the sight of a ship lying-to a mile or two +from the shore, would certainly excite suspicion; that it might be very +difficult for him to take his boat round to the cave where Neal lay +hidden without being followed. It was absolutely necessary for him to +catch sight of the brig before any one else did, to get off from the +shore before the brig lay to, to be well on his way to her before any +other boat put out to chase him. He knew that his own movements were +watched. He was followed from the house to Pleaskin Head by two yeomen. +As he lay on the cliffs he saw them a few hundred yards inland keeping +guard on him. + +At ten o’clock he caught sight of the topsails of a ship far east, +beyond the blue outline of the Rathlin hills. The wind, very feeble at +dawn, was freshening slightly. The lower sails of the vessel rose slowly +into view. Maurice guessed her to be a brig--to be the brig he looked +for. He lay still, watching her intently, till he was sure. Then he +went home. He found Una and the Comtesse in the breakfast room. Captain +Twinely, on the lawn outside, leaned on the window sill and talked to +them. Maurice, uncontrollably excited, whispered to Una-- + +“Now.” + +She rose, and followed him from the room. Captain Twinely eyed them +sharply. He had ceased to distrust the Comtesse, but he was keenly +suspicious of Maurice. Since he had been robbed of his clothes in Antrim +he hated Maurice nearly as bitterly as he did Neal, and was determined +to have him strictly watched. + +“Pardon me, dear lady,” he said, “I must give some orders to the +patrol.” + +“Don’t be long, then,” she said, “I want you to-day, Captain Twinely. +Come back to me.” + +Their eyes met, and the Comtesse felt certain that her victim would +return to her. She leaped from her chair the moment he left her and ran +from the room. + +“Una,” she cried. “Una, Maurice, where are you?” + +She found them; they were packing clothes in a hand-bag--clothes, she +supposed, for Neal. + +“He’s gone to give orders to his men about you, Maurice. I know he has. +I haven’t a moment to explain. Leave everything to me. I’ll manage him, +only trust me and do what I say. Una, are you a born idiot? Take those +things out of the bag. How can you go about with that travelling-bag in +your hand and not excite suspicion? If you must have clothes wrap them +in a bathing-sheet. Oh, what a fool you are!” + +She left them no time to answer her, but fled back to the +breakfast-room. A moment later Captain Twinely found her, lounging--a +figure of luxurious laziness--among the cushions of Lord Dunseveric’s +easy chair. + +“We are going on the sea to-day,” she said, “my nephew, Maurice, has +promised to take us in a boat to the Skerries. I have never been there, +but I hear they are delightful. I hope you will come with us. Please say +yes. I should feel so much safer in a boat if you were there. My nephew +is very rash. He frightens me. I do not trust him. I shall not feel +secure or easy in my mind unless you come, too. Besides”--her voice +sank to a delicious whisper--“I shall not really enjoy myself unless +you are there.” + +She stretched her hand out and laid it with the tenderest motion of +caress on his hand. Captain Twinely could not hesitate, he promised to +go with her. In the back of his mind was a feeling that if he were of +the party Maurice St. Clair could not attempt to communicate with the +fugitive. + +“Maurice,” said the Comtesse, “Maurice, are you ready? Captain Twinely +is coming with us to the Skerries for a pic-nic. Won’t that be nice? +Come along quickly, we are starting.” + +She took the captain with her, and walked down to the cove where the +boat lay. Una and Maurice, with their bundles of clothes, followed. + +“Una,” said Maurice, “what does she mean? I can’t take this man in the +boat, and I won’t. What does she mean by inviting him?” + +“I don’t know, but we must trust her. We can trust her. She’s been +wonderful all these last three days. Only for her I could never have got +food to Neal.” + +“Well,” said Maurice, “I suppose if the worst comes to the worst it will +only be a matter of knocking him on the head with an oar. I don’t want +to do that if I can help it. My lord will be angry if he has to get +me out of a fresh scrape. It will be a serious matter to assault this +captain in cold blood. I’ll do it, of course, if necessary, but I would +rather not.” + +The boat was dragged down the beach. The Comtesse looked at it, and +protested. + +“Maurice, surely you are not going in that little boat. It’s far too +small. It’s not safe.” + +“Oh, it’s safe enough,” said Maurice, “and anyway there’s no other.” + +“There is,” said the Comtesse. “There, look at that nice broad, flat +boat. I’ll go in that.” + +“The cobble for lifting the salmon net!” said Maurice, with a laugh. “My +dear aunt, you couldn’t go to sea in that. She can’t sail, and it takes +four men to pull her as fast as a snail would crawl. Who ever heard of +going off to the Skerries in a salmon cobble?” + +“Well,” said the Comtesse, angrily, “I won’t go in the other. I know +that one is too small. Isn’t she too small, Captain Twinely? Look at the +size of the sea. Look how far off the island is! No, I won’t go. If you +persist in being disobliging, Maurice, you and Una can go by yourselves. +Captain Twinely and I will stay on shore.” + +The boat was already in the water and Una sat in the stern. Maurice, +ankle deep in water, held her bow. Maurice laughed aloud. He began to +understand his aunt’s plan. + +“Come, Captain Twinely, we will go for a walk along the cliffs.” + +Her hand was on his arm. She held him. He looked at the boat. A swift +doubt shot through his mind. Something in the way Maurice laughed +aroused his suspicion. He took a step forward. The Comtesse clung +tightly to his arm. Maurice gave a vigorous shove and leapt forward over +the bow. The boat shot out and floated clear of the land. + +“Isn’t he a disagreeable boy?” said the Comtesse. “You wouldn’t have +refused to do what I asked you, would you, Captain Twinely?” + +Her eyes sought his, but he was watching the boat uneasily. Maurice had +the oars out, and was pulling round the Black Rock. + +“He’s not going to the Skerries,” he said, “he’s going in the other +direction.” + +“What does it matter where he goes? Besides, you know what stupid things +boats are. They always turn away from the place they want to go to. It’s +what they call tacking. Maurice must be tacking now. Let him manage his +horrid boat himself. We needn’t trouble ourselves about him. We will go +for a walk on the tops of the cliffs.” + +“I thought you did not like walking on the cliffs, you never would walk +there with me before.” + +“Please don’t be cross with me. May I not change my mind?” + +She stroked his hand and looked up into his face with eyes which +actually had tears in them. “I shall be so miserable if you are cross. +I shall feel that I have spoiled your day. I wish now that I had gone in +the little boat. I wish I had been upset and drowned. Then perhaps you +would have been sorry for me.” + +She was crying in earnest now. Captain Twinely yielded, yielded to her +tears, to the fascination of her presence, to the passion of his love +for her. Very tenderly and gently he led her up the steep path to the +top of the cliffs. Holding her hands in his he walked silently beside +her. He was a bad man, revengeful, cruel, cowardly, but he really loved +the woman beside him. His was no heroic, spiritual love, but it was the +best, the strongest, of which his nature was capable. He could never +for her sake have lived purely and nobly, or learned self-denial, but, +cowardly as he was, he would have died for her. + +Suddenly she stood still, snatched her hand from his grasp, and stepped +away from him. + +“Now,” she cried, “at last! at last! There, Captain Twinely, there is +the boat with the sail spread, shooting out to sea. Look at her; look +carefully; look well. How many people are there in her? Can you see? I +can see very well. There are three, and who is the third?” + +The tears were gone out of her eyes now. They blazed with triumph and +satisfaction. She laughed aloud, exultingly, bitterly. + +“Who is the third? Can you see? He is Neal Ward, the man you’ve chased, +the man you’ve been seeking day and night. There”--she pointed further +eastwards--“there is the American brig which will bear him away from +you. Do you understand?” + +Captain Twinely followed her gaze and her pointing finger. He began to +understand. + +“And I did it. I fooled you. I blinded your eyes while my niece fed him +in his hiding-place. I encouraged you to seek everywhere, and kept you +back from the place where he was. I--I made pretence of tolerating your +hateful presence. I made you think that I cared for you, loved you, you, +you--I would rather love a toad.” + +“You have deceived me, then, all the time, played with me.” + +“Yes,” she laughed wildly, “deceived you, played with you, fooled you, +cheated you, and hated you--yes, hated, hated the very sight of you, the +abominable sound of your voice, the sickening touch of your hand.” + +“And I loved you,” he said, simply. “I loved you so well that I think I +would have done anything for you. There was no need for you to fool me. +I would have let the man go if you had asked me. I would have let him +go, though I hate him, and I could not have asked leave even to kiss +your hand for my reward. I would have been content just to have pleased +you. Why did you cheat me?” + +The Comtesse had no pity for him. The memory of the words he had spoken +to her, of his foolish face, of his amorous ways, of the touchings of +his hands which she had endured, thronged on her. Her lips curled back +over her teeth. Her eyes were hard like shining steel. + +“I hate you,” she hissed at him. “I have always hated you since the +night when you seized me and dragged me into the meeting-house. I would +have revenged myself for that even if there had been no prisoner to save +from you.” + +“I did not do that,” said Captain Twinely, “and I did not know who you +were at the time. Be just to me even if you hate me. God knows that I +would have died to save you from the smallest hurt.” + +He fell on the ground before her. + +“Oh,” he cried, “have some pity for me. I love you with all my soul. Let +me serve you, let me wait on you. Let me see you sometimes and hear your +voice. Have you no pity for me? I do not ask for love, or friendship, or +the meanest gift. Only do not hate me. I have led an evil life, I know +it, but for your sake, for your sake, if you will pity me, I will do +anything. I will be anything you bid me. But do not hate me. For the +love of God, by the mercy of Christ the Saviour, do not cast me utterly +away from you. Do not hate me.” + +He crawled forward, and clutched the bottom of her skirt with his hand. +With a swift movement she snatched it from his grasp. + +“I do hate you,” she cried, “and I shall always hate you. From this out +I shall always hope and pray and strive to get to heaven when I die, +not for the love of the saints or because I think that I shall be happy +there, but just because I shall be safe from the sight of you, for you +will surely be in hell.” + +She turned and walked down the path they had ascended together. She left +him grovelling on the ground, his face slobbered with tears and grimy +with the clay his hands rubbed over it. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +The boat sped seawards. The wind had freshened since the morning, and +worked round after the sun, as the wind does in settled weather. It blew +now from the south-east, and the boat reached out with a free sheet. Una +sat in the stern and held the tiller. Her eyes glistened with excitement +and delight. At her feet, on the floor boards of the boat, sat Neal, +dripping after his swim out of the cave. The sun shone warm on him, and +he had Una close to him. He was safe at last, freed from the terrible +anxiety and fears. He had life before him--a glad, good thing, yet there +was more sorrow than joy in his face. In an hour, or less than an hour, +he must say farewell to Una. He felt that he would gladly have gone back +to the gloom of the cave for the sake of a brief visit from her every +day. He would have accepted the life of a hunted animal rather than +part, for years perhaps, from Una. He was sure that he had never known +the fulness of his love for her until this hour of parting. His eyes +never left her face. Now and then, when she could spare attention from +her steering, she answered his glances. In her face there was no sorrow +at all, only merry delight and the anticipation of more joy. “I have +brought you a suit of my clothes, and some change of linen,” said +Maurice. “I have them in a bundle here, done up in a great sheet. Hullo! +there are two bundles. I didn’t notice that you had brought a second +one, Brown-Eye. You’ll not leave me a rag to my back if you give Neal +two suits.” + +“It’s all right, Maurice,” said Una, “the second bundle has my clothes +in it.” + +“Your clothes, Brown-Eyes! Why have you brought clothes?” + +“I’m going with Neal, of course.” + +Neal sat upright suddenly and stared at her with a new expression in his +eyes. He was the prey of sheer astonishment, then of a rapture which set +his heart beating tumultuously. + +“You are going with Neal! Nonsense, Brown-Eyes. How can you?” + +“I’ve money to pay my passage,” she said, “and if I hadn’t I’d go just +the same. I shall climb up into the brig, and I won’t be turned out of +her.” + +“You can’t,” said Maurice. + +“Oh, but I can, and I will. Do you think you and father are the only two +in the family that have wills of your own. You’ll take me, Neal, won’t +you? We’ll be married as soon as ever we get to America. I’m like the +girl in the song-- + + “‘I’ll dye my petticoat, I’ll dye it red, + And through the world I’ll beg my bread,’ + but I won’t leave you now, Neal.” + +She began to sing merrily, exultingly-- + + “Though father and brother and a’ should go mad, + Just whistle and I’ll come to you, my lad.” + +“Well,” said Maurice, “if you go I may as well take my passage, too. I +daren’t go home and face my lord with the news that you’ve run off from +him. But steady, Brown-Eyes, watch what you’re doing. We’re close on +the brig now. We’ll neither go to America nor back home if you upset us +now.” + +He took in the sprit of the sail as Una rounded the boat under the +brig’s stern. A rope was flung to them and made fast. Another rope, a +stouter one, was lowered to Neal. Una seized it and climbed up. Willing +hands caught her, lifted her over the bulwarks, and set her on the deck. + +“Am I to ferry you across, too, young lady?” asked Captain Getty. + +“Yes,” said Una, “I am going with you.” + +Neal leaned across the thwarts of the boat to Maurice. + +“Stay you here,” he said, “leave this to me.” + +He gained the deck of the brig. Una met him with outstretched hands and +sparkling eyes. + +“Isn’t this glorious?” she said. “You never guessed, Neal. Confess that +you never guessed.” + +Then she shrank back from him, frightened by what she saw. His face was +ashy grey, save for two flaming spots on his cheek bones. His lips +were trembling. His eyes told her of some desperate resolution, of some +counsel adopted with intense pain. + +“What is the matter, Neal! Do you not want me after all? Will you not +take me?” + +“No, I will not take you.” + +It was all he succeeded in saying before a sob choked him. Una stared at +him in terrified surprise; but even then, even with his own words in her +ears, she did not doubt his love for her. She waited. + +“Una,” he said at last, “I cannot take you with me.” + +She gazed at him with wide, pitiful eyes, like the eyes of a little +child struck suddenly and inexplicably by the hand of some trusted +friend. Neal trembled and turned away from her. He could not look at her +while he spoke. + +“Una, dearest, it is not that I do not love you. I love you. Oh, heart +of my heart, I love you. I would give----” + +He sobbed again. Then, with an effort, he mastered himself, and spoke +slowly in low, tender tones. + +“Una, your father has trusted me. He has helped me, saved me. He has +been my friend. I am bound in honour to him. I cannot take you from him +like this.” + +“Ah!” she said. “Honour! Is your honour more than love?” + +“Una, Una, can’t you understand? It’s because I love you so well that I +cannot do this. Wait, dearest, wait a little while. I shall come back +to you. The world is not so wide that it can keep me from you. The time +will not be long.” + +He turned to her, and saw again the intolerable stricken sadness of her +eyes. + +“My darling,” he said, “I cannot bear it. I will take you with me. Come. +What does it matter about honour or disgrace? What have we to do with +right or wrong? Will you come, Una?” + +“Her eyes dropped before his gaze. Her hands clasped and unclasped, the +fingers of them sliding close-pressed against each other. She trembled. + +“If it is wrong----,” she whispered. “Oh, Neal, I do not understand, but +what you think wrong is wrong for me, too. I will not do what you say is +wrong. But, oh! come back to me, come back to me soon. I cannot bear to +wait long for you.” + +All the joy was gone from her. Forgetful of the strangers who stood +round her, she covered her face with her hands and wept bitterly. + +Maurice’s voice reached them from the boat. + +“Be quick, Neal. I must cast off and let you get under way. They’ve got +the old salmon cobble out, and they’re coming after us. Captain Twinely +must have managed to tear himself away from the Comtesse. They are +pulling six oars, and the cobble is full of men. Be quick.” + +Una stopped crying on the instant. She cast a terrified glance at the +approaching boat. Then she ran across the deck to Captain Getty. She +seized his hand, and fell on her knees before him. + +“Keep him safe, Captain Getty. Keep him safe. The soldiers, the yeomen, +are after him. Do not give him up to them. They will hang him if they +get him. Keep him safe. Do not let them take him.” + +“Young lady, Miss,” said Captain Getty, “stand up and dry your eyes. +Your sweetheart’s safe while he stands on my deck. Safe from them. For +tempests and fire and the perils of the deep, and the act of God”--he +lifted his cap from his head--“I can’t swear, but as for darned British +soldiers of any kind--such scum set no foot on the deck of Captain +Hercules Getty’s brig--the _Saratoga_. You see that rag there, young +lady, that rag flying from the gaff of the spanker, it’s not much to +look at, maybe, not up to the high-toned level of the crosses and the +lions that spread themselves and ramp about on other flags, but I +guess a man’s free when that flies over him. You take my word for it, +Miss--the word of Captain Hercules Getty--the Britisher will knuckle +under to that rag. He’s seen the stars and stripes before now, and he +knows he’s just got to slip his tail in between his hind legs and scoot, +scoot tarnation quick from the place where that rag flutters on the +breeze.” + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +In the summer of 1800 the Act of Union was passed. The Irish +Constitution ceased to exist. The country lay torpid and apathetic under +the blow. Blood had been let in Antrim and Down, in Wexford and Wicklow. +The society of United Irishmen was broken. The Protestant gentry were +frightened or bribed. They, or the greater part of them, surrendered +their birthright without even Esau’s hunger for excuse. Roman Catholic +ecclesiastics, deluded by the promise of emancipation, which was not +kept for many a long year afterwards, offered a dubious welcome to the +English power. The people, cowed, helpless, expectant of little any way, +waited in numb indifference for what the new order was to bring. There +was little joy and little cause for joy in Ireland then. + +From the gate of Dunseveric House, in the twilight of the short October +afternoon, came a young man who seemed to feel no sense of depression or +sadness. He strode briskly along the muddy road, swinging his stick in +his hand, whistling a merry tune. After a while, for very exuberance +of spirits, he broke into song. His voice rang clear through the damp, +misty air-- + + “Oh, my love’s like a red, red rose, + That’s newly sprung in June: + Oh, my love’s like the melody + That’s sweetly played in tune.” + +A hundred yards or so further along the road walked another traveller. +He carried a knapsack on his shoulders and a stout staff in his hand. +When the song reached his ears he stopped, listened carefully, and then +waited for the singer to overtake him. It seemed as if the young man +was too glad at heart to sing through one song. He began again, and +his voice was full of passion, as if he had abandoned himself to the +inspiration of his words-- + + “Oh, wert thou in the cauld blast, + On yonder lea, on yonder lea, + My plaidie to the angry airt, + I’d shelter thee, I’d shelter thee.” + +“Neal Ward,” said the man who waited. + +The singer paused. + +“I’m Neal Ward, my friend, who ever are you? And I know your voice. I +know it. Let me see your face, man. You’re Jemmy Hope. As I’m a living +man, you’re Jemmy Hope. I couldn’t have asked a better meeting.” + +He seized Hope’s hand and wrung it heartily. He held it firm. + +“There’s no man in the world I’d rather have met to-night. But I might +have guessed I’d meet you. When a man’s happy every wish of his heart +comes to him. It’s only the poor devils who are sad that have to wait +and sigh for what they want and never get it.” + +“So you are happy, Neal. I am right glad of it. It makes me happy, too, +for all that’s come and gone, to listen to your singing. Give me a share +of your good news, Neal. We want good news in Ireland now-a-days. What +makes you happy?” + +“I’m to be married to-morrow, Jemmy Hope. To-morrow, to-morrow, man. +Isn’t that enough to make me happy?” + +He put his arm round Hope, and led him along the road. He walked as if +there were music in his ears which made him want to dance. + +“She’s the best girl in all the world,” he said, “the bravest and the +truest and the sweetest-- + + ‘Or were I a monarch o’ the globe, + With thee to reign, with thee to reign, + The brightest jewel in my crown + Wad be my queen, wad be my queen.’ + +Haven’t I the right to be happy, James Hope? Tell me that.” + +“You have the best gift that God has got to give to man,” said Hope, +“and I that speak to you know. I have my own dear Rose. I have found +that the love of a good woman made all my trouble easy, turned sorrow of +heart into a kind of gladness, brought joy out of disappointment, made +poverty sweet to bear.” + +“But I’m not poor,” said Neal, “I have a home to offer her, a home not +unworthy of her. I have money to give her what she wants. I shall take +her across the sea in a fine ship that I own myself, in a cabin I have +fitted out for her, fine enough for a crowned queen, but not fine enough +for her-- + + “‘Blair in Athol’s mine lassie, + Fair Dunkeld is mine lassie, + St. Johnston’s bower and Hunting Tower, + And a’ that’s mine is thine, lassie.’ + +Oh, man, but I have cause for my happiness. I have the world before +me, good work to do, good money to earn, and her love like a “perpetual +sun-shine to make life fair to me.” + +Then suddenly his voice changed. + +“Ah, but my happiness is not complete. There are two things I want yet. +I want my father to come out with me, and I want you, too, my friend.” + +“And will your father not go? I heard that they had released him at last +from the prison in Scotland, whew they kept him since the year of the +break at Antrim. He’s home again.” + +“Ay, he’s home, and it’s little cause he has to stay here. They have +put a new minister in his place. The Synod, the conscienceless villains, +declared it vacant. Castlereagh, through his satellite Black, has +corrupted them, too. He’ll preach no more in the old meeting-house, nor +sit over his bodes in the old manse. He’s at the Widow Maclure’s now, +the woman whose husband was hanged. He’ll not want his bit while I’ve +money in my pocket. But I’d like to bring him with me, to give him a +better home.” + +“And will he not go?” + +“He will not. He says he’s too old to go to a new land now; but you’ll +help me to persuade him. I think, maybe, if you’d come with me that he’d +come, too. And you will come, won’t you?” + +Hope shook his head. + +“Don’t shake your head at me that way, James Hope. You don’t know what +you’re refusing. I can give you work to do out there, and money to earn, +and a fine house to live in. It’s a good land, so it is; it’s a land of +liberty. We’ve done with the tyrannies of this worn-out old world. A man +may speak his mind out there, and think his own thoughts and go his own +way. We doff our hats and make our bows to no man living, only to him +who shows himself by fine deeds to be our better. It’s the land for you +and the land for me, and the land for every man that loves freedom. Will +you not come?” + +They reached the door of the Maclures’ house and entered. A bright fine +burned on the hearth. The Widow Maclure was busy spreading a white cloth +on the table. Her eldest girl, a child of twelve years old, stood near +at hand with a pile of wooden porridge bowls in her arms. The two other +children, holding by their mother’s skirts, followed, smiled on and +chidden as they impeded her work, and babbled questions about this or +that. Beside the fire, in the chair that had once belonged to the master +of the house, sat Micah Ward. He looked very old now and infirm. The +months in a prison hulk in Belfast Lough and the long weariness of his +confinement in bleak Fort George had set their mark upon him. On his +knees lay a Greek lexicon, but he was pursuing no word through its +pages. It was open at the fly-leaf inside the cover. He was reading +lovingly for the hundredth time an inscription written there-- + +“This book was given to Rev. Micah Ward by his fellow-prisoners in +Fort George, in witness of their gratitude to him for his ministrations +during their captivity, and as a token of their admiration for his +fortitude, his patience, and his unfailing charity.” + +There followed a list of twenty names. Four of them belonged to men of +the Roman Catholic faith, six of them were the names of Presbyterians, +ten were of those who accepted the teaching of that other Church which, +trammelled for centuries by connection with the State, hampered with +riches secured to her by the bayonets of a foreign power, dragged down +very often by officials placed over her by Englishmen, has yet in spite +of all won glory. Out of her womb have come the men whose names shine +brightest on the melancholy roll of the Irish patriots of the last two +centuries. She has not cared to boast of them. She has hidden their +names from her children as if they were a shame to her, but they are +hers. + +Thus far off in a desolate Scottish fortress, after the total failure +of every plan, in the hour of Ireland’s most hopeless degradation, the +great dream which had fired the imagination of Tone and Neilson and +the others, the dream of all Irishmen uniting in a common love of their +country, a love which should transcend the differences of rival creeds, +found a realisation. The witness, written in crabbed characters on +the fly-leaf of a lexicon, lay on the knees of a broken old man in the +cottage of a widow within earshot of the perpetual clamour of the bleak +northern sea. + +“Well, father,” said Neal, “here I am back again. And here’s Jemmy +Hope, whom I picked up on the road. He’s come to see you. He’s going to +persuade you to cross the sea with me. You and I and he together, and +Hannah Macaulay, who’s coming, too. Una will make you all welcome on her +sturdy ship. It’s her ship now. All that I have is her’s.” + +Micah Ward looked at his son with a gentle, sad smile on his face. Then +he turned to welcome his visitor. + +“So you have come to see me, James Hope. It was good of you. Ah, man, +there’s not so many of us left now. Orr, they hanged him; M’Cracken, +they hanged him; Monro, they hanged him; Porter, they hanged him. And +many another, many another. And the rest are gone across the sea. You +and I are left, with one here and there besides--a very small remnant, +a cottage in a vineyard, a lodge in a garden of cucumbers, a besieged +city.” + +“It’s hard to tell,” said Hope, “why they did not hang me, too. There +were times when, only for my wife, who would have grieved after me, I +could have found it in my heart to wish they would.” + +“Father,” said Neal, “Hope is coming to America with me.” + +“Nay, lad, nay. I was born in Ireland, I’ve lived my life in Ireland, +I’ll die in Ireland when my time comes. Maybe before the end I’ll find a +chance to strike another blow for her.” + +“Doubtless,” said Micah Ward, “such a blow will be stricken, but not in +our time, James Hope. The fighting spirit is gone from us. The men are +laid low or scattered or broken. The people speak about the ‘break.’ +They call it well. ‘Shall iron break the northern iron and the steel?’ +Yea, but iron hath broken us. It hath entered into our souls. And if one +look unto the land, behold darkness and sorrow and the light is darkened +in the heavens thereof.” + +“But there is another land,” said Neal, “where the sun shines, where +neither palaces of kings, nor haughty churches, nor the banners and +cannon smoke of England’s soldiers, nor yet the gallows, casting shadows +over the green fields, and overtopping every village, can come between +the people and the good light which the Lord God made for them. That’s +the land for you and me.” + +“For you, Neal,” said Micah Ward, “and for the girl you love. But there +is no other land except only this lost land for me and him.” + +He took Hope’s hand and held it. Then, with his other hand, he drew his +son down beside him. Neal knelt on the earthen floor of the cottage. He +felt hands laid upon his head--his father’s hands and James Hope’s. The +benediction came from both of them, though it was Micah Ward’s voice +which spoke the words-- + + “The Lord hear thee in the day of trouble, Neal; + The name of the God of Jacob defend thee; + Send thee help from the sanctuary, + And strengthen thee out of Zion; + Remember all thy offerings, + And accept thy burnt sacrifice; + Grant thee according to thine own heart, + And fulfil all thy counsel.” + + +THE END + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg’s The Northern Iron, by George A. 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Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/24140-0.zip b/24140-0.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..f88fcf8 --- /dev/null +++ b/24140-0.zip diff --git a/24140-8.txt b/24140-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..bdbf5e0 --- /dev/null +++ b/24140-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9261 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Northern Iron, by George A. Birmingham + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Northern Iron + 1907 + +Author: George A. Birmingham + +Release Date: January 23, 2008 [EBook #24140] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE NORTHERN IRON *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +THE NORTHERN IRON + +By George A. Birmingham + +Dublin: Maunsel & Co., Limited + +1907 + + +TO FRANCIS JOSEPH BIGGER, + +ARDRIGH, BELFAST. + +_My Dear Bigger,_ + +_This story, as you have already guessed, is the fruit of a recent +holiday spent in County Antrim. The writing of it has been a great +pleasure, for almost every place mentioned in it recalls the goodness of +the friends who received me and made my holiday a happy one. I think of +kind people when I write of Dunseveric and Ballintoy--of hours spent in +their company among the Runkerry cliffs, the sandhills, the Skerries, +and of the morning on which I swam, like Neal and Una, into the Rock +Pigeons' Cave, I remember a time--full of interest and delight--spent +with you when I mention Donegore, Antrim, and Temple-Patrick. My mind +dwells on an older, a very dear friend and relative, when I tell of +Neal's visit to Belfast. And the book is more than the recollection of a +summer holiday. I go back in it to my own country--to places familiar +to me in boyhood as the mountains and bays of Mayo are now; to days very +long ago, when I caught cuddings and lithe off the Black Rock or Rackle +Roy and learned to swim in the Blue Pool at Port Ballintrae. Yet I know +that I could not, for all that I remembered of my boyhood or learned +during my holiday, have written this story without your help. You told +me what I wanted to know, you corrected, patiently, my manuscript, and +you have helped me to enter into the spirit of the time. For all this +I owe you many thanks, and if I have succeeded in writing a story which +interests my readers they, too, will owe you thanks._ + +_I have tried to be faithful to the facts of history and to represent +the thoughts and feelings of the men who took part in the_ + + "Out, unhappy far off things + And battles long ago," + +_of which I chose to write. Most of my characters are purely imaginary. +Of the men who really lived and acted in 1798 only one--James +Hope--appears prominently in my story. In his case I have taken pains +to understand what manner of man he was before I wrote of him, and I +believe that, feeble though my presentation of his character may be, you +will not find it actually untruthful._ + +_I am your friend,_ + +_GEORGE A. BIRMINGHAM._ + + + + +THE NORTHERN IRON + + + + +CHAPTER I + +The road which connects Portrush with Ballycastle skirts, so far as any +road can and dare, the sea coast. Sometimes it is driven inland a mile +or so by the impossibility of crossing tracts of sandhills. The mounds +and hollows of these dunes are for ever shifting and changing. The +loose sand is blown into new fantastic heights and valleys by the winter +gales. No road could be built on such insecure foundation. Elsewhere the +road shrinks back among the shelterless fields for fear of mighty cliffs +by which this northern Antrim coast is defended from the Atlantic. No +engineer in the eighteenth century, when the road was made, dared +lay his metal close to the Causeway cliffs or the awful precipice +of Pleaskin Head. Still, now and then, in places where there are no +sandhills and the cliffs are not appalling, the road ventures, for a +mile or two, to run within a few hundred yards of the sea, before it is +swept, like a cord bent by the wind, further inland. Thus, after passing +the ruins of Dunseveric Castle, the traveller sees close beneath him +the white limestone rocks and broad yellow stretch of Ballintoy Strand. +Here, when northerly gales are blowing, he may, if he is not swept off +his feet, cling desperately to his garments and watch the great waves +curl their feathered crests as they rush shorewards. He may listen, +awestruck, to the ocean's roar of amazement when it batters in vain the +hard north coast, the rocks and sand which defy even the strength of the +Atlantic. + +A quarter of a mile back from this piece of road there stood, in 1798, +the meeting-house of the Presbyterians and their minister's manse. +The house stands on the site of a bare, shelterless hill. It is three +storeys high--a narrow, gaunt building, grey walled, black-slated. Its +only entrance is at the back, and on the shoreward side. This house +has disdained the shelter which might have been found further inland or +among its fellow-houses in the street of Ballintoy. It faces due north, +preferring an outlook upon the sea to the warmth and light of a southern +aspect. It is bare of all architectural ornament. Its windows are +few and small. The rooms within are gloomy, even in early summer. Its +architect seems to have feared this gloominess, for he planned great bay +windows for three rooms, one above the other. He built the bay. It juts +out for the whole height of the house, breaking the flatness of the +northern wall. But his heart failed him in the end. He dared not put +such a window in the house. He walled up the whole flat front of the +bay. Only in its sides did he place windows. Through these there is a +side view of the sea and a side view of the main wall of the house. They +are comparatively safe. The full force of the tempest does not strike +them fair. + +In one of the gloomy rooms on a bright morning in the middle of May +sat the Reverend Micah Ward, the minister. The sun shone outside on the +yellow sand, the green water, and the white rocks; but neither sun nor +sea had tempted Micah Ward from his books. Great leather-covered folios +lay at his elbow on the table. Before him were an open Hebrew Bible, a +Septuagint with queer, contracted lettering, and an old yellow-leaved +Vulgate. The subject of his studies was the Book of Amos, who was the +ruggedest, the fiercest, and the most democratic of the Hebrew prophets. +Micah Ward's face was clean-shaved and marked with heavy lines. Thick, +bushy brows hung over eyes which were keen and bright in spite of all +his studying. Looking at his face, a man might judge him to be hard, +narrow, strong--perhaps fanatical. Near the window:--one of the slanting +windows through which it is tantalising to look--sat a young man, tall +beyond the common, well knit, strong--Neal Ward, the minister's son. He +had grown hardy in the keen sea air and firm of will under his father's +rigid discipline. He had never known a mother's care, for Margaret Ward, +a bright-faced woman, ill-mated, so they said, with the minister, never +recovered strength after her son's birth. She lingered for a year, and +then died. They laid her body in Templeastra Graveyard, near the +sea. Over her grave her husband set a stone with an austerely-worded +inscription to keep her name in memory:--"The burying-ground of Micah +Ward. Margaret Neal, his wife, 1778." Such inscriptions are to be found +in scores in the graveyards of Antrim. The hard, brave men who chose +to mark thus the resting-places of their dead disdained parade of their +affliction and their heart-break, and held their creed so firmly that +they felt no need of any text to remind them of the resurrection of the +dead. + +Neal Ward, like his father, had books and papers before him, but his +attention was not fixed on them. Now and then, with spasmodic energy, +he copied a passage from the page before him. Then, with a sigh, he laid +his pen down and gazed out of the window. His father took no notice of +the young man's want of application. No words passed between the two. +Then suddenly the silence was broken by a cry from the field below the +house-- + +"Hello! Neal! Neal Ward! Hello! Are you there?" + +The young man started to his feet and made a step to the window. +Then turning, he looked at his father. The frown on Micah Ward's brow +deepened slightly. Otherwise he made no sign of having heard the cry. +He went on writing in his careful, deliberate manner. The voice from +outside reached the room again. + +"Neal! Neal Ward! Come out. What right has a man to shut himself indoors +on a day like this?" + +Neal stood irresolute, looking at his father. At last he spoke. + +"Can I go out, father? I have almost finished the transcription of the +passage which you set me." + +Micah Ward laid down his pen, sprinkled sand on his paper, and looked +up. He gazed steadily at his son. The young man's eyes dropped. He +repeated his question in a voice that was nearly trembling. + +"Can I go out, father?" + +"Who is it calls you, Neal?" + +"It is Maurice St. Clair." + +"Maurice St. Clair," repeated Micah Ward. Then, with a note of deep +scorn in his voice, "The Hon. Maurice St. Clair, the son of Lord +Dun-severic. Are you to do his bidding, to run like a dog when he calls +you?" + +"He is my friend, father." + +"Is he a fit friend for you? Have I not told you that his people and our +people are enemies the one to the other? That the oppression wherewith +they oppress us--but there. Go, since you want to go. You do not +understand as yet. Some day you will understand." + +Neal left the room without haste, closing the door quietly. Once free of +his father's presence he seized a cap and ran from the house. Half-way +between him and the high road, knee deep in meadow grass, stood Maurice +St. Clair. + +"Come along, come along quick," he shouted. "I had nearly given up hope +of getting you out. We're off for a day's fishing to Rackle Roy. We'll +bag a pigeon or two at the mouth of the cave before we land. Brown-Eyes +is down on the road waiting for us with rods and guns. We've all +day before us. My lord is off to Ballymoney, and can't be back till +supper-time." + +"What takes Lord Dunseveric to Ballymoney to-day?" asked Neal. "There's +no magistrates' meeting, is there?" + +"No. He's gone to meet our aunt, Madame de Tourneville. She's been +coming these five years, ever since she ran away from Paris at the time +of the Terror; but it's only now she has succeeded in arriving." + +Together the two young men crossed the field and vaulted the wall which +separated the manse land from the road. The girl whom her brother called +Brown-Eyes waited for them. The name suited her well, and came naturally +from Maurice. He was tall and fair, yellow-haired, blue-eyed, large +limbed, a fine type of Antrim Irishman, the heir of the form and face +of generations of St. Clairs of Dunseveric. The girl, Una St. Clair, +belonged to a different race--came of her mother's people. She was +small, brown-skinned, brown-eyed, dark-haired. She grew as the years +went on more and more like what her mother had been. Lord Dunseveric, +watching his daughter pass from childhood to womanhood, saw in her the +very image of Marie Dillon, the French-Irish girl who had won his heart +a quarter of a century before in Paris. + +"Take the guns, Neal. Here, Brown-Eyes, give me the rods and the basket. +There's no need for you to break your little back carrying them." + +"Why should I when I've two big men to carry them for me? Indeed, I'm +not sure but one of you ought to carry me, too. You're big enough and +strong enough." + +She smiled gaily at Neal as he shouldered the guns. They had built sand +castles together when they were little children, and tempted the waves +to chase them up the sand, flying barefoot from the pursuing lip of +foam. They had climbed and fallen, explored rocky bays, penetrated to +the depths of caves as they grew older. Always Una St. Clair had queened +it over the boys, teased them, petted them, scolded them. Now, grown to +womanhood, she discovered new powers in herself which made Neal at least +more than ever her slave. + +They reached the little bay where the boat lay pulled up among the +rocks. Maurice and Neal lifted her stern on to a roller and dragged her +towards the sea. Una, running before them, laid other rollers on the +pathway of slippery rock till the boat floated. Then she climbed the +gunwale and settled herself on the stern seat among the rods and guns. +The two young men shoved off into deep water, springing into the boat +with dripping feet as she slid out clear of the shore. They placed the +heavy oars between the wooden thole pins and steadied the boat while +Una shipped the rudder. The wind was off shore and the sea, save for the +long heave of the Atlantic, was still. The brown sail was hoisted and +stretched with the sprit. Then, sailing and rowing, they swept past +Carrighdubh, the Black Rock, which guarded the entrance of the little +bay, and passed into the shadow of the mighty cliffs. + +A silence fell on them. The laughter and gay talk ceased. The sense +of holiday joyfulness was overwhelmed by a vague awe of the ocean's +greatness, the oppression of its strength, and the black towering rocks +which hung over the boat, casting a gloom across the sea. The feeling of +this solemnity abides through life with the men and women who have been +bred as children on this north Antrim coast. If they live their lives +out among its rugged harbours and stern ways they become, as the +fishermen are, people of slow thoughts, long memories, and simple +outlook upon life. The fear of the Lord is over their lives. If they +wander elsewhere, making homes for themselves among the southern or +western Irish, or, further still, to England or America, they may +learn to be in appearance as other men are--may lose the harsh northern +intonation from their talk, but down in the bottom of their hearts will +be an awful affection for their sea, which is like no other sea, and the +dark overwhelming cliffs whose shadow never wholly leaves their souls. +In times of stress and hours of bitterness they will fall back upon the +stark, rigid strength of those who, seeing the mightiest of His works, +have learned to fear the Lord. + +The boat lay off the entrance of the Pigeon Cave. The sportsman's sense +awoke in Maurice. He gave a brief order to Neal, laid his oar across +the boat, stood up and took in the sprit, letting the sail hang in loose +folds. He unstepped the mast and sat down again. + +"You may unship the rudder, Brown-Eyes, You had better leave the boat to +Neal and me to bring up to the cave. Pass the gun forward to me and the +powder horn." + +He loaded, ramming the charge down and pressing down the wad. Neal and +the girl sat silent. The solemn enchantment of the scene was on them +still. Then the two men took the oars again. Very cautiously they rowed +along the narrow channel which led to the opening of the cave. The rocks +lay low at first on each side of them; brown tangles of weed swayed +slowly to and fro with the onward sweep and eddy of the ocean swell. +Then, as the boat advanced, the rocks rose higher on each side, sheer +shining walls, whose reflection made the clear water almost black. +The huge arch of the cave's entrance faced them. Behind was the +dark channel, and beyond it the sunlight on the sea, before them the +impenetrable gloom of the cave. The noise of the water dropping from its +roof into the sea beneath struck their ears sharply. The hollow roar +of the sea far off in the utmost recesses of the cave came to them. The +girl leaned forward from her seat and laid her hand on Neal's arm. He +looked at her. Her eyes, the homes of laughter and quick inconsequences, +were wide with dread. Neal knew what she felt. It was not fear of any +definite danger or any evil actually threatening. + +It was awe, the feeling of mariners of other days who penetrated to +unknown seas, of men in primitive times who knew that fairy powers dwelt +in dark lakes and precipitous mountain sides. + +The bow of the boat touched the huge boulders which formed a bar across +the mouth of the cave. Maurice leaped out, gun in hand, and stood knee +deep in the water, feeling with his feet for a secure resting-place. + +"Keep the boat off, Neal, and take your shot if you get a chance." + +He shouted--"Hello-lo-oh." + +The rocky sides and roof of the cave echoed back his cry a hundred +times. Again he shouted, and again, until shouts and echoes meeting +clashed with each other, and it seemed as if the tremendous laughter of +gleeful giants mocked the solemn booming of the sea. There was a rush +of many wings, and a flock of terrified rock pigeons flew from the cave. +Maurice fired one barrel after another in quick succession, and two +birds dropped dead into the water. Neal, shaking the girl's hand from +his arm, fired, too. From his seat in the swaying boat it was difficult +to aim well. He missed once, but killed with his second shot. The boat +was borne forward and bumped sharply on the boulders at the cave's +mouth. The laughter of the echo died away. Instead of it came, like +angry threats, the repetition of their four shots, multiplied to a +fusilade of loud explosions. + +"Come back, Maurice," cried Una. "Come back and let us get out of this. +I'm frightened. I cannot bear it any longer." + +"You shall have all the four wings of my birds to trim your hats with, +Brown-Eyes," said Maurice, as he clambered dripping into the boat. "Neal +will stuff his bird for you and perch him on a stone. You shall have him +to set on the top of your new bureau, the one Aunt Estelle sent you when +she escaped from Paris without having her head chopped off." + +They pushed the boat cautiously back along the channel, travelling stern +first, for there was little room to turn, and even in calm weather men +do not willingly lay a boat across the sea in such a place. + +"Now for Rackle Roy and a basketful of glashins and lithe," said +Maurice. + +East a little and out seawards from the mouth of the cave lies a long, +flat rock, dry at low water, and even at flood tide in calm weather, +swept with desolating surf when the Atlantic swell rolls in or the wind +lashes the nearer sea to fury. Right out of the centre of the rock the +waves have fashioned a deep bay, curved like a horse-shoe. This is a +famous fishing-place. As the tide rises, lithe and glashin, brazers, +gurnet, rock codling, and crowds of cuddings come here to feed, and the +fisherman, on those rare days, when he can land at all, may count on +bringing home with him great bunches of fish strung through the gills. + +The rock lay far enough from the cliff to be clear of the shadow. The +sun shone on its brown weed-clad sides, glistened on black clusters of +mussels, glowed on the red seams of the rock where the iron cropped +out, and baked the black basalt of the upper surface. The spirits of the +party revived when they landed. Una's gaiety returned to her. + +"Have you forgotten the bait, Maurice? I'm sure you have. It would be +like you to come for a day's fishing without bait." + +"No, then, I haven't. There are three large crabs in the boat, and even +if there wasn't one at all we could do nicely with limpets. There's +worse bait than a good limpet." + +"Well, and if you have the crabs I expect you've forgotten the sheep's +wool. What do you think, Neal? Yesterday we were fishing cuddings off +the Black Rock and Maurice ran out of wool. The fish simply sucked the +bait off our hooks and laughed at us. What did Maurice do but take my +hairs. He pulled them out one by one as he wanted them, and wrapped the +bait on with them." + +"Your wool, Brown-Eyes, doesn't come up to that of the sheep. It's not +soft enough. But I shan't want it to-day. I've got my pockets half full +of the proper sort." + +Neal laughed, but he felt that to use Una's hair as a wrap for the red +pulp of a crab's back or the soft, black belly of a limpet was a kind +of profanation. He was a keen fisherman, but he would rather have missed +the chance of catching the largest lithe that ever swam than lure it +with a bait fastened with Una's glossy hair. + +They fished till noon, and the tide rose slowly round their rock. Then +Una's luncheon basket was fetched from the boat, the mooring rope +was made secure above high water mark, and the three sat down on the +sun-baked rock and ate with keen appetites. Maurice stared seawards. + +"That brig," he said, "is lying very close inshore. Look at her, Neal." + +"I saw her pass the point of the Skerries an hour ago." said Neal. "She +must have hauled her wind since then to fetch in so close with the tide +running against her." + +"I wonder why she's doing it," said Maurice. "She'll have to run off +again to clear Benmore." + +"She looks a big ship," said Una. + +"Maybe she's 250 tons," said Neal. "She's about the size of the brig +that sailed from Portrush for Boston last summer year with two hundred +emigrants in her." + +"She's fetching closer in yet," said Maurice. "See, she's hoisted some +flag or other, two flags, no, three, from the peak of her spanker. It's +a signal. I wonder what they want. Now they've laid her to. She must +want a boat out from the shore. Come on, Neal, come on, Brown-Eyes. +We'll go out to her. We'll be first. There's no other boat nearer than +those at the Port, and we've got a long start of them. Never mind the +fish. Or wait. Fling them in. I dare say the men on the brig will be +glad of them. She must be an American." + +In a few minutes the boat was pulled clear of the little bay and out of +the shelter of Rackle Roy. The mast was stepped and the sail set. +The sheet was slacked out and the boat sped seawards before the wind. +Maurice was all impatience. He got out his oar. + +"It's no use," said Neal, "the breeze has freshened since morning. +She'll sail quicker than we could row." + +The brig lay little more than a mile from the shore. The boat soon +reached her. + +"Boat, ahoy," yelled a voice from the deck. "Lower your sail, and come +up under my lee." + +Maurice and Neal obeyed. The sea was rougher than it had been near +the shore. The boat, when Maurice had made fast the rope flung to him, +plunged up and down beside the brig, and needed careful handling to +prevent her being damaged. + +The crew looked over the side with eager curiosity. + +"Say, boys," said the captain, "what will you take for your fish? I'll +trade with you." + +"I don't want to sell them," said Maurice. "I'll give them to you." + +His voice and accent, his refusal to barter, betrayed the fact that he +was a gentleman. + +"I guess," said the captain, "that you're an aristocrat, a British +aristocrat, too proud to take the money of the men who whipped you in +the States. That's so." + +"I'm an Irish gentleman," said Maurice. + +"Well, Mr. Irish Gentleman, if you're too darned aristocratic to trade, +I'll give you a present of a case of good Virginia, and you may give +me a present of your fish. I'd call it a swap, but if that turns +your stomach I'll let you call it a mutual present, an expression of +international goodwill." + +"Fling him up the fish, Neal," said Maurice. + +Then another man appeared beside the captain on the quarter-deck. He was +not a seafaring man. He was lean and yellow, and had keen grey eyes. His +face seemed in some way familiar to Neal, though he could not recollect +having ever seen the man before. + +"Yon are the Causeway cliffs," he said, "and yon's Pleaskin Head, and +the islands we passed are the Skerries?" + +"You know this coast," said Neal. + +"I knew this coast, young man, before your mother had the dandling of +you. I know it now, though it's five and twenty years since I set foot +on it. But that's not the question. What I want to know is this. Can you +put me ashore? I could do well if you land me at the Causeway. I'd make +shift with my bag if you put me out at Port Ballin-trae. I don't want to +be going on to Glasgow just for the pleasure of coming back again." + +"I'll land you at the Black Rock under Run-kerry," said Maurice, "if +you can pull an oar. The wind's rising, and I've no mind to carry idle +passengers." + +"I can pull an oar," said the stranger. + +"I guess he can pull enough to break your back, young man," said the +captain. "He's an American citizen, and he's been engaged in whipping +your British army. I guess an American citizen can lick a darned +aristocrat at pulling an oar same as he did at shooting off guns." + +"Shut your damned mouth," said Maurice, suddenly angry, "or I'll leave +you to land your passenger yourself and see how you like beating the +bottom out of your brig against our rocks. You'll find an Irish rock +harder than your Yankee wood." + +The passenger fetched a small hand-bag and lowered it into the boat. +Under a shower of jibes from the captain, Maurice and Neal pushed off +and started for the row home against the wind. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +The passenger took his seat in the bow of the boat and stripped off his +coat in readiness to pull an oar. But no oar was offered to him. Maurice +St. Clair seemed to have entirely forgotten the stranger's presence. The +remarks of the American captain had angered him, and his mind worked on +the insults hurled at him in parting. Neal was angry, too. They pulled +viciously at the oars. From time to time Maurice broke out fiercely-- + +"An unmannerly brute! I wish I had him somewhere off the deck of his +brig. I'd teach him how to speak to a gentleman. + +"Is that his filthy tobacco at your feet, Brown-Eyes? Pitch it +overboard. + +"I suppose he's a specimen of the Republican breed. That's what comes of +liberty and equality and French Jacobinism and Tom Paine and the Rights +of Man. Damned insolence I call it." + +"I'd like to remind you, young man------." The words came with a quiet +drawl from the passenger in the bow. + +Maurice stopped rowing, and turned round. + +"Well, what do you want to say? More insolence? Better be careful unless +you want to try what it feels like to swim ashore." + +"I'd like to remind you, young man, that Captain Hercules Getty, of the +State of Pennsylvania, who commands the brig 'Saratoga,' belongs to a +nation which has fought for liberty and won it." + +"What's that got to do with his insolence?" + +"I reckon that an Irishman who hasn't fought and hasn't won ought to +sing small when he's dealing with a citizen of the United States of +America." + +Neal turned in his seat. The stranger's reproach struck him as being +unjust as well as being in bad taste. Maurice St. Clair was the son of a +man who had done something for Ireland. + +"You don't know who you're talking to," he said, "or what you're talking +about. Lord Dunseveric, the father of the man in front of you, +commanded the North Antrim Volunteers, and did his part in winning the +independence of our Parliament." + +The stranger looked steadily at Neal for sometime. Then he said-- + +"Is your name Neal Ward?" + +"Yes. How do you know me?" + +"You're the son of Micah Ward, the Presbyterian minister?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, I just guessed as much when I took a good look at your face. Will +you ask your father when you go home whether the Volunteers won liberty +for Irishmen, and what he thinks of the independence of an Irish +Parliament filled with placemen and the nominees of a corrupt +aristocracy?" + +"Who are you?" asked Neal. + +"My name's Donald Ward. I'm your father's youngest brother. I'm on my +way to your father's house now, or I would be if you two young men would +take to your oars again. If you don't I guess the first land we'll touch +will be Greenland. We'd fetch Runkerry quicker if you'd pass forward the +two thole pins I see at your feet and let me get an oar out in the bow. +The young lady in the stern can keep us straight with the helm." + +"Give him the thole pins, Neal," said Maurice, "and then pull away." + +"Just let me speak a word with you, Mr. St. Clair," said Donald Ward, as +he hammered the thole pins into their holes. "You're angry with Captain +Hercules Getty, and I don't altogether blame you. The captain's too fond +of brag, and that's a fact. He can't hold himself in when he meets a +Britisher. He's so almighty proud of the whipping his people gave the +scum. But there's no need for you to be angry with me. I'm an Irishman +myself, and not a Yankee. I fought in North Carolina, under General +Nathaniel Greene, but I fought with Irishmen beside me, men from County +Antrim and County Down, and they weren't the worst men in the army +either. When I fight again it'll be in Ireland, and not in America. If I +riled you I'm sorry for it, for you're an Irishman as well as myself." + +Maurice's anger was shortlived. + +"That's all right," he said. "Here, I say, you needn't pull that oar. +Neal and I will put you ashore. We'll show that much hospitality to a +County Antrim man from over the sea." + +"Thank you," said Donald Ward. "Thank you. You mean well, and I take +your words in the spirit you speak them; but when I sit in a boat I like +to pull my own weight in her." + +He shoved out his oar as he spoke, and fell into time with the long, +steady stroke which Neal set. + +Una leaned forward and spoke in a low voice to Neal, timing her words +so that they reached him as he bent forward at the beginning of each +stroke. + +"Is'nt it curious, Neal, that Maurice and I are going back to welcome an +aunt whom we have never seen, and that you are taking an unknown uncle +home with you?" + +Then, after a pause, she spoke again. + +"It's like a kind of fate, Neal, one of the things which happen to +people, and alter all their lives, and they can't do anything to help +themselves. I wonder will we ever have good times together again, now +that this aunt of mine and this uncle of yours have come?" + +"Why shouldn't we?" said Neal. + +"Oh, I don't know. But your uncle seems to be one of the people who make +a great clatter about liberty and equality and the rights of man. And +you know Aunt Estelle belonged to the old aristocracy in France. They +wanted to guillotine her in the Terror. I don't think she will love +Republicans." + +"I suppose not," said Neal, gravely. + +"But that won't prevent our being friends, Neal?" + +"Una, my father is always talking about the struggle that's coming in +Ireland. I don't know much about politics. I think I hate the whole +thing. But if there is trouble I suppose that I shall be on one side and +you on the other." + +"Don't look so sad, Neal." + +Then, as his spirits grew depressed, her's seemed to rise buoyantly. She +raised her voice so that she could be heard in the bow of the boat. + +"Mr. Donald Ward! Mr. Donald Ward! Your nephew, Neal, is telling me that +when we have a reign of terror in Ireland you will make him cut off my +head. Please promise me you won't." + +Donald rested on his oar and gazed at the girl as she sat smiling at him +in the stern of the boat. + +"Young lady," he said, "don't trouble yourself. We didn't hurt woman or +girl in America. No woman shall die a violent death in Ireland at the +hands of the people." + +"And no man, either?" cried Una. "Say it again, Mr. Donald Ward. Say +'And no man, either.' Can't we settle everything without killing men?" + +"Men are different," said Donald. "It's right for men to die fighting, +or die on the scaffold if need be." + +A silence followed Donald Ward's words. In 1798 talk of death in battle +or death on a scaffold moved even the youngest and most careless to +serious thought. The world was full then of the kind of ideas for which +men are well content to die, for the sake of which also they did not +hesitate to shed blood. The Americans had set mankind a headline to copy +in their Declaration of Independence. The French wrote Liberty with huge +red flourishes which set the heart of Europe beating high. Italians +were proclaiming a foreign army the liberators of their country, while +Jacobins growled fiercely against the Pope. Kosciusko, in Poland, +organised a futile revolution, and fell in the cause of national +freedom. Even phlegmatic Englishmen caught the spirit of the times, +hated intensely or worshipped enthusiastically that liberty which some +saw as an imperial goddess for the sake of whose bare limbs and pale, +noble face death might be gladly met; while others beheld in her +a blood-spattered strumpet whirling in abandoned dance round +gallows-altars which reeked with human sacrifice. + +Ireland in those days was intellectually and spiritually alive. Men were +quick to feel the influence of world-wide ideas, and in Ireland the love +of liberty glowed brightly; nowhere more brightly than among the farmers +and lower middle classes of the north-eastern counties. The position was +a strange one. The landed gentry, who themselves, a few years before, +claimed and won from England the independence of their Parliament, grew +frightened and drew back from the path of reform on which alone +lay security for what they had got. The wealthier merchants and +manufacturers, satisfied with the trade freedom which brought them +prosperity, were averse to further change. The Presbyterians and the +lower classes generally were eager to press forward. They had conceived +the idea of a real Irish nation, of Gael and Gall united, of Churchman, +Roman Catholic and Dissenter working together for their country's good +under a free constitution. But it soon became apparent that the reforms +they demanded would not be won by peaceful means. The natural terror of +the classes whose ascendancy or prosperity seemed to be threatened, the +bribes and cajoleries of British statesmen, turned the hearts of those +who ought to have been leaders from Ireland to England. The relentless +logic, the clear-sighted grasp of the inevitable trend of events, +and the restless energy of men like Wolfe Tone, changed a party of +constitutional reformers into a society of determined revolutionaries. +Threats of repression were answered by the formation of secret +societies. Acts of tyranny, condoned or approved by terror-stricken +magistrates, were silently endured by men filled with a grim hope that +the day of reckoning was near at hand. Far-seeing English statesmen +hoped to fish out of the troubled waters an act of national surrender +from the Irish Parliament, and were not ill-pleased to see the sky +grow darker. Everyone else, every Irishman, looked with dread at the +gathering storm. One thing only was clear to them. There was coming a +period of horror, of outrage and burning, of fighting and hanging, the +sowing of an evil crop of fratricidal hatred whose gathering would last +for many years. + +The boat reached the little bay under the Black Rock. There was no need +to drag her far up the beach now, for the tide was full. Working in +silence, the three men laid her beside the broad-bottomed cobble used +for working the salmon-net, and pushed her bow up against the coarse +grass which fringed the edge of the rocks. They carried the oars and +sails into a fisherman's shelter perched on a rock beside the bay. Then +Donald Ward turned to Maurice and said-- + +"I am going to my brother's house. I shall walk by the path along the +cliffs, and my nephew will go with me. Your way home, unless I have +entirely forgotten the roads, is not our way. We part here, therefore. I +bid you good night, and thank you heartily." + +"We had intended," said Maurice, "to walk home with Neal. We have time +enough." + +His sister, quicker than he to take a hint, pulled him by the arm, and +whispered to him. Then she spoke aloud. + +"Good night, Mr. Donald Ward. Good night, Neal. Perhaps we shall see you +to-morrow." + +The uncle and nephew climbed the hill which led to the top of the cliffs +together. For a time neither of them spoke. The elder man seemed to be +absorbed in picking out the landmarks which had once been very familiar +to him. At last he spoke to Neal. + +"Does your father wish you to have Lord Dun-severic's son and daughter +for your friends?" + +Neal hesitated for a moment, and then answered. + +"He knows that they are my friends." + +"It would be better if they were not your friends. I have heard of +Lord Dunseveric, a strong man and an able man, a good friend of his own +class, not a good friend of the people." + +He paused. Neal wished to speak, to say some good of Lord Dunseveric; to +declare the strength of his friendship for Maurice. He could not speak +as he wished to speak. An unfamiliar feeling of oppression tied his +tongue. His uncle's will dominated his. + +"What is the girl's name?" asked Donald. + +"Una." + +"Yes, and what did her brother call her?" + +"Brown-Eyes." Neal felt as if the words were dragged from him. + +"Are you the lover of this Una Brown-Eyes?" + +Neal flushed. "You have no right to ask any such question," he said, +"and I shall not answer it. I will just say this to you. Do you suppose +that Lord Dunseveric would accept me, a penniless man, the son of a +Presbyterian minister, a member of a Church he despises, and connected +with a party he hates--do you suppose he would accept me as a suitor for +his daughter's hand?" + +"You have answered my question, though you said you would not answer +it. You have told me that you love the girl. I have watched her smile +at you, and seen her eyes while she talked to you, and I can tell you +something more, something that perhaps you do not know--the girl loves +you." + +Again Neal flushed. His uncle had put into words what he had never yet +dared to think. He loved Una. His uncle had assured him of something +else, something so glorious as to be incredible. Una loved him. Then he +became conscious that Donald Ward's eyes were on him--cold, impassive, +unpitying; that Donald Ward was waiting till the throbs of joy and +excitement calmed in him, waiting to speak again. + +"Put the thought of the girl from you. She is not for you, nor you for +her. Forget her. It will be better for you and for her. You shall have +work to do soon. Work is for men. Seeing babies in brown eyes is only +for boys." + +They left the path which skirted the tops of the cliffs, crossed a field +or two, and joined the road which led to Micah Ward's manse. The sound +of the sea died away, though the smell of it and the feeling of its +neighbourhood were still with them. The savage grandeur of ocean and +cliff no longer oppressed their spirits. It seemed natural to talk of +common things and to leave high themes behind them in the lonely places +they had left. Donald Ward gazed with interest at the white-walled +thatched cottages on the roadside. He commented on the disappearance of +some homestead he remembered, or the building of a new one where none +had been before. It was evident that, in spite of his twenty-five years' +absence, he cherished a clear and accurate recollection of the district +he was passing through. He inquired after the families who had lived +in the different houses, naming them. He learned how one or another had +disappeared, how old men were gone, and sons reigned in their stead. He +even supplied Neal with information now and then about some young man or +girl who had gone to America. + +They arrived at the manse. Neal led his uncle through the yard, meaning +to enter as usual by the kitchen door. On the threshold the housekeeper +met him. + +"Is that you, Master Neal? You're queer and late. You've had a brave +time gadding with your fine friends and never thinking how you were +leaving your old father to eat his dinner his lone. And who's this +you have with you? What sort of behaviour is this, to be coming here +bringing a stranger with you to a decent, quiet house, and he maybe----" + +"Whisht, now, Hannah. Will you hold your whisht (tongue?)?" said Neal. +"It's my uncle I have with me. You ought to be able to remember him." + +The old woman came forward to the place where Donald Ward stood, and +peered at his face. + +"Aye, I mind you well, Donald Ward. I mind you well. You hadna' just too +much of the grace of God about you when you went across the sea, and +I'm doubting by the looks of you now that you've done more fighting than +praying where you were." + +"Hannah Keady," said Donald Ward. + +"Hannah Macaulay," said the housekeeper, "and forbye the old minister +and Master Neal here, they call me Mistress Macaulay that have any talk +with me. I'm married and widowed since you crossed the sea." + +"Mistress Hannah Macaulay," said Donald, "you were a slip of a girl with +a sharp tongue when I mind you first, and a woman with a sharp tongue +when I said good-bye to you. You have lost your bonny looks and your +shining red hair; you've lost a husband, so you tell me, but you haven't +lost your tongue." + +The old woman smiled. The compliment pleased her. + +"Come in," she said, "come in. The minister'll be queer and glad to see +you. You know that fine. But have done with your old work. We've no more +call for Hearts of Oak boys, nor Hearts of Steel boys, nor for burning +ricks, nor firing guns." + +She led the way through the kitchen, up a narrow flight of stone stairs, +and opened the door of the room where the minister sat over his bodes. + +"Here's Master Neal home again," she said, "and he's brought your +brother Donald Ward along with him." + +Micah Ward rose to his feet and met his brother with outstretched hands. + +"Is it you, Donald? Is it you, indeed? I've been thinking long for you +this many a time, my brother, and wearying for you. We want you, Donald, +we need you sore, sore indeed." + +"Why, Micah," said Donald, "you've grown into an old man." + +The contrast between the two brothers was striking, more striking than +the likeness of their faces, though that was obvious. Micah was stooped +and pallid. He walked feebly. His limbs were shrunken. His hair was thin +and white. Donald stood upright, a well-knit, vigorous man. The point of +his beard and the hair over his ears were touched with iron grey, but +no one looking at him would have doubted his energy and capacity for +physical endurance. + +"Grey hairs are here and there upon us, and we know it not--Hosea, +7th and 9th," said the minister. "But there's fifteen years atween us, +Donald. It makes a difference. Fifteen years age a man, but I'm supple +and hearty yet." + +"Will I cook the salmon for your supper?" said the housekeeper. "You'll +not be contenting yourselves with the stirabout now that you have your +brother back again with you." + +"Cook the salmon, Hannah; plenty of it, and some of the ham and the +eggs. And, Neal, do you take the key of the cellar and get us a bottle +of wine and the whisky that old Maconchy brought in from Rathlin last +summer. It's not often I take the like, Donald, but it is meet that we +should make merry and be glad." + +Mistress Hannah Macaulay was a competent cook and housekeeper. It is +noticeable that women with sharp tongues are generally more efficient +than their gentler sisters. Solomon, who knew a good many things, seems +also to have known this. He was of opinion that a peaceful dinner of +herbs is better than a stalled ox and contention therewith. He knew that +he could not have both. It is the shrew who succeeds in giving the males +dependent on her stalled oxen and such like dainties to eat. + +The caressing wife and the sweet-tempered cook accomplish no more +than dinners of herbs, and generally even they are not particularly +appetising. The fact is, that the management of domestic affairs is +the most trying of all occupations. Cooking, washing, cleaning, and +generally doing for men in a house means continuous irritation and +worry. A woman, however sweet-natured originally, who is condemned to +such work must either lose her temper over it, in which case she +may cook stalled oxen, but will certainly serve them with sauce of +contention, or she may give up the struggle and preserve her gentleness. +Then she will accomplish no more than dinners of herbs, boiled cabbages, +from which tepid water exudes, and dishes of pallid turnips, supposed +to be mashed but full of lumps. Solomon preferred, or said he preferred, +kisses and cauliflowers. On questions of taste there is no use +disputing. + +Mistress Hannah Macaulay's salmon steaks came to the table with an +appetising steam rising from their dish. Her slices of fried ham formed +an attractive nest for the white-skinned poached eggs. She had plates of +curly oatcake and powdery farles. She had yellow butter in saucers. She +brought the porridge to table in well-scoured wooden bowls with horn +spoons in them. + +"The stirabout is good," she said. "I thought you'd like to sup them +before you ate the meat." + +Neal poured the wine into an old cut-glass decanter, and set Maconchy's +bottle of whisky, distilled, no doubt, by Maconchy himself among the +Rathlin Hills, beside his father's plate. + +Micah Ward said a long grace, in which he thanked the Almighty for the +fish, the ham, the eggs, the porridge, and his brother's return from +America. As a kind of supplement, he added a prayer for the peace of +his household, in which Hannah Macaulay, appropriately enough under the +circumstances, was especially named. + +After supper the two brothers drew their chairs to the fire. It was late +in May, but the air was still chilly in the evenings. Hannah took down +from the mantel-piece two well-polished brass candlesticks, fitted them +with tall dipt candles, and set them on the table she had cleared of +plates and dishes. Donald took a tobacco-box from his pocket, and filled +a pipe. + +"Neal," said his father, "you may go to your own room and complete the +transcription of the passages of Josephus which you left unfinished this +morning." + +"Let the lad stay," said Donald. + +"Neal knows nothing of the matters about which we must talk, brother, +nor do I think it well that he should know; not yet, at least." + +"Let the lad stay," repeated Donald. "I've seen younger men than he is +doing good work. Neal ought to be working, too. We cannot do anything +without the young men." + +Micah Ward yielded to his brother. + +"Draw your chair to the fire, Neal," he said. "You may stay and listen +to us." + +At first the talk was of old days. An hour went by. Donald filled his +pipe more than once, and finished his tumbler of punch. Story followed +story of the doings of the Hearts of Steel and Hearts of Oak. Donald, +as a boy, had taken his part--and that a daring part--in the fierce +struggle by which the northern tenant-farmers gained fuller security +and a chance of prospering a whole century before their brethren in the +south and west, with the aid of the English Parliament, won the same +privileges. Then Donald, speaking oftener and smoking less, told of +his own share in the American War of Independence. Neal, listening, was +thrilled with the stories of unequal battles between citizen soldiers +and trained troops. He glowed with excitement as he came to understand +the indomitable courage which faced reverse after reverse and snatched +complete victory in the end. Donald dwelt much on the part which +Irishmen had taken in the struggle, especially on the work of Ulster +men, Antrim men, men of the hard northern breed, of the Presbyterian +faith. + +"There's no breaking our people, Micah; men of iron, men of steel." + +"Shall iron break the northern iron, and the steel?" quoted Micah Ward, +and then, with that wonderful Puritan accuracy of reference to the +Bible, gave chapter and verse for the words--Jeremiah the 15th and 12th. + +"And the spirit's not dead in you at home, is it, Micah? The breed is +pure still." + +It was Micah's turn to speak. Neal sat in astonishment while his father +told of the wrongs which the northern Presbyterians and the southern +Roman Catholics suffered. Never before had he heard his father speak +with such passion and fierceness. There was a pause at last, and Donald +rose to his feet. He re-filled his glass from the punch-bowl, raised it +aloft, and said:-- + +"I give you a toast. Fill your glass, brother. No, that will not do. +Fill it full, and fill a glass for Neal. Stand now. I will have this +toast drunk standing. 'Here's to America and here's to France, the +pioneers of human liberty, and may Ireland soon be as they are now!'" + +"Amen," said Mica h Ward solemnly. + +"Drink, Neal, drink. Drain your glass, boy. I will have it," said +Donald. + +"The northern iron, the northern iron, and the steel," muttered Micah. + +Then the brothers drew their chairs closer together, and Micah, speaking +low, as if he dreaded the presence of some unseen listener, began to +tell of the plans of the United Irishmen. He mentioned the names of one +leader and another; told how the Government, vigilant and alert, had +already struck at the organisation; of the general dread of spies and +informers. He entered into details; told how the cannon, once given by +the Government to the Volunteers, were hidden in one place, how muskets +were stored in another, how the smiths in every village were fashioning +pike heads, how many men in each locality were sworn, how every male +inhabitant of Rathlin Island had taken the oath. Donald interrupted him +now and then with sharp questions. The talk went on and on. The tones +of the speakers grew lower still. Neal lost much of what was said. His +interest slackened. His eyes closed at last, and he fell fast asleep. + +It was late, close on midnight, when his uncle shook him into +consciousness again. The candles were burned down. The fire was out. The +atmosphere of the room was heavy with tobacco smoke. The punch-bowl was +empty, and the two bottles, empty also, stood beside it. It seemed to +Neal that his uncle spoke thickly in bidding him good night, and walked +unsteadily across the room. But Micah Ward's voice was clear and his +steps were firm. Only, as Neal thought, his eyes shone more brightly +than usual, and he held himself upright. The stoop was gone from his +shoulders, and the peering, peaked look from his eyes. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +The Lords of Dunseveric once lived in a castle perched on the edge of a +cliff, a place inferior to the neighbouring Dunluce as a stronghold, but +equally uncomfortable as a residence. The walls were thick, the rooms +little larger than prison cells, and the windows very small and narrow, +but they were wide enough to let the wind whistle through them and the +rain trickle over their sills to the stone floors inside. The doctor +of a modern sanatorium for consumptive people would have been well +satisfied with the ventilation of Dunseveric Castle. On stormy days in +winter it must have been most unsafe to venture out of doors. The worst +winds, fortunately, always blow inwards from the sea, but there are +eddies round buildings, and with precipices on three sides of him, +the ancient lord of Dunseveric had need to walk cautiously and provide +himself, when possible, with something to hold on to. Some time at the +end of the seventeenth century the reigning lord, giving up in despair +the attempt to render habitable a home more suited to a seagull than a +nobleman, being also less in dread than his ancestors of sea pirates and +land marauders, determined to build himself a house in which he could +live comfortably. He selected a site about a mile inland from the +original castle, and laid the foundations of Dunseveric House. Then, +despairing perhaps of living to complete his architect's grandiose +plans, he gave up the idea of building and hired a house near Dublin. +During the early part of the eighteenth century he interested himself in +Irish politics, and succeeded, as influential politicians did in those +days, in providing comfortably for outlying members of his family from +the public purse. His son, when it came to his turn to reign, ignored +the foundations which his father had laid, and erected a mansion such as +Irish gentlemen delighted in at the time--a Square block of grey masonry +with small windows to light large rooms, a huge basement storey, and an +impressive flight of stone steps leading up to the front door. He also +enclosed several acres of land with a stone wall, called the space a +garden and planted it with some fruit trees which did not flourish. + +His son, the Lord Dunseveric of 1798, having little left him to do in +the way of building, devoted his early years to planting and laying out +pleasure grounds round the new house. His wife, a French woman of Irish +extraction, brought a cultivated taste to his aid. No doubt her ideas +and her husband's energy would in the end have created a beautiful and +satisfying demesne round Dunseveric House if it had not been for the +north wind and the sea spray. These were hard enemies for a landscape +gardener to fight, and when Lady Dunseveric died her husband gave up the +struggle, having nothing better to show for his time and money than some +fringes of dejected-looking alders and a few groves of stunted Scotch +firs. He even neglected the glass houses which his wife had built. Irish +politics became extremely interesting just after Lady Dunseveric died, +and an Irish gentleman might well be forgiven for neglecting the culture +of his demesne when his time was occupied with drilling Volunteers, +passing Grand Jury resolutions in support of the use of Irish +manufactured goods, and subsequently preparing schemes for the internal +development of Ireland. + +Thus Dunseveric House was by no means an attractive place to Estelle, +Comtesse de Tour-neville, when she first visited it. Accustomed to the +scenery round her dead husband's chteau in the valley of the Loire, and +attached to the life of the French Court, the appearance of Dunseveric +House struck her as utterly dismal. She had every reason beforehand to +suppose that it would be dismal, and was quite convinced that it would +not suit her as a place of residence. Forced to flee from France in +1793, she put off taking refuge in her brother-in-law's house as long +as possible, and only arrived there after spending three years among +hospitable friends in England. + +"The poor Marie, my poor sister," she said, when Lord Dunseveric, at +the end of the long drive from Ballymoney, turned the horses up the bare +avenue. + +To her maid, in the privacy of her bedroom, she opened her grief more +fully. + +"I remember very well when my sister married, though I was but a little +girl at the time, eight or perhaps nine years old. I remember that all +the world talked of her handsome Irish husband. He was a fine man then. +He is a fine man still, and has the grand manner. Oh, yes, he is very +well. And my nephew. He is well made, big and strong like all the men +of his race and blood. But he has no manner--none. If only my sister had +lived she might have formed him. But--poor Marie!" + +She sighed. The maid hazarded a suggestion that Lady Dunseveric had +found life _triste_, too _triste_ to be endurable. + +"You are right," said the Comtesse, "she must have died of sheer +dulness. She had two children. That was occupation for a while, no +doubt. But, _mon dieu_, a lady cannot go on having children every year +like a woman of the _bourgeoisie_. It would be too tedious. She died. +She was right. And now I am here in her place. I am here with my lord, +who has good manners but does not care about me, wishes me anywhere but +in his house; a nephew who has no manners and a great deal of stupidity, +and a niece who is much too old to be my niece, and who is too like me +in face and figure for us to get on well together. Otherwise, truly, +she is not like me. She is content to spend all day in a boat on the sea +catching fish. Conceive it yourself, Susanne, she was catching fish, +and her companion was the son of the _cur_, a man of some altogether +impossible Protestant sect." + +But the Comtesse had the good manners or the good sense not to grumble +about her surroundings to anyone except her maid. She so far understood +the philosophy of a happy life as to know that pleasure awaits those +only who succeed in making themselves pleasant. + +She came down the morning after she arrived in time for breakfast, +although the English breakfast was a meal she had learned to detest, and +the North of Ireland families have made an even more serious business of +it. She expressed a delight which she cannot be supposed to have felt at +the sight of salmon, fried, cold, kippered; ham, eggs, fowl, farles of +home-made bread, oat-cake, honey, jam, butter. To the secret amusement +of Lord Dun-severic she even accepted a bowl of porridge which her +nephew offered her, and then, to the astonishment of Maurice, asked if +she might eat honey with it. She was delightfully optimistic about the +prospects of amusement for the day. + +"Where are you going to take me, Una? There are so many things that +I want to see. I recall the letters which Marie, your mother, used to +write to me about wonderful cliffs and gloomy caves and white rocks and +long strands. Of course you have all the business of the house to attend +to. I quite understand. I will wait. But afterwards, where will you take +me?" + +Una glanced out of the window. The south wind of the day before had +brought, as south winds usually do in County Antrim, abundant rain. +Maurice, appealed to, gave it as his opinion that there was no chance +of the weather improving until three o'clock, and that there wasn't much +chance of sunshine even then. + +"But, at least," said the Comtesse, "I shall be able to see your old +castle? I have heard so much about the castle. Could we not even go +there?" + +"We might," said Una dubiously, "but you will have to walk across two +fields, and the grass is long at this time of year. I don't mind getting +wet, of course, but you----" + +"I think, Estelle," said Lord Dunseveric, "that you had better give +up the idea of any expedition out of doors. Una will have a good fire +lighted for you in the morning-room, and you must make yourself as +comfortable as you can." + +When breakfast was over, Lord Dunseveric himself conducted his sister to +the morning-room. He selected a chair for her. He placed a small table +beside her. He stirred the fire into a fair blaze. He even fetched some +books for her from the library. But the Comtesse was not content. + +"Please sit down," she said, "and talk with me." + +The prospect of a long morning spent sitting on a chair talking to a +woman was not one which pleased Lord Dunseveric very greatly, but his +manners were, as his sister-in-law had observed, excellent. He had +letters to write and an important communication from the general in +command of the troops in Belfast to consider. But he sat down beside +his sister-in-law as if he were really pleased at having the chance of +a long chat with her, as if she did him a favour in granting him the +privilege of keeping her company. + +"What shall we talk about?" she said. "About dear Marie? About old +times? That would be too sad. About Maurice and Una? What is Maurice to +do? Have you obtained for him--how do you say it?--a commission in the +army? There is nothing better for a young man than to spend a short +time in the army. He sees the world. He learns manners and how to bear +himself and speak to a woman. And Una? We must have Una presented at +Court. Will you take her to Dublin this year? I think that you ought to. +It is not good for a girl to grow up all alone here." + +"I fear it will hardly be possible for me to go to Dublin either this +year or next." + +"But why? Surely you would be well received? Or is it not so? I suppose +that you are one of the _grands seigneurs_ of Ireland, one of the +leaders of your aristocracy. Besides, _mon frre_, your appearance, your +manner----. There cannot be many of your Irish gentry----." + +She paused and smiled on him most pleasantly. Lord Dunseveric was +sufficiently a man of the world to understand that this pretty lady was +flattering him. He even thought that she was not doing it very well, +that her methods were too obvious to be really artistic. Nevertheless, +he liked it. We most of us enjoy being flattered very much, especially +by pretty women, though we take a great deal of trouble to persuade +ourselves that we despise the flatterer and her ways. The Comtesse would +have said similar things to any man whom she wanted to please, and Lord +Dunseveric was quite aware of the fact. Still he was pleased. It was +a long time since a woman in a pretty dress, a woman who knew how to +assume a graceful attitude, had taken the trouble to flatter him. He +smiled response to her smile. + +"I've no doubt that I should be, as you put it, well received. I'm not +afraid that His Excellency would show me the cold shoulder, but the +present condition of the country is critical. I think it my duty to +stay at home. I am afraid that we are on the brink of an attempt at +revolution." + +"_Mon dieu!_ And have you Jacobins, too? I thought there were no such +things in Ireland. Tell me about your Jacobins." + +Again Lord Dunseveric was conscious that the Comtesse was trying to +please him, was displaying an interest, which did not seem wholly +natural, in a subject on which he would like to talk. + +"I'm afraid, Estelle, that an account of our Irish politics would +weary you. Politics are dull. You would send me away if I talked about +politics." + +"I assure you, no," she said. "In France we found politics most +exciting. The poor Comte, my husband, found them altogether too +exciting. Do tell me about your Irish Jacobins. Are they also +_sans-culottes?_" + +"They are mostly Presbyterians, dour, pigheaded, fanatical Republicans, +who want to get an army of your French friends over to help them." + +"Presbyterians! How droll! I thought Presbyterians were----But is not +Maurice's friend, the young man who goes out fishing in the sea with +Una, is not he a Presbyterian? I think they said last night that he was +the son of a _cur_." + +"Yes, he is. His father has the reputation of being one of the most +fanatical of the whole lot. But the young fellow is all right, so far as +I know." + +The Comtesse was silent for a minute or two. She appeared to be +considering Lord Dunseveric's last remark. When she spoke again it was +evident that her thoughts had wandered from Neal Ward's politics to +another subject. + +"Is it right, do you think, that this young man should be so intimate +with Una? She is a very attractive girl, and at a very dangerous age." + +"Oh, they've played together since they were children. Young Ward is a +nice boy and a good sportsman." + +"Still, he would not be suitable. Am I right?" + +"If you mean that he wouldn't do as a husband for Una, you are right, +but I don't think for a moment that any such nonsensical idea ever +crossed their minds. I like Neal. He's a fine, straightforward boy, and +a good sportsman." + +"I should like to see this model young man. Perhaps you English--pardon +me, my dear brother, you Irish--are differently made; but with us the +nicer a young man is the more dangerous we reckon him." + +"There's no difficulty about your meeting him. I'll ask him to dinner +to-day if you like. I'm sure Maurice will be pleased to ride over with +the invitation." + +"Charming," said the Comtesse. "Then I shall judge for myself." + +Neal Ward accepted the invitation when he received it. Perhaps he would +not have been able to do so had he been obliged to submit it to his +father and his uncle; but they had gone out together early in the day. +Neal understood that his uncle was to be introduced to several people +of importance, members of his father's congregation, men who were deeply +involved in the plans of the United Irishmen. He was left alone with a +task to perform. He was not now transcribing passages from Josephus. +His uncle had decided that he was to be trusted, and, as a proof of +confidence, he was set to compile from various papers a list of those in +the neighbourhood who could be relied on to take up arms when the day of +the contemplated outbreak arrived. The work interested Neal greatly. +He knew most of the men whose names he copied. Some of them he knew +intimately. Now and then he was surprised to find that some well-to-do +and apparently well contented farmer was a member of the society. Once +he paused and hesitated about going on with his work. He came to a +statement of the fact that one, James Finlay, had been enrolled as a +United Irishman and admitted to the councils of the local committee. +Neal knew James Finlay, and disliked him. Once he had caught him at +night in the act of netting salmon in the river. Neal had threatened to +hand him over to Lord Dunseveric. The poacher blustered, threatened, and +even attempted an attack upon Neal. He got the worst of the encounter, +and after vague threats of future vengeance, relapsed into whining +supplication. Neal spared him, considering that the man had been +well thrashed, and having the dislike, common to all generous-minded +Irishmen, of bringing to justice a delinquent of any kind. But he +disliked and distrusted James Finlay, and he did not understand how +his father and the others came to trust such a man. He wrote the name, +reflecting that Finlay had left the neighbourhood some weeks before in +order to seek employment in Belfast. Shortly afterwards he completed his +task. Maurice St. Clair arrived with Lord Dunseveric's invitation. Neal +locked up his papers, changed his clothes, and went through the rain to +Dunseveric House. He was not comfortable or easy in his mind. Yesterday +it was natural and pleasant to spend the day with Maurice and Una. +To-day he knew things of which he had been entirely ignorant before. He +knew that he himself was committed to a share in a desperate struggle, +in what might well become a civil war, and that he would be fighting +against Lord Dunseveric and against his friend Maurice. It did not +seem to him to be a fair and honourable thing to eat the bread +of unsuspecting enemies. Twice, as he tramped through the rain to +Dunseveric House, he stopped and almost decided to turn back. Twice he +succeeded in silencing his scruples and quieting the complaints of his +conscience. Each time it was the thought of Una which decided him. There +was in him a hunger to see the girl, to be near her, to touch her hand, +to hear her voice. Since his uncle had spoken to him about her on the +evening of his arrival Neal had become acutely and painfully conscious +of his love for her. Long ago he had loved her. Looking back he thought +that he had always loved her. Now he knew that he loved her. That made a +great difference. + +He was welcomed when he arrived by Lord Dun-severic with friendly +courtesy--by Una shyly. Her manner was not as it had been the day +before. The frank friendliness was gone. There was something else in +its place, something which thrilled Neal with hope and fear. Perhaps the +girl felt instinctively the change in Neal. Perhaps she was conscious +of her aunt's keen laughing eyes. Who can tell how a girl first becomes +conscious of the fact that a young man loves her? The Comtesse also +welcomed Neal. She set herself to please and flatter him. At dinner +she talked brightly and amusingly. It seemed to Neal that she talked +brilliantly. She told stories of the old French life. She related her +recent experiences of English society. She rallied Lord Dunseveric on +his grave dignity of manner. She drew laughter again and again from Una +and Maurice. But she addressed herself most to Neal. He was intoxicated +with her vivacity, the swift gleams of her wit, her delicate beauty, her +exquisite dress. He had never seen, never even imagined, the existence +of such a woman. Lord Dunseveric watched her and listened to her with +quiet amusement. It seemed to him that his sister-in-law meant not +only to rescue Una from an undesirable lover, but to attach a handsome, +gauche youth to herself. He understood that a woman like Estelle de +Tourneville might find the attentions of Neal Ward vastly diverting in +a place like Dunseveric, where nothing better in the way of a flirtation +was to be looked for. + +The wine and fruit were placed on the table and the servants withdrew. +The Comtesse, with her wine-glass in her hand, stood up. + +"It is not at all the fashion," she said, "for a lady to make a speech. +I shall shock you, my lord, but you will forgive me, for you know the +world. I shall shock my sweet Una, but she will forgive me because her +heart has no room in it for unkind thoughts of anyone. I shall shock +my nephew and the solemn Mr. Neal Ward, and they will not forgive me +because they are young and, therefore, have very strict ideas of how a +woman ought to behave herself. Nevertheless, I am going to make a speech +and propose a toast. I am Irish. Long ago my fathers lived in Ireland +and were _grands seigneurs_ as my good brother, Lord Dunseveric, is +to-day. They left Ireland for the sake of their faith and their king. +They went to France; but I am not, therefore, French. I am Irish. Now +that the French people have turned against us, have even wished to cut +off my head, which I think is much more ornamental on my shoulders than +it would be anywhere else--now I have returned to Ireland, I ask you all +to drink my toast with me. I propose--'Ireland.' I, who am loyal to the +old faith and the memory of the legitimate king, I will drink it. My +lord, who is of another faith and loyal to another king, will drink it +also. Mr. Neal, who has a third kind of faith, and is, I understand, not +loyal to any king, will, no doubt, drink it. My friends--'Ireland.'!" + +She raised her glass to her lips and sipped the wine. All the four +listeners stood and raised their glasses. + +"'Ireland,'" said Lord Dunseveric gravely. "I drink to Ireland." + +Then, with the glass at his lips, he paused. There was a noise of horse +hoofs on the gravel outside. A horseman, in military uniform, cantered +by. He was followed by another, a trooper. The little company in the +diningroom stood still and silent. The bell at the door of the house +was rung violently. Its sound reached them. A vague uneasiness came +upon them. One by one they sat down and laid their glasses--the wine +untasted--on the table before them. A servant entered the room. + +"Captain Twinely, my lord, of the Killulta Company of Yeomanry, wishes +to see your lordship on important business." + +"Ask him to come in here," said Lord Dunseveric. + +Una rose as if to leave the room. + +"No," said Lord Dunseveric, "stay where you are, and do you stay, too, +Estelle. This Captain Twinely must drink a glass of wine with us. He +passes for a gentleman. Then if he has business with me I shall take him +away. I must not break up our little party. It is not every day that +we have the pleasure of listening to such charming speeches as your's, +Estelle." + +Captain Twinely entered the room with a swagger. He made a great noise +with his heavy boots and with his spurs as he crossed the polished +floor. + +"I ask your pardon, my lord. I ask the ladies' pardon. I am not fit for +your company. I have ridden far today, and the roads are bad, damned +bad. I rode on the king's business." + +"The ladies," said Lord Dunseveric, "will be pleased if you will drink a +glass of wine with them. Are you alone?" + +"I left my troop in Ballintoy. The sergeant will see that they obtain +refreshment. My servant holds my horse outside." + +"I shall send him some refreshment," said Lord Dunseveric. "And your +horses must be stabled here till you have told me how I can serve you." + +Captain Twinely drank his wine, bowed to the ladies, and then said-- + +"I come at an inconvenient hour, my lord. You have just dined and you +have pleasant company, but I must crave your attention for a letter +which I bring you. The king's business, my lord." + +Lord Dunseveric rose, and led the way to the library. + +"I don't doubt," said Captain Twinely, "no one could be such a fool as +to doubt the loyalty of every member of your lordship's household and of +every guest in your lordship's house; but in deliver-ing my letter and +my message I prefer to be where there is no chance of eavesdropping. +Will you allow me to make sure that we are not overheard?" + +Lord Dunseveric himself shut the door of the room and drew a bolt +across it. Captain Twinely took a sealed packet from his breast. Lord +Dunseveric looked carefully at the address, broke the seal, and read the +contents of the paper within. + +"Do you know the contents of this paper, Captain Twinely?" + +"My orders are to solicit your lordship's assistance, as a Justice +of the Peace for the county, in arresting certain persons and taking +possession of some arms concealed in the neighbourhood. I do not know +the names of the persons or the place where the arms are concealed. I +have not been treated with confidence. I'm a loyal man, but I'm only +a plain gentleman. I may say that I feel aggrieved. I deserved more +confidence." + +Lord Dunseveric read the letter again before he answered. + +"I am directed here to arrest, with your assistance, five persons. All +of them are men who are well known and respected in this neighbourhood. +I know nothing of the evidence against them, beyond the mere fact, +stated here, that from information received they are believed to be +engaged in a plot for an armed rebellion. Captain Twinely, I have not +a very high opinion of the men from whom the Government receives +information, and I have reason to believe that the information is not +always trustworthy. There have been recently---- but I need not go into +that. I am a loyal man. I am willing to assist the Government in any way +in my power, but my loyalty has limits. Two of the persons named in this +letter I shall not arrest. One of them I believe to be innocent of all +designs against the Government; the other is a very feeble old man, who +will not in any case be dangerous as a rebel, and whom I have private +reasons for not wishing to arrest. I am willing to go with you to +the houses of the other three and arrest them. As for the concealed +arms--cannon it is stated here--I do not believe they exist, but I shall +take you to the place named, and let you see for yourself. Will this +satisfy you?" + +"Your lordship has to consider whether it will satisfy my commanding +officer. I should have thought it better, more advisable, more prudent, +for your lordship to obey the orders you have received exactly." + +The man's words were perfectly civil, but his manner and tone suggested +a threat. Lord Dun-severic stiffened suddenly. + +"I shall consider your commanding officer," he said, "when I am shown +that he has any right to command me." + +"Your loyalty----," began Captain Twinely. + +"My loyalty to the king and the Irish constitution is not to be +suspected or impugned by Mr. Twinely, of Killulta." + +"My lord, I consider that an unhandsome speech. I am only a plain +gentleman, but I am loyal. We county gentlemen ought to stand together. +I expected more consideration from you, my lord. I do not like your +sneering tone. By God, if it were not that I am on the king's busi--" + +"Yes, if you were not on the king's business----" + +But Captain Twinely did not finish his speech. + +"I shall have some refreshment brought in here to you, Captain Twinely," +said Lord Dunseveric. "I shall, with your permission, order a servant to +ride to Ballintoy and bring your troop here. When they arrive I shall be +ready to go with you. In the meanwhile, I beg you to excuse my leaving +you. I have some private matters to arrange before we start." + +He walked to the door, drew back the bolt, bowed, and left the room. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +Lord Dunseveric returned to the dining-room. He found the Comtesse +seated on a chair which had been placed on the table to give dignity to +her position. On the floor, beneath this lofty throne, knelt Neal +Ward, his hands tied behind him with a dinner napkin. Maurice, with a +carving-knife in his hand, stood on guard over the prisoner. Una, her +eyes shining with laughter, was making a speech. + +"Please, don't interrupt," said the Comtesse, "we are holding a +courtmartial on Mr. Neal. Una is acting as prosecutor; I am the judge. +In a few minutes, when I have delivered my sentence, Maurice will flog +the prisoner, and afterwards hang him with one of the bell ropes." + +"I want to speak to you, Neal," said Lord Dunseveric, gravely. + +Neal pulled his hands from their bandage, and rose, blinking and +uncomfortable, to his feet. + +"How solemn you are!" said the Comtesse. "What has that very boorish +Captain Twinely been telling you? Has a rebellion broken out? Is there +going to be a battle? Have they come to arrest Mr. Neal in real earnest? +I believe they have. Never mind, Mr. Neal, we will organise a rescue +party. They are not real soldiers, you know--only---only--what do you +call them?--ah, yes, yeomen. We will fall upon these yeomen after dark +and carry you off to safety." + +"Maurice," said Lord Dunseveric, "have two horses saddled, and get on +your boots. I shall want you to ride along with me. Come, Neal." + +The three men left the room. + +"Una," said the Comtesse, "come quick and change your dress. We will go +and see what is happening. Oh, this is most exciting, and the day has +been so dull and long. Come, Una, come; we will not let anyone see +us. We will take the most delightful short cuts. We will lie hidden in +ditches while they pass. We must see everything. Come, come, come." + +"But--my father----" + +"Oh, you dear dutiful child! Just for once don't mind about your father. +I am sure something thrilling is going to happen. Haven't you a duty +of obedience towards your aunt? I cannot go without you, for I should +certainly lose my way." + +The arrival of Captain Twinely, Lord Dun-severic's grave face, and his +summons to Neal had filled Una's mind with an undefined dread of some +threatening evil. She was nearly as anxious as her aunt to know what +was to happen. The prospect of a scamper across country through the +rain daunted her very little. She had no doubt of her ability to keep in +touch with the horsemen without being discovered. They would keep to the +high road. To her every short cut was known, every hill for observation, +and every possible hiding-place were as familiar to her as the lawn of +Dunseveric House. + +Lord Dunseveric led the way to his own dressing-room, beckoning Neal to +follow him. + +"Sit down, Neal," he said, "and listen. I must talk while I boot and +change my coat. This Twinely, who takes rank as a captain of yeomen, and +has, as I suppose, a following of blackguards, brings me orders which I +cannot disobey--at least which I mean to disobey in only one particular. +I am bidden to search your father's meeting-house for cannon supposed +to be concealed there. I am going to search, and search thoroughly. Your +answer will make no difference to my action; but I should like you to +tell me, are the cannon there?" + +"I do not believe there are any cannon," said Neal; "I never heard of +them, or had any reason to suspect their existence." + +Lord Dunseveric watched him keenly as he replied. Then he said-- + +"I believe what you say, of course. If there are cannon there you know +nothing of it. Now, another question. I am to arrest several persons +whose names have been sent to me; your name stands second on the list. +Are you a United Irishman? Have you sworn the oath?" + +"No," said Neal, without hesitation. "I have not sworn. I have not been +enrolled as one of the society." + +"I may take it that the Government has acted on false information in +ordering your arrest?" + +"Yes. The man who gave that information certainly lied. I knew nothing +of the plans of the United Irishmen yesterday, but it is right that I +should tell you----" + +"It is not right that you should tell me anything more. You have +answered my two questions. I have your word for it that you are not a +United Irishman, and I have your word that the information received by +the Government is false. I want to hear no more on that subject. I shall +take the responsibility of refusing to arrest you. I am also bidden to +arrest your father. I ask you no questions about him. I simply inform +you that I am not going to arrest him either. I do not believe in his +innocence. I think it likely that he is implicated in the conspiracy, +but I am not going to arrest him. He is too old to fight, and when +the other three men on my list are in prison he will have ceased to be +dangerous. Further, your father, in his writings, has attacked, and, in +my opinion, slandered me personally." + +"You mean in the _Northern Star?_" + +"Yes. In the series of articles called '_Letters of a Democrat,_' which +are attributed, I think rightly, to your father." + +Lord Dunseveric paused. Neal remained silent. He had not read the +articles, but he believed his father had attacked the landlord +aristocracy with great bitterness, and he thought it likely that Lord +Dunseveric had cause for complaint. + +"I do not choose," said Lord Dunseveric, "to take part in the arrest of +a man who may be regarded as my personal enemy. You may tell your father +this, and you may tell him further that if he is a wise man he will +leave the country at once. The next magistrate charged with his arrest +may not have my scruples or my reasons for hesitating. Now, listen to +me, Neal, before I leave you, and mark what I say. I admit, and I always +have admitted, the justice of the claims which your people make. There +ought to be equality, full and complete, for you and the Catholics. +There ought to be an end to the tyranny under which you suffer, but +you are going the wrong way about getting your wrongs righted. Your +rebellion, if there is to be a rebellion, can't succeed. You will be +crushed. And Neal, lad, that crushing will be an evil business. It will +be evil for you and your friends, but that's not all. It will be made an +excuse for taking away the hard won liberty of Ireland. Keep out of +it, Neal. Take my advice, and keep out of it, for your own sake and for +Ireland's." + +He took the young man's hand, wrung it, and then turned and left the +room. Neal stood for a while dazed and bewildered. He had known before +that his father was a supporter of the United Irishmen. He had guessed, +though until that morning he had not actually known, how deeply he was +versed in the secrets of the society. He had never imagined that the +doings and sayings of an obscure Presbyterian minister were being +watched and noted by Government spies. He found it hard to realise that +the eyes of remote authorities, of secretaries of state, of generals of +armies, were fixed on the wind-swept, desolate, northern parish, on +the gaunt, grey manse he called his home. Yet the evidence of this +incredible surveillance was plain and unmistakable. Men of his father's +congregation, men whom he supposed he knew personally, were to be +seized and marched off, to be flogged perhaps as others had been, to be +imprisoned certainly, to be hanged very likely, in the end. His father +was a marked man, with the choice before him of exile or imprisonment, +perhaps death. He himself was suspected, had been informed against, lied +about, by someone. His mind flew back to the list of names he had copied +out that morning, to the one name which had arrested his attention +especially. He remembered that James Finlay owed him a grudge, desired +revenge; he felt sure that James Finlay was the informer. Others might +have betrayed the secrets of the society. James Finlay alone, so far as +he could recollect, had any motive for incriminating him, an entirely +innocent man. + +He was roused from his thoughts by the sound of horses trampling on the +gravel sweep outside. The yeomen, summoned from Ballintoy, had arrived +at Dunseveric House. They were laughing, talking, and singing as they +rode, a disorderly mob of horsemen rather than a troop of soldiers. +After a few minutes they rode past the window again. Captain Twinely was +at their head. Ten or twelve yards in front of him, as if disdainful of +his company, rode Lord Dunseveric and Maurice. + +They were wrapped in long horsemen's cloaks, for the rain beat down on +them. The wind was rising, and blew in strong gusts. The sun had set and +the evening was beginning to darken. Neal ran down to the hall, seized +his coat and stick, and went out. The horsemen moved along the avenue +at a steady trot. Neal saw them turn to the right and go along the road +which led to the manse and the meeting-house. He started to run across +the fields. He hoped to reach the manse and warn his father before +the soldiers arrived at the meeting-house. He ran fast, choosing the +shortest and easiest way, avoiding boggy patches of ground which would +have checked his progress. After a while, from a point of vantage, he +was able to catch a glimpse of the road. He noted that he was level with +the yeomen, and he knew that from the point where he saw them the road +took a wide curve inland. He calculated that by running fast he would be +able to cross it in front of the troop, and by keeping along the cliffs +would be able to reach the manse before the soldiers did. He sped +forward. Suddenly, as he descended the hill to the road, he became aware +of two figures crouching behind the bank which divided the road from +the field. He was dimly aware that they were women. He did not look +carefully at them. His eyes were fixed on the horsemen against whom he +was racing. He gained the edge of the field and sprang upon the bank. He +heard his name called softly. + +"Neal, Neal, Neal Ward." + +Then somewhat louder by another voice. + +"Mr. Neal, come and help us." + +He recognised Una's voice and then that of the Comtesse. He had no time +to think what they wanted or how they came to be crouching in a damp +ditch in the rain while the evening darkened over them. He leaped from +the bank, crossed the road, and raced off again towards his father's +house. + +He arrived at the door, breathless, but sure that he was in good time. +He burst into the sitting-room and found his father and uncle, their +lamp already lighted, bending over a pile of papers which lay before +them on the table. + +"The soldiers, the yeomen, are on their way here," he gasped. + +Micah Ward started to his feet. + +"What do you say?" + +"The yeomen are on their way to the meetinghouse. They are going to +search for arms, for cannon, which they say are concealed there." + +Micah Ward stood stock still. His body seemed to have become suddenly +rigid. His face grew quite white. Donald, leaning back in his chair, +smiled slightly. + +"So," he said, "they have begun. Are there cannon there, brother?" + +"Yes, there are," said Micah, slowly. "Four six-pounders. They belonged +to the Volunteers. We kept them. We thought they might be useful some +day." + +"Ah," said Donald, "it's a pity. We shall have the trouble of +re-capturing them. Come, let us go down to the meeting-house. I should +like to see these terrible yeomen." + +"Some one has given them information," said Micah. He was silent for a +minute. Then he muttered as if to himself-- + +"Some one has informed against us. Some one has brought this evil upon +us. Who has done this thing? Who is our secret enemy?" + +"Come," said Donald, "don't stand muttering there." + +But Micah did not heed him. Raising both hands above his head, and +looking upward, he spoke slowly, clearly-- + +"May the curse of the Lord God of Israel light on the man who has +informed against us. May he be smitten with madness and blindness and +astonishment of heart. May he grope at the noonday as the blind gropeth +in the darkness. May his life hang in doubt before him. May he fear +day and night, and have none assurance of his life. May he say in +the morning--'Would God it were even! And at even--'Would God it were +morning!' for the fear of his heart wherewith he shall fear and the +sight of his eyes which he shall see." + +"That," said Donald, "is a mighty fine curse. I'm darned if I ever heard +a more comprehensive kind of curse. We had a God-forsaken half-breed in +our company, under General Greene, who could curse quite a bit, and he +never came near that curse. But I reckon that a good deal of it will +have to be wasted. There isn't a man living who could stand it for long. +Still, if you name the man for us, I'll do the best I can with him. +I may not be able to work the blindness and the groping just as you'd +wish, but I'll undertake that his life hangs in doubt before him for a +bit." + +Micah Ward, without seeming to hear his brother's speech, stalked +bare-headed from the room and led the way to the meeting-house. + +The yeomen were marching up the hill from the main road. They sang a +song with a ribald chorus, such as men sing in a tavern when they have +drunk deep. Lord Dunseveric and Maurice had already reached the door of +the meeting-house, and sat silent on their horses. + +"Mr. Ward," said Lord Dunseveric, "will you give me the keys and save +me from the necessity of breaking open the door? I see Neal with you. I +suppose he has told you what we have come to do?" + +"I shall never render the keys to you," said Micah Ward. "Do the work of +scorn and oppression that you intend, but do not ask me to aid you." + +The yeomen, still singing, straggled up while Lord Dunseveric and Micah +Ward spoke. Suddenly their song ceased, and they listened in a silence +of sheer amazement while Donald Ward addressed their captain. + +"Say"--his voice was cold, clear, and contemptuous--"do you call +yourself a captain? And is this your notion of discipline? I guess, +young fellow, if we'd had you with General Greene in Carolina we'd have +combed you out and flogged the drunken ragamuffins you're supposed to be +commanding. But I reckon you're just the meanest kind of Britisher there +is, that kind that swaggers and runs away." + +"Seize that man," said Captain Twinely. "Tie him up. Flog him. Cut the +life out of him." + +Lord Dunseveric touched his horse with the spur and rode forward. +"Captain Twinely, I told you I should have no flogging here. I mean to +be obeyed. And you, sir, you are a stranger here. Who are you?" + +"This," said Micah Ward, laying his hand on his brother's arm, "is my +brother." + +"Captain Twinely, dismount two of your men. Let them conduct Mr. Ward +and his brother back to the manse and mount guard at the door. Maurice, +tie your horse to the tree yonder, and go with them. See that no +incivility is used. When they are safe in the manse you can return +here." + +Neal walked to the rear of the troop, and stood at the side of the road +near the wall, while his father and uncle were marched away under charge +of two troopers and Maurice St. Clair. + +"Sergeant," said Captain Twinely, "take four men and force this door." + +Neal heard his name called in a low voice by some one near him. + +"Neal, Neal, Neal Ward." + +It was Una's voice. His father and uncle had passed down the road. The +yeomen were eagerly watching their comrades' attempts to force the door. + +Neal stepped over the low stone wall. He felt a hand grasp his and heard +Una speak again. + +"Neal, stay with us. I'm frightened." + +A low musical laugh followed, and then the voice of the Comtesse-- + +"You are a most ungallant cavalier, Mr. Neal. You left us alone in one +ditch this evening already. You really must not leave us in another." + +The effort to force the door of the meeting-house was unsuccessful. + +"Put a musket to the key-hole," said Captain Twinely, "and blow off the +lock." + +There was an explosion. The woodwork was splintered and shattered. A +single push opened the door. + +"Now," said Captain Twinely, "come in and search." + +The little meeting-house was scantily furnished. A high, octangular +wooden pulpit with a precentor's pew in front of it stood at the far +end. The place was bare of hanging or cupboard which could have been +used as a hiding-place. The men tramped about, upsetting the benches and +cursing as they tripped upon them. + +"It's as dark as hell," said Captain Twinely. "Send a man down to the +minister's house and let him fetch up a bundle of bogwood to serve us +for torches. I must have light." + +One of the men departed on the errand. The sergeant, mounted on the +pulpit, rapped on the desk in front of him to secure silence, and said +in a high-pitched, drawling voice-- + +"Beloved! Brands snatched from the burning! Sanctified vessels! Let +us, in this hour of trial and tribulation, when the ungodly triumph and +prosper in their way, let us sing the Ould Hunderd to the comfort of our +souls." + +At the sound of his voice the troopers who remained outside crowded into +the building, leaving two or three of their number to take care of the +horses. Well satisfied with his congregation, the sergeant sang to the +tune sanctified by two centuries of Puritan worship:-- + + "There was a Presbyterian cat + Who loved her neighbour's cream to sup; + She sanctified her theft with prayer + Before she dared to lap it up." + +A burst of applause greeted the performance of this ribald parody. There +were calls for more such psalmody. "Give us another verse, Sergeant." +"Tune up again, Dick." "Goon, goon." Lord Dunseveric, who had remained +outside, dismounted and stalked through the door. He had caught the +tune, though not the words of the sergeant's song. He guessed at some +ribald irreverence within. His face was white with anger. + +"Silence," he cried. + +The sergeant, half drunk, looked at him with an insolent grin. + +"Your lordship will like the second verse better-- + + "There was a Presbyterian wife--" + +Lord Dunseveric forced his way through the soldiers who stood between +him and the singer, and approached the pulpit with clenched fists and +lips pressed close together. + + "Who found her husband growing old; + She sanctified-----" + +sang the sergeant, leering at Lord Dunseveric, but before he got any +further a woman's shriek rang through the building. The sergeant +stopped abruptly. The men crowded through the door, eager for some new +excitement. Lord Dunseveric and Captain Twinely followed as quickly as +they could. There was another shriek, a sound of blows and cursing. +Then men's voices rose above the tumult. "Down with the damned croppy." +"Throttle him." "Knife him." "Hold him now you've got him." "Take a belt +for his arms." "Ah, here's Tarn with the torches." "Strike a light, one +of you." "There's two of them, two wenches, by God, and young ones." +"Fetch them into the meeting-house and make them dance." "Ay, by God, +we'll tie their petticoats round their necks and then make them dance." + +There was a rush of men to the door of the meeting-house. Lord +Dunseveric and Captain Twinely were borne back before they could see +what was going on. Some one struck a light and illuminated a branch of +bogwood which he held above his head as a torch. + +"Drag in the prisoner," yelled a voice. "We'll give him a place in the +front and let him see his wenches dance." + +Lord Dunseveric, unable to make his voice heard above the tumult, saw +Neal Ward, his arms bound to his sides by a belt strapped round him, +dragged into the meeting-house. His face was cut and bleeding slightly. +His coat was rent from collar to skirt. + +"Make way, make way, for the ladies." + +A trooper entered with two women. He had an arm clasped round each. +Lord Dunseveric recognised with amazement and horror his daughter and +sister-in-law. Una made no resistance. She was terrified into a state of +helplessness. The Comtesse struggled desperately, tearing with her hands +at the trooper's face. Captain Twinely recognised the ladies almost +immediately, and strove to reach them. Before he could make his way Lord +Dun-severic's voice rang out above the tumult. + +"Maurice, are you there? Come in here at once." + +There was something in his voice, a tone of authority, a note of grim +determination, which cowed the rabble of men for an instant. Maurice St. +Clair pushed his way through the door in silence. + +"Maurice," said Lord Dunseveric, this time in quiet, even tones, "take +that scoundrel by the throat, and if he offers any resistance choke +him." + +The man loosed his hold of the two women, and his hand flew to his sword +hilt, but before he could draw it, Maurice bounded upon him and flung +him to the ground. Once, twice, thrice, as the trooper strove to raise +himself, his head was dashed down on the hard earthen floor of the +meeting-house. + +After the third time he lay still. Maurice rose and stood over him. + +"Captain Twinely," said Lord Dunseveric, "loose the belt from your +prisoner's arms at once." + +The order was obeyed, and Neal stood free. "Bid your men leave the +meeting-house, all but the man who holds the torch and the one who lies +there on the floor." + +The men, cowed and sullen, went out. + +"Now," said Lord Dunseveric, "I will have this matter cleared up and I +will have justice done." He turned to Neal. + +"How came you here with my daughter and the Comtesse de Tourneville?" + +Neal stood silent. + +"It was my fault," said the Comtesse. "I brought Una. I wanted to see +what was going on. Mr. Neal had nothing to do with it. He tried to save +us when, when that man"--she pointed to the soldier on the +floor--"found us." + +"Is that so?" asked Lord Dunseveric of Neal. + +"It is." + +"Maurice," said Lord Dunseveric, "take your sister and your aunt home, +and when you get them there see that they do not leave the house again. +Stay. Take Neal with you. Those ruffians outside will scarcely venture +to molest you, but, in case any of them are drunk enough to try, you +will be the better of having Neal beside you. Captain Twinely, you +will kindly give orders to your men that my son and his party are to be +allowed to pass." + +Lord Dunseveric was left alone in the meeting-house save for the man who +held the torch and the trooper who lay unconscious on the floor. + +"Give me the light," he said, "and go you over to your comrade. Loose +his tunic and feel if his heart still beats." + +The man did as he was bidden, and reported that the trooper whom Maurice +had stunned was still alive. Lord Dunseveric walked to the door of the +meeting-house and said-- + +"Captain Twinely, you will now be so good as to take the man who lies +here on the floor and hang him at once. We are not well off for trees in +this country, but there is at least one at the back of the meeting-house +tall enough for the purpose." + +There was a threatening growl from the men outside. They drew together. +Their hands were on their swords. Captain Twinely stood a little apart +from them. His eyes were fixed on the ground. He made no motion, and +showed no sign of obeying the orders he was given. Lord Dunseveric +looked first at him and then at the group of angry troopers. He stepped +out of the meeting-house and faced them. He took out his watch and +looked at it. + +"I give you ten minutes," he said, "in which to obey my order. If that +man is not hanged in ten minutes I shall march you back to Dunseveric +House, where there are trees enough, and hang every one of you there." + +They could have killed him easily as he stood there. They probably would +have killed him if he had shown the smallest sign of fear. They knew +perfectly well that he could not have marched them to Dunseveric House +or anywhere else if they had chosen to resist. Nevertheless, they obeyed +him. A rope was fetched from the saddle of one of the troopers. In those +days the yeomen carried ropes fit for hanging men as they went through +the country. The unconscious man was carried from the meeting-house +and hung up on the only tree large enough to bear his weight. Lord +Dunseveric, with his watch in his hand, saw the thing done with a quiet +smile. Then he spoke again to Captain Twinely. + +"You had better proceed with your search for the cannon. It is getting +late, and you have already wasted a great deal of time." + +More torches were lit. The men, now thoroughly cowed, dragged down the +pulpit and the precentor's pew. The earth under them was not beaten hard +as was the earth of the rest of the floor. Captain Twinely took a torch +and peered at it. + +"Fetch a spade," he said. + +They shovelled the earth into a heap against the wall and uncovered four +cannons. They were wrapped in oily rags, and well preserved, in spite of +their damp hiding-place. Lord Dunseveric looked at them carefully. + +"Ah," he said. "Four of the six-pounders which I bought for my company +of volunteer artillery in 1778. I often wondered what had become of +them. Now, Captain Twinely, you have got the cannon, you had better go +on to arrest your prisoners. I shall go with you, and remember I shall +permit no violence unless resistance is offered. I have given your men +one lesson to-night already. I am quite prepared to give them another if +necessary." + +The rain had ceased when Maurice and Neal, with their charge, left the +meeting-house. The direction of the wind had changed since sunset. It +blew in from the north and was sweeping the clouds away. The moon, then +in its first quarter, seemed to be racing across the sky among the torn +fragments of black cloud. Now and then it reached an open space and shed +a pale, white light over the landscape. Again, it was hidden and the +night was very dark. Already the wind had aroused the sea to its old +warfare against the rocks and strands. Its hollow roaring was borne far +inland. For a time the little party walked in silence. The Comtesse was +the first to speak. + +"If that is the way your loyal troops behave, Maurice, I think that I +prefer the _sans culottes_. Ugh! my clothes are half torn off my back. I +shall never be able to wear this dress again. It will smell, positively +smell, of the grimy hands of that drunken wretch." + +"What brought you out?" asked Maurice. "If you had stayed at home +nothing would have happened to you." + +"Now," said the Comtesse, "if you begin to lecture me, to preach sermons +to me, I shall sit down and cry. I could scream and kick at this moment +with the greatest ease and pleasure. Then what would you do, my nephew?" + +"Maurice," said Una, "let us go home across the fields. Don't let us go +by the road. I'm afraid of meeting those men again. They will be coming +after us." + +"Nonsense, Una," said the Comtesse, "we have climbed walls enough +to-night; we have lain in ditches enough. For my part, if there is a +road I shall go along it. Come, Maurice." + +She walked quickly on, and Maurice, puzzled and uncomfortable, followed +her. Then Neal laid his hand on Una's arm. + +"This way," he said. "I will take you home by the fields." + +He sprang across the ditch and stretched out his hand to the girl. +Without a word she took it and followed him. They walked in silence over +the rough ground. They crossed a wall, and then another, and each time +Neal thrilled at the touch of her hand as he turned to help her. + +"You were very brave, Neal," she said. + +"It's not much to be brave for you, Una. Oh, I wish I could have saved +you." + +He had her hand in his again, and this time it seemed as if it lingered +in his clasp. + +"Una," he said. "Una." + +But her face was turned away from him, and she made no answer. The tone +of his voice set her pulses beating with a strong excitement, so that +she could not look at him or speak. He was silent again. They reached +the high wall which bounded the demesne of Dunseveric House. Once more, +as they climbed, her hand was in his. + +This time he held it fast. It seemed to him that he was doing something +that would call down on him swift rebuke and angry reproach. He expected +to have the hand snatched from him. Then, with wonder and a glow of +rapturous delight, he felt it lie passive in his. He realised that he +was being swept beyond his self-control; that his desire for the girl +beside him was stronger than his reason. He yielded to an impulse of +sheer passion, clasped Una in his arms, and kissed her face. Again and +again he kissed her. He felt her arms tighten round him, knew that she +was clinging to him. Then suddenly he let her go and stood back from +her, terror-stricken. + +"Oh, Una, what have I done? I am mad." + +She stood before him, her face covered with her hands. + +"Una, speak to me. Can you ever forgive me? My love made me mad." + +She raised her face and looked at him. In the dim moonlight he saw in +her eyes a look of wonderful tenderness. He realised without a word from +her that she loved him, too. + +"Una--I ought never--I was wrong. But I love you more than my life. +Una, you are too far above me. You are a great man's daughter. How did I +dare?" + +She came close to him and spoke. + +"There is no above or below, Neal, when we love each other. How can I be +far above the man who loves me?" + +"But there is no hope for us, none at all anywhere. Even to-morrow I may +have to go--Una, I may have to fight----" + +"Whatever comes, Neal, I know that you will be brave and good. Be brave +and good, dear Neal, and then God will give us our hearts' desire. I am +not afraid of the future. Why should you be afraid? If you do what is +right and honourable what is there to fear? God is good." + +They walked together to the house. Then Neal turned and went home. The +future, so far as he could see into it, was dark enough. His love seemed +utterly hopeless, yet his heart was full of unspeakable joy. He knew, +beyond all possibility of doubt, that Una loved him and would love him +whatever happened. Her strangely simple faith seemed to make all things +plain before him. Una loved him and God was good. It was enough. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +When Neal arrived at the Manse he found that the sentries who had stood +on guard at the door were gone. The yeomen had disappeared from before +the meeting-house. The broken door, the fragments of the wrecked pulpit, +and the figure of the dead trooper swinging from the branch on which he +had been hanged were left as witnesses of the Government's methods of +keeping the peace in Ireland. + +Inside the house Micah Ward paced restlessly up and down the floor of +his study. Donald, his pipe in his mouth, sat on a chair tilted back +till its front legs were six inches off the floor, and watched his +brother. His attitude was precarious, but he seemed comfortable. Micah +paused in his rapid walking as Neal entered the room. + +"What have you been doing, Neal?" he said. "Your face is cut, your +clothes are torn; you look strangely excited." + +"I have been fighting," said Neal. He did not think it necessary to add +that he had also been love-making, though it was the interview with Una, +far more than the struggle with the yeoman, which was accountable for +the gleaming eyes and exalted expression which his father noticed. + +"I trust you were victorious," said his father, "that your foot has been +dipped in the blood of your enemies, that you have broken their bonds +asunder, and cast away their cords from you." + +"I was beaten," said Neal, smiling. It did not just then seem to matter +in the least whether he got the better or the worse in any fight. + +"You take it easily," said Donald. "That's right. You're blooded now, +my boy. You'll fight all the better in the future for tasting your own +blood to-night. I'm glad you are back with us. Your father has been +giving out the most terrific curses against Lord Dunseveric for having +brought the yeomen down on us and taken away his little cannons. I tell +him he ought to be thankful they went into the meeting-house instead of +coming here. They'd have made a fine haul if they'd walked in and taken +the papers he and I had before us when you came here. They'd have had +the name of every United Irishman in the district, and could have picked +them out and hanged them one by one just as they wanted them." + +"They've got as much information, pretty near, as they want," said Neal. +"They are going to arrest three men to-night." + +"God's curse on Eustace St. Clair, him whom men call the Lord of +Dunseveric," said Micah Ward. + +"Spare your curse," said Neal. "It wasn't Lord Dunseveric who brought +the yeomen on us, and what's more, only for Lord Dunseveric you'd be +arrested yourself along with the others." + +"What's that you are saying, Neal?" + +"I'm saying that the yeomen brought orders from Belfast to arrest you, +and me, too, and that Lord Dunseveric refused to execute them." + +"And so I owe my liberty to him! I must thank him for sparing me. I must +fawn on him as my benefactor, I suppose. But I will not. I refuse his +mercy. I scorn it. I cast it from me. I shall go out and offer myself to +the yeomen. They are to take my friends, my people, and spare me. I will +not be spared. Am I the hireling who fleeth when the wolf cometh? I go +to deliver myself into their hands." + +"You'll be a bigger fool than I take you for if you do," said Donald. +"Listen to me now. From what Neal has told us it's evident that you're +wrong about Lord Dunseveric. It wasn't he who brought the yeomen on us. +There is someone else giving information, and it's someone who knows +a good deal. Come now, brother Micah, cudgel your brains; think, man, +think, who is it?" + +Micah sat down at his writing-table and passed his hand over his +forehead. + +"I cannot think," he said. "I cannot, I will not believe that any of our +people are traitors." + +"These orders which Neal speaks of came from Belfast," said Donald. "Who +has lately left this place and gone to Belfast?" + +"I can tell you," said Neal. "James Finlay. And James Finlay had a +grudge against me. The others whom he denounced were United Irishmen, +perhaps, I was not. Why was I marked down, unless it was out of private +revenge? And there is nobody, nobody in the world, I believe, who has +cause to wish for vengeance on me but only James Finlay." + +"I cannot believe it of him," said Micah. "He came to me himself and +asked to be sworn. He was a member of the committee." + +"If you ask me," said Donald, "I think the case looks pretty black +against James Finlay. I think, if things are to go on as they ought to, +it will be better to cut the throat of James Finlay. I don't know him +myself. Perhaps you do, Neal." + +"Yes," said Neal, "I know him." + +"And he is in Belfast," said Donald. "Now, what was his reason for going +to Belfast?" + +"He went to obtain employment there," said Micah. "He took letters from +me to some of our leaders. He went as my agent, properly accredited. My +God! If he is a traitor!" + +"I think, Neal," said Donald, slowly, "that you and I will take a little +trip to Belfast. I should like to see Belfast. They tell me it's a +rising town. I should also very much like to see our friend, James +Finlay. I suppose we shall be able to get horses to-morrow. Oh, yes, +I've money to pay for them. I didn't come over here with an empty purse. +Anyway, I think Belfast would suit me better than this place. Your +people, Micah, don't seem very fond of fighting." + +"You are wrong, brother. They will lay down their lives right willingly +when the hour comes." + +Donald shrugged his shoulders. "Their meeting-house has been sacked, +their minister has been insulted, three of their members are to be +arrested, and they haven't offered to strike a blow. If they had the +courage of doe rabbits they'd have chopped up those yeomen into little +bits and then scattered them for dung over the fields. I reckon that +unless the Belfast people are better than these men of yours I'd be +better back in the States. We knew how to fight for our liberty there." + +"You don't understand, Donald. Believe me, you do not understand. We +must wait for orders before we strike." + +"Oh, orders. Waiting for orders. I know the meaning of that. It means +waiting till the English have picked off your leaders one by one. I +know, I know." + +Donald knocked the ashes out of his pipe, filled it, and lit it again, +and puffed slowly. Micah sat at the table, his head resting in his +hands. Neal sat down and waited. There was silence in the room for a +long time. Donald's pipe was smoked out and lit again before he spoke. +Then he said-- + +"I'm sorry, brother, that I spoke as I did. I don't doubt but that your +men are brave enough. They would have fought if they had known what was +going on." + +"No, no," said Micah. "You were right. I ought to have fought if there +were no one else. I ought to have died. I would to God that I had died +before our meeting-house was pillaged, before my people, the men who +trusted me, were taken captive. I was a coward. I am a coward." + +"Then I am a coward, too," said Donald, "and no man ever called me that +before. But I'm not, and you're not. We were two unarmed men against +fifty. I'm fond enough of fighting, and I take on a job with long odds +against me, but not such long odds as that. Rouse yourself, brother. +Neal and I are going to Belfast. We shall want letters from you. We must +be accredited like Mr. James Finlay, whom we hope to meet. Stir yourself +now and write for us." + +"I will, I will. Neal, there is no ink here. I remember that I used all +my ink yesterday. Neal, fetch me ink from the shelf beside the window." + +In a few minutes Micah's pen was travelling slowly over the paper. Neal +could hear its spluttering and scratching. Suddenly, there was a noise +of loud knocking at the door of the house. Donald started and laid down +his pipe. Neal rose to his feet, and stood waiting for some order from +his father. Micah stopped writing, and turned in his chair. All trace of +nervousness and agitation had vanished from his face. His expression was +gentle and joyous. He smiled. + +"They have come to take me also," he said. "I am right glad. I shall not +be indebted to the oppressor for my liberty. I shall be where a shepherd +ought to be--with the sheep whom the wolf attacks." + +Again came the noise of knocking, heavy, authoritative, threatening. + +"Be quick, my son, and open the door. Bid those who enter welcome." + +Neal went to the door, and opened it. Lord Dunseveric stood outside, the +reins of his horse's bridle thrown over his arm, his riding whip in his +hand. + +"I suppose your father is within, Neal. I want to speak to him. Will you +ask him if I may enter?" + +"He bid me say that you were welcome," said Neal. + +Lord Dunseveric stared at him in surprise. "How did he know who was at +the door? But it does not matter. Show me where to tie my horse, Neal, +and I will enter." + +Neal led the way into the room where his father and his uncle sat. +Lord Dunseveric bowed to Micah Ward, and then, with a glance at Donald, +said-- + +"The matter on which I wish to speak to you, sir, is somewhat private. +Is it your wish that this gentleman be present?" + +"It is my brother, Donald Ward," said Micah. "He knows my mind. I have +no secrets from him." + +Lord Dunseveric bowed again, and said, with a slight smile-- + +"It is possible that Mr. Donald Ward may find some of your secrets +rather embarrassing to keep." + +"I can take care of myself, master," said Donald, "or, maybe, I ought +to say, my lord. But your lordships and dukeships, and countships and +kingships stick somewhat in my throat. I come from America, where we +hold one man the equal of another." + +"You are a young nation," said Lord Dunseveric. "In time you will +perhaps learn courtesy. But I did not come here to-night to teach +manners to vagrant Yankees. I came to tell Mr. Ward that he has been +denounced to the Government as a seditious person, and that I received +orders to-night to arrest him." + +"And why did you not execute them?" said Micah Ward. "Did I ask you to +spare me? Have you come here to be thanked for your mercy? I wish to God +you had arrested me." + +"I assure you," said Lord Dunseveric, "that I expect no thanks, nor do +I claim any credit for being merciful. You owe your escape solely to the +fact that I happen to be a gentleman. It did not consist with my honour +to arrest a man who was my personal enemy." + +"Then," said Micah Ward, "what have you come here for now?" + +"I have come, Mr. Ward, to warn you, if you will accept my warning, that +you are in great danger, that the ramifications of your conspiracy +are known to the Government, that your society is honeycombed with +treachery, that your roll of membership contains the names of many +spies." + +"Is that all?" said Micah. + +"No, sir, that is not all. I have a regard for your son. He has been the +companion of my children. He has grown up at my feet. He has eaten at my +table. I like him and I respect him. I beg of you to consider what +the consequences will be for him if you drag him into this insane +conspiracy. His name was along with yours on the list of seditious +persons placed in my hands to-night. He has an hour or two ago incurred +the anger--the dangerous anger--of a body of yeomen and their commander. +I beg that you will consider his safety, and not take him with you on +the way on which you are going." + +"Neal," said Micah Ward, "is no more than a boy. He knows nothing about +politics. What has my action to do with Neal?" + +"His name," said Lord Dunseveric, "stood next to yours on the list of +suspected persons which was put into my hands to-night." + +"So be it," said Micah, solemnly! "if my son is to suffer, if he is to +die, he can die no better than fighting for liberty against oppression." + +"And I'm thinking," said Donald, "that you are going a bit too fast with +your talk about dying. I've fought just such a fight as my brother is +thinking of. I'm through with it now, and I'm not dead. By God, we saw +to it that it was the other men who died. We won, sir. Mark my words, we +won. It was the people that carried the day in America. They carried +the day in France. What's to hinder us from carrying the day in Ireland, +too?" + +Lord Dunseveric looked at Donald during this speech and kept his eyes +fixed upon him for some minutes afterwards. He was considering whether +it was worth while replying to this boastful American Irishman. At last +he turned again to Micah Ward. + +"I have still one more appeal to make to you, Mr. Ward. You care +for Ireland. Is it not so? I believe you do. Believe, me, I care for +Ireland, too." + +"Yes," said Micah, "you care for Ireland, but what do you mean by +Ireland? You mean a bloodthirsty, supercilious, unprincipled ascendancy, +for whom the public exists only as a prey to be destroyed, who keep +themselves close and mark men's steps that they may lay in wait for +them; who forge chains for their country, who distrust and belie the +people, who scoff at the complaints of the poor and needy, and who +impudently call themselves Ireland. You have made the sick and the lame +to go out of their way. You have eaten the good pastures and trodden +down the residue with your feet. You care for Ireland, and you mean by +Ireland the powers and privileges of a class. I care for Ireland, but +I mean Ireland, not for certain noblemen and gentlemen, but Ireland for +the Irish people, for the poor as well as the rich, for the Protestant, +Dissenter, and Roman Catholic alike." + +"I have never denied, nor do I wish to deny, the need of reform," said +Lord Dunseveric, "but I see before all the necessity of loyalty to the +constitution." + +"Ay, to the constitution which gives the whole power of the country to +a few proud aristocrats, which excludes three-fourths of the people +from its benefits, which allows eight hundred thousand Northerns to be +insulted and trampled on because they speak of emancipation, which uses +forced oaths, overflowing Bastilles and foreign troops for extorting the +loyalty of the Irish people." + +"I will not argue these things with you now," said Lord Dunseveric, "my +time is short. I would rather pray you to consider what the end of +your conspiracy must be. If you succeed, and I do not believe you can +succeed, you will deluge the country in blood. If your best hopes are +realised, and you receive the help you hope for from abroad, you +will make Ireland the cockpit of a European war. Our commerce and +manufactures, reviving under the fostering care of our own Irish +Parliament, will be destroyed. Our fields, which none will dare to till, +will be fouled with the dead bodies of our sons and daughters. But why +should I complete the picture? If you fail--and you must fail--you +will fling the country into the arms of England. Our gentry will be +terrified, our commons will be cowed. Designing Englishmen will make an +easy prey of us. They will take from us even the hard-earned measure of +independence we already possess. We shall become, and we shall remain, +a contemptible province of their Empire instead of a sovereign and +independent nation. The English are wise enough to see this, though you +cannot see it. Man, _they want you to rebel_." + +"Is that all you have to say?" said Micah. + +"That is all." + +"Then I bid you farewell, Eustace St. Clair, Lord of Dunseveric. You +have spoken well and pleaded speciously for yourself and your class. I +might listen to you if I had not seen your armed ruffians break into +our meeting-houses; if I had not in memory stories of burnt homesteads, +outraged women, tortured men; you might persuade me if I did not know +that to-night you have taken my friends, that you will drag them before +unjust judges, and condemn them on the evidence of perjured informers, +as you condemned William Orr. Human endurance can bear no more. Patience +is a virtue of the Gospel, but it becomes cowardice in the face of +certain wrongs. Go, I have done with you. Go, torture, burn, shed +innocent blood, and then, like the adulterous woman, eat and wipe your +mouth, and say 'I have done no wickedness.'" + +"I came into your house on a mission of friendliness and mercy," said +Lord Dunseveric. "I have been met with insults and lies, lies known to +be lies to you who speak them. I go, and I pray that we shall meet no +more until the day when, in the light of God's judgment, you will be +able to see what is in my heart and understand what is in your own." + +"Amen," said Micah Ward, "I bide the test." + +Lord Dunseveric bowed and walked to the door of the room. Then he +paused, turned, and held out his hand to Neal. + +"You will stay with your father, Neal," he said. "I do not deny that you +are right, but I will not part from you in unfriendliness. God keep you, +boy, and remember, for old time's sake, for the sake of the days when +you stood by my knee with my own children, you have always--whatever +happens--always a friend in me." + +Neal's eyes filled with tears. He could not speak. He carried Lord +Dunseveric's hand to his lips, and then let it go reluctantly. He heard +the door shut, the trampling of the horse's hoofs on the gravel outside. +Then, with a sudden sob, which he could not repress, went across the +room and sat down beside his father. + +Donald alone remained cheerful and unimpressed. + +"I know that kind of man," he said. "A fine kind it is. We had some of +the same sort in America. They crossed the border afterwards to Canada. +I suppose you mean to ship your aristocracy to England, Micah? From all +I hear they like lords over there. But now to work. We can't afford to +sit still while Master James Finlay is loose about the country with your +letters in his pocket. We must get on his trail, Neal, you and I. We +must hinder him from doing more mischief. The first thing we want is +horses. Micah, where are we to get horses--two strong nags, fit for the +road?" + +Micah Ward sat silent and absorbed. His eyes were fixed on the wall +in front of him. His lips moved, as if he were speaking, but no sound +passed them. His hands on the table in front of him twitched. He was a +prey to some violent emotion. Donald called him again, and again failed +to arouse his attention. Then he turned to Neal. + +"There's no use in trying to rouse your father, Neal. He will not hear +us. Do you know anyone who will sell or hire us horses?" + +"Rab MacClure has horses," said Neal. "He has two, I know. He lives not +far from this, about a mile along the road towards Ballintoy." + +"Come, then," said Donald, "I suppose the family will be all abed +by this time. We must rouse them. There's Scripture warrant for it. +'Friend, lend me three loaves.' We must imitate the man in the Gospel. +If he won't give us the horses for the asking we must weary him with +importunity." + +It was ten o'clock when Donald and his nephew set out. The clouds were +blown away, and the sky clear. The moon rode high, and by its light they +caught glimpses from the road of the white foam of the sea breaking on +the dark strand below them. The roar of the waves came loud to them as +they walked. A quarter of an hour's quick walking brought them to their +destination. + +"There's the house," said Neal. + +"They are not in bed," said Donald, "I can see lights in the windows." + +Neal led the way across a stile and over a field. Lights moved from +one window to another in the house. A sound of wailing rose! and fell, +mingling with the monotonous roar of the waves. The door stood wide +open. Within, a woman rocked herself to and fro on a low stool. Three +children clung to her petticoats and cried piteously. A farm labourer +stood, stupidly motionless, beside the dresser. A maid servant, with +a light in her hand, flitted restlessly in and out of the kitchen. Her +hair hung loose about her shoulders. She was but half dressed, like one +aroused suddenly from bed. A rush-light burned in an iron stand on +the floor, shedding a feeble light. Donald and Neal stood at the door +astonished. + +"Our friends the yeomen have been here," said Donald. "I guess they +have taken the man of the house away with them. We've another account to +settle with James Finlay when we get him." + +"Mistress MacClure," said Neal, "I've come to know if you will hire or +sell us two horses. We must be travelling to-morrow morn." + +"Horses," cried the woman. "Who speaks o' horses? I wouldna care if ye +were to rive horse and beast and a' from me now. My man's gone. Oh, my +weans, my weans, who'll care for you now when they've kilt your da? Oh, +the bonny man, and the kind!" + +"Is it you, Master Neal?" said the farm servant. "Will you no fetch the +minister till her?" + +"I will, I will," said Neal, conscience-stricken at having mentioned his +own need in a home so sorely stricken with grief. He ran from the house +back to the manse. + +Donald took the labourer outside the door and spoke to him. He explained +that he was the minister's brother. He said that he had pressing need of +the horses. He offered money. The man shook his head. + +"They are no mine, and the mistress is in no way to bargain with you the +night." + +"I want the horses," said Donald, "to ride after the villain who +betrayed your master." + +The man's face brightened suddenly. + +"Aye, and is that so? Why couldn't ye have tell't me that afore? Keep +your money in your pouch. You'll have the horses in the morn. I'll take +it on myself to give them to you. I'd like fine to be going along. But +there's the mistress and the weans. I darena leave them, and I willna. +There's na yin only me and the God that's above us all for her to look +to now." + +Micah Ward, followed by his son, hastened to the MacClure's house. He +stood for a moment on the threshold, lifted his hat solemnly from his +head, and invoked a blessing on the building and all in it. Then he +went to the woman, took one of her hands in his, and spoke to her with +wonderful tenderness. + +"Bessie, my poor bairn. Hearken to me, Bessie. Quit crying now, quit +crying. Do you mind, Bessie, the day I was in with you and Rab away at +Ballymoney? Do you mind how you said to me that every day you thanked +God for the good husband he had given you? Do you mind that? Ah, woman, +you mind it well. And you know rightly what the blessed book says to +you--' The Lord gave and the Lord hath taken away. Blessed be the name +of the Lord.' Are you to receive good at the Lord's hand, my bairn, and +not evil, too?" + +He laid his hand upon her head and prayed aloud. The terrified maid +stood still, her light in her hand, her hair in tangled strings, half +covering her face. The labourer, Donald, and Neal stood together near +the door. The children buried their heads in their mother's lap. Micah +Ward poured out his very soul in supplication. Very literally it might +be said that he wrestled with his God in prayer. It was in some such +terms that he himself would have described the spiritual effort which +he made. More than once, after a pause in his outpouring he repeated, +in tones which were almost fierce in their determination, the words of +Jacob to the angel--"I will not let you go until you bless me." For +a long time he continued to pray, interrupted by no sound except an +occasional bitter cry from Bessie MacClune. One after another the feeble +lights flickered, guttered and went out. The room was in darkness. +Through the open door came the long roaring of the sea. Within, Micah +Ward's voice rose to passionate cries or sank to a tender whisper. +Bessie MacClure's grief found utterance now only in half-choked sobs. At +last even these ceased. Her hands ceased wandering over the curly heads +of the children, asleep now with her lap for their pillow. She felt +upwards along Micah Ward's coat. Her fingers crept along his sleeve, +found his hand, pulled it down to her, and laid her cheek against it. He +ceased to pray. The victory was won. He had, by sheer violence, dragged +peace for a stricken soul from the closely-guarded treasury of the Lord +of Sabaoth. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +Early next morning Donald Ward and Neal set forth on their journey. +Rab MacClure's horses served them well. By breakfast time they reached +Ballymoney. They sat in the inn kitchen while the woman of the house +broiled salmon for them. She was full of excitement, and very ready to +talk. The yeomen had ridden through the town the day before. They had +stopped at her house to drink. The officer and some of the men had paid +their score and ridden on. Ten of them remained behind, and demanded +more drink. Tumblers were brought to them as they sat in their saddles. +One of them had proposed a toast--"To hell with all Papists and +Presbyterians." + +"And that was no civil talk to use to me, when all the town knows that +my man is an elder in the kirk." + +But there was more to follow. The troopers had flung down the +tumblers--"the bonny cut glasses that were fetched from Wexford"--and +shattered them on the pavement of the courtyard. Then they rode off +without paying a penny, and when the mistress cried after them one man +came back with his sword drawn in his hand, and she was fain to flee and +hide herself. But the story of her own wrongs did not quench the good +dame's curiosity. She recognised Neal as the son of the minister in +Dunseveric. It was towards Dunseveric that the yeomen had ridden. What +did they do there? Had there been hanging work or burning--the like of +what went on in other parts? Had they visited the minister's house? Did +Neal see them? + +Donald Ward was a talkative man, and somewhat given to boasting; but, +apart from the fact that the business of the night before gave him +little excuse for glorying, he had plenty of sound sense--too much sense +to gossip with the mistresses of inns about serious business. He signed +to Neal to keep silent, and himself parried the shower of questions +so adroitly that his hostess got no information from him. She tired +at last, and with a show of disappointed temper, put the salmon on the +table. + +"There's your fish for you," she said, "and fadge and oaten farles, and +if you want more you'd better show some civility to the woman that does +for you." + +She left the room, and stood, her hands on her hips, staring into the +street. + +"We're well rid of her tongue," said Donald. + +Before the travellers' appetites were half satisfied she was with them +again. She ran into the kitchen with every sign of terror in her face. + +"They're coming," she said. "I seen them coming round MacCance's corner, +and they have men with them and led horses. I seen them plain, and one +of them is Rab MacClure, of Ballintoy. Away with you, Neal Ward, away +with you. I'm thinking that them that has Rab MacClure and his feet tied +under the horse's belly will be no friends of your father's or yours." + +Donald Ward rose to his feet and stretched himself. + +"The woman's right, Neal." He showed no signs of hurry in his speech. +"I'm thinking it will be safer for us to be out of this. Here, mistress, +what's the reckoning?" + +"Not a penny, not a penny, will I take. Are them murdering devils to +drink without paying and me taking money from the son of Micah Ward +or any friend of his? But for God's sake get you gone. I'll keep them +dandering about the door for a while, and do you get your horses and +out by the back way into the field. You can strike the road again lower +down." + +It was late in the evening when Donald and Neal, with weary horses and +wearier limbs, came close to Antrim. Neal was unused to riding long +distances, and Donald complained that a voyage across the Atlantic left +a man unfit for land travelling. They accosted a stranger on the road +and asked his guidance to the best inn. The man answered them in a civil +way. He spoke with a northern accent, but his voice was singularly sweet +and gentle, and his words were those of a cultured man. + +"I am on my way to the Massereene Arms," he said. "I think you will find +the accommodation good both for yourselves and your horses." + +He walked with them, chatting about the weather and the condition of the +roads. He said that he himself had that day walked from Ballymena, and +intended to spend the night in Antrim. He asked no questions and seemed +in no way concerned with the affairs of his chance acquaintances. + +Donald and Neal took their horses to the inn yard and saw them rubbed +down, stabled, and fed. Then they entered the public room of the inn, +sat down, and ordered their supper. The man who had guided them to the +door sat at a corner of the table eating a frugal meal of bread and +cheese. Beside his tumbler stood a large jug of buttermilk. In a few +minutes he rose from the table and took his seat on a bench near the +fire, where the light from a lamp, which hung on the wall, fell on +him. He drew a notebook from his pocket, and proceeded to write in it, +referring from time to time to scraps of paper, of which he seemed to +have a large number. He was a man of middle height, of a spare frame, +which showed no sign of great personal strength, but was well knit, and +might easily have been capable of great endurance. His face was thin +and narrow. He had very dark hair, and dark, gentle eyes. There was a +suggestion about the mouth of the kind of strength which often goes with +gentleness. + +To Neal the appearance of the man was not very interesting. He watched +him in mere idleness while waiting for the girl to bring the supper +Donald had ordered. If there had been anyone else in the room Neal would +not have wasted a second glance on the unobtrusive stranger. Yet, as +he watched the man he became aware of something about him which was +attractive. There was a dignity in his movements quite different from +Donald Ward's habitual self-assertion, different, too, from the stately +confidence of Lord Dunseveric. There was a quiet seriousness in the +way he set to work at his writing, and a methodical carefulness in his +sorting of the scraps of paper which he drew one by one from his pocket. +The maid entered with the wine and food which Donald had ordered. + +"You'll be for beds, the night," she said. + +"Ay," said Donald, "and do you see that the feathers are well shaken +and the beds soft. If you'd ridden all the miles I've ridden to-day, +my girl, after not being on the back of a horse for three months, you'd +want a soft bed to lie on." + +The stranger looked up from his notebook. There was laughter in his +dark eyes, but it went no further than his eyes. His lips showed no +inclination to smile. + +Another man entered the room--a burly, strong man. He wore top boots, +as if he had been riding. He looked like a well-to-do farmer. He gave no +order to the girl, but walked straight to where the dark-eyed stranger +sat. Greetings passed between them, and then talk in a low voice. Both +of them looked at Donald and Neal. Then, beckoning to the girl, the +stranger asked if he could be accommodated with a private room. The girl +nodded, and went to prepare one. Donald Ward finished his supper, rose, +stretched himself, yawned, and then drawing a stool near the fire, sat +down and filled his pipe. Neal, interested to watch the evening street +traffic in a strange town, climbed on to the deep sill of the window and +pushed the lattice open. A blind piper sat on a stone bench outside the +inn and played a reel for some boys and girls who danced on the road. A +horseman--a handsomely-dressed man and well mounted--rode slowly up the +street towards Lord Massereene's demesne. One of the dancers crossed +his way and caused the horse to shy. The rider cut at the girl with his +whip. An angry growl followed the retreating figure. The piper stopped +playing for a minute and listened. His face wore that eager look of +strained attention which is seen often on the faces of the blind. He +began to play again, and this time his tune was the "a Ira." It was +well-known to his audience and its significance was understood. Several +voices began to hum it in unison with the pipes. More voices joined, +and in a minute or two the little crowd was shouting the tune. A grave, +elderly man, in the dark dress and white bands of a clergyman, stepped +out of a house opposite the inn and approached the piper. The dancers +and the onlookers stopped singing and saluted him respectfully. He spoke +to the piper. + +"Don't be playing that tune, Phelim. Play your reel again. There's +trouble where those French tunes are played. It was so in Belfast a +while ago. We want no riot in Antrim nor dragoons in our streets." + +"I'm thinking," said the blind man, "that it's the voice of Mr. +Macartney, the Rector of Antrim, that I'm listening to. Well, reverend +sir, I'll stop my tune at your bidding. Not because you're a magistrate, +nor yet because you're a great man, but just for the sake of the letter +you wrote to save William Orr from being hanged." + +The pipes gave a long wail and were silent. Then another man came up the +street. Neal could not see his face, for his hat was slouched over it, +but the sound of his voice reached the open window. + +"What's this, boys? What's this? Which of you is it bids the piper stop +his tune? It's only cowards and Orangemen that don't like that tune." + +The voice struck Neal as one that he had heard before, but he could not +recollect where he had heard it. He leaned out of the window to hear +better. + +The clergyman stepped out into the road and confronted the newcomer. + +"It was I who bid the piper stop that tune. What have you to say to me?" + +The other approached him swaggering, then hesitated, stood still, took +off his hat, and held it in his hand. + +"Oh, nothing to you, nothing at all, Mr. Macartney. I did not know you +were here. Indeed, you were quite right to stop the man. As for what I +said, I beg you to forget it. It was nothing but a joke, a little joke +of mine." + +He bowed and cringed. He spoke in a deprecating whine, very different +from the blustering tone he had used before. Neal's interest in the +scene before him became suddenly very acute. He was almost certain now +that he recognised the voice. The whining tone brought back to him the +night when he had interfered with James Finlay's salmon poaching. The +voice was, he felt sure of it, Finlay's voice. He drew back quickly, +and from within the window watched Finlay pass through the inn door. He +heard his steps in the passage, heard him open the door of the room in +which the travellers were gathered. Neal shrank back into the shadow of +the window seat and watched. + +Finlay swaggered across the floor and then paused and looked at Donald +Ward, who smoked his pipe in the chimney corner. Then he turned to the +other two. + +"I don't know this gentleman," he said. "Is he----?" + +He paused, his eyebrows elevated, his face expressing significant +interrogation. Neal saw him plainly in the lamp light. He had not been +mistaken in the voice. It was James Finlay. The man who had guided them +to the inn rose without speaking and led the way to the private room +which the maid had prepared for his reception. Neal jumped down from his +seat and approached his uncle. + +"Uncle Donald," he said, "that was James Finlay, the man we are looking +for." + +Donald took his pipe out of his mouth and looked hard at Neal. + +"Are you quite sure?" he said. "It won't do to be making a mistake in a +job of this sort." + +"I'm quite sure." + +Donald replaced his pipe in his mouth and puffed hard at it for some +minutes. Then he said-- + +"You don't know either of the other two, I suppose? No. Well it can't +be helped. It would have been convenient if we had known. They may be +honest men or they may be another pair of spies. I think I'll try and +find out something about them. Do you stay here, Neal, and watch. Let +me know if any of the three of them leave the house. I'll go down the +passage to the tap-room. I'll drink a glass or two, and I'll see what +information I can pick up. You see, my boy, if the other two are honest +men we ought to warn them of our suspicions about Finlay. If they are +spies we ought to know their names and warn somebody else. Any way, keep +your eye on Finlay, and let me know if he stirs." + +A sensation of horror crept over Neal when his uncle left him. He +realised that he was hunting a fellow-creature, that the hunt might end +at any moment in the taking of human life. In Dunseveric Manse, while +the anger which the yeomen's blows and bonds had raised in him was +awake, while the enormity of Finlay's treachery was still fresh in his +mind, it seemed natural and right that the spy should be killed. Now, +when he had seen the man swagger down the street, when he had just +watched him cringe and apologize, when he had sat within a few feet of +him, it seemed a ghastly and horrible thing to track and pursue him for +his life. A cold sweat bathed his limbs. His hands trembled. He sat +on the stool near the fire shivering with cold and fear. He listened +intently. It was growing late, and the piper had stopped playing in the +street. The boys and girls who danced had gone home. There were +voices of passers by, but these grew rarer. Now and then there was the +trampling of a horse's hoofs on the road as some belated traveller from +Belfast pushed fast for home. A murmur of voices came to him from the +interior of the inn, he supposed from the tap-room to which his uncle +had gone, but he could hear nothing of what was said. Once the girl who +had served his supper came in and told him that his bed was ready if he +cared to go to it. Neal shook his head. Gradually he became drowsy. His +eyes closed. He nodded. Then the very act of nodding awoke him with a +start. He blamed himself for having gone near to sleeping at his post, +for being neglectful of the very first duty imposed on him. The horror +of the watch he was keeping returned on him. He felt that he was like +a murderer lurking in the dark for some unsuspecting victim. For Finlay +had no thought that he was distrusted, discovered, tracked. Then, to +steel himself against pity, he let his mind go back over the events of +the previous night. He thought of the scene in the MacClures' cottage, +of the heart-broken woman, of her husband riding with the brutal +troopers to a trial without justice and a death without pity. He felt +with his hand the blood caked on his own cheek, the scab on the cut +where the yeoman had struck him. He remembered Una's shriek and the +Comtesse's frantic struggles as the soldiers dragged them from their +hiding-place. Of his own rush to their rescue he remembered little save +the momentary delight of feeling his fists get home on the men's faces. + +He had nerved himself now with memories and conquered his qualms. He +felt that it would be easy work and pleasant to drag James Finlay to +earth and trample the life out of him. The thought of the insults of +the brutal men who held Una and his own impotent struggles with the belt +which bound him made him fierce enough. But the mood passed. His mind +reverted to the subject which had never, all day, been far from his +thoughts. He recalled each detail of his walk back to Dun-severic with +Una, her words of praise for his bravery, the resting of her hand in his +as they crossed stiles and ditches, the times when it rested in his hand +longer than it need have rested, the great moment when he had ventured +to clasp and keep it fast. He thrilled as he recollected holding her +in his arms, the telling of his love, and Una's wonderful reply to +him. Emotion flooded him. Una loved him as he loved her. The future was +impossible, unthinkable. At the best of times he could not hope that +proud Lord Dunseveric would consent to let him marry Una; and now, of +all times, now, when he was engaged in a dangerous conspiracy, pledged +to a fight which he felt already to be hopeless; when he had the +hangman's ladder to look forward to, or, at best, the life of a hunted +outlaw and exile to some foreign land; what could he expect now to come +of his love for Una? His mind refused to dwell on such thoughts for +long. It went back to the simple fact, the glorious, incredible thing +which he had learned. Una loved him. That was sufficient for him then. +He was happy. + +The door of a room somewhere within the house closed noisily. There +were footsteps on the stairs and then in the passage. Neal was alert. +He quenched the light which hung on the wall and stood in the darkness +looking out of the door. He saw three men pass him--James Finlay and +the other two. They stood at the street door speaking last words in low +voices. Neal sped down the passage to the tap-room. His uncle sat in +a cloud of tobacco smoke, with a tumbler in his hand. Round him was +gathered a knot of admirers, most of them somewhat tipsy. Donald was +telling them stories of the American war. At the sight of Neal he rose +quickly and laid down his tumbler. It was evident that he, at least, had +drunk no more than he could stand. + +"Well, has he moved?" he whispered. + +"Yes," said Neal. "He and the second man are going. They had their hats +on and were bidding good night to the first, the man who brought us +here." + +Donald left the tap-room quickly. The street door closed, and in the +passage he found himself face to face with the gentle-mannered traveller +whom he had accosted in the street. + +"I think," said Donald, "that I have the honour of addressing Mr. Hope." + +"James Hope," said the other, "or Jemmy Hope. I am but a weaver, a +simple man. I take no pride in the titles men give each other." + +"James Hope," said Donald, "I've heard of you, and I've heard of you as +an honest man. I reckon there's no title higher than that one. I think, +sir, that you have a room at your disposal in this house. May I speak +with you there? I have matters of some importance." + +James Hope turned without a word and led the way upstairs to a small +room. Three candles stood on the table. There were also tumblers and +an empty whisky bottle. It was noticeable that there were only two +tumblers. James Hope had not been drinking. Donald walked over to the +table and blew out one of the candles. + +"I'm not more superstitious than other men," he said, "but I won't sit +in the room with three candles burning. It's damned unlucky." + +Again, as earlier in the public room, Neal thought that James Hope was +going to laugh. But again the laughter got no further than his eyes. + +"Now," said Donald, "if you've no objection, I'll have a fresh bottle on +the table and some clean glasses. You know this inn, James Hope, what's +their best drink?" + +"I have but a poor head," said Hope. "I drink nothing but water. But I +believe that the whisky is good enough." + +"Neal, my boy," said Donald, "the wench that bought us our supper is +gone to bed, and the landlord's too drunk to carry anything upstairs. +You go and fill the jug there with hot water in the kitchen, and I'll +get some whisky from the taproom." + +Donald filled himself a glass with a generous proportion of spirit, and +lit his pipe again. + +"I've a letter here, addressed to you," he said. + +He fumbled in his breast pocket, drew forth a leather case, and took +from it one of the letters which Micah Ward had written. James Hope read +it carefully. + +"You are," he said, "the Donald Ward mentioned in this letter, and you +are Neal Ward, the son of a man whom we all respect and admire. I bid +you welcome." + +He held out his hand, first to Donald, who shook it heartily, and then +to Neal. He fixed his dark eyes on the young man's face, and looked long +and steadily at him. Neal's eyes wavered and dropped before this earnest +scrutiny, which seemed to read his very thoughts. + +"God bless you and keep you, my boy," said James Hope. "You are the son +of a brave man. I doubt not that you will be a brave man, too, brave in +a good cause." + +Donald Ward seemed a little impatient at this long scrutiny of Neal and +the speech which followed. He took several gulps of whisky and water and +blew clouds of tobacco smoke. He cleared his throat noisily and said. + +"You'll be satisfied, James Hope, by the letter I've given you that we +are men to be trusted?" + +"God forbid else," said Hope. "Whom should we trust if not the brother +and son of Micah Ward?" + +"Then I'll come straight to the point," said Donald. "Who were the two +men that were with you just now?" + +"The one of them," said Hope, "was Aeneas Moylin, a Catholic, and a +friend of Charlie Teeling. He's a man that has done much to bring the +Defender boys from County Down and Armagh into the society. He has a +good farm of land near by Donegore." + +"And the other?" + +"The other you ought to know, Neal Ward. He's from Dunseveric. His +name's James Finlay." + +"I do know him," said Neal, "but I don't trust him." + +"He came to me," said Hope, "with a letter from your father, like the +letter you bring yourself. I have trusted him a great deal." + +"Trust him no more, then," said Donald, "the man's a spy. My brother was +deceived in him." + +"These are grave words you speak," said Hope. "Can you make them good?" + +Donald told the story of the raid on the Dunseveric meeting-house. +He dwelt on the fact that only five or six people knew of the buried +cannon, that of these, only one, James Finlay, had left Dunseveric, that +Neal Ward's name had appeared on the list of suspected persons, though +Neal had hitherto taken no part and had no knowledge of the doings +of the United Irishmen; that his name must have been given to the +authorities by some one who had a private spite against him; that James +Finlay, and he alone of the people of Dunseveric, had any cause to seek +revenge on Neal. + +"It's a case of suspicion," said James Hope, "of heavy suspicion, but +you've not proven that the man's a traitor." + +"No," said Donald, "it's not proven. I know that well, but the man ought +to be trusted no more until his character is cleared. He ought to be +tried and given a chance of defending himself." + +James Hope sat silent. His fingers pushed back the lock of dark hair +which hung over his forehead. His face grew stern, and there was a look +of determination in his dark eyes. A frown gathered in deep wrinkles on +his forehead. At last he spoke. + +"You are on your way to Belfast. I shall give you a letter to Felix +Matier, who keeps the inn with the sign of Dumouriez in North Street. +You will find him easily. His house is a common meeting-place for +members of the society. I shall tell him to have a careful watch kept on +Finlay, and to communicate with you." + +"I'll deal with the man," said Donald, "as soon as I have anything more +than suspicion to go on." + +"Deal uprightly, deal justly," said Hope. "Ours is a sacred cause. It +may be God's will that we are to be victorious, or it may be written in +His book that we shall fail. He alone knows the issue. But, either way, +our hands must not be stained with crime. We must do justly, aye, and +love mercy when mercy can be shown without imperilling the lives of +innocent men." + +"Traitors must be dealt with as traitors are in all civilised States," +said Donald. + +"Ay, truly, when we are sure that they are traitors." + +"I shall make sure," said Donald, "and then----" + +"Then------," Hope sighed deeply. "Then---- you are right. There is no +help for it. But remember, Donald Ward, that you and I must answer for +our actions before the judgment seat of God. Remember, also, that our +names and our deeds will be judged by posterity. We must not shrink from +stern necessities laid upon us. But let us not give the enemy an excuse +to brand us as assassins in the time to come." + +"God damn it, man, you speak to me as if you thought me a hired +murderer. I take such language from no man living, and from you no +more than another, James Hope. You shall answer for your words and your +insinuations." + +Donald stood up as he spoke. His face was deeply flushed. He had drunk +heavily during the evening. Even the best men, the leaders of every +class and section of society drank heavily in those days. He was an +exceptional man who always went to bed in full possession of his +senses. Donald Ward was no worse than his fellows. But the man whom +he challenged was one of the few for whom the wine bottle had no +attractions. He was also one of those--rare in any age--who had learnt +the mastery of self, whom no words, even insulting words, can drive +beyond the limits of their patience. + +"If I have spoken anything which hurts or vexes you, Donald Ward, I am +sorry for it. I had no wish to do so. Comrades in a great enterprise +must not quarrel with each other. I offer you my hand in token that I do +not think of you as anything but an honourable man." + +"Spoken like a gentleman," said Donald, grasping the outstretched +hand. "Enough said, you have satisfied me that you meant no insult. A +gentleman can do no more." + +"I am not what they call a gentleman," said James Hope, "I am only a +poor weaver with no claim to any such title." + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +At breakfast the next morning James Hope spoke again about Finlay. + +"The man went home last night with Aeneas Moylin. I think that I ought +to go to Donegore to-day and tell Aeneas of our suspicions. I had +intended to go straight to Templepatrick, and I might have had your +company so far, but it will certainly be better for me to go round by +Donegore." + +Donald Ward nodded. + +"I shall not see Finlay himself," said Hope. "He was to leave early this +morning for Belfast. You must ride fast to be there before him." + +He paused. Then, after a moment's thought, he said: + +"I should like to have Neal with me, if you can spare him, Donald Ward, +if you do not object to riding alone." + +"I am sure," said Donald, "that Neal will benefit much more by your +company than mine. He can join me in Belfast this evening." + +This was Donald's apology, his confession of contrition for the rough +language of the night before; his confession that in James Hope he had +met a man who was his superior. + +"So be it," said Hope. "I shall not propose to you, Neal, that we ride +and tie as the custom of the country is for travellers who have only one +horse between them. You shall lead the horse, and so we shall be able to +talk to each other." + +Neal agreed to the plan gladly. He was greatly attracted by James Hope, +and glad to spend some hours with him. + +The girl came running into the room, her face flushed with excitement. + +"Come, come," she cried, "the soldiers are riding down the street in +their braw red coats. Oh, the bonny men and the bonny horses!" + +The three travellers went to the door of the inn. Four companies of +dragoons were passing through the town at a trot. It was Neal's first +view of any considerable body of troops. He stared at them, fascinated +by the jingling and clattering of their accoutrements. These were very +different from the yeomen he had seen at Dunseveric. Everything about +them, the uniformity of their appearance, the condition of their arms +and horses, the regularity of their march, expressed the fact that they +were highly disciplined men. Donald Ward smiled grimly as he watched +them. + +"There are the men we've got to beat," he said. "Fine fellows, eh, Neal? +They look as if they could sweep you and me and Jemmy Hope here, and a +crowd like us, out of their way; but I've seen men in those same pretty +clothes glad enough to turn their backs on troops no better organised +nor drilled than ours will be." + +"Poor fellows!" said Hope "poor fellows! Paid to fight and die in +quarrels which are not their own. To fight for their masters, that their +masters may grow rich and great. And yet they are of the people, too. It +is just starvation, or the fear of it, that led them to enlist." + +"Where are they going now?" asked Neal. + +"To Belfast," said Hope. "I heard that the garrison there was deemed +insufficient and that a fresh regiment of dragoons had been ordered in +from Derry." + +"Look at them well, Neal," said Donald. "Look at them so that you'll +know them when you next see them. You'll meet them again before long." + +James Hope and Neal started on their walk soon after the dragoons had +passed. Just outside the town they turned aside to view the round tower, +the most famous of the buildings of its kind in the north. + +"None knows," said Hope, "who built these towers, or why, but it seems +certain to me that they were built by men with lofty thoughts, by men +who looked upward rather than to the earth. Some say that it was to +other gods they looked up and not to the true God. What does it matter? +Their hearts, like their towers, rose clear of earthly hamperings and +reached towards heaven." + +He asked Neal many questions about his way of life and education, about +the books he had read, and the periods of history he found specially +interesting. + +"I had no such opportunities when a boy," said Hope, "as you have had. +I am a self-educated man. I never had but fifteen months of schooling in +my life. What little knowledge I have I gained with great difficulty." + +This surprised Neal, for it seemed to him that he had never talked to +anyone who possessed more of that sweetness and wide reasonableness of +outlook upon life which ought to be the end of education. He tried to +express something of what he felt, but Hope stopped him and turned the +talk into other channels. + +At Farranshane Hope bade him stand still and look at a farmhouse which +stood a little back from the road. + +"It was there," he said, "that William Orr lived. His widow and weans +are there now. You know the story, Neal?" + +"I know it; yes, I know the outlines of it. Do you tell it to me again." + +Hope repeated the story, which in those days hardly needed telling among +the Antrim peasants, of the man whose name had become a watchword; so +that men, seeking to revive failing enthusiasms, said to each +other--"Remember Orr." It was a pitiful tale; a man marked down as +odious by a powerful faction, spied upon, informed against, tried by +prejudiced judges, condemned on the word of false witnesses, hanged. The +same tale might have been told of many another then, but William Orr +came first on the list of such martyrs, and even now his name is not +wholly forgotten. + +They reached Donegore. Moylin's house--a comfortable, two-storeyed +building, built of large blocks of stone--stood on the side of the steep +hill, near the old church and the graveyard. Hope, bidding Neal wait for +him on the roadside, entered the house. In about a quarter of an hour he +returned. + +"It is as I thought," he said. "Finlay left early this morning after +arranging for a meeting of the United Irishmen here next week. Well, +there is no more to be done for the present. I have warned Moylin to be +careful. Come and let me show you the ancient fort from which the parish +takes its name and the view from it." + +"This," said Hope, when they stood at last on the top of the great rath, +"is my Pisgah. From this I have looked many a time over the land. See, +west, south, east of you, how it spreads, rich, beautiful, from the +shores of Lough Neagh to the shores of Belfast Lough and the sea of +Moyle. Here great men, warriors of the past, had their hill-top burial, +and it may be fixed their fortress home. From this they looked over the +country which they took and held by strength of arm and courage of soul. +Are we a meaner race, men of a poorer spirit? Shall we not enter in and +possess the land in our turn? All over the world the voice of liberty +is heard now, clear and strong, bidding the people assert themselves and +claim right and justice. Are our ears alone deaf to the high call? Has +the pursuit of riches dulled our souls? Is the clink of gold and silver +so loud in our ears that we can hear nothing else?" + +They descended the grassy sides of the old fort, walked down the steep +lane from Moylin's house, and joined the road again. Turning to the +right, they went under the shade of fine trees which reached their +branches over the road from the demesne in which they grew. + +"The big house in there," said Hope, "belongs to one of the landlord +families of this county. It has been their's for generations. On the +lawn in front of that house a company of Volunteers used to meet for +drill. The owner of the house, the lord of the soil, was their captain. +In those days we had all Ireland united--the landlords, the merchants, +and the farming people. Now it is not so. Our landlords won then what +they wanted--freedom and power. They have ruled Ireland since 1782. +The merchants and manufacturers also won what they chiefly wanted--the +opportunity of fair and free trade. They have grown rich, and are every +year growing richer. They bid fair to make Ireland a great commercial +nation--what she ought to be, the link between the Old World and the +New. But both the landlords and the traders have been selfish. Having +gained the object of their desires, they are unwilling to share +either power or riches with the people. They have refused to consider +reasonable measures of reform. They have goaded and harried us +until----" + +He ceased speaking and sighed. + +"But," he went on, "they will not be able to keep either their power or +their riches. In refusing to trust the people they are ensuring their +own doom. They forget that there is a power greater than theirs--that +England is continually on the watch to win back again her sovereignty +over Ireland. Our upper class and our middle class are too jealous of +their privileges to share them with us. They will give England the +opportunity she wants. Then Ireland will be brought into the old +subjection, and her advance towards prosperity will be checked again as +it was checked before. She will become a country of haughty +squireens--the most contemptible class of all, men of blackened honour +and broken faith, men proud, but with nothing to be proud of--and of +ruined traders; a land of ill-cultivated fields and ruined mills; a +nation crushed by her conqueror." + +Neal listened attentively. It was curious that the fear to which James +Hope gave expression was the very same which he had heard from Lord +Dun-severic. Each dreaded England. Each saw that out of the turmoil of +contemporary politics would come the restoration of the English power +over Ireland. But Lord Dunseveric blamed the schemes of the United +Irishmen. James Hope blamed the selfishness of the upper classes. +Neal tried to explain to his companion what he understood of Lord +Dunseveric's opinions. + +James Hope broke in on him, interrupting him. + +"But the people are slaves, actually slaves, not a whit better. Are +nine-tenths of the people to be slaves to one-tenth? The thing +is unendurable. Look at the Catholics in the south, men without +representation, without power, without direct influence; men marked with +a brand of inferiority because of their religion. Look at the men of our +own faith here in the north. Our case is not wholly so bad, but it is +bad enough. We have asked, petitioned, begged, implored, for the removal +of our grievances. If we are men we must do more--we must strike for +them. Else we confess ourselves unworthy of the freedom which we claim. +They alone are fit for liberty who dare to fight for liberty. Think +of it, Neal Ward, think. It is we, the people, digging in the fields, +toiling at the looms, it is we who make the riches, who win the good +fruit from the hard ground, who weave the thread into the precious +fabric. And we are denied a share in what we create. It is from us in +the last resort that the power of the governing classes comes. If we +had not taken arms in our hands at their bidding, if we had not stood by +them, no English Minister would ever have yielded to their demands, and +given them the power which they enjoy. And they will not give us the +smallest part of what we won for them. 'What inheritance have we in +Judah? Now see to thine own house, David. To your tents, O Israel!'" + +James Hope's voice rose. His eyes flashed. His whole face was +enlightened with enthusiasm as he spoke. Neal listened, awed. Here was +the devotion to the cause of suffering and oppressed men, the spirit +which had produced revolution, which had begotten from the womb +of humanity pure and noble men, which had, in the violence of its +self-assertion, deluged cities with blood and defiled a great cause +with dreadful deeds. He had no answer to make, and for a long while they +walked in silence. + +Reaching Templepatrick, Hope took Neal to the house of John Birnie, a +hand-loom weaver, a cousin of his own. They were welcomed by the woman +of the house and given a share of a meal which even to Neal, brought +up as he had been without luxury in his father's manse, seemed poor and +meagre. But no thought of the hardness of their fare seemed to trouble +the mind of the weaver and his wife. Theirs was the kind of hospitality +which disdains apology or pretence. They gave of their best. There was +no more that they could do. Also, it was evident that the tickling of +the palate with food, or the filling of the belly with delicate things +was not a matter of much importance to these people. Living hard and +toilsome lives, they had the constant companionship of lofty thoughts. +They felt as James Hope did, and spoke like him. + +Neal lingered so long in the company of these new friends that it was +far on in the afternoon when he started on his ride, and late in the +evening when he arrived in the outskirts of Belfast. It was his first +visit to the town, and he approached it with feelings of interest +and curiosity. Riding down the long hill by which the road from +Templepatrick approaches Greencastle on the way to the town, he was able +to gaze over the waters of the lough which lay stretched beneath him on +his left. In the Carrickfergus roads several ships lay at anchor, among +them a frigate of the English navy. Pinnaces and small craft plied +between them and the shore, or headed for the entrance of Belfast +Harbour by the tortuous channel worn through mud and sand by the Lagan. +Below him, by the sea, were the handsome houses which the richer class +of merchants were already beginning to build for themselves on the +shores of the lough. Between Carnmoney and Belfast he passed the bleach +greens of the linen weavers, where the long webs of the cloth, for which +Belfast was afterwards to become famous, lay white or yellow on the +grass. On his right rose the rugged sides of the Cave Hill. High above +its rocks towered MacArt's fort, where Wolfe Tone, M'Cracken, Samuel +Neilson, and his new friend, James Hope, with others, had sworn the oath +of the United Irishmen. They had separated far from each other since the +day of their swearing, but each in his own way--Tone among the intrigues +of Continental politics, M'Cracken in Belfast, Neilson and Hope among +the Antrim peasantry--had kept the oath and would keep it until the end. + +Entering the town, he passed the recently-erected poorhouse and +infirmary, a building designed with a curious spacious generosity, as +were the buildings in Dublin and elsewhere which Irishmen erected during +the short day of their national independence. In Donegall Street he saw +the new church--Ann's Church, as the people called it---thinking rather +of the lady of Lord Donegall, who interested herself in its building, +than the Mother of the Virgin in whose honour good Protestants were +little likely to build a church. But the classic portico and tall tower +did not hold his attention long. He could not but notice that there was +an air of anxious excitement in the demeanour of the citizens who passed +him in the street. They were all hurrying one way, making from one +direction or another for the side street whose entrance faced the +church. Neal accosted one or two, but received either no answer or words +uttered so hurriedly that he could not catch their import. Determined +at length to get some intelligible reply to his questions, he pulled his +horse across the path of an elderly gentleman of respectable appearance. + +"Will you tell me," he said, "the way to North Street? I am a stranger +in your town." + +"And if you are a stranger you will do well to keep out of North Street +the night." + +"But I seek a house of entertainment to which I have been +directed--Felix Matier's inn at the sign of Dumouriez." + +"Who are you, young man, who seek that house? They say----. But let me +pass, let me pass. I am the secretary of William Bristow, the sovereign +of Belfast, and I must see for myself, I must see for myself what these +incarnate devils of dragoons are doing in our streets." + +"I will not let you pass," said Neal, "till you give me a civil answer +to my question. I think you citizens of Belfast are as uncivil as men +say you are, and are all gone mad to-night that you will not direct a +stranger on his way." + +"A wilful man, a wilful man. Follow me. Or, let me lay my hand on your +bridle. The crowd gathers fast. It may be that your horse, if I keep by +it, will enable me to push my way through. But blame me not if you come +by a broken head through your wilfulness." + +Neal's guide, the sovereign's pursy and excited secretary, led the horse +down the side street, along which the people were hurrying. Suddenly the +crowd hesitated, stopped, began to surge back again. Neal, standing up +in his stirrups, saw that the end of the narrow street along which he +rode was blocked by another crowd, which fled into it from a larger +thoroughfare beyond. There was much trampling and pushing and shouting. +Neal's guide, clinging desperately to the horse's bridle, was borne +back. The horse began to plunge. This was too much for the old +gentleman. He loosed his grip. + +"Go on," he said, "go on if you can, young man. That's the North Street +in front of you." + +The reason for the crowd's flight became obvious. A number of dragoons, +dismounted, half-clothed, and apparently free from all discipline, came +rushing down North Street. As they swept past the entrance of the side +street Neal had a clear view of them over the heads of the crowd. In a +moment they had passed out of sight again, but the moment was enough. +Running with the soldiers, his arm gripped by a dragoon, but running +with his own free will, was James Finlay. Neal was stung to fury by the +sight of this man. He had no doubt at all now that he had to do with +a traitor. He drove his heels against his horse's side, lashed at the +creature's flanks with his rod, and fairly forced his way through the +cursing, shouting crowd into North Street. + +At the far end of the street he saw the dragoons raging and rioting +round a house which stood a storey higher than any other near it. The +whole length of the street lay almost empty before him. The soldiers had +effectually cleared a way for themselves. He rode towards the scene +of the riot. He saw that two civilians were defending the front of the +house against the soldiers. They fought with sticks, and Neal recognised +one of them as his uncle, Donald Ward. Before he could reach them +they were forced into the house, and followed indoors by some of the +dragoons. James Finlay had disappeared. Neal hesitated and stopped, +uncertain what to do. Some of the soldiers placed a ladder against +the wall. One of them mounted, with a sledge hammer in his hand, and +battered at the iron supports which held a signboard to the wall. The +iron bars bent under his blows, the holdfasts were torn from the wall, +and the painted board fell into the street. A yell of triumph greeted +the fall. The soldiers stamped on the board with their heavy boots and +hacked at it with their swords. Then another man mounted the ladder with +a splintered fragment in his hand. He whirled it round his head, and +flung it far down the street. + +"There's for the rebelly sign," he shouted. "There's for Dumouriez! +There's the way we treat damned French and Irish croppies." + +The crowd, which had gathered courage and followed Neal down the street, +answered him with a groan and a volley of stones. The man sprang from +the ladder, called to his comrades, and in a moment the dragoons drew +together and, their swords in their hands, charged the crowd. Neal's +horse, terrified by the shouting, became unmanageable. Neal flung +himself to the ground, staggered, was knocked down and trampled on, +first by the flying people, then by the soldiers who pursued them. He +rose when the rush was over. The street around him was empty again. The +fragments of the shattered signboard lay around. The windows of the +house that had been attacked were all broken, either by the stones of +the people or the blows of the soldiers. There was a sound of fighting +within the house. Neal ran towards the door. A woman's shriek reached +him, and a moment later a soldier came out of the door dragging a girl +with him. He had a wisp of her hair gathered in his hand, and he pulled +at it savagely. The girl stumbled on the doorstep, fell, was dragged a +pace or two, staggered to her feet, clutched at the soldier's hand and +fastened her teeth in his wrist. Neal sprang forward at the man's +throat, grasped it, and, by the sheer impetus of his spring, bore the +dragoon to the ground. He was conscious of being uppermost in the fall, +of the fierce struggling of the man he held, of the girl tearing with +her hands and writhing in the effort to free her hair, of shouting near +at hand, of a rush of men from the house. Then he received a blow on the +head which stunned him. He awoke to consciousness a few minutes later, +and heard his uncle's voice. + +"Is the girl inside and the man? Have you got him? Then for the door. +They'll hardly venture into the house again after the reception we gave +them. It was a mighty nice fight while it lasted. Now a light, a light. +Let us see if anyone's hurt." + +Someone brought a light. Neal tried to rise, but was too giddy. The +girl whom the soldier had dragged into the street stood beside him. +Her hair--bright red hair--hung about her shoulders. Her dress was in +tatters, she was spitting blood, and wiping it off her mouth with the +back of her hand. + +"Hullo, Meg, Peg, whatever your name is," said Donald Ward, "you're +bleeding. Where are you cut? Let me see to it?" + +"Thon's no my blood," said the girl. "It's his. I got my teeth intil +him. Ay, faith, it's his blood that I'm spitting out of my mouth. I did +hear tell that it was black blood was in the likes of him, but I see now +it's red enough. I'm glad of it, for I've swallowed a gill of it since I +gripped his wrist, and I wouldna' like to swallow poison." + +"Well, then, Peg, my wench, since you're not hurt, let's take a look +at the man that helped you. He's lying there mighty quiet. I'm afraid +there's some harm done to him." + +Donald Ward took the light and bent over Neal. + +"By God," he said, "it's Neal, and he's hurt or killed." + +"It's all right," said Neal, feebly, "I'm only dizzy. I got a bang on +the head. I'll be all right in a minute." + +"Matier," said Donald, "come and help me with the boy. I must get him to +bed. Where can I put him?" + +"There's not a room in the house with a whole pane of glass in the +window," said Felix Matier, "except my own. It looks out on the back, +and the villains never came at it. We'll take him there. I'll lift his +shoulders, and go first." + +He approached Neal and was about to lift him when the girl pushed him +aside and stooped over Neal herself. + +"Come now, what's the meaning of this, Peg Macllrea? Are you so daft +with your fighting that you hustle your master aside?" + +"Master or no master," said Peg, "you'll not carry him. It was for me +that he got hurted, and it's me that'll carry him." + +She put her arms under Neal and lifted him. He was a big man, but she +carried him up a flight of stairs and laid him on her master's bed. +The long matted tresses of her red hair hung over his face, and an +occasional drop of the blood which still dripped from her fell on him. +Donald Ward and Matier followed her. + +"Let's have a look at him," said Donald. "Ah! here's a scalp wound and a +cut on the head the length of my finger. This must be seen to. Run, Peg, +get me linen and a basin of cold water. It must have been a boot did +this. A kick from one of the rascally dragoons as they passed over him +when we chased them. Now, Neal, are you hurt anywhere else?" + +"I'm bruises from head to foot. Half the people in Belfast have trampled +over me this night, and when they wear boots they wear mighty heavy +ones." + +Donald, with wonderful gentleness, took Neal' clothes off him, put on +him a night shirt of Felix Matier's, and laid him between cool sheets. + +"Sit you here, Peg," he said, when he had bandaged the cut head, "with +the jug of water beside you, and keep the bandage wet. The other bruises +are nothing, but a broken head needs to be minded. Now, Neal, don't you +talk." + +Matier fetched a bottle of wine and set it with the light on the table +which stood near the window. + +"We'll have to sit here," he said, "if we don't disturb your nephew. +Every other room in the house is in a state of scatteration. I have set +the girls to clean up a bit, and after a while they'll have beds for us +to sleep in. It's a devil of a business, but as poor Tone used to say +when things went wrong with him-- + + 'Tis but in vain + For soldiers to complain.'" + +"What started the riot?" asked Donald. "The Lord knows. Those dragoons +only marched into the town this afternoon. I suppose the devil entered +into them, if the devil's ever out of them at all." + +"I guess," said Donald, "those were the lads that marched through Antrim +this morning." + +"The very same." + +"They're strangers to the town, then?" + +"Ay; I don't suppose one of them ever saw Belfast before." + +"Tell me this, then. How did they know what house to attack? They came +straight here." + +"It was my sign angered them. They couldn't abide the sight of +Dumouriez' honest face in a Belfast street. + + "Then let us fight about, Dumouriez; + Then let us fight about, Dumouriez; + Then let us fight about, + Till freedom's spark is out, + Then we'll be damned no doubt--Dumouriez." + +"You miss the point, man; you miss my point. How did they know about +your sign or you either, unless someone told them?" + +There was a knocking, gentle at first, and then more confident, at the +street door. Donald looked inquiringly at his host. + +"It's all right," said Matlier, "I know that knock. It's James Bigger, a +safe man." + +He left the room and returned with a young man whom he introduced to +Donald Ward. + +"We were just talking about the riot," said Donald. "What's your opinion +about it, Mr. Bigger?" + +"There are five houses wrecked," said Bigger, "and every one of them the +house of a man in sympathy with reform and liberty and the Union." + +Donald and Matier exchanged glances. + +"They were well informed," said Donald. "They knew what they were at, +and where to go." + +"They say," said Bigger, "that the leaders of the different parties had +papers in their hands with directions on them. They were seen looking at +them in the streets." + +"I'd like to put my hand on one of those papers," said Donald. + + "Zipperty, zipperty, zand," + +quoted Matier, + + "I wish I'd a bit of that in my hand." + +"You know the old rhyme." + +Neal lay quiet, but wide awake. The conversation interested him too +much to allow him to sleep. Twice he tried to speak, but each time Peg +Macllrea, determined now that he was under her care to keep him quiet, +put her hand over his mouth. At last he succeeded in asserting himself +in spite of her. + +"I saw James Finlay," he said, "along with a party of the soldiers going +up this street." + +The three men at the table turned to him. Donald seemed about to +cross-question him when Peg Macllrea spoke. + +"Is it a bit of the soger's paper you're wantin'? Here's for you." + +She fumbled in the pocket of her skirt and drew out a crumpled scrap of +paper. + +"I snapped it out of his hand in the kitchen. It was for grabbing it +that he catched me by the hair o' the head. I saw him glowerin' at it as +soon as ever he came intil the light." + +Donald Ward took it from her hand and read-- + +"The house of Felix Matier, an inn at the far end of North Street, to be +known easily by the sign of Dumouriez which hangs before the door. Felix +Matier is + + +." + +He passed it without comment to Matier, who read it and laughed. + +"They have me marked with three crosses," he said. "I'm dangerous. But +what do they mean by it. How do they come to know so much about me? + + "'Ken ye aught of Captain Grose Igo and ago. + Is he amang friends or foes? Iram, coram, dago.' + +"Who set the dragoons on you?" said Donald. "That's the question." + +"By God, then, it's easily answered," said Matier. "I'll give it to you +in the words of the poet-- + + "'Letters four do form his name. + He let them loose and cried Halloo! + To him alone the praise is due.' + +"P.I.T.T. Does that content you?" + +"Pitt," said Donald. "Oh, I see. That's true, no doubt. But I want +some one nearer hand than Pitt. Who gave them this paper? Whose is the +writing on it?" + +"I can tell you that," said James Bigger. "I have a note in my pocket +this minute from the man who wrote that. It's a summons to a meeting +for important business at the house of Aeneas Moylin, on the hill of +Donegore, next week." + +"Have you?" said Donald. + +"Ay, and the man's name is James Finlay." + +A dead silence followed the statement. It was Donald who broke it. + +"I reckon, friend Bigger, that I'll go with you to that meeting. We'll +take Neal here along, too. He knows the man. There'll be some important +business done that night, though maybe not quite the same as what James +Finlay has planned." + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +Neal Ward was awakened next morning by the noise which Peg Macllrea made +sweeping and tidying the room where he slept. He lay for a few minutes +watching the girl. Her red hair was coiled up now in a neat roll at +the back of her head. Her freckled face was clean, and had apparently +escaped bruising in her conflict with the dragoon. She wore a short grey +skirt of woollen homespun. The sleeves of her bodice were rolled up, and +displayed a pair of muscular red arms. The girl was more than commonly +tall, and anyone listening to her heavy footfall, and noting her thick +figure and broad shoulders, would have understood that she was well able +to carry a young man, even of Neal's height, up a flight of stairs. The +dragoon might easily have come to the worst in single combat with such +a maiden if he had not obtained an advantage over her at the start by +twisting her hair round his hand. + +It was not very long before she noticed that Neal was awake. She came +over to him smiling. + +"You've had a brave sleep," she said. "It's nigh on eleven o'clock. The +master and Mr. Ward are out this twa hours. They bid me not stir you. +I was just readying up the room a bit, and I went about it as mim as a +mouse." + +"I'm thinking," said Neal, "that I'll be getting up now." + +"'Deed, then, and you'll no. The last word the master said was just that +you were to lie in the day. I'm to give you tea and toasted bread, and +an egg if you fancy it." + +"But," said Neal, "I can't lie here in bed all day." + +"Whisht, now, whisht. Be good and I'll get you them twa graven images +the master's so set on and let you glower at them. Maybe you never seen +the like." + +She spoke precisely as if she had a sick child to humour; as if she were +the nurse in charge, determined at any sacrifice to keep the peevish +little one from crying. She crossed the room to a book-case and took +down two bronze busts. With the utmost care she carried them over and +laid them on the bed in front of Neal. + +"The master's one of them that goes neither to church nor mass nor +meeting," she said. "If ever he says his prayers at all, at all, it's +to them twa graven images he says them, and the dear knows they're no so +eye-sweet." + +She left the room, well satisfied apparently that she had provided her +patient with playthings which would keep him good till she returned with +his breakfast. Neal took up the busts and examined them. He would not +have known whose faces were represented had not an inscription on the +pedestal of each informed him. "Voltaire," he read on one, "Rousseau" on +the other. These were strange household gods for a Belfast innkeeper to +revere. Neal, gazing at them, slowly grasped their significance. He had +heard talk of French ideas, had seen his father shake his head over the +works of certain philosophers. He knew that there was an intellectual +freedom claimed by many of those who were most enthusiastic in the cause +of political reform. He had not previously met anyone who was likely to +accept the teaching of either Voltaire or Rousseau. His eyes wandered +from the busts to the book-case on which they had stood. It was well +filled, crammed with books. Neal could see them standing in close rows, +books of all sizes and thicknesses, but he could not read the names on +their backs. Peg Macllrea returned with his breakfast on a wooden tray. +She put it down in front of him and then set herself to entertain him +while he ate. + +"Thon was a brave coup you gave the soger in the street," she said. "You +gripped him fine, the ugly devil. But you did na hurt him much. He was +up and off when they got us dragged from him, as hard as ever he could +lift a foot. You'll be fond of fighting?" + +"So far," said Neal, "I have generally got the worst of it when I have +fought." + +"Ay, you would. Your way of fighting is no just the canniest, but I +like you no the worse for it. You might have got off without thon bloody +clout on the top of your head if ye'd just clodded stones and then run +like the rest of them. But that's no your way of fightin'. Did ye ever +fight afore?" + +"Just two nights ago," said Neal, "and I got the scrape on the side of +my face then." + +"And was it for a lassie you were fightin' thon time? I see well by the +face of you that it was. And she liked you for it. Did she no? She'd +be a quare one that didna. Did she give you a kiss to make the scrab on +your face better? I wouldna think twice about giving you one myself only +you wouldn't have kisses from the likes of me. Be quiet now, and sup up +your tea. I willna have you offering to slabber ower my hand if that's +what you're after." + +Neal, who had felt himself goaded to some act of gallantry, returned +sheepishly to his tea and toast. + +"You're no a Belfast boy?" said Peg. + +"No," said Neal, "I'm from Dunseveric, right away in the north of the +county." + +"Ay, are you? Do you mind the old rhyme-- + + 'County Antrim, men and horses, + County Down for bonny lasses.' + +Maybe your lassie, the one that kissed you, was out of the County Down?" + +"She was not," said Neal, unguardedly. + +Peg Macllrea laughed with delight and clapped her hands. + +"I knew rightly there was a lassie, and that she kissed you. Now you've +tellt me yourself. But I willna split on you, nor I willna let on that +you tellt on her. But I hope she's bonny, though she does not come from +the County Down." + +Neal grew angry. It did not seem fitting that this red-haired, freckled +servant, with her bold tongue and red arms, should make game of Una St. +Clair's kisses. They were sacred things in his memory. + +"Now you're getting vexed," she said. "You're as cross as twa sticks. I +can see it in your eyes. Well, I've more to do than to be coaxing you." + +She turned her back on him and began to sing-- + + "I would I were in Ballinderry, + I would I were in Aghalee, + I would I were on bonny Ram's Island, + Sitting under an ivy tree. + Ochone! Ochone!" + +"Peg," said Neal, "Peg Macllrea, don't you be cross with me." + + "I would I were in Ballinderry," + +she began again. + +"Peg," said Neal, "I've finished my tea, and I wish you'd turn round. +Please do, please." + +She turned to him at last with a broad smile on her face. + +"Is that the way you wheedled the poor lassie out of the kiss? But there +now, I'll no say a word more about her if it makes you sore. But I +can't sit here crackin' all day. I've the dinner to get ready, and the +master'll be quare and angry if it's no ready against he's home." + +She picked up the tray as she spoke. + +"Would you like me to leave you them twa graven images?" she said. + +"I'd like you to take them away," said Neal, "and then get me a book out +of the case." + +"I will, surely. What sort of a book would you like? A big one or a wee +one. There's one here in a braw red cover with pictures of ships in it. +Maybe it might content you." + +"Read me a few of their names," said Neal, "and I'll tell you which to +bring." + +"Faith, if you wait for me to read you the names you'll wait till the +crack of doom. Nobody ever learned me readin', writin', or 'rithmetic." + +"Bring me three or four," said Neal, "and I'll choose the one I like +best." + +She deposited half a dozen volumes on the chair beside him and left the +room. Neal took them up one by one. There was a volume of "Voltaire," +Tom Paine's "Rights of Man," "The Vindici Gallic," by Mackintosh, +Godwin's "Political Justice," Montesquieu's "Esprit des Lois," and +a volume of Burns' poetry, not long out from a Belfast printer. Neal +already knew Godwin's works and the "Esprit des Lois." They stood on his +father's bookshelves. He glanced at the pages of the others, and finally +settled down to read Burns' poetry. The Scottish dialect presents little +difficulty to a man bred among County Antrim people. The love songs, +with their extraordinary freshness and vivid emotion, delighted Neal. +Like many lovers of poetry, he tasted the full pleasure of verse best +when he read it aloud. One after another he declaimed the marvellous +songs, returning again and again to one which seemed peculiarly suited +to his circumstances-- + + "It's not the roar o' sea or shore + Wad make me longer wish to tarry; + Nor shouts o' war that's heard afar-- + It's leaving thee, my bonny Mary." + +He read the song aloud for the fourth time. As he uttered the last words +he heard a laugh, and, looking up, saw his host, Felix Matier, standing +at the door of the room. + +"Well, Neal, good morrow to you. You're well enough in body, to judge +by your voice. But if that poem's a measure of the state of your mind +you're sick at heart. Never mind Mary, man. There's better stuff in +Burns than that. He's no bad poet, is Rabbie Burns. Listen to this now. +Here's one I'm fond of." + +He took the book out of Neal's hand, and read him "Holy Willie's +Prayer." His dry intonation', his perfect rendering of the dialect of +the poem, the sly twinkle of his eyes as he read, added exquisite malice +to the satire. + +"But maybe," he said, "I oughtn't to be reading the like of that to you +that's the son of the Manse, though nobody would think of Holy Willie +and your father together. I'm not very fond of the clergy myself, Neal, +either of your Church or another. I'm much of John Milton's opinion that +new presbyter is just old priest writ large, but if there's one kind +of minister that's not so bad as the rest it's the New Light men of +the Ulster Synod, and your father's one of the best of them. But here's +something now that Micah Ward would approve of. Just let me read you +this. I'll have time enough before your uncle comes in. He's not a +man of books, that uncle of yours, and I'd be ashamed if he caught me +reading at this hour of the day. But listen to me now." + +He took up the volume of "Voltaire" and read-- + + L'me des grands travaux, l'objet des nobles voeux, + Que tout mortel embrasse, ou dsire, ou rapelle, + Qui vit dans tous les coeurs, et dont le nom sacr + Dans les cours des tyrans est tout bas ador, La Libert! + J'ai vu cette desse altire + Avec galit rpandant tous les biens, + Descendre de Morat en habit de guerrire, + Les mains teintes du sang des fiers Autrichiens + Et de Charles le Tmraire." + +Felix Matier's manner of pronouncing French was somewhat painful to +listen to. Voltaire would probably have failed to recognise his solitary +lyric if he had heard it read by Mr. Matier. But if the poet had +discovered that the verses were his own and had got over his shudder at +a mangling of French sounds worse than the worst he can have heard at +Potsdam from the courtiers of Frederick William, he would probably have +been well enough satisfied with the spirit of the rendering. Mr. Matier, +of the North Street, Belfast, was obviously a sincere worshipper of +the _desse altire_, and would have been delighted to see her hands +_teintes du sang_ of the men who had torn down his sign the night +before. Neal, though he could read French easily, did not understand +a single word he heard. He took the book from his host to see what the +poem was about. Mr. Matier did not seem the least vexed, although he +understood what Neal was doing. + +"The French are a great people," he said. "Europe owes them all the +ideas that are worth having. I'd be the last man to breathe a word +against them, but I must say that it requires some sort of a twisted +jaw to pronounce their language properly. I understand it all right when +it's printed, but as for Speaking it or following it when a Frenchman +speaks it----" + +He shrugged his shoulders. + +"But it's time I stopped moidering you with poetry. I hope you're really +feeling better. I hope Peg took good care of you, and brought you your +breakfast." + +"Indeed she did. She took rather too good care of me. I thought one time +she was going to kiss me. + +"Did she make to do that? Well, now, just think of it! Isn't she the +brazen hussy? And I'm sure her breath reeked of onions or some such +like." + +"Oh," said Neal, "we didn't get as far as that. Her breath may be roses +for all I know." + +"You kept her at arm's length. Serve her well right. I never heard of +such impudence. But these red-haired ones are the devil. It's the same +with horses. I had a chestnut filly one time--a neat little tit in her +way--but she'd kick the weathercock off the top of the church steeple +whenever she was a bit fresh. Never trust anything red. A red dog will +bite you, a red horse will kick you, a red wench will kiss you, besides +being a damned unlucky thing to meet first thing in the morning, a red +soldier will hang you. There's only one good thing in the world that's +red, and that's a red cap--the red cap of Liberty, Neal, and may we soon +have all the red coats in the country cut up into such head-gear." + +It was fortunate for Neal that he found Felix Matier's conversation +amusing and Felix Matier's books interesting. He had ample opportunity +of enjoying them during the week which followed the dragoons' riot. +Donald Ward refused, as long as possible to allow him to get out of bed, +and even when Neal was up and dressed, peremptorily forbade him to leave +the house. He spoke weighty words about his experience of wounds, of +frightful consequences which followed cuts on the head when the cold of +the outer air got at them, of men who had died of lockjaw because they +would not take care of scalp wounds, of burning eruptions which broke +out on the unwary, of desperate fevers threatening life and reason. + +Neal was puzzled. He had tumbled about among the rocks at Ballintoy a +good deal during his boyhood, cutting and bruising most parts of his +body. Even his head had not escaped. There was a deep scar under his +hair which he had come by in the course of an attempt to enter a long +fissure among the rocks of the Skerries, off Port-rush. But such wounds +had troubled him very little. He had never made a fuss about them or +taken any special precautions on account of them, neither knowing nor +caring anything about the evils which may follow wounds, which do follow +wounds, in pampered bodies. He could not understand why his uncle, who +was certainly not otherwise given to morbid coddling, should insist upon +such excessive care of a cut which was healing rapidly. + +The fact was that Donald Ward was nervous about Neal, not at all on +account of his cut head, which was nothing, but because Captain Twinely +and his yeomen had returned to Belfast. It leaked out that the military +authorities were not pleased with Captain Twinely. He had brought back +three prisoners and the cannon, but he had not brought back Micah +Ward, who was particularly wanted. Captain Twinely, angry at his cold +reception, and furious at the hanging of his trooper, was anxious to +revenge himself upon some one. Lord Dun-severic was too great a man +to be attacked. The Government could not afford to interfere with his +methods of executing justice in North Antrim. Captain Twinely was given +a broad hint that he must hawk at lower game, and keep his mouth shut +about the hanging of his trooper. There was no objection to the yeomen +outraging women so long as they confined themselves to farmers' wives, +but an insult offered to Lord Dunseveric's sister and daughter, under +Lord Dunseveric's own eyes, was a different matter. The less said the +better about the hanging of the man who had distinguished himself by +that exploit. Captain Twinely, growing savage at this second snub, +and afraid lest perhaps he himself might be sacrificed when Lord +Dunseveric's story of his raid came to be told, sought to ingratiate +himself with the authorities by offering them a fresh victim. He gave +an exaggerated version of Neal Ward's attack on the troopers outside the +meeting-house, and drew an imaginary picture of the young man as a deep +and dangerous conspirator. He even managed to shift the responsibility +for the hanging of the trooper from Lord Dunseveric's shoulders to +Neal's. He knew that Neal had left Dunseveric, and he assured Major Fox, +the town major, that Neal was at that moment in Belfast arranging for +the outbreak of the rebellion. Major Fox was worried by the complaints +which respectable citizens were making about the dragoons' riot. He +was anxious to prove, if possible, that the soldiers' conduct had been +provoked by the violence of the United Irishmen. He produced the man +whom Peg Macllrea and Neal had mangled and set him before the public as +an object of pity, his wrist tied up and his head elaborately bandaged. +A great idea flashed on him. He allowed it to be understood that he was +on the track of a most dangerous rebel--a young man who had hanged +a yeoman in Dunseveric and nearly murdered a dragoon in Belfast. In +reality he was too busy just then with more important matters to make +any real search for Neal Ward. But a week later he offered a reward of +fifty pounds for such information as would lead to his apprehension. + +But the rumours of Captain Twinely's sayings were sufficient to frighten +Donald Ward. He did not shrink from danger himself, and, had his own +life been threatened, would have taken measures to protect himself +without any feeling of panic, but his apprehension of peril for Neal +was a different matter. He felt responsible for his nephew, and did not +intend to allow him to be captured if caution could save him. Therefore, +he insisted on Neal's remaining indoors, and plied him with the most +alarming accounts of the danger of his wound. He hoped in a few days to +get Neal out of Belfast to the comparative safety of some farmhouse. He +was particularly anxious that Finlay, who would certainly recognise the +young man, should not see him. + +News reached Belfast that the United Irishmen in Wexford were in arms +and had taken the field against the English forces. The northern leaders +became eager to move at once and to strike vigorously. Everything seemed +to depend on their obtaining the command of Antrim and Down, and opening +communications with the south. James Hope arrived in Belfast. Henry Joy +M'Cracken was there. Henry Monro rode in every day from Lisburn. +Meeting after meeting was held in M'Cracken's house in Rosemary Lane, in +Bigger's house in the High Street, in Felix Matier's shattered inn, or +in Peggy Barclay's. Robert Simms, the general of the northern United +Irishmen, resigned his position. His heart failed him at the critical +moment, and when pressed by braver men to take the field at once he hung +back and gave up his command. He forgot his oath on MacArt's Fort, where +he stood side by side with Wolfe Tone. Henry Joy M'Cracken, a man of +another spirit, was appointed in his place. With extreme rapidity and an +insight into the conditions of the struggle, marvellous in a man with +no military training, he laid his plans for simultaneous attacks upon a +number of places in Down and Antrim. + +The Government was not idle. The northern United Irishmen were the best +organised and most formidable body to be dealt with. During the pause +before the outbreak of hostilities spies went busily to and fro. Reports +were carried to the authorities of every movement made, of almost every +meeting held. Men were arrested, imprisoned, flogged in the streets of +Belfast. Information was forced from prisoners under the lash. Parties +of yeomen rode through the country burning, ravishing, and hanging as +they went. + +James Finlay earned his pay with the best of his kind, denouncing men +whom he knew to be United Irishmen, and giving information about their +whereabouts. He was settled in Bridge Street, and, strangely blind to +the fact that he was no longer trusted, invited the leaders to confer +with him, and allowed his house to be used as a store for ammunition. +Donald Ward, grimly determined that this man should get his deserts, +insisted that nothing should be said or done to alarm him. + +"We can't deal with him here," he said. "Wait, wait till we get him down +to Donegore next week. If we frighten him now he won't go." + +Of all these doings Neal heard only vague rumours. Sometimes Peg +Macllrea, crimson with horror and rage, came to him and told him of a +flogging, sparing him no details of the brutality. Sometimes his uncle +sat an hour with him and talked of the fight that was coming. He seemed +neither impatient nor excited. He looked forward with calm satisfaction +to the day when he would have a gun in his hand and an opportunity of +shooting at the men who were harrying the country. + +"We have a couple of brass cannons, Neal. They're not much to boast of, +but if they are properly served they will do some mischief. I have a +little experience of artillery, though it wasn't in my regular line of +fighting. I think I'll perhaps get charge of one of them." + +Felix Matier came often to see Neal. As things grew darker outside +he became more and more extravagantly cheerful. His talk was all of +liberty, of the dawn of the new era, of the breaking of old chains, and +the rising of the peoples of the world in unconquerable might. + +"We're to do our share in the grand work, Neal Ward, you and me; we'll +have our hands in it in a day or two now. + + "'May liberty meet with success! + May prudence protect her from evil! + May tyrants and tyranny tine in the midst + And wander their way to the devil.' + +"Ora, but fighting's the work for a man after all. Here am I that have +spent my life making up reckonings and seeing to drink and men's dinners +and the beds they were to sleep in. But I never was contented with such +things, and the money I made didn't content me a bit more. _They_ taught +me better, boy." He put his hand on the pile of books which lay on the +table in front of Neal. "They taught me that there was something better +than making money and eating full and living soft, something in the +world a man might fight for. Eh, but I wasn't meant for an innkeeper--I +was meant for a fighter. + + "'I'd fight at land, I'd fight at sea; + At hame I'd fight my auntie, O! + I'd meet the devil and Dundee + On the braes o' Killiecrankie, O!'" + +James Hope also came to see Neal. His talk was very different from the +flamboyant exultation of Felix Matier; very different also from Donald +Ward's cool delight in the prospect of battle. James Hope seemed +to realise the awful gravity of taking up arms against established +government. He alone understood the very small chance there was of +victory for the United Irishmen. Yet Neal never for an instant doubted +Hope's courage. He felt that this man had argued out the whole matter +with himself and thought deeply and prayed earnestly and had made up his +mind. + +"I do not think that we are sure to win, Neal, but I hope that our +fighting will enable those coming after us to obtain by other means the +liberty and security which will surely be withheld from them unless we +fight. I do not say these things to every one, but I feel safe in saying +them to you. You will not fear to die, if death is to be the end of it +for us." + +Neal felt convinced that Hope himself would go calmly, steadfastly on if +he were quite sure that the gallows waited for him. It was to Hope, more +than to either of the others, that he complained about his confinement +in Matier's house. + +"I cannot bear," he said, "to be shut up here. I am not ill. The cut +on my head is cured now. There must be some other reason for keeping +me here. Am I not to be trusted? You say that you believe I will not +shrink. Why keep me here as if you were all afraid of my turning coward +or traitor?" + +Hope parried these complaints as well as he could, telling Neal that a +soldier's first duty was obedience, that in good time he would be given +something to do; that in the meanwhile he must show himself brave by +being patient! + +"It is harder," he said, "to conquer yourself than to conquer your +enemy." + +One day, when Neal had been a week in captivity, he broke out +passionately to Hope-- + +"I cannot bear this any longer. I hear of you and my uncle and the +others risking your lives. I hear of the brutality of the soldiers. +I hear of great plans on foot. I claim my share of the danger that +surrounds us. I understand now why you all combine to keep me here. You +are afraid of my running risks. I claim, I claim as a right, that I be +allowed to take the same risks as the rest." + +James Hope sat silent. His fingers played with the dark lock of hair +which hung over his forehead. Neal knew the gesture well. It was common +with Hope when he thought deeply and painfully. His fine dark eyes were +fixed on Neal's, and there was the same curiously gentle expression in +them which had attracted Neal the first time he noticed it. + +"I admit your claim," said Hope, slowly, at last. "I shall speak to your +uncle. To-morrow, I think I may promise this; to-morrow you shall come +with me, and we shall do something which will be difficult, and I think +a little dangerous too." + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +James Hope kept his promise. About noon the next day he came to the inn +and found Neal waiting for him impatiently. + +"We are going," he said, "to James Finlay's house. Before we start I +think I ought to tell you that in any case you could not stay here any +longer. I saw this morning a proclamation offering a reward of fifty +pounds for your capture, and I have no doubt that Finlay will earn it if +he can, even if the soldier you mauled does not trace you here." + +"I am ready," said Neal. + +"You are not afraid? I see you are not, and we are not going to run into +any unnecessary danger. Finlay will not betray you at once. He will not +run out and call soldiers to take you the moment he sees you. He has a +deeper plan. He has arranged that a meeting of our leaders will be held +in Aeneas Moylin's house to-morrow night. He is to be there himself, and +he has received assurance that most of our chief men will be there. We +have little doubt that he has given information about the meeting, and +made his arrangements for capturing us all. We shall tell him that you +are to be there, too. Then he will not want to risk exposing himself +by betraying you at once. He will wait for you till to-morrow. But when +to-morrow comes he will not find our leaders at Donegore. I have not +asked, and I do not wish to know, what he will find when he gets there." + +"I understand," said Neal. "When we meet I am to pretend that I trust +him thoroughly." + +Hope smiled. + +"You are a good soldier. You are prepared to obey, and you do not ask +too many questions. But I am going to trust you fully, and tell you +why we are going to Finlay's house to-day. Some time ago we stored some +cases of ball cartridges there. They are in a cellar, and I have no +doubt that Major Fox knows all about them, and thinks them as safe as +if they were in the munition room of the barrack. You and I are going to +carry off those cases. We want the cartridges badly, and we cannot wait +for them. We shall be using them, I hope, the day after to-morrow, and +if we leave them there till Finlay goes to Donegore to-morrow evening I +fear they may be seized by the soldiers. We must take them at once, and +it seems to me that our best chance will be to walk off with them in +broad daylight without an attempt at concealment. We shall bring them +here." + +"How many cases are there?" asked Neal. + +"Eight," said Hope. "We must manage to carry four each, but the distance +is not very great." + +Neal drew a deep breath of relief when he reached the street. Any +service, however dangerous, any form of activity in the open air, was a +joy to him after his long confinement in the house. + +The streets, as he and Hope passed through them, were full of soldiers. +Companies of yeomen marched and countermarched in indifferent order +through every thoroughfare. Pickets of regulars, their bayonets fixed, +stood at the street corners and in front of the principal buildings. +Troops of dragoons, rattling and jingling, trotted briskly in one +direction or another. Orderlies cantered their horses from place to +place. Business in the town was almost suspended. Many of the shops +were shut. Grave citizens, engaged in pressing affairs, hurried, with +downcast eyes, along the causeways, seldom stopping to speak to each +other, greeting acquaintances with hasty nods. Women of the better sort, +if they ventured out at all, walked quickly, heavily cloaked and veiled. +The trollops and street walkers of a garrison town emerged from +their lairs even at midday, and stood in little groups at the corners +exchanging jests with the soldiers on picket duty, or shouted ribaldries +to the yeomen and dragoons who passed them. Idle maid servants, sluttish +and dishevelled, leaned far out of the upper windows of the houses +to gaze at the pageant beneath them. In the High Street a crowd of +loafers--coarse women and soldiers off duty--was gathered in front of +an iron triangle where, it was understood, some prisoners were to be +flogged. Town, Major Fox, Major Barber, and some other officers in +uniform, strolled up and down in front of the Exchange, rudely jostling +such merchants as ventured to enter or leave the building. + +James Hope walked slowly through the streets, chatting cheerfully +to Neal as he went. Now and then he even stopped to watch a troop of +dragoons go by or to gaze at the uniforms of the soldiers who stood on +guard. In crowded places he waited quietly until he saw a way of passing +on without pushing or attracting attention to his movements. The trial +was a severe one for Neal's nerves. It was hard to pose as a curious +sightseer within a few feet of men who could have earned fifty pounds by +arresting him. + +At last, after many pauses, and what seemed an interminable walk, Hope +stopped at the door of a respectable looking house and knocked. A woman +half opened the door and eyed them suspiciously. Then, recognising +a whispered pass-word of some sort from Hope, she admitted them and +ushered them into a room on the ground floor. James Finlay sat at a +table with writing materials spread before him. He started slightly when +he saw Neal, but recovered himself instantly. He came forward, shook +hands with Hope, and then said to Neal-- + +"You and I know each other, Mr. Ward. I trust your father is in good +health, and that all is well at Dunseveric?" + +Neal, though he had schooled himself beforehand to greet Finlay +cordially, shrank back. He felt a violent loathing for the man. It +became physically impossible for him to take Finlay's hand in his, to +speak smooth words to this hypocrite who inquired of the good health of +the very people he had betrayed. Hope saw the hesitation and tried to +cover it with a casual remark. Finlay also saw it and misinterpreted it. + +"I hope," he said, "that you do not bear me any malice on account of the +little trouble there was between us long ago in the north. You ought to +forgive and forget, Mr. Ward. We are both workers in the same cause now. +At least, I suppose you are a United Irishman like your father or you +wouldn't come here with James Hope to-day." + +"Neal Ward," said Hope, "is going to the meeting at Donegore to-morrow +evening." + +Neal recovered himself and held out his hand to Finlay. + +There was another knock at the door of the house. Finlay started +violently and ran to the window. + +"It's all right," he said, "it's only a lad I keep employed. I sent +him out an hour ago to find out what was going on in the streets and to +bring me word." + +He returned to Hope with a smile on his face, but he had grown very +white, and his hands were trembling slightly. A boy burst into the room, +followed by the woman who had opened the door for Hope and Neal. + +"Master," he cried, "they've brought out Kelso into the High Street. The +soldiers are dragging him along. They are going to flog him." + +The boy's eyes were wide with excitement. Having delivered his message, +he turned and fled. A flogging was too great a treat for Finlay's boy +to miss. The woman, without staying to don hat or shawl, went after him. +Finlay called to her to stay. She shouted her answer from the threshold. + +"Do you think I'm daft to be sitting my lone in your kitchen and them +flogging a clever young man in the next street?" + +Then the hall-door slammed. Finlay turned to Hope. He was whiter than +ever, and his whole body shook as if with an ague. + +"Kelso will tell," he said. "Kelso knows, and they'll flog the secret +out of him. He'll tell, I know he will. He must tell; no man could help +it." + +If Finlay was pretending to be terrified he acted marvellously well. It +seemed to Neal that he really was afraid of something, perhaps of some +sudden betrayal of his treachery, of vengeance taken speedily by Hope. + +"What ails you?" said Hope. "You needn't be frightened." + +"The cartridges, the cartridges," wailed Finlay. "Kelso knows they are +here." + +"If that's all," said Hope, "Neal Ward and I will ease you of them. We +came here to take them away." + +"You can't, you can't, you mustn't. They'd hang you on the nearest lamp +iron if they saw you with the cartridges." + +There was a bang on the door and a moment later a knocking on the window +of the room, and then a woman's fate was pressed against the glass. Hope +sprang across the room and flung open the window. The servant woman who +had gone to see the flogging pushed her head into the room and said-- + +"They're taking down Kelso, and he's telling all he knows. Major Barber +and the soldiers are getting ready to march. It's down here they'll be +coming." + +"It's time for us to be off, then," said Hope. + +"Come along, Neal, down to the cellar, and let us get the cartridges." + +James Finlay followed them downstairs, begging them not to attempt to +carry off the cartridges. He held Hope by the arm as he spoke. + +"Don't do it," he said, "for God's sake don't do it. The soldiers are +coming. They will be here in a minute. They will meet you. They will +hang you. I know they will hang you. Oh! for God's sake go away at once +while you have time. Leave the cartridges." + +Hope shook off the grip on his arm with a gesture of impatience. He +pushed open the cellar door. + +"Now, Neal," he said, "pick up as many of the cases as you think you can +carry." + +James Finlay turned from Hope and seized Neal by the hands. The man was +trembling from head to foot; his face was deadly white; the sweat was +trickling down his cheeks in little streams. + +"Don't let him. Oh! don't let him. He won't listen to me. Stop him. Make +him fly." + +He fell on his knees on the floor and clasped Neal's legs. He grovelled. +There was no possibility of doubting the reality of his emotion. This +was not acting. The terror was genuine. James Finlay was desperately +frightened. + +"Get out of my way. No one is going to hurt you in any case." + +"It's not that," he said. "Believe me if you can. Believe me as you hope +to be saved. I can't, I won't see _him_ hanged. I can't bear it." + +He was speaking the literal truth. He believed that James Hope would be +caught and would then and there be hanged. Finlay had betrayed many men, +had earned the basest wages a man can earn--the wages of a spy. He knew +that his victims went to flogging and death, but he never watched them +flogged, he never saw them die. He even bargained never to stand in a +witness box. The results, the inevitable issues of his betrayals, were +never immediately before his eyes. Between him and the punishment of +his victims there was always some space of time spent in prison, some +appearance of a legal trial, some pretence of a just judgment. He was +able, with that strange power of self-deception which most men possess, +to conceal from himself that it was his information which led to the +brutalities which followed it. If James Finlay had been obliged himself +to execute the men whose execution his testimony secured; if he had been +forced to lay the lash on quivering flesh or fit the noose round the +necks of living men; it is likely that no bribe would have bought him, +that sheer cowardice and an instinctive horror of death and pain would +have saved him, as no consideration of honour and truth did, from the +extreme baseness of an informer's trade. Here lay part of the meaning +of his terrified desire for Hope's escape. He could not bear to see men +hanged before the door of his own house, or hear with his ears their +shrieks under the lash. + +But there was more behind this feeling than utter cowardice. He knew +James Hope, knew him intimately, though he had known him only for a +short time. Like Neal Ward he had walked with Hope along the roads and +lanes of County Antrim, had heard him talking, had seen--as no man, even +the basest, could fail to see--the wonderful purity and unselfishness +of Hope's character. James Finlay had sold his own honour, but there +remained this much good in him, he refused to sell Hope's life. God, +reckoning all the evil and baseness of James Finlay's treachery and +greed, will no doubt set on the other side of the account the fact that +even Finlay recognised high goodness when he saw it, that he did not +betray Hope, that he grovelled on the floor before a man whom he hated +for the chance of saving Hope from what seemed certain death. + +Neal pushed Finlay aside and stepped forward. He took five of the cases +of cartridges--three under his right arm two under his left. Hope raised +the other three. Then, picking up a bundle from a corner, he said-- + +"There is more gear here, which we may as well take with us. There is +a green jacket which some of our young fellows may like to wear, and a +flag; we ought to have a flag to fight under." + +They turned to leave the house. Neal cast one glance behind him and saw +Finlay lying curled up on the ground, his face covered with his hands, +as if he were already trying to shut away from his eyes the sight of +Hope's body dangling from a lamp iron. + +Reaching the street, Hope stood for a moment and glanced up and down +it. A party of soldiers was marching towards them. Hope looked at them +carefully. + +"These are not the men whom the woman warned us of. Major Barber, if he +were coming here from High Street, would be marching the opposite way. +This is some company of yeomen." + +A band played at the head of the approaching company, and the men +stepped out briskly to the tune of "Croppies Lie Down." Their uniforms +were gay, their arms and accoutrements in good order, the officer in +command was well mounted; a crowd of idle young men and some women were +walking beside and behind the soldiers, attracted by the music and the +unusually smart appearance of the men. + +"I know these," said Hope, "they are the County Down Yeomanry. They +have just marched in, and are no doubt going to report themselves. Come, +Neal, this is our chance." + +He joined the crowd which walked with the soldiers. Neal followed him +closely. Hope, as if feeling the weight of the boxes he carried, walked +slowly until he found himself in that part of the crowd which followed +the regiment. Then, pushing forward briskly, he and Neal came close +behind the last soldiers. The ranks were not well kept, nor the march +orderly. Hope made his way forward until he and Neal were walking +amongst the yeomen. As they swung out of the street they were met by +another body of troops. + +"These are regulars," whispered Hope, "and Major Barber is in command of +them. That is he." + +The two bodies of troops halted. There was a brief conversation between +their commanding officers. Then an order was given. The yeomen, their +band playing briskly again, marched on. Hope and Neal, now in the very +middle of the ranks, marched with them. The royal troops presented arms +as they passed. Major Barber watched them critically. + +"It's a pity these volunteers won't learn their drill," he said to a +young officer beside him. "Look at that for marching. The ranks are as +ragged as the shirt of the fellow we've just been flogging; but they're +fine men and well armed. By Jove, they have two country fellows with +them carrying spare ammunition. I'll bet you a bottle of claret there +are cartridges in those cases." + +He pointed to Hope and Neal. + +"Ought to have a baggage waggon," said the officer, "or ought to put the +fellows into uniform. They might be damned rebels for all any one could +tell by looking at them." + +"I'd expect to meet a rebel pretty near anywhere," said Major Barber, +"but, by God, I would not expect to find one marching in the middle of a +company of yeomen." + +The yeomen passed and the infantry marched again towards Finlay's house. +Hope turned to Neal. Laughter was dancing in his eyes, but, except for +his eyes, his face was grave. + +"Now," he whispered, "we've got to slip out of the ranks and make our +way into North Street." + +As he spoke he lurched against the yeoman next to him and allowed the +bundle he carried to slip from his arm. The soldier cursed him for a +clumsy drunkard. Hope, in return, abused the soldier for knocking the +parcel out of his arms, and then called to Neal-- + +"Wait for me, mate, wait till I gather up my goods again." + +He deposited his cartridge cases on the ground, went after the bundle +which had rolled into the gutter, and then, arranging his load slowly, +allowed the yeomen to march past. + +"Did you hear Major Barber say that he'd be ready to bet that these +cases held cartridges? A sharp man, Major Barber! But there are more men +than him about with eyes in their heads. The next officer we meet will +be wanting to know where we are taking the cartridges. We won't have +another company of yeomen to vouch for our characters. I think, Neal, +we'd better get something to cover these up. There's a man here in +charge of a carman's yard who is sure to have a couple of sacks which +will suit us very well." + +He passed under an archway, followed by Neal, and entered a small yard. + +"Charlie," he cried, "are you there, Charlie?" + +A young man emerged from one of the stables. He started at the sight of +Hope. + +"Are you mad, Jemmy Hope?" he said. "Are you mad, that you come here, +and every stable full of dragoons' horses? They have them billeted on +us, curse them, and the villains are in the coachhouse polishing their +bits and stirrup irons. Hark to them." + +"I hear them," said Hope. "Get me two of your oat sacks, Charlie, good +strong ones. I have goods here that want protecting from the sunlight." + +The man cast a swift glance round, ran to one of the stables, and +fetched the sacks. + +"Now, Neal, pack up, pack up." + +He pushed his own cases into one of the sacks. Neal followed his +example. + +"It won't do," said Hope, "the sacks don't look natural. There are too +many sharp corners bulging out. Charlie, lad, fetch us some straw--a +good armful." + +While they were stuffing the sacks with the straw one of the dragoons +swaggered across the yard. He stood watching Hope and Neal for a minute +or two, and then said. + +"What have you there that you're so mighty careful of?" + +"Whisht, man, whisht," said Hope, "it's not safe to be talking of what's +here." + +He winked at the soldier as he spoke--a sly, humorous wink--a wink which +hinted at a good joke to come. The dragoon, a fat, good-natured man', +grinned in reply. + +"I won't split on you, you young thieves. I've taken my share of loot +before this, and I expect some pickings out of the croppies' houses +before I've done. I won't cry halvers on you. What's yours is yours. But +tell us what it is." + +"It's cases of cartridges," said Hope, winking again. "We're taking them +to the general in command of the rebel army, so don't be interfering +with us or maybe they'll hold a courtmartial on you." + +The fat dragoon laughed. The idea of packing up ammunition for the +croppies in the temporary barrack of a squadron of dragoons, and using +His Majesty's straw to stuff the sacks, appealed to him as extremely +comic. Hope and Neal shouldered their bundles and left the yard. + +"I'm afraid," said Hope, "that we can't store these in Matier's house. +When Barber learns that the cases are gone he'll search high and low for +them, and Matier's will be just one of the places he'll look sooner or +later. Are you good for a tramp, Neal, with that load on your back?" + +"Yes," said Neal, "I'll carry mine for miles if you like." + +"Then," said Hope-, "we'll just look in at Matier's as we pass, and if +the coast's clear I'll leave word where we're going. I know a snug place +on the side of the Cave Hill where we can lie for the night. To-morrow +you can join your uncle at Donegore." + +There were no soldiers round the inn when they reached it. Felix Matier +and Donald Ward were both out. Hope left his message with Peg Macllrea, +who was sanding the parlour. + +"So you're going to sleep out the night on the Cave Hill?" she said to +Neal. "That'll be queer and good for your clouted head I'm thinkin'." + +"It'll do my head no harm," said Neal. "You know well enough, Peg, that +there never was much the matter with it." + +They shouldered their loads again, walked up the street, and then, +quickening their pace, tramped along the Shore Road for about three +miles. + +"Now," said Hope, "turn to the left up that loaning, and we'll strike +for the hill." + +They crossed the fields round the homesteads which lay between the hill +and the road, reached uncultivated and stony ground, and then commenced +their climb. Neal was strong, active, and accustomed to fatigue, but he +began to feel the weight of his sack of cartridge cases before he had +climbed five hundred feet. When Hope bade him halt he was glad enough to +lie panting on the springy heather. + +"We're safe now," said Hope, "but we've got further to go before night. +We must make the place I named so that the men will be able to find me +and the cartridges to-morrow morn." + +Neal, ashamed of his weariness, bade Hope lead on. + +"I might have trysted with them for Mac Art's Fort," said Hope. "It was +there that Neilson and Tone and M'Cracken swore the oath. That would +have been a brave romantic spot for you and me to spend the night. We +might have thought of great things there with the stars over us and +nothing else between us and God's heaven. But it's a draughty place, +lad." The laughter came into his eyes as he spoke. "A draughty place and +a stony, like Luz, where Jacob lay, and maybe the angels wouldn't come +near the likes of us. The place I have in my mind is warmer." + +They reached it at last--a little heathery hollow, lying under the +shelter of great rocks. + +"You might sleep in a worse place, Neal. It was here that Wolfe Tone and +the men I told you of dined three years ago--and a merry day they had +of it. I could wish we had a few of the scraps they left. It's cold work +sleeping in the open on an empty stomach, but we must just cheer each +other with Tone's byword-- + + "''Tis but in vain + For soldiers to complain.'" + +Neal, lying full length on the heather in the warmth of the afternoon +sun, dropped off to sleep. He had undergone severe physical exertion, +which told on him. He had been through an hour and more of great +excitement, which exhausted him far more than the exertion. When he woke +the sun had sunk behind the hill, and the air was pleasantly cool. Hope +sat beside him, gazing out across the Lough and the town which lay below +them. + +"I've been thinking, Neal, of that man Finlay. He was frightened to-day +when we were in his house. Now what had he to be frightened about?" + +"I don't know," said Neal, "but I agree with you. The man certainly +wasn't play-acting. He was in real fear." + +"I think," said Hope, "that he was afraid the soldiers would take us and +hang us." + +"But," said Neal, "why should he fear that when he has betrayed us?" + +"The human heart," said Hope, after a pause, "is a strange thing. The +Book tells us that no man is altogether good; no, not one, and that's +true. Never was a truer word. We try, lad, we try, and the grace of God +works in us, but there remains the old leaven of evil; ay, it's there, +even in the heart of a saint. Now, it isn't written, but I think it's +just as true that there's no man altogether bad. There's a spark of good +somewhere in the worst of us, if we could but get at it. There's a spark +of good in Finlay." + +"How can there be?" said Neal, angrily. "The man's a spy, an informer, a +paid liar, a villain that takes gold and perjures himself." + +"That's true, over true. And yet he wanted to save our lives to-day. I +tell you the man's not all bad. There's something of the grace of God +left in him after all." + +Neal was not inclined to argue about the matter. He sat silent, watching +star after star shine out of the moonless sky. After a long silence Hope +spoke again. + +"There are men among us who mean to take Finlay's life. I can't +altogether blame them. He deserves to die. But Neal, lad, don't you have +act or part in that. Remember the word,--'Vengeance is mine and I will +repay, saith the Lord.' If there's a spark of good in him at all, who +are we that we should cut him off from the chance of repentance? 'The +bruised reed shall he not break; the smoking flax shall he not quench.' +Remember that, Neal." + +From far down the side of the hill the sound of a woman's voice reached +them faintly. It drew nearer. + +"That's some slip of a lassie from off the farms below us," said Hope. +"She's looking out for some cow that's strayed." + +"She's singing," said Neal. "I catch the fall of the tune now and then." + +"She's coming nearer. It can't be a cow she's seeking. No beast would +stray that far up amongst the heather and the stones." + +The voice came more and more clearly. The words of the song reached +them-- + + "I would I were in Ballinderry, + I would I were in Aghalee, + I would I were in bonny Ram's Island + Sitting under an ivy tree. + Ochone, ochone!" + +"I know that song," said Neal. + +"Everybody knows that song. There isn't a lass in Antrim or Down but +sings it." + +"But I know the singer too. I heard Peg Macllrea sing it once, Matier's +Peg, and I'm not likely to forget her voice." + +"If you're sure of that, Neal, I'll let her know we're here. Anyway +it can do no harm. There isn't a farm lass in the whole country would +betray us to the soldiers. Wait now till she sings it again." + +By the firesides of Irish cottages when songs are sung during the long +winter evenings the listeners often "croon" an accompaniment, droning in +low voices over and over again a few simple notes which harmonise with +the singer's voice. When the girl began her tune again Hope sang with +her, repeating "Ochone, ochone" down four notes from the octave of the +keynote through the mediate to the keynote again. When she reached the +end of the last line his voice rose suddenly to an unexpected seventh, +which struck sharply on the ear. Prolonging the note after the girl's +voice died away, he rose to his feet and waved his arms. Soon Peg +Macllrea was beside them. + +"I tell't the master where ye were," she said, "and I tell't Mr. Donald. +They couldn't come theirsells, and they were afeard to let me out my +lone. But I knew finely I could find you. I knew Neal here would mind my +song. I brought you a bite and a sup so as you wouldn't be famished out +here on the hillside." + +She took a basket from her arm and laid it at Neal's feet. + +"Sit down, Peg," said Hope, "sit down and eat with us. You're a good +girl to think of bringing us the food, and you'll be wanting some +yourself after your walk." + +"I canna bide with you, and I ate my supper before I made out. I must be +gettin' back now. But I've a word to give you from your uncle, Neal. He +bid me tell you that you're trysted with him for Aeneas Moylin's house +the morrow night at eight o'clock." + + + + +CHAPTER X + +Early next morning Neal bade farewell to Hope and started on his walk +to Donegore. For a while he kept along the side of the hill above the +homesteads that clustered on the lower slopes. Nearing Carnmoney he +descended and entered a small inn in order to obtain some breakfast. He +found the master and his wife in a state of great excitement at the news +which had just reached them that their son had been arrested in Belfast. +It was some time before Neal could persuade the poor people to attend to +his wants, and it was a wretched breakfast which he obtained in the end. +Leaving the inn, he walked along the high road through Molusk. He felt +tolerably safe, though bodies of troops and yeomen occasionally passed +him. His appearance was known to very few, and the people of the +district through which he was going were either United Irishmen or in +strong sympathy with the society. It was unlikely that any small body of +troops would venture to make an arrest unless the officer in command +was perfectly certain of the identity of his prisoner. So bold and +determined were the people that Neal, stopping opposite a forge, saw the +smith fashioning pike heads openly, and apparently fearlessly. A number +of men stood round the forge door talking earnestly together. Among them +was Phelim, the blind piper, whom Neal had seen in the street of Antrim. +They did not care to be silent or to lower their tones when Neal came +within earshot. + +"The place of the muster," said the piper, "is the Roughfort. Mind you +that now, and let them that has guns or pikes bring them." + +"And will M'Cracken be there?" + +"Ay, he will. Did you no see the proclamation?" + +"Will Kelso," said some one to the smith, "are you working hard, man? +We'll be needing a hundred more of them pike heads by the morrow's +morn." + +The smith let his hammer fall with a clang on the anvil, and wiped his +brow. + +"If you do as good a day's work the morrow with what I'm working on the +day there'll be no cause to complain of you." + +For the first time since he left Dunseveric Neal felt a glow of hope for +the success of the movement. He knew what kind of men these farmers +and weavers of Carnmoney and Templepatrick were--austere, cold men, +difficult to stir to violent action; much more difficult to cow into +submission when once roused. And it appeared to him that they were +effectually roused now. He recalled his father's fanciful application of +the verse from the prophet Jeremiah. He felt, as he listened to the men +round the forge, the hardness of "the northern iron and the steel." Was +there among the blustering yeomen and the disciplined troops of the King +iron strong enough to break this iron? + +He left the forge and passed on. His thoughts wandered from the +enterprise to which he had pledged himself, and went back, as time after +time during the last week they had gone back, to Una. He walked slowly, +wrapped in a delicious day dream. Neglecting all fact, driving from his +mind the pressing realities which separated him hopelessly from the girl +he loved, he imagined himself walking with her hand-in-hand in some +fair place far from strife and the oppression which engendered strife. +A feeling of fierce anger succeeded his day dream. The sun shone around +him, the fields were fair to see. Life ought to be like the sun and +the fields--simple and good and beautiful. Instead it was difficult and +cruel. He was being dragged into a vortex of hate and battle. He loathed +the very thought of it. He wanted peace and love. And yet, what escape +was there for him? Did he even want to escape if he could? The wrong +and tyranny he was to resist were real, insistent, horrible. He would +be less than a man, unworthy of the love and peace he longed for, if he +failed to do his part in the struggle for freedom and right. + +At midday he reached Templepatrick village, and found the inn occupied +by a company of yeomen. He sought the house of the weaver with whom he +had dined, in company with James Hope, on his way to Belfast. The +door was closed, which struck Neal as strange, for the day was hot and +bright. Coming near, he was surprised not to hear the rattle of the +loom. Birnie was a diligent man; it was not like him to leave his loom +idle. And the house was not empty; he could hear a woman's voice within. +He tapped at the door, intending to ask for a meal and for leave to rest +awhile in the kitchen. There was no answer, and yet he heard the woman +still speaking in low, even tones. He tapped again, and then, despairing +of attracting attention, raised the latch, half opened the door, and +looked in. + +In the centre of the room, before the table, a young woman knelt +motionless, her hands stretched out before her. Neal heard her words +distinctly. She was praying aloud, steadily, quietly, but with intense +earnestness, repeating petition after petition for her husband's safety. +Very softly Neal withdrew, and closed the door. He might go dinner-less, +but he would not interrupt the woman's prayer. He turned, to find a +little girl gazing at him. He recognised her as the Birnies' child. + +"Were you wanting my da?" + +"Yes, little girl, but I see he's gone away." + +"Ay, but if any stranger come for him I was to tell my mammy." + +"Never mind," said Neal, "you mustn't disturb her now." + +"Will I no, then, when I was bid? Mammy I Mammy!" + +In answer to the child's cry, the mother opened the door. + +"What ails you, Jinny? I beg pardon, sir, were you waiting long on me?" + +"You don't know me, Mrs. Birnie. You don't remember me, but I came here +one day before with James Hope." + +"I mind you rightly, now," she said. "Come in and welcome, but if it's +my Johnny you're wanting to see, he's abroad the day." + +"I won't disturb you," said Neal. + +"You'll come in. You'll no be disturbing me. There's time enough for me +to do what I was doing when the wean called me." + +Neal entered the house and sat down. + +"You'll be wanting a bite to eat," said Mrs. Birnie. "It's little I have +to set for you. The wee bit of meat we had I cooked for him to take with +him. It's no much Jinny and I will be wanting while he's awa from us. +Ay, and it's no much Jinny and I will get if he doesna come back to us." + +"Where has he gone?" said Neal. + +"He's gone to the turn-out," she said, "to the turn-out that's to be the +morrow. It's more goes to the like, I'm thinking, than comes back again. +He's taken the pike with him that lay in the thatch over our bed this +year and more. But the will of the Lord be done." + +"May God bring him safe home to you," said Neal. + +"Ay, for God can do it, God can do it. I take no shame to tell you, +young as you are, that I was just beseeching the Lord to do that very +thing the now while you were standing at the door with Jinny. But the +Lord's ways are not our ways." + +She set a plate of oatcake and a jug of buttermilk on the table before +Neal, and bade him eat. When he had finished, he sat and talked with her +awhile, trying to cheer her. But she was not a woman to whom it was easy +to speak comfortable platitudes. She knew the risks her husband ran--the +risk of battle, and the worse risks which would follow defeat. Neal rose +at last and bid her farewell. + +"When you are saying a prayer for your husband," he said, "say one for +me; I'll be along with him. I'm going to fight, too." + +"And will you be for the turn-out, then, with the rest of them? Ay, +I'll say a prayer for you, And--and, young man, will you mind this? When +you're killing with your pike and your gun, even if it's a yeo that's +forninst you, gie a thought to the woman that's waiting at home for him, +and, maybe, praying. What would hinder her to pray for her husband even +if he's a yeoman itself?" + +It was seven o'clock when Neal reached Aeneas Moylin's house, after +climbing the steep lane that led to Donegore Hill. He found six men +seated in the kitchen--Donald Ward, Felix Matier, James Bigger, Moylin, +and two others whom he did not know. + +"It's Neal Ward," said Donald. "It's my nephew. Sit you down, Neal." + +No one else spoke, though all nodded a welcome to Neal, and room was +made for him at the table round which they sat. Aeneas Moylin rose and +fetched another chair from the next room. Neal noticed that all six men +were armed with swords and pistols. Donald Ward sat at the head of the +table, and had the air of presiding over the assembly. There was dead +silence in the room, save for the ticking of a clock which stood in a +dark corner out of reach of the rays of the lamp. No man looked at any +of his fellows. They stared fixedly at the ceil-ing, the table, or the +walls of the room. After about ten minutes, Felix Marier rose, crossed +the room, and peered at the face of the clock. He went to the door and +looked down the lane. Then, with a sharp in drawing of the breath, he +took his seat again. The movement roused Donald Ward. He fumbled in +his pocket and took out his tobacco box and pipe. He held up the box--a +round metal one--between his finger and thumb. Neal, watching, noticed +with surprise that his uncle's hand trembled. Donald held the box +without opening it for perhaps two minutes. Then, when he was satisfied +that his hand had become quite steady, he filled his pipe. He rose, took +a red peat from the hearth, and pressed it into the bowl of the pipe. +He did not sit down again, but stood with his back to the fire, smoking +slowly. + +Aeneas Moylin spoke in a harsh, constrained voice. + +"Would you like to drink while you wait? I have whisky in the house." + +"No," said Donald. + +No one else spoke. Several of the men passed their tongues over their +dry lips. They would have liked to drink. Their mouths craved for +moisture, their nerves for stimulant, but they did not dispute Donald +Ward's emphatic refusal of the offer. + +THE NORTHERN IRON. 175 + +Felix Matier rose again. Again he peered at the clock, again he +opened the door and looked down the lane. This time he turned almost +immediately, and said in a whisper-- + +"There's a man coming up the lane, a single rider. I hear the tramp of +his horse." + +He hurried back to his seat, as if he were afraid of being found apart +from his comrades, as if he expected to discover safety in being just as +they were. Donald Ward took his seat at the head of the table. His pipe +was still between his teeth, but he ceased to puff at it. It went out. +The noise of the approaching horse was plainly audible in the room. +Felix Matier suddenly laughed aloud, and then, half chanting the words +in a cracked falsetto, quoted-- + + "What is right and what is wrang by the law? + What is right and what is wrang? + A short sword and a lang, + A stout arm and a Strang, + For to draw." + +"Silence," said Donald. + +"It is the man," said Aeneas Moylin, "I hear him putting his horse into +the shed. It must be he, for no stranger would know the ways of the +place." + +James Bigger drew a pistol from his pocket, looked carefully at the +priming, cocked it, and laid it on the table before him. He sat at the +end of the table opposite Donald Ward, and was nearest to the door. + +The latch was lifted from without, and James Finlay entered the room. + +"You are welcome," said Donald, and every man at the table repeated the +words. + +Something in the tone of the greeting, some sense of the feeling of +those who sat in the room, startled Finlay. He glanced quickly at the +faces before him, became deadly white, took a step forward, and then +turned to the door. It was shut, and James Bigger, pistol in hand, stood +with his back against it. Finlay stood stock still. Neal, looking at +him, saw in his eyes an expression of wild terror--an agonised appeal +against the horror of death. In a single instant the man had understood +that he was to die. Neal felt suddenly sick. Then a faintness overcame +him. He leaned back in his chair unable to move or speak. He heard, as +if from a great distance, as if out of some other world, his uncle's +voice-- + +"The men you expected are not here, friend Finlay. M'Cracken is busy +elsewhere, Munro has an engagement this evening, Hope, whom you let slip +through your fingers yesterday, is not here to meet you." + +"I wear to you," said Finlay, "that I tried to save Hope yesterday." + +Donald took no notice of the words. He went on in a cool, not unfriendly +voice-- + +"We are here instead, and I think we are quite competent to conduct the +business for which we have met; but you will agree with us that this +house will not be a suitable place for our meeting. We think it possible +that Aeneas Moylin's house may be honoured to-night by a visit from some +dragoons or yeomen. They will probably be here in half an hour or so. +In the meanwhile, we shall adjourn. There is near at hand a building +in which we may do our business with perfect safety. You have heard, no +doubt, of the custom of body-snatching. Certain men--resurrectioners, I +think, they are called--have of late been robbing the graves of the dead +and selling the bodies to the medical schools for the use of students. +The good people of Donegore have built in their churchyard a very strong +vault with an iron door, of which Aeneas Moylin keeps the key. Here +they lock up the bodies of their dead for some time before burying +them--until, in fact, the natural process of decay renders them +unsuitable for dissection. This is their plan for defeating the +resurrectioners. There is no corpse in the vault to-night. We shall +adjourn to it for our meeting. The walls are so thick, I am told, that +remarks made even in a loud tone inside will be perfectly inaudible to +eavesdroppers. The door is very small, and we can hang a cloak over it, +so that our light will not be visible. It will be quite safe, I think; +besides, it will be very comforting to think that if one of us should +die suddenly his body will not become a prey to the ghoulish people of +whom we have been speaking." + +He paused. Then, changing his tone, gave a series of orders sharply-- + +"Bind his hands; gag him; bring a lantern and means of lighting it; +bring the key of the vault; leave the light burning in this room. Come." + +The orders were quickly obeyed. It was evident that every man had his +part assigned to him beforehand, and was ready to perform it. There was +no confusion, and no talking. + +Aeneas Moylin led the way. Two others followed, holding Finlay, gagged +and bound, by the arms. Donald Ward, his sword drawn, brought up the +rear. They moved like shadows, silent as the prowling body-snatchers +of whom Donald had spoken. In front of them, a dark mass in the June +twilight, stood the church, and round it rows and rows of gravestones. +Moylin crossed the stile. Finlay sank helplessly in a heap in front of +it. He could not, or would not, put his feet on the stone steps. Without +a word his two guards lifted him over and set him down among the graves. +Donald crossed last. Moylin, skirting the north side and east end of the +church, led the way to a corner of the cemetery where as yet there were +no graves. Here, barely visible among the tangle of brambles, nettles, +and high grass which surrounded it, was the vault. Kneeling down, Moylin +fumbled with the lock, turned the key with a harsh, grating sound, and +swung open the iron door. It was so low that he had to crawl through. +Once inside, he lit the lantern which he carried, and set it on a +projecting ledge of the rough masonry. Finlay was dragged in. The others +followed, until only Neal and his uncle stood outside. + +"Go next, Neal." + +"I cannot, uncle, I cannot. I am not able to bear this. Let me go away." + +"No. Go in, Neal. I want you. I shall let you go before the end." + +The vault was very small inside. It was hardly possible to stand +upright, and there was little room for moving. James Finlay, still bound +and gagged, lay at full length on the floor. Round him, their backs +against the walls, crouched the other men. Moylin's lantern cast a +feeble, smoky light. The air was heavy and close. It was the air of a +charnel house. + +"Take from the prisoner the arms he has about him," said Donald. "Search +his pockets, and hand me any papers you find. Now unbind his hands and +free his mouth. + +"James Finlay, we are here to do strict justice. You shall have every +opportunity of making any defence you can when you hear the charges +against you. If you clear yourself you shall go free. If you fail to +clear yourself you must abide the sentence we shall pronounce on you." + +"You mean to murder me," said Finlay. + +"We do not mean to murder you. We mean to try you fairly, to acquit or +condemn you in strict justice. The first charge against you is +this. Having been sworn a member of the United Irishmen's society in +Dunseveric, having been elected a member of the committee, you did in +Belfast betray the fact that there were cannons hidden in Dunseveric +meeting-house, and gave the names of your fellow-members to the military +authorities." + +"I deny it," said James Finlay. "You have no proof of what you assert. +Will you murder a man on suspicion?" + +"Neal Ward," said Donald, "is this the James Finlay who was sworn into +the society by your father?" + +"Yes," said Neal. + +"Tell us what you know about the visit of the yeomen to Dunseveric." + +Neal repeated the story, telling how he knew that his own name was on +the list of persons to be arrested. There was a short silence when he +had finished. Then James Bigger said-- + +"You have not proved that charge. The circumstances are suspicious, but +you have proved nothing." + +Donald Ward bowed. Finlay raised his eyes for the first time since he +had been dragged into the vault, and looked round him. There had risen +in him a faint gleam of hope. + +"You are charged," said Donald again, "with having provided the dragoons +who rioted in Belfast last week with information which led them to +attack and wreck the houses of those who are in sympathy with the +society." + +"I deny it. I was not in Belfast that day. I was here in Donegore with +Aeneas Moylin." + +"You were here the day before," said Moylin. "You left me that day +early. You might have been in Belfast." + +"I was not," said Finlay. + +Donald Ward produced the scrap of paper which Peg Macllrea had taken +from the dragoon. + +"Is that your handwriting?" he asked. + +James Finlay looked at it. + +"No," he said. + +"James Bigger, give me the last letter you had from Finlay. Now put the +lantern down on the floor." + +He looked steadily at the two papers, and then said-- + +"In my opinion these two are written in the same hand." + +He passed them to the man next him. They went from one to another, and +the lantern followed them on their round. Each man examined them, and +each nodded assent to Donald's judgment. + +"Let me see them," said Finlay. + +They were handed to him. + +"I wrote neither of them," he said. + +"Your name is signed to one," said Donald. + +"I did not write it. I had hurt my hand on the day that note was +written. I employed another man to write for me. The writing is his, not +mine." + +"Name the man you employed." + +"Kelso, James Kelso." + +"Kelso was flogged yesterday," said Donald, "and is in prison now. Do +you expect us to believe that he is an informer? Is flogging the wages +the Government pays to spies?" + +"I tried to save Hope yesterday," said Finlay. "Neal Ward, you have +borne witness against me, tell the truth in my favour now." + +"I believe," said Neal, "that he did his best to save Hope and me +yesterday. I believe that he wanted to save us." + +He told his story, and he told of the conversation on the Cave Hill +afterwards. Again the flicker of hope crossed Finlay's face. + +"You hear," he said. "Would I have done that if I had been a spy? Could +I not have handed them over to Major Barber if I had wished?" + +"I shall give you credit for wishing to save Hope," said Donald. "Now I +shall pass on to examine the papers found on your person to-night." + +Finlay protested eagerly. + +"I beg that you do not examine the papers you have taken from me. They +are of a very private nature." + +"I can believe," said Donald, "that they are of such a kind that you +would willingly keep them private." + +"I protest against your reading them. You have no right to read them. +They concern others besides myself. I give you my word." Donald smiled +slightly. "I swear to you, I will take any oath you like that there is +no paper there concerned with politics. You will be sorry if you read +them. I assure you that you will repent it afterwards. You will be +doing a base action. You will pry into a woman's secrets. You will bring +dishonour on the name of a lady, a noble lady." + +"Do you expect us to believe," said Donald, "that any lady, noble or +other--that any woman, that any soldier's drab even--has written love +letters to you?" + +He opened the first which came to hand of the pile of papers which lay +at his feet on the ground. Finlay suddenly collapsed. His impudence, +his ready tongue, deserted him. He had fought hard for his life, had +lied--though he lied clumsily in his terror--had twisted, doubled, +fought point after point. Whatever the papers were that had been found +on him, he recognised that they condemned him utterly and hopelessly. +The game was up for him. He saw death near at hand, as he had seen it +earlier when he first realised that he was trapped in Moylin's kitchen. +Donald read paper after paper silently. Some he laid aside, some he +passed to the man next him to read. Finlay rallied again. He made +another effort to save himself. + +"Listen," he said, "I have influence with the Government. I don't deny +it. Call me an informer, a spy, any name you like, but admit that I have +served my masters well. I can claim my reward from them. Let me go, and +I swear to obtain pardons for you. I can save you, and I will. I offer +you your lives as a ransom for mine." + +"Would you make us what you are?" said Donald, sternly. "Would you buy +our honour, you that have sold your own?" + +Finlay, who had knelt during his last appeal, fell forward. He grasped +Neal with his hands. It was impossible in the dim light to see the faces +of the men around him, but some instinct told him that Neal alone felt +any pity for him, that from Neal alone he could look for mercy. + +"Save me, Neal Ward," he cried. "For God's sake, save me. Plead for me. +They will listen to you. I am not fit to die. Grant me one day, only one +day. I will do anything you wish. I will---- Oh God, Oh Christ, Oh save +me, save me now." + +Neal felt drops fall on his hands, sweat from Finlay's brow or tears +from his eyes. He spoke-- + +"Spare him," he said. "Who are we to judge and to slay? James Hope said +to me last night that we should refrain from taking vengeance. I ask +you to respect what he said. Think of it. This man's case to-day may +be your's to-morrow. Remember you may take life, but you cannot give it +back again. Oh, this is too horrible--to kill him now, like this." + +He felt, while he spoke, Finlay's clasp tighten on him. He felt the +wretched man cover his hands with kisses, mumble, and slobber over them. +There was silence for a while when Neal ceased speaking. Then Donald +Ward said-- + +"Neal, you had better go outside. This is no work for a boy. It is, as +you say, horrible. To inflict death is horrible, but it is sometimes +just. If ever it is just for man to shed the blood of his brother man it +is just to shed James Finlay's. He has broken oaths, has brought death +on men, has made women widows and children fatherless; has wrecked the +happiness of homes. He has done these things for the sake of gain, for +money counted out to him as the priests counted money out to Judas." + +It was impossible to plead his cause any more. Moylin pushed open the +iron door of the vault. Neal dragged his hands from Finlay's grasp, and +crawled out. He heard the door clang behind him, shut fast again upon +the broken, terrified wretch and his judges--relentless men of iron, the +northern iron. + +No sound reached him from the vault. Save for the occasional belated +cawing of some rooks in the trees which shadowed the graveyard, no sound +reached him at all. He sat down among the nettles, the brambles, and the +rank grass and burst into tears. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +The paroxysm of tears swept Neal as the Atlantic waves sweep foaming and +furious over Rackle Roy. Then it passed and left him panting, shaking +with recurrent sobs, and a prey to an hysterical dread of hearing some +sound from the vault beside him. He sat absolutely motionless. He +hardly dared to breathe. He waited in horrible expectation of hearing +something. He listened intent, agonised, feeling that if a sound reached +him he would cry aloud and on the instant become a raving madman. The +scene inside the vault rose to his imagination. Far more really than he +saw the dim church and the trees, he saw Finlay grovelling on the +ground and the stern men crouching over him. He saw a knife gleam in the +lantern's light. He shut his eyes, as if by shutting them he could +blot out the pictures of his imagination. He waited to hear a shriek, +a smothered cry, a groan, the laboured breath of struggling men, the +splash of blood. The suspense became an agony. He rose to his feet and +fled. + +He stumbled over a grave, and fell headlong, bruising his outstretched +hands against a tombstone. He rose instantly and fled again. Stumbling +again, he struck his head against the wall of the church. Dizzy and +bewildered, he hastened on, driven forward by the terror of hearing some +death noise from the vault. Tripping, staggering, rushing blindly, he +reached the stile at last, and stood beyond it on the road. Before him +was Moylin's house. The window was lighted up, the door was open. He saw +men seated within, and heard them laugh aloud. They seemed to him not +men, but fiends making merry over murder, and the winning for their hell +of a new damned soul. He fled from them as he had fled from the sound +he dreaded. He rushed down the steep lane. Loose stones rolled under his +feet. Sparks started into sudden brightness where the nails in his boot +soles struck flints. The hedges rose high on each side of him, making +the lane, even in the pale June night, intolerably dark. He fled on, +blind, reckless, for the moment mad. + +Suddenly he was stopped short. Strong arms were round him. He was flung +to the ground. A man knelt on his chest. Rough hands grasped his throat. + +"Who have you there, Tarn?" + +"A damned fool for certain, whoever he is. What brings him down a hill +like this in the dark, as if the devil was after him?" + +"Loose his throat; do you want to choke him. Let him speak. Now, then, +man, tell us who you are, and what you're doing here." + +Neal's powers of reasoning and thought returned to him. With the +presence of real danger his fear vanished. He saw the forms of the men +above him, discerned against the dull grey of the sky that they were +armed and in uniform. He understood at once that he had fallen into the +hands of soldiers, perhaps of yeomen. + +"Who are you?" said the voice again. + +Then the man who knelt on him added a word of warning-- + +"If you won't speak, we're the boys who know how to loose your tongue. +We've made many a damned croppy glad to speak when we'd dealt with him." + +Neal remained silent. + +"Get him on his feet, Tam, and we'll take him to the Captain. If he's +not a rebel himself he'll know where the rebels are hid." + +Neal was pulled up by the arms and marched along the lane again to +Moylin's house. He was led into the kitchen. Two men sat at the table +drinking. They were in uniform. Neal recognised it as that of the +Kilulta yeomen, the men who had raided his father's meeting-house. He +recognised one of the officers--Captain Twinely. The sergeant made his +report. He and his men had been patrolling the lane as they had been +ordered. They had heard a man running fast towards them, had stopped +him, and arrested him. + +"Who are you, and what are you doing here?" asked Captain Twinely. + +Neal made no answer. The sergeant peered closely at his face. + +"I think I know the man, sir. He's the young fellow that was with the +women at the meetinghouse in the north. The man the old lord made us +loose when we had him. What do you say, Tarn?" + +"You're right as hell," said the trooper who stood by Neal. "I'd know +the young cub in a thousand." + +Captain Twinely rose, tools the lamp from the hook where it hung, held +it close to Neat's face, and looked at him. + +"I believe you're right," he said. "Now, young man, we know who you are; +You're Neal Ward." He drew a paper from his pocket and looked it over. +"Yes, that's the name, 'Neal Ward, son of the Reverend Micah Ward, +Presbyterian minister of Dunseveric. A young man, about six foot high, +well built, fair hair, grey eyes, active, strong.' Yes, the description +fits all right. Now, Mr. Neal Ward, since I've answered my first +question myself, perhaps you'll be so good as to answer my second for +me. Where are your fellow-rebels?" + +Neal was silent. + +"Come now, that won't do. We know there's a meeting of United Irishmen +here to-night. We know that the leaders, M'Cracken, Monro, Hope, and the +rest are somewhere about. Where are they?" + +"I don't know," said Neal, "and if I did I wouldn't tell you." + +The sergeant struck him sharply across the mouth with the back of his +hand. + +"Take that for your insolence. I'll learn ye to say 'sir' when ye +speak to a gentleman." + +"Answer my question," said Captain Twinely, "or, by God, I'll make you." + +"Try him with half hanging," said the other officer, speaking for the +first time. "I've known a tongue wag freely enough after it's been +sticking black out of a man's mouth for a couple of minutes." + +"Too risky, Jack. The last fellow you half hanged wouldn't come to life +again; turned out to be whole hanged, by gad." He laughed. "There's +fifty pounds on the head of this young cock, and it's ten to one but the +rascally Government would back out of their promise if we brought +them nothing but a damned corpse. Besides, I want the information. The +vermin's nest must be somewhere round. I want to get the lot of them. +No, no; there's more ways of making a croppy speak than half hanging +him. We'll try the strap first, any way. Now, Mr. Neal Ward, will you +speak or will you not?" + +"I will not." + +"Hell to your soul! but I'm glad to hear it. I owe you something, young +man, and I like to pay my debts. If you'd spoken without flogging I +might have had to bring you into Belfast with a whole skin. Now I'll +have you flogged, and you'll speak afterwards. Tam, give the sergeant +your belt. Sergeant, there's a tree outside. Tie the prisoner up and +flog him till he speaks, but don't kill him. Leave enough life in him to +last till we get him to Belfast, unless he speaks at once." + +"Yes, sir, but if your orders are so particular I'd rather you'd be +present yourself to see how much he can stand." + +"I'm not going to leave my bottle," said Captain Twinely, "to stand +sentry over croppy carrion. Flog him till you lay his liver bare, +sergeant, but don't cut it out of him." + +The sergeant saluted, and marched Neal out of the house. His coat was +dragged off him, his shirt stripped from his back, his hands tied to the +tree which stood before Moylin's house. He set his teeth and waited. +The predominating feeling in his mind at first was not fear but furious +anger. He had shrunk in terror from the near prospect of seeing Finlay +die. He felt nothing now except a passionate desire for revenge. + +The sergeant swung the trooper's belt round his head, making it whistle +through the air. Neal shivered and shrank, but the blow did not fall. +The sergeant was in no hurry. + +"You hear that," he said, swinging the belt again. "Will you speak +before I lay it on you? You shall have time to consider. Nobody shall +say I hurried a prisoner. We'll sing you a psalm, my dearly beloved, a +sweet psalm to a most comfortable tune. At the end of the first verse +I'll give you another chance. If you don't speak then----. Now Tarn, +now lads all, tune up to the Ould Hunderd, + + "'There was a Presbyterian cat + Who loved her neighbour's cream to sup; + She sanctified her theft with prayer + Before she went to drink it up.'" + +The troopers, who appeared to have learned both tune and words since the +night when the sergeant sang them in Dunseveric meeting-house, shouted +lustily. Following their sergeant, they drawled the last line until it +seemed to Neal as if they would never reach the end of it. + +"Now, Mr. Neal Ward," said the sergeant, "you've had a most comfortable +and cheering psalm for the hour of your affliction. Will you speak, +or----. Damn your soul, Tam, what are you at?" + +The man next him lurched suddenly forward, clutching at the sergeant. +In another instant there was a dull thud, and Donald Ward stood over +the sergeant with a pistol, grasped by its barrel, in his hand. He had +brought the butt of it down on the man's skull. Two more of the yeomen +fell almost at the same instant. The rest, three of them with wounds, +fled, yelling, down the lane. + +"The croppies are on us! Hell and murder! We're dead men!" + +There were about twenty of them, all well armed, but a night surprise +has a tendency to shake the firmest nerves. Captain Twinely and his +fellow-officer played no very heroic part. At the first sound of the +shouting and the footsteps of the flying troopers they rushed into the +inner room and crawled under the bed, fighting desperately with each +other for the place nearest the wall, but Donald Ward had no time to go +after them. + +"Cut the boy down," he said. + +It was Felix Matier who set Neal free. + +"Oh, whistle and I will come to you, my lad," he quoted, as he hustled +the shirt over Neal's shoulders. "Why didn't you whistle, Neal, or +shout, or something? Only for that devil's song we'd never have found +you. I guessed he was at some mischief when I heard him begin it." + +"Silence," said Donald, "and let us get out of this. The place must +be swarming with troops, and those yelling cowards will arouse every +soldier within a mite of us. It may not be so easy to chase the next +lot. Over into the churchyard again, and then, Moylin, we must trust to +you. You know the country, or you ought to, and I don't." + +Aeneas Moylin led the way into the churchyard again, and across the wall +at the lower end of it. The noise of many horsemen riding fast reached +them from the lane they had left. The frightened yeomen had gathered +troops to aid them, dragoons who had been posted on the main road down +below. From the top of the rath, which rose dark above even the tower of +the church, there came shouts. Men had been placed there, too, and were +gathering to their comrades opposite Moylin's house. The hunt would +begin in earnest soon. Donald called a halt and, cowering under +the shadow of a thick hedge, the little party of fugitives held a +consultation. + +"We might go back to the vault," said James Bigger. "They would find it +hard to get at us there, even if they discovered us. They couldn't burn +us out, for the walls are solid stone and four foot thick at least." + +"I'm not going to spend the night with---- with what's there," said +Felix Matier. "I'm not a coward, but I won't sit in the dark all night +with my knees up against--ugh!" + +"James Finlay?" said Bigger. "He won't hurt you now." + +"I'm for getting away if possible," said Donald. "I'm not frightened of +dead men, but I want to be at the fight tomorrow. If we stay here all +night we'll miss it." + +"Hark!" said Moylin, "they're in the churchyard. I hear them stumbling +about among the graves. We can't get back now, even if we want to. +Follow me." + +Creeping along the side of the hedge, they crossed the field they were +in, another, and another after that. They came upon a by-road. + +"We must cross this," said Moylin, "and I think there are soldiers nigh +at hand." + +Suddenly the sky behind them grew strangely bright. A flame, which cast +black shadows from hedge and tree and wall, which lit up every open +space of ground, shot up. + +"Down," said Donald, "down for your lives, lie flat. Where the devil +have they got the fire?" + +"It's my house," said Moylin, quietly, "the roof is thatched. It burns +well, but it won't burn for long." + +The shouts of the soldiers round the burning homestead reached them +plainly. A body of horsemen cantered along the lane in front of them. + +"Now," said Donald, "now, while their backs are turned, get across." + +They crossed unseen, and gained the shelter of the ditch at the far +side. They crept along it, seeking some boundary wall or hedge running +at right angles which would cast a shadow over them. The horsemen passed +again, but this time the risk of discovery was less. The thatch of +Moylin's house had almost burned itself out. Only a red glow remained, +casting little shadow, lighting the land dimly. They crossed the field +in safety and reached a grove of trees. + +"We're right now," said Moylin. "We can take it easy from this on." + +"Neal Ward," said Felix Matier, "next time you get yourself into a +scrape I'll leave you there. I haven't been as nervous since I played 'I +spy' twenty years ago among the whins round the Giant's Ring. Fighting's +no test of courage. It's running away that tries a man." + +"Phew!" said Donald, wiping his brow. Even he seemed to have felt the +strain of the last half-hour. "I did some scouting work for General +Greene in the Carolinas. I've lain low in sight of the watch-fires of +Cornwallis' cavalry, but I'm damned if I ever had as close a shave as +that. I felt jumpy, and that's a fact. I think it was the sight of your +bare back, Neal, and that blackguard brandishing his belt over you that +played up with my nerves." + +"Let's be getting on," said Moylin, "my house is ashes now, the house I +built with my own hands, the room my wife died in, the bed my girl was +born in. She's safe out of this, thank God. I want to be getting on. I +want to be in Antrim to-morrow with a pike in my hand and a regiment of +dragoons in front of me." + +Under Moylin's guidance they travelled across country through the night. +About three in the morning, when the east was beginning to grow bright +with the coming dawn, they reached a substantial farmhouse and climbed +into the haggard. + +"We're within twenty yards of the main road now," said Moylin, "about +a mile and a half outside the town of Antrim. We can lie here till +morning. It's a safe place. The man that owns it won't betray us if he +does find us here." + +At six o'clock Donald Ward awoke. The rest of the party lay stretched +around him, sleeping as men do after severe physical exertion and mental +strain. He sat still for a while, and then crept out of the barn where +they slept, and reconnoitered the farmhouse. He was surprised to find no +sign of life about it. Doors and windows were fast shut. No dog barked +at him. No cattle lowed. Not even a hen pecked or cackled in the yard. +He returned to the barn and roused the rest of the party. + +"I've been looking round," he said, "to see what chance we have of +getting breakfast. As far as I can make out the place is deserted." + +"I wouldn't wonder," said Moylin, "if the man that owns it has cleared +out. He's a bit of a coward, and he's not much liked in the country +because he tries to please both parties." + +"I thought you said last night," said Donald, "that he wouldn't betray +us." + +"No more he would," said Moylin, "he'd be afraid of what might happen +him after, but I never said he'd help us. It's my belief he's gone off +out of this in dread of what may happen in Antrim to-day. He'll be at +his brother's farm away down the Six Mile Water." + +"Well," said Donald, "it doesn't matter about him. The question is, how +are we to get something to eat?" + +A long consultation followed. There were serious difficulties. The +amount of food required for seven hungry men was considerable, and +Donald Ward insisted strongly on the necessity of having a good meal. It +was decided at last that two of the party should venture into Antrim to +buy bread and wine. No one knew what troops there might be in the town. +It would not be safe to count on the support of the inhabitants if they +happened to have soldiers in their houses. The inns might be full of +officers. The shops might be in the hands of the royal troops. + +"It's no use discussing the difficulties and dangers," said Donald at +last. "We've got to risk it. We can't fight all day on empty stomachs. +We'd fight badly if we did. I and Neal here will go into Antrim, we're +the least likely to be recognised. The rest of you are known men. We'll +bring you back something to eat." + +At eight o'clock they set out, and reached the town just as the people +were beginning to open their doors. Donald Ward pressed some money into +Neal's hand. + +"Go into the inn where we stopped," he said. "Get a couple of bottles +of wine and some cold meat if you can. I'll go on to the baker's. We'll +meet again opposite the church. If I'm not there in twenty minutes go +back without me; I'll wait that long for you. Walk in as if you owned +the shanty. There's nothing starts suspicion as quick as looking +frightened. Bluster a bit if they look crooked at you, and answer no +questions for anybody." + +Neal did his best to follow the advice. But it is not easy for a man who +has slept two successive nights in the open, who has had no opportunity +of shaving, and who has crawled in ditches for several miles, to assume +the airs of an opulent and self-contented tourist. Neal was painfully +conscious that he must look like a disreputable tramp. Nevertheless he +squared his shoulders, held up his head, and jingled his money in +his pocket as he passed through the door. He called valiantly for the +master. A girl, tousle-headed and heavy-eyed, looking as if she, too, +had slept on a hillside or slept very little in bed, came to him. He +recognised her as the same who had waited on him and Donald when they +spent the night in the inn. She was sharp-sighted in spite of her +sleeplessness. She knew Neal. + +"In there with you," she said, pointing to a door, "I'll get you what +you're after wanting. The dear knows there's broken meat in plenty here +the morn." + +Neal entered the room. The table was littered with the remains of +breakfast. A large party had evidently been there and had gone. Neal +guessed that at least a dozen people had sat at the table. With his back +to the room, looking out of the window, stood a young man, booted and +spurred for riding, well dressed, well groomed, a sword by his side. His +figure struck Neal as being familiar. A second glance made him sure that +this was Maurice St. Clair. For a moment he hesitated. Then he said-- + +"Maurice." + +"Neal," said the other, turning quickly. "What brings you here? God, +man, you mustn't stay. My father is in the house and Lord O'Neill. Thank +God the rest of them are gone." + +"What brings you and your father to Antrim, Maurice?" + +"There was to have been a meeting of the magistrates of the county here +to-day. My father rode in last night and brought me with him, but there +came an orderly from Belfast this morning with news which fluttered our +company. The rebels are to attack the town to-day. Oh, Neal, but it was +fun to see the hurry the worshipful justices were in to get home this +morning. There were a round dozen of them here last night drinking death +and damnation to the croppies till the small hours. This morning it +was who would get his breakfast and his horse first. You never saw such +scrambling." + +"You and your father stayed," said Neal. + +"Yes. Is it likely my lord would ride away from danger? You know him, +Neal." + +The girl entered with a basket on her arm. With a glance at Maurice St. +Clair she came close to Neal and whispered-- + +"There's for you. There's plenty wine and cold meat for half a score. +I'll be tongued by the master after, it's like, but I'll give it for the +sake of Jemmy Hope, who's a better gentleman than them that wears finer +coats, that never said a hard word or did an uncivil thing to a poor +serving wench no more than if she'd been the first lady in the land." + +Neal took the basket and bade farewell to Maurice, but as he turned to +leave the room Lord Dunseveric and another gentleman entered. Neal stood +back, hoping to escape notice, but Lord Dunseveric saw and recognised +him. + +"O'Neill," he said to his companion, "pardon me a moment. This is a +young friend of mine to whom I would speak a word." + +He led Neal to the window. + +"Are you on your way home, Neal?" + +"No, my lord." + +"I suppose I must not ask where you are going or what you mean to do. I +don't ask, but I advise you strongly to go home. The game is up, Neal. +The plans of your friends have been blown upon. Their secrets are known. +See here." + +He held out a printed paper. Neal took it and read-- + +"To-morrow we march on Antrim. Drive the garrison of Randalstown before +you, and haste to form a junction with the commander-in-chief.--Henry +Joy M'Cracken. First year of Liberty, 6th June, 1798." + +"That paper was handed to General Clavering last night," said Lord +Dunseveric, "and half a dozen more copies were sent to other officers. +Is it any use going on now?" + +"My lord," said Neal, "I have heard things--I have seen things. Last +night I myself was stripped for flogging. They have set a price on my +head. I put it to you as a gentleman, as a just man and a brave, would +it be right to go back now?" + +"It is no use going on." + +"But would you go back? Would you desert friends who did not desert you? +Would you leave them?" + +"A wise man does not struggle against the inevitable, Neal." + +"But a man of honour, my lord. What would a man of honour do?" + +"A man of honour," said Lord Dunseveric, "would act as you are going to +do." + +"Farewell, my lord, I go with an easy mind now, if I go to my death, for +I have your approval." + +"Neal Ward," said Lord Dunseveric, "I have known you since you were a +boy, and I've loved you next to my own children. I don't say you are +acting wrongly or dishonourably, but you and your friends are acting +foolishly. You cannot win. You and hundreds of innocent people must +suffer, and Ireland, Neal, Ireland will come to the worse, to the +old subjection, to the old bondage, to the old misery, through your +foolishness. I say this, not to dissuade you from going on, for I think +that you must go on now, but in order that when you look back on it all +afterwards you may remember that there were true friends of Ireland who +were not on your side." + +Neal bent over Lord Dunseveric's hand and kissed it solemnly. + +"I have known two great and good men," he said. "You, my lord, and one +whose name you might count contemptible, James Hope, the weaver, of +Templepatrick. I think myself happy that I have had the goodwill of +both. And, my lord, I think Ireland the most unhappy country in the +world because to-day these two men will be in arms against each other." + +He sobbed. Then, lest he should betray more emotion, went quickly from +the inn. + +He found his uncle waiting for him outside the church. + +"Well, Neal," he said, "how have you sped? You have a basket; I hope it +is full. See here, I have four loaves of bread. The baker man would have +denied me. He suspected me, but I had my answer for him. I told him I +was groom to a great lord who was staying in the inn. I made free with +the name of your friend, Lord Dunseveric. I told him that if he refused +my lord the bread he wanted he would hang him for his insolence. I got +the bread. For the first time and the last I have been a serving man. +Now, back, back as fast as we can go to our hungry comrades." + +After they left the town Donald Ward grew grave again. + +"My lad," he said, "we shall have a fight to-day--a fight worth +fighting. It won't be the first time I've looked on bare steel or heard +the bullets sing. I know what fighting means, and I know this, that many +of us will lie low enough before the sun sets. It may be my luck to come +through or it may not. I have a sort of feeling that I am to fire my +last shots to-day. Don't look at me like that, boy, I'm not frightened. +I'll fight none the worse. But I want to settle a little bit of business +with you now that we are alone. I have a paper here, I wrote it +last night while you slept; I signed it this morning, and I have it +witnessed. I got a parson to witness it, a kind of curate man, a poor +creature. I caught him going into the church to say prayers, and made +him witness my signature. I had time enough, for you were longer at the +inn than I was at the baker's. Here it is for you, Neal. In case of my +death it makes you owner of my share of a little business in the town +of Boston. My partner is managing it now. We own a few ships, and were +making money when I left. But it did not suit me. I got the fighting +fever into my blood during the war. I couldn't settle down to books and +figures. Maybe you'll take to the work. If you do you ought to stand a +good chance of dying a rich man, and you'll be comfortably off the day +you hand that paper to my partner. Not a word now, not a word. I know +what you want to say. Twist your lips into a smile again. Look as if you +were happy whatever you feel, and when all's said and done you ought to +be happy. Whatever the end of it may be we'll get our bellies full of +fighting to-day, and what has life got to give a man better than that?" + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +After breakfast Donald Ward led his party along the road up which +M'Cracken's force must march to reach Antrim. At about noon he met the +advance guard of United Irishmen. Several of Donald's companions were +recognised by these men, and his party were led back to where M'Cracken +himself marched with the central division of his army. It was then +that Neal first saw this leader--a tall, fair-haired, gentle-faced man, +dressed in a white and green uniform, armed with a sword. He spoke to +Donald Ward, and then calling Neal, questioned him about the condition +of the town of Antrim. Neal repeated all that Lord Dunseveric had said, +and told how he had been shown a copy of the proclamation. + +"You will not tell anyone else what you have told me, Mr. Ward," said +M'Cracken, "the news that our plans are known to the enemy might be +discouraging to the men. It does not alter my determination to take +Antrim to-day. Now I must give you your orders and your posts." He +called Donald Ward to him. "You will take charge of our two pieces of +cannon," he said. "They are at the rear of the force. Neal Ward, you +will join the first division of the army--the musketeers--and place +yourself under James Hope's command. I think this is what both you and +he would wish. Felix Matier and James Bigger will do likewise. Moylin, +you and your two friends will march with the pikemen, whom I lead +myself. Some of the men have arms for you." + +The party had fallen somewhat to the rear of the column during this +conversation with M'Cracken. Neal and his two companions hurried forward +at once in order to reach the division of musketeers which was in the +van. They had opportunity as they passed along to admire the steady +march and the determined bearing of the men. Green flags were everywhere +displayed. The long pikes, iron spear-heads fastened on stout poles, +were formidable weapons in the hands of strong men. An almost unbroken +silence was preserved in the ranks. The northern Irishmen are not great +talkers at any time. Set to work of deadly earnest, they become very +silent, very grim. + +There were men in the little army belonging to some of the finest +fighting stocks in the world. There were descendants of the fiery Celtic +tribes to whom Owen Roe O'Neill taught patience and discipline; who, +under him, if he had lived, might well have broken even Cromwell's +Ironsides and sent the mighty Puritan back to his England a beaten man. +Despised, degraded, enslaved for more than a century, these had yet in +them the capacity for fighting. There were also the great-grandsons of +the citizen soldiers of Derry--of the men who stood at bay so doggedly +behind their walls, whom neither French military art nor Celtic valour, +nor the long suffering of famine and disease, could cow into surrender. +There were others--newcomers to the soil of Ireland--who brought with +them to Ulster the traditions of the Scottish Covenantors, memories +of many a fierce struggle against persecution, of conflict with the +dragoons of Claverhouse. All these, whose grandfathers had stood in arms +for widely different causes, marched together on Antrim, an embodiment +of Wolfe Tone's dream of a united Ireland. Their flags were green, +vividly symbolic of the blending of the Protestant orange with the +ancient Irish blue. M'Cracken, with such troops behind him, might march +hopefully, even though he knew that the cavalry, infantry, and artillery +were hurrying against him along the banks of the Six Mile Water, from +Blaris Camp and Carrickfergus. + +James Hope greeted Neal warmly. + +"There is a musket for you," he said, "and your own share of the +cartridges you helped to save. There's a lad here, a slip of a boy, who +is carrying them for you." + +He looked round and pointed out the boy to Neal. + +"There he is; you may march in the ranks along with him." + +Neal took his place beside a boy with bright red hair and a pleasant +smiling face, who handed him a musket and a pouch of cartridges. + +"Them's yours, Neal Ward. Jemmy Hope bid me bring them for you." + +"But what are you to do?" said Neal. "You have no musket for yourself." + +"Faith I couldn't use it if I had. I never shot off one of them guns +in my life. I'd be as like to hit myself as any one. I'll just go along +with you, I have a sword, and I'll be able to use that if I get the +chance." + +Neal looked at the lad beside him, noted his smooth face and sparkling +eyes. + +"You must be very young," he said, "too young for this work." + +"I might be older than you now, young as I look. But is thon Mr. Matier +coming till us? Go you and talk to him if you want. I won't have him +here, marching along with me." + +At about half-past one Hope halted his musketeers. He was in sight of +Antrim, and he waited for orders. It was clear that the town was held +by English troops. Their red coats were visible in the main street, +but, without that, the houses which burnt here and there gave sufficient +evidence of the presence of a ravishing army. + +M'Cracken made a speech to his men--an eloquent speech. Now-a-days +we are inclined to look with some contempt on men who make eloquent +speeches. We are so accustomed to the perpetual flow of our Sunday +oratory that we have come to think of speeches as mere preliminaries +to copious draughts of porter in public-houses--a sort of grace before +drink, to which no sensible man attaches any particular importance. +But the orators of M'Cracken's day spoke seriously, with a sense of +responsibility, because all of them--Flood, Grattan, and the rest--spoke +to armed men, who might at any time draw swords to give effect to the +speaker's words. M'Cracken spoke to men with swords already drawn and +muskets loaded. Therefore, he had some right to be eloquent, and his +hearers had some right to cheer. + +Felix Matier had somehow laid hands on Phelim, the blind piper, and set +him playing. A hundred voices, voices of marching men, caught the tune, +whistled, and sang it. Matier's own voice rang out clearest and loudest +of all. It was, the "Marseillaise" they sang--a not inappropriate anthem +for soldiers about to fight for the liberty of man. But James Hope had +something else in his mind besides the storming of a French Bastille +and the guillotining of a French aristocracy. He believed that he was +fighting: for Ireland, and the foreign tune was not to his mind. Laying +his hand on Matier's shoulder he commanded silence. Then whispering to +Phelim, he set a fresh tune going on the pipes. An ancient Irish war +march shrilled through the ranks--a tune with a rush in it--a tune which +sends the battle fever through men's veins. Now and then the passion of +it reaches a climax, and the listeners, almost in spite of themselves, +must shout aloud. It is called "Brian Boroimhe's March," and it may be +that his warriors shouted when the pipers played it marching on Clontarf +against the Danes. Hope's musketeers heard it, whistled it as the piper +played, hummed it in deep voices, and always, when the moment came, +shouted aloud. + +The musketeers halted, and the pikemen passed them by. The broad, +straight street lay before them, and at the end of it, half sheltered by +the market house, were the English infantry. Behind them, blocking the +end of the street, splitting it as it were into two roads, which run to +the right and left, was the wall of Lord Massereene's demesne. Across +the bridge the English cannon, almost too late, were being hurried by +an escort of sweating dragoons. There was work with them for Hope's +musketeers and Donald Ward's two brass six-pounders. But between the +infantry and M'Cracken's men was a body of cavalry, sitting in shelter +behind the wall which surrounded the church. These would cut the +musketeers to pieces. The pikemen must face them first. + +The horsemen wheeled from their shelter and charged. The long pikes +were lowered, steadied, held in bristling line. There was trampling, +shouting, cursing, torn horses, wounded men, dust, and confusion. Then +the horsemen turned back, musket bullets followed them, men reeled from +the saddles, horses stumbled, the pikemen at the lower end of the street +shook themselves and cheered. They had tasted victory. A louder cheer +followed. Another body of pikemen, true almost to the moment of their +time, marched in along the Carrickfergus Road and joined M'Cracken. +The whole body moved forward together. Down the street to meet them +thundered the dragoons who had brought the cannon in across the bridge. +Hope's musketeers fired again, but no bullets could stop the furious +charge. The dragoons were on the pikes--among the pike men, There was +stabbing and cutting, pike and sabre clashed. Again the cavalry were +driven back, again the musket bullets followed them--musket bullets +fired by marksmen. M'Cracken, at the head of his men, pushed forward. +The dragoons took shelter, the English artillery and infantry opened +fire. The street was swept with grape-shot and bullets. + +Neal, in the front rank of Hope's men, was loading and firing rapidly. +He heard a shout behind him. + +"Way there, make way!" + +He turned. Donald Ward and two men with him had got one of their +six-pounders mounted on a country cart. They dragged the gun to the +middle of the road. Donald, sweating and dusty, but calm and alert, with +a grim smile on his face, laid the gun, loaded, fired. Again he fired. +The gun was well aimed. His shot ploughed its way among the men who +served the English guns, but at the second discharge a round shot flung +it from its carriage and laid it useless on the road. The man who stood +beside it cursed and flung his hands up in despair. Donald Ward turned +quickly. + +"Back," he said, "get the other gun." + +The pikemen pressed on against the storm of grape and cannister and +bullets. The guns ceased firing to let the dragoons charge. Again the +pikemen knelt to receive them, and flung them back. At last the wall of +the churchyard was reached. The pikemen leaped into the churchyard and +breathed in safety. A flag was raised above the wall, a green flag. A +wild cheer greeted it. Hope shouted an order to his men. They rushed +forward along the ground that had been so hardly won, and took their +places with their comrades behind the wall. Leaning over it, or finding +loopholes in the rough masonry, they opened fire on the infantry before +them. A large body of pikemen crossed the road and entered a lane. They +pressed along behind the houses of the street to turn the flank of the +English infantry who were drawn up against the demesne wall. The English +commander saw his danger, and sent dragoons charging down the street +again. But Hope's musketeers were in the churchyard this time. They +fired at close range. The dragoons hesitated. The remaining pikemen +rushed out on them. The colonel reeled in his saddle, struck by a +bullet. His men wavered. In one instant the pikemen were among them. +Three horsemen shouted to the men to rally, and with the flats of their +swords struck at those who were retreating. But the dragoons had had too +much of the pikes. They turned and fled up the street. Sweeping to the +left they galloped in confusion from the battle. The three horsemen +who did not fly were surrounded. The main body of the pikemen pressed +forward; the flanking party joined them. The English infantry and +gunners were driven through the gates and took shelter behind the walls +of the demesne. + +In the middle of the street the three horsemen fought for their lives +against a handful of men who had held back from the main charge. Neal +recognised two of them--saw with horror Lord Dun-severic and Maurice +cutting at the pikes with their swords. He leaped the wall and rushed +to their help. The third horseman--the unfortunate Lord O'Neill--was +separated far from them. He fell from his saddle, ripped by a pike +thrust. Lord Dunseveric's horse was stabbed, and threw its rider to the +ground. Maurice leaped down and raised his father. The two stood back to +back while the pikemen pressed on them. Then Neal reached them. With his +musket clubbed he beat down two of the pikes. The men cursed him, and, +furious at his interference, thrust at him. A sword flashed suddenly +beside him, and a pike, which would have pierced him, was turned aside. +Neal saw that the red-haired boy who marched with him in the morning had +followed him from the churchyard and was fighting fiercely by his side. +The pikemen realised that they were attacking their friends. Leaving +Neal and his protector, they ran to join their comrades. + +"Yield yourselves," shouted Neal. "You are my prisoners. Yield and you +are safe." + +Lord Dunseveric bowed. + +"Thank you, Neal," he said, quietly, "we yield to you." + +A bullet struck the ground at their feet, and then another. The soldiers +behind the demesne wall were firing at them. The boy who had saved Neal +from the pike thrust gave a sudden cry and sank on the ground. + +"I think," said Lord Dunseveric, "you had better pick up that boy and +walk in front of us. It is possible that our men will cease firing when +they see that Maurice and I are between them and you." + +Neal stooped and raised the boy. + +"I can walk fine," he said, "if you let me put my arm round your neck." + +There was a pause in the fighting. The English infantry drawn up on the +terrace behind the wall would not fire on Lord Dunseveric and his son. +Hope's musketeers in the churchyard watched in silence while the little +procession approached them. Neal, with his arm round the wounded boy, +walked first. Lord Dunseveric, following, drew his snuff-box from +his pocket, tapped it, and took a pinch, drawing the powder into his +nostrils with deliberate enjoyment. + +"It seems, Maurice," he said, with a slight smile, "that we are people +of considerable importance. Two armies are looking on while we march to +captivity, and yet we do not appear in a very heroic light. We are the +prisoners of one badly-armed young man and a wounded boy." + +"Neal saved us," said Maurice. + +"Yes," said Lord Dunseveric, "that is, no doubt, the way to look at it. +We should certainly have been piked if it had not been for Neal." + +Neal lifted the wounded boy over the churchyard wall and knelt beside +him on the grass. + +"Where are you hit?" he said. + +"It's my leg, the calf of my leg, but it's no that bad, I could get +along a bit, yet." + +The English infantry opened a furious fire on M'Cracken's pikemen, who +stood around the cannon they captured. Hope's musketeers replied, firing +rapidly. Many of them had fallen. There were muskets to spare, and the +wounded men, crawling round their comrades, loaded for them, and passed +the guns up to those who still could shoot. The whole churchyard was +full of smoke, and a heavy cloud of it hung in the still air before the +wall. It became impossible to see plainly what was happening. Neal was +aware that Felix Matier stood beside him, and that Lord Dunseveric was +somewhere behind him watching, with cool interest, the progress of the +fight. Suddenly Felix Matier shouted-- + +"We're blinded with this smoke. We must see to shoot. We must see to +aim. Follow me who dare!" + +He leaped into the street, and knelt down. The air was clearer there +than in the churchyard. He aimed steadily, fired, loaded, and fired +again. The bullets of the infantry splashed on the ground around him +like rain drops in a heavy shower. His clothes were cut by them. It +seemed a miracle that he did not fall. He began to sing, and this time +there was no one to forbid his "Marseillaise." Then, while his +voice rose to its highest, while he seemed, out there alone in the +bullet-swept street, a very incarnation of the battle spirit--the end +came for him. He flung up his arms, rose, staggered towards the shelter +of the churchyard, turned half round in the direction of the men who +fired at him, and dropped dead. + +Lord Dunseveric stepped forward and tapped Neal on the shoulder. + +"Listen," he said. + +From the Belfast Road, along which the United Irishmen had marched in +the morning, came the sound of drums. Through the smoke it was possible +to discern dimly that a large body of troops was approaching the town. +There could be no doubt as to who they were. No reinforcements for +M'Cracken's army could be looked for from the south. Neal grasped the +meaning of what he saw. Hope's men in the graveyard, which they had held +so long, were caught between the soldiers in the demesne and these fresh +troops who marched on them. Others besides Neal saw what was happening. +The firing slackened. Here and there a man dropped his musket and +stared wildly around. At the top of the street the dragoons who had fled +appeared again. They attacked M'Cracken's pike-men once more, and this +time victoriously. Shaken by the fire of the soldiers behind the wall, +disheartened by the appearance of the enemy in their rear, these men, +who had fought so well, could fight no more. Some fled, some, with their +leader, faced the dragoons and, their pikes still forming a bristling +hedge in front of them, retired sullenly eastwards from the town. + +The musketeers were left alone. Their position seemed desperate. Neal +stopped firing, and looked round. Hope stood bare-headed, his sword in +his hand. + +"We have fought a good fight, men, and we'll fight again, but we must +get out of this now. Load and reserve your fire till I give the order. +Follow me." + +He stepped into the street. His men, gaining courage from the cool +confidence of his voice, loaded their muskets and went after him. + +"Neal," said Lord Dunseveric, "this is madness. Stay. There are at least +a thousand men in front of you. You can't cut your way through them." + +But Neal did not listen. To him, for the moment, it was enough that Hope +was leading. + +"Neal, Neal, don't leave me." + +It was the voice of the boy who had stood by him in the street and +turned the pikes aside. + +"See, I have bound up my leg. I can walk." + +Neal took him by the arm, and together they joined the remnant of Hope's +musketeers in their march against the fresh troops who approached them. + +Lord Dunseveric, heedless of the bullets which still swept the street +from the demesne, stood on the graveyard wall. He was excited at last. + +"Maurice," he cried, "these men are going to certain destruction, but, +by God, their courage is glorious. Look, they are out of the town. They +have halted. They fire. Now, if the English officer has any horse he can +cut them to pieces. He should advance, cavalry or no cavalry. A charge +with the bayonets would settle it. See, Maurice, the red coats have +halted. They are forming a square; they expect to be charged. The rebels +have turned. They are satisfied with having checked the advance. They +are making back into the town. Are they mad? No, by God, they wheel to +their right. They are off. They have escaped." + +The meaning of Hope's manoeuvre broke suddenly on Lord Dunseveric. There +was a road at the end of the town leading north-east to Done-gore. By +going along it Hope could join M'Cracken and the remains of the +army. But to keep it open he had to check the advance of the English +reinforcements. He feinted against them, calculating that their +commander would not know how the fight had gone in Antrim, and must of +necessity move cautiously. He risked the utter destruction of his little +force in making his bid for safety. He reaped the reward of courage +and skill, extricating his musketeers from what seemed an impossible +position. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +General Clavering seemed in no way disconcerted by the escape of Hope's +musketeers. He marched through the town with drums beating and +colours flying, having very much the air of a victorious general. Lord +Dunseveric stepped out of the graveyard and saluted him. + +"Accept my congratulations," he said, "on your timely arrival. You +have released me and my son from what might have been an unpleasant and +uncomfortable captivity." + +"I am glad," said the general, "to have been of any service to your +lordship. I trust you suffered no ill-usage at the hands of the rebels. +If you did-----, well, we have an opportunity of settling our scores +with them now." + +He smiled, but the look on his face was by no means pleasant to see. + +"I received no ill-usage at all," said Lord Dunseveric. "On the +contrary, I was treated with as much courtesy as was possible under the +circumstances. I would ask your forbearance towards any prisoners you +may take, and your kindness to the wounded. There are many of them in +the churchyard." + +"You may be sure that your lordship's recommendation shall have due +weight with me." + +The words were civil, but Lord Dunseveric detected a sneer in the voice +which uttered them. He was not well pleased. + +"I trust, sir," he said coldly, "that I am to take your words literally +and not interpret them in accordance with the tone in which they are +spoken." + +"If you want plain speaking, Lord Dunseveric," said the general, "I +shall deal with the rebels, whole or wounded, as rebels deserve. I mean +to make these Antrim farmers as tame as gelt cats before I've done with +them." + +He beckoned to an officer of his staff, and gave some orders. In a few +minutes several companies of mounted yeomen and dragoons trotted out of +the town. + +"It is a good job," said General Clavering, "that the rebels succeeded +in getting away. If we had cut off their retreat we might have had some +hard fighting. There is nothing nastier than tackling a rat in a corner. +It is a much simpler business to cut up flying men. All beaten troops +straggle and desert. Irregulars, operating in their own country, simply +melt away after a defeat. They sneak off home, hide their arms in hay +stacks, and pretend they never left their ploughs. I know their ways, +and, by God, I'll track them. I'll ferret them out." + +General Clavering's estimate of the conduct of irregular troops had +something in it. Even James Hope's influence failed to keep his men from +straggling. They had fought well while there was any chance of victory, +but war was strange to them. The horrors of wounds and death, the bitter +disappointment of defeat, the hopeless outlook of the future, depressed +them. Their homes were near at hand. Within a few miles of them were the +familiar cottages, the waiting, anxious wives, the little children with +eager faces. There was always the chance for each man that he might +escape unknown, that his share in the rising might be forgotten. One and +another dropped out of the ranks, slipped across the fields, sought to +get home again along by-paths. It was not possible for Hope to delay his +march in order to reason with his men--to hearten and steady them. He +knew that the enemy would be swift in pursuit, that he must press on if +he were to meet M'Cracken at Donegore. He did what he could. He went +to and fro through the ranks, speaking quiet, brave words. Donald Ward, +cool and determined as ever, talked of the American war. + +"You're young at the work, yet," he said to the disheartened men. "Wait +till you've been beaten half a dozen times. It was only by being beaten, +and standing up to our beatings, that we won in the end. I remember when +I was with General Greene in the Carolinas----" + +The men listened to him and listened to Hope. Their spirit began to +return to them. The ranks closed up. The march grew more regular, but +the straggling did not altogether cease. The lure of home, the thought +of rest after struggle, was too strong for some of them. Neal marched +near the rear of the column. He had no thought of deserting a beaten +side, of trying to save himself, but he knew that he could not go on for +very long, and that he would not be able to reach Donegore. The boy whom +he supported leaned heavily on him, until he almost had to carry him. +The strain became more and more severe. He gave his musket to a comrade +to carry for him. He lifted the boy upon his back and staggered on. + +After nearly an hour's march Hope called a halt. Half a mile behind them +on the road was a body of dragoons advancing rapidly. Hope drew his men +up across the road, the few pikemen who were with him kneeling in front, +the musketeers behind them. The dragoons came on at a trot. Then a word +of command was given by their officer, and they galloped forward. Hope +waited, and only at the last moment gave the word to fire. Horses and +men fell. The charge was checked. A few staggered forward against the +pikes. Most turned and fled. A wild cheer burst from Hope's men. Without +waiting for orders they rushed after the retreating dragoons. The misery +of defeat was forgotten for a moment. They tasted the joy of victory +again. But the horsemen rallied, turned on their pursuers, and rode +through them, cutting with their sabres. Neal, who had sat down on the +roadside after firing his musket, saw Hope trying to recall his men, saw +Donald Ward far down the road gather a few pikemen round him and stand +at bay. The dragoons, who had had enough of charging pikes, dismounted, +unslung their carbines, and fired. Neal saw his uncle fall. Hope +reformed his men and bade them load again, but the dragoons had no taste +for another charge. Their officer was wounded. They turned and rode back +towards Antrim. + +Hope gave the word to march again, but Neal could carry the boy no more. + +"I can't do it," he said. "We must stay here and take our chance." + +"Go on," said the boy, "go you on. I've been a sore trouble to you the +day, have done with me now." + +"I will not leave you," said Neal, "we'll take our chance together." + +He watched Hope's little force disappear up the road. Then he dragged +the boy through the hedge into the meadow beyond it, and lay down in the +deep grass. + +"Is your leg very bad?" said Neal. + +"It's no that bad, only I canna walk. It's bled a power, my stocking's +soaked with the blood. Maybe if we could tie it up better we might stop +it and I'd get strength to go again." + +Neal dragged the lining from his coat, and tore it into strips. He cut +the stocking from the boy's leg with his pocket-knife, and bandaged a +long flesh wound as best he could. + +"Rest now," he said, "and after a while we'll try and get on a bit." + +They lay in the deep, cool grass. There was pure air round them, and +they drew deep breaths of it into throats and lungs parched by the fumes +of sulphurous smoke. A delicious silence wrapped them, folded them as if +in a tender, kind embrace. A faint breeze stirred the grass, waved the +white plumes of the meadow sweet, shook the blue vetch flowers and the +purple spears of lusmor. In the hedge the reddening blooms of faded +hawthorn still lingered. The honeysuckle fragrance filled the air. +Groups of merry-faced dog-daisies nodded in the ditch, and round +their stalks were buttercups, and beyond them the rich yellow of marsh +marigolds. Neal fancied himself awaking from some hideous nightmare. It +became impossible to believe in the reality of the battle, the fierce +passion of it, the smoke, the sweat, the wounds, the cries. He was +lulled into delicious ease. Rest was for the time the supreme good of +life. His eyes closed drowsily. He was back in Dunseveric again, and in +his ears the noise of a gentle summer sea. + +He was roused by a touch of his companion's hand. + +"I'm afraid there's a wheen o' sogers coming up the road." + +Neal rose to his hands and knees and peered cautiously through the +hedge. He saw mounted men riding slowly along the road from the +direction of Antrim. They were still about half a mile off. Every now +and then they halted and peered about them. They rode as if they feared +an ambush, or as if they sought something or some one in the fields at +each side of the road. + +"They're yeomen," said Neal, "and they're coming towards us. We must lie +as still as we can. Perhaps they may pass without seeing us." + +"They willna," said the boy, "they'll see us. We'll be kilt at last." + +Neal peered again. The yeomen had reached the spot where Donald and his +pikemen had made their stand. They halted and dismounted to examine, +perhaps to plunder, the bodies. Neal could see their uniforms plainly. +He shivered. They were men of the Kilulta yeomenry, of Captain Twinely's +company. + +"Neal Ward, there's something I want to say to you before they catch +us." + +"Well, what is it? Speak at once. They'll be coming on soon, and then it +won't do to be talking." + +"Ay, but you mustn't look at me while I tell you." + +Neal turned away and waited. He was impatient of this making of +mysteries in a moment of extreme peril. + + "I would I were in Ballinderry, + I would I were in Aghalee, + I would I were in bonny Ram's Island + Trysting under an ivy tree-- + Ochone, Ochone!" + +The words were sung very softly, but Neal recognised the voice at once. +He turned at the second line and gazed in open-eyed astonishment at the +singer. + +"Ay, it's just me, just Peg MacIlrea." She smiled up at him as she +spoke. + +"But, Peg, how could you do it? Peg, if I'd only known. Why did you +come?" + +"It wasna right. It wasna maidenly. If that's what you want to be saying +to me, Neal Ward. The other lassie wouldna have done it. Maybe not. But +a' the lads I knew well were turning out and going to the fight, and +what was to hinder a poor, wild lassie, that nobody cared about, from +going, too? Ay, and being there at the break, the sore, sore break, in +Antrim town?" + +Neal heard the tramp of the yeomen's horses on the road. He heard their +voices, their laughter, their oaths. + +"Neal," said Peg, "you're a brave lad and a kind. I aye said it of ye +from thon night when you throttled the dragoon. Do you mind it? D'you +mind how I bit him?" + +The yeomen were almost opposite their hiding-place now. + +"Neal," whispered Peg, "will ye no gie me a kiss? The other lassie +wouldna begrudge it to me now, I'm thinking." + +He bent over her, put his arms round her neck, raised her head, and +kissed her lips. + +"Hush, Peg, hush," he whispered. + +"There's a musket on the road in front of you, sergeant." Neal +recognised Captain Twinely's voice. "There might be some damned croppy +lurking in the meadow there. Dismount and beat him up. Hey! but we'll +have some sport hunting him across country if he runs. The earths are +all stopped. We'll have a fine burst, and kill the vermin in the end." + +Neal stood upright. + +"I surrender to you, Captain Twinely. I surrender as a prisoner of war." + +It seemed to him the only chance of saving Peg MacIlrea. It was just +possible that the yeomen would be satisfied with one prisoner. + +"By God," said the captain, "if it isn't that damned young Ward again. +Come, croppy, come, croppy, I'll give you a run for your life. I'll give +you two minutes start by my watch, and I'll hunt you like a fox. It's a +better offer than you deserve." + +Neal stood still, and made no answer. + +"To him, sergeant, prick him with your sword. Set him running." + +The sergeant came blundering through the hedge. Neal stepped forward to +meet him, in the hope of keeping Peg concealed, but the sergeant caught +sight of her. + +"There's another of them, Captain, lying in the grass." + +"Rout him out, rout him out," said Captain Twinely, "we'll run the two. +We'll have sport." + +The sergeant stepped forward and kicked Peg. Neal flew at the man and +knocked him down. + +"Ho, ho," laughed Captain Twinely, "he's a game cub. Get through the +hedge, men, and take a hold of him. We'll hunt the other fellow first." + +"The other seems to be wounded, sir," said one of the men. "He has his +leg bandaged." + +"Then slit his throat," said the captain, "he can't run, and I've no use +for wounded men." + +Neal, his arms tightly gripped by two troopers, made a last appeal. + +"It's a girl," he said, "would you murder a girl?" + +Captain Twinely rolled in his saddle with mirth. + +"A vixen," he cried. "Damn your soul, Neal Ward, but you're a sly one. +To think of a true blue Presbyterian like you, a minister's son, God rot +you, lying and cuddling a girl in a field. A vixen, by God. Strip her, +sergeant, till we see if he's telling the truth." + +Neal, with the strength of a furious man, tore himself from the grasp of +his guards. He plunged through the hedge and leaped at Captain Twinely. +He gripped the horse's mane with his left hand, and made a wild snatch +at the throat of the man above him in the saddle. A blow on the face +from the hilt of Twinely's sword threw him to the ground. He fell half +stunned. He heard Peg shriek wildly, and then lost consciousness of what +was happening. + +He was roused again by a prod of a sword, and bidden to stand up. His +hands were tied and the end of the rope made fast to the stirrup iron of +one of the trooper's horses. + +"We're going to take you back into Antrim," said Captain Twinely. "I +don't deny that I'd rather deal with you here myself, but you're a +fifty-pounder, my lad, and my men won't hear of losing their share of +the reward. It'll come to the same thing in the end, any way. Clavering +isn't the man to be squeamish about hanging a rebel. Mount men and +march." + +"Maybe the young cub would like to see his lass before he leaves her. +Her face is a bonny one for kissing now." + +Neal shuddered, and turned sick. Beyond the hedge in the trampled grass, +among the meadow sweet and the loose strife, lay unnamable horror. +He shut his eyes, dreading lest he should be forced to look, but the +suggestion was too brutal even for Captain Twinely. + +"Shut your devil's mouth," he said to the sergeant, "isn't what you've +done enough for you? If the croppy that came on you at Donegore had +broken your skull, instead of just cracking it, he would have rid the +country of the biggest blackguard in it." + +"Thon's fine talk," growled the sergeant, "but who bid us strip the +wench? Is bloody Twinely turning chicken-hearted at the last?" + +Captain Twinely did not choose to hear the sergeant's words, or the +grumbling of the men around him. He put his troop in motion, and trotted +off towards Antrim. Neal, running and stumbling, dazed, utterly weary +and dejected, was dragged with them. + +General Clavering sat at dinner in a private room of the Massereene +Arms. He had with him Colonel Durham and several of the officers who +had commanded troops during the battle. The landlord, obsequious and +frightened, waited on the party himself. He had the best food he could +get on the table, and the best wine from the cellar was ready for +his guests. In the public room a larger party was gathered--yeomanry +officers, captains, and lieutenants of the royal troops, and a few of +the country squires who had ridden into the town after the fighting was +over. Lord Dunseveric and Maurice were in the room where they had slept +the night before. Lord O'Neill lay on one of two beds. Life was in him +still, but he was mortally wounded. Lord Dunseveric sat beside him, +holding his hand, and speaking to him occasionally. Maurice was at the +window. The laughter of the party in the room below reached them, and +the noisy talk of the troops who thronged the streets. Jests, curses, +snatches of song, and calls for wine mingled with the groans which his +extreme pain wrung from the wounded man and the solemn, quiet words +about strength and courage which Lord Dunseveric spoke. + +A party of horsemen clattered up the street, and halted at the inn +door. They had a prisoner with them--a wretched-looking man, with torn +clothes, a bruised, bloody face, and hair matted with sweat and grime. +But Maurice recognised him. It was Neal Ward. He turned to his father. + +"A company of yeomen has just marched in and they have Neal Ward with +them. Their officer, I think it was that blackguard Twinely, has asked +for General Clavering, and entered the inn." + +"Very well, Maurice." Lord Dunseveric turned to the wounded man. "I must +leave you for a few minutes, my friend; keep quiet and be brave. I shall +be back again. Maurice will stay with you, and get you anything you +want." + +"Where are you going, Eustace?" + +"I'm going to the general, to this Clavering man. He has a prisoner now +whom I want to help if I can--the young man I told you about, who saved +me from being piked in the street to-day. I would to God he could have +saved you, too." + +"That's past praying for now," said Lord O'Neill, "but you're right, +Eustace, you're right. Save him from the hangman if you can. There's +been blood enough shed to-day--Irish blood, Irish blood. There should be +no more of it." + +Lord Dunseveric entered the room where General Clavering and his +officers sat at dinner. Captain Twinely stood at the end of the table, +and Lord Dunseveric heard the orders he received. + +"Put him into the market-house to-night. I'll hang that fellow in the +morning, whatever I do with the rest." + +"The market-house is full, sir," said Captain Twinely, "the officer in +command says he can receive no more prisoners." + +"Damn it, man, shut him up somewhere else, then, but don't stand there +talking to me and interrupting my dinner. Here, landlord, have you an +empty cellar?" + +"Your worship, my lord general, there's only the wine cellar; but it's +very nigh on empty now." + +A shout of laughter greeted the remark. + +"Fetch out the rest of the wine that's in it," said the general, "we'll +make a clean sweep of it. Or, stay, leave the poor devil one bottle of +decent claret. He's to be hanged tomorrow morning. He may have a sup of +comfort to-night." + +Captain Twinely saluted and withdrew. + +"General Clavering," said Lord Dunseveric, "I ask you to spare this +young man's life. I will make myself personally responsible for his +safe keeping, and undertake to send him out of the country at the first +opportunity." + +"It can't be done, Lord Dunseveric. I am sorry to disoblige in a small +matter, but it can't be done." + +"I ask it as a matter of justice," said Lord Dunseveric. "The man saved +my life and my son's life to-day in the street at the risk of his own. +He deserves to be spared." + +"I've given my answer." + +Lord Dunseveric hesitated. For a moment it seemed as if he were about to +turn and leave the room. Then, with an evident effort, he spoke again. + +"I ask this man's life as a personal favour. I am not one who begs often +from the Government, or who asks favours easily, but I ask this." + +"Anything else, my lord, anything in reason, but this I will not grant. +This young man has a bad record--a damned bad record. He was mixed up +with the hanging of a yeoman in the north------" + +"He was not," said Lord Dunseveric. "I hanged that man." + +"You hanged him," said General Clavering, Angrily, "and yet you come +here asking favours of me. But there's more, plenty more, against this +Neal Ward. He tried to choke a dragoon in the street of Belfast, he +took part in a daring capture of some ammunition for the rebels' use, +he helped to murder a loyal man at Donegore last night, he was in arms +to-day. There's not half a dozen deserve hanging more richly than he +does, and hanged he'll be. Never you fret yourself about him, Lord +Dunseveric; sit down here and drink a glass with us. We're going to make +a night of it." + +"I beg leave to decline your invitation," said Lord Dunseveric, stiffly. +"I have asked for mercy and been refused. I have asked for justice and +been refused. I have begged a personal favour and been refused. I bid +you good night. If I thought you and your companions were capable of any +feeling of common decency I should request you to restrain your mirth a +little out of respect to Lord O'Neill, who lies dying within two doors +of you. But I should probably only provide you with fresh food for your +laughter if I did." + +He bowed coldly, and left the room. The company sat silent for a minute +or two. No man cared to look at his neighbour. Lord Dunseveric's last +words had been unpleasant ones to listen to. Besides, Lord Dunseveric +was a man of some importance. It is impossible to tell how far the +influence of a great territorial lord may stretch. Promotion is +sometimes stopped mysteriously by influences which are not very easily +baffled. There were colonels at the table who wanted to be generals, +and generals who wanted commands. There was a feeling that it might have +been wiser to speak more civilly to Lord Dunseveric. + +General Clavering himself broke the silence. + +"These damned Irishmen are all rebels at heart," he said. "The gentry +want their combs cut as much as the croppies. I'm not going to be +insulted at my own table by a cursed Irishman even if he does put lord +before his name. I'll write a report about this Lord Dunseveric. I'll +make him smart with a sharp fine. You heard him boast, gentlemen, boast +before a company of men holding His Majesty's commission, that he hanged +a soldier in discharge of his duty." + +"A yeoman," said Colonel Durham, "and some of the yeomen deserve +hanging." + +"God Almighty!" said Clavering, "are you turning rebel, too? I don't +care whether a man deserves it or not, I'll not have the king's troops +hanged by filthy Irishmen." + +He looked round the table for applause. He got none. General Clavering +had boasted too loudly--had gone too far. It was well known that in the +existing state of Irish politics Pitt and the English ministers would +probably prefer cashiering General Clavering to offending a man like +Lord Dunseveric. There were plenty of generals to be got. A great Irish +landowner, a man of ability, a peer who commanded the respect of all +classes in the country, might be a serious hindrance to the carrying +out of certain carefully-matured schemes. General Clavering attempted to +laugh the matter off. + +"But this," he said, "is over wine. Men say more than they mean when +they are engaged in emptying mine host's cellar. Come, gentlemen, +another bottle. We must hang the damned young rebel, but we'll do him +this much grace--we'll drink a happy despatch to him, a short wriggle at +the end of his rope, and a pleasant journey to a warmer climate." + +Lord Dunseveric returned to his room and sat down again beside Lord +O'Neill. He said nothing to Maurice. + +"Well," said Lord O'Neill, "will they spare him?" + +"No." + +"More blood, more blood. God help us, Eustace, our lot is cast in evil +times. Would it be any use if I spoke, if I wrote! I think I could +manage to write." + +"None, my friend, none. Keep quiet, you have enough to bear without +taking my troubles and my friend's troubles on your shoulders." + +For a long time there was silence in the room, broken only by an +occasional groan from the wounded man and a word or two murmured low +by Lord Dunseveric. Maurice took his place at the window again. He +understood that his father's intercession for Neal had failed, but he +was not hopeless. He did not know what was to be said or done next, but +he waited confidently. It was not often that Lord Dunseveric was turned +back from anything he set his hand to do. It was likely that if he +wanted Neal Ward's release the release would be accomplished whatever +General Clavering might think or say. + +The evening darkened slowly. Lord O'Neill dropped into an uneasy dose. +Lord Dunseveric rose, and crossed the room to Maurice. + +"You heard what I said, son? They are to hang Neal Ward to-morrow." + +Maurice nodded. + +"I can do no more. Besides, I am tired. I want to rest." + +Maurice looked at his father in surprise. He could not recollect ever +having heard before of his being tired or wanting rest. + +"I shall sleep here in your bed, Maurice, so as to be at hand if Lord +O'Neill wants me. You must go down to the public room of the inn or to +the tap-room. You can get James, the groom, to keep you company if you +like. You cannot go to bed to-night, you understand. You must sit by the +fire till those roisterers have drunk themselves to sleep. James +will keep you company, There will be sound sleep for many in this inn +to-night, but none for poor Neal, who's down in some cellar, nor the +sentry they post over him, nor for you, Maurice, nor for James. Maybe +after all Neal won't be hanged in the morning. That's all I have to +say to you, my son. A man in my position can't say more or do more. You +understand?" + +"I understand," said Maurice, "and, by God, they'll not hang----" + +"Hush! hush! I don't want to listen to you. I'm tired. I want to go to +sleep. Good night to you, Maurice." + +With a curious half smile on his face Lord Dun-severic shook his son's +hand. It appeared that he had the same kind of confidence in Maurice +that Maurice had in him. Like father, like son. When these St. Clairs of +Dunseveric wanted anything they generally got it in the end. And none +of the race of them had ever been over-scrupulous in dealing with such +obstacles as stood in their way, or particularly careful about what +those glorified conventions that men call law might have to say about +the methods by which they achieved their ends. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +Men who have eaten sufficiently and drunk heavily are not anxious to +admit into their company any one who has not dined, and whose last glass +of wine was drunk the day before. The gentlemen in the public room of +the Massereene Arms were not, most of them, drunk when Maurice St. Clair +came among them, but they were gay. Their hearts, to use a Scripture +phrase, were made glad with wine. They were in the mood in which men +crack jokes and laugh loud at jokes which would not pass muster before +dinner. They were ready to sing out of time and tune or to applaud +the songs of others without criticising them. But they were, with the +exception of one or two, men of feeble capacity, sober enough to be +conscious of the fact that they were liable to make fools of themselves, +and to resent the intrusion of a cool-headed stranger. + +They stared angrily at Maurice St. Clair. They said in audible tones +things which showed him plainly that his presence was most unwelcome, +but Maurice remained unabashed. He crossed the room and sat down on the +window seat--the same seat from which Neal had watched the piper and the +dancers a week or two before. He beckoned to the harassed and wearied +girl who waited on the party. + +"Get me," he said, "something to eat--anything. I do not mind what it +is, and bring a cup of milk. Then send my groom to me." + +"The gentleman," said a young squire, who had certainly crossed the +undefined line which separates sobriety from drunkenness, "is going to +drink milk. Now, what I want to know is this--has any gentleman a right +to drink milk on an evening like this, after the glorious victory which +we have won?" + +"It's damned little you had to do with winning it," said an officer who +sat beside him. "You can drink, but----" + +"The man that says I can't drink lies," said the other. "No offence +to you, Captain; no offence meant or taken. I give you a toast, and +I propose that the milky gentleman in the window--the milk-and-water +gentleman--drinks it along with us. Here's success to the loyalists +and a long rope and short shrift to the rebelly croppies. Now, Mr. +Milk-and-Water----" + +Maurice rose to his feet. + +"I understand, gentlemen, that this is a public room in which any +traveller may be supplied with what he calls for. I have no wish to push +myself into your company. I trust that you will allow me to enjoy my own +unmolested." + +The intoxicated proposer of the toast laid his hand on his sword, +blustered out an oath or two, and was pulled down again into his +seat. There was good feeling enough left among the better class of +his companions to understand that a stranger should be treated with +civility. There was sense enough among the rest to recognise that +Maurice was not the kind of man whom it would be safe to bully. The girl +returned and informed Maurice that his groom was in the kitchen, but +refused to attend him. + +Maurice rose and sought the man himself. The reason of the refusal was +sufficiently obvious. The kitchen was full of troopers who had advanced +much further on the way to absolute drunkenness than their officers. +James, Lord Dunseveric's groom, was decidedly the most drunken of the +party, but Maurice wanted the man, and was prepared to take some trouble +to reduce him to a condition of serviceableness again. He grasped him +by the collar of the coat, and pushed him through the back door into the +yard. A delighted stable boy worked the pump handle while Maurice held +the groom under the stream of cold water. The cure was ineffective. +Maurice walked him up and down the yard for half an hour, and then put +him under the pump again. The man remained obstinately drunk. Maurice +flung him down in a corner of a stable and left him. + +He returned to the room where the feasters sat, and looked in. The +company had advanced rapidly since he had seen them last. The squire who +had proposed the toast was under the table. Several others were lying +back helplessly in their chairs. Those who could talk were talking +loud and all together. The amount of liquor still to be consumed was +considerable. Maurice smiled. These officers and gentlemen were little +likely to interfere with anything he chose to do at midnight. He went +out of doors and sat on the stone bench in front of the inn. + +He had no plan in his head for the rescue of Neal Ward, only he was +quite determined to accomplish it somehow before morning. He did not +even know where his friend was imprisoned, or how he was guarded. His +father had spoken of a cellar somewhere in the inn. He supposed that foe +would sooner or later be able to find it, overpower the sentry, and set +Neal free. In the meanwhile, he had nothing to do but wait. + +He felt a touch on his shoulder, and looked round to see the girl, the +inn servant, standing beside him. + +"You're the gentleman," she whispered, "that was speaking till the young +man here the morn--the young man that I give the basket to, that is a +friend o' Jemmy Hope's?" + +Maurice recollected the incident very well. + +"He's here the now," whispered the girl again. "He's down in the wine +cellar, and the door's locked on him, and there's a man with a gun +forninst the door, and, the Lord save us, it's goin' to hang him they +are." + +"Will you show me where the cellar is?" said Maurice. + +"Ay, will I no? I'll be checked sore by the master, but I'll show you, I +will." + +The girl led him down a long passage, which was nearly dark, opened a +door, and showed him a flight of stone steps. + +"There's three doors," she said. "It's the one at the end forninst you +that's the cellar door. Are ye going down? It's venturesome ye are. +Whisht, then, and go canny, and dinna go ayont the bottom of the steps." + +Maurice went cautiously. When he reached the bottom of the steps he saw +before him a long passage, stone-flagged, low-roofed, narrow. From an +iron hook at the far end hung a lamp. Beyond it stood a sentry, one of +Captain Twinely's yeomen. The man was awake and alert. There was no sign +of drunkenness about him. He was well armed. The light from the lamp was +dim and feeble at Maurice's end of the passage, but it shone brightly +enough for a space in front of the sentry. Maurice saw that it would +be impossible to approach the man unseen, impossible to steal on him or +rush at him without having a shot fired which would startle every one in +the inn. He crept up the stairs again. The girl was waiting for him. + +"Is the door of the cellar locked?" he asked. + +"Ay, it is, I fetched the last bottles of wine out mysel', and I saw +them put the man in--sore draggled he was, and looking like a body in a +dwam. The master locked the door himsef, and the captain took the keys +off with him. But there's no harm in that. There's another key that the +mistress used to have afore she died, the creature. It's in a drawer in +the master's room, but it's easy got at." + +"Get it for me," said Maurice. + +He looked into the public room again. The revel was far advanced now. +It was nearly midnight, and only three or four of the most seasoned +drinkers survived. Even they, as Maurice saw, were in no position to +assert themselves, or to understand anything that was going on. A +few minutes later even these veterans felt that they had had enough. +Supporting each other, reeling against tables and chairs, they staggered +upstairs to their beds. The greater part of the merry company lay on +the floor in attitudes which were neither dignified nor comfortable, +and snored. The rest of the inn was silent. From outside came the steady +tramp of the soldiers who patrolled the town, and from far off their +challenges to the sentries on watch at the ends of the streets. + +The girl came back to Maurice with the key in her hand. + +"I got it," she said. "The master's cocked up sleepin' by the kitchen +fire. There was a man in his bed, or maybe twa, but I didna wake them." + +"Come back to me in half an hour," said Maurice, "I may want your help. +And listen, my lass, if you stand by me to-night I'll see you safe +afterwards. You shan't want for a handful of silver or a bran new gown." + +"I want none of your siller nor your gowns," said the girl. "I'll lend +ye a han' because you're a friend of the lad that's the friend of Jemmy +Hope." + +At about half-past twelve the sentry who stood in front of Neal's cellar +heard some one descend the stairs into the passage with shuffling steps. +A slatternly girl with shoes so down at the heel that they clattered +on the stone flags every time she lifted her feet, approached him. She +rubbed her eyes and yawned like one lately wakened out of sleep. She +carried a lantern in her hand. + +"What do you want here?" said the man. + +"The master sent me, sir, with another lamp. He was afeard the yin ye +had would be out again the morn. There isna that much oil in it." + +"Your master's civil," said the man. "I've no fancy for standing sentry +here in the dark. He's a civil man, and I'll speak a good word for him +to-morrow to the captain. I hope you're a civil wench like the man you +serve." + +"Ay, amn't I after fetchin' the lamp till ye?" + +"And a kiss along with it," said the soldier. "Come now, you needn't be +coy, there's none to see you." + +He put his arms round her waist and pulled her towards him. + +"Mind now, mind, will ye, have you neither sense nor shame? Ye'll have +the lamp spilt and the house in a blaze this minute." + +She escaped from him, and, standing on tip-toe, reached the lamp which +hung from the roof and put it on the ground. The soldier caught her +again, and this time succeeded in kissing her. + +"Ye may hang the fresh lamp up yourself," said the girl. "I willna lay a +finger on it for ye now." + +Rubbing her mouth with her hand, as if to wipe away the kiss forced on +her, she shambled down the passage, taking the first lamp with her. The +sentry heard her shuffle up the stairs again, making a great deal of +noise with her clattering shoes. Then he hung the fresh lamp on his hook +and stood back again against the door of the cellar. + +It was very dull work standing all night in the passage, but he was +determined to keep awake. Neal Ward had slipped through the fingers of +Captain Twinely's men twice. There was not much chance of his escaping +this time, but the sentry, for the honour of his corps, and for the sake +of the personal ill-will that every member of it bore to the prisoner, +was not going to run the smallest risk. Earlier in the night he had +amused himself by shouting insults of various kinds through the door +of the cellar. Later on he had given the prisoner a vivid and realistic +description of the way in which men are hanged, but Neal had made no +sign of hearing a word that was said to him, so the occupation grew +uninteresting. Now he whistled a few of his favourite airs, speculating +on the amount of the fifty pounds reward offered for Neal's capture +which would fall to his share, and estimating his chances of taking +some of the other United Irishmen for whom the Government had offered +substantial sums. Then he began to count the flagstones on the floor of +the passage. He had done this once or twice before, and had been able to +distinguish as many as twenty-five, which brought him more than half way +to the staircase, before the light failed him. This time he could +only count twenty. Beyond that the floor lay dimly visible, but it was +impossible to distinguish one stone from another. + +"Damn it," He growled, "this isn't near as good a lamp as the first." + +He counted again, and only reached a total of eighteen slabs of stone. +He glanced down the passage, and found that he could not see the end of +it. He looked at the lamp. It was burning very low. It occurred to him +as an unpleasant possibility that the girl had taken away the wrong +lamp--had taken the one with the oil in it and left him the empty one. +He reassured himself. This lamp was a different shape from that which +hung in the passage when he first took his post as sentry. He made up +his mind that its wick must require to be turned up. Perhaps it had been +badly trimmed. The girl who brought it was evidently sleepy; she would +be very likely to forget to trim it. He stepped forward to where the +lamp hung. He paused, startled by a slight noise at the far end of the +passage. He listened, but heard nothing more. It was necessary to lift +the lamp off the hook before he could trim the wick. He laid his musket +on the ground and reached up to it. As he did so he heard swift steps, +steps of heavy feet, on the flagged passage. They were quite close to +him. He looked round and caught a glimpse of Maurice St. Clair in the +act of springing on him. He was grappled by strong arms and flung to the +ground before he could do anything to defend himself. Maurice, kneeling +on him, put the point of a knife to his throat. + +"If you speak one word or utter the slightest sound I cut your throat at +once." + +The unfortunate soldier lay still. Maurice, the knife still pricking the +man's throat, crept slowly off him and knelt on the floor. With his left +hand he unclasped the soldier's belt. + +"Now," he said, "turn over on your face, and put your hands behind you." + +The man obeyed, and felt the sharp point of the knife slip slowly round +his neck until it rested behind his ear. + +"'Remember," said Maurice, "one good cut downwards now and you are a +dead man. Put your hands together." + +He pulled the leather belt clear with his left hand, then, dropping the +knife, he knelt on the man's back and gripped his wrists. + +In a moment he had them securely strapped together with the leather +belt. Then he stuffed a cloth into the soldier's mouth and bound it +there with a stout cord tied tight round his head. Another cord--Maurice +had come well supplied with what he was likely to want--was made fast +round the man's legs. Then Maurice stood up and surveyed his handiwork. +He laughed softly, well satisfied. The lamp flickered and went out. + +"It's a good job for you," said Maurice, "that the light lasted as long +as it did. I couldn't have gagged and tied you in the dark. I should +have been obliged to kill you." + +He felt along the wall until he came to the cellar door and found the +keyhole. After much fumbling he got the key in, turned it, and pushed +open the door. + +"Neal," he called. "Neal, are you there?" + +"Yes. Who is that? Is it you, Maurice? It's like your voice." + +Stumbling forward through the pitch dark, Neal gripped Maurice at last. +Hand in hand they went cautiously along the passage and up the stairs. + +"Come in here," said Maurice. "There's a light here, and I want to +see if it's really you. Oh! you needn't be afraid. There are plenty of +soldiers, but they won't hurt you. They're all dead drunk. Now, Neal, +there's lots to eat and drink. Sit down and make the best of your time. +You'll want a square meal. I'll just take a light and go down to that +fellow in the passage. I've got a few fathom of good, stout rope--I'm +not sure that it isn't the bit that they meant to hang you with in the +morning--and I'll fix him up so that he'll neither stir nor speak till +some one lets him loose." + +In a quarter of an hour Maurice returned. + +"The next thing, Neal, is to get you out of this town. It's full of +soldiers, and there are sentries at every turn, but I've got the word +for the night, and I think we'll be able to manage." + +He walked round the room peering carefully at the drunken men who lay on +the floor. + +"'Here's a fellow that's about your size, Neal. He seems to be a captain +of some sort, a yeomanry captain by the look of him. I'm hanged if it +isn't our friend Twinely again. We'll take the liberty of borrowing +his uniform for you. There'll be a poetic justice about that, and he'll +sleep all the better for having these tight things off him." + +He knelt down and stripped Captain Twinely. + +"Now then, quick, Neal. Don't waste time. Daylight will be on us before +we know where we are. Take your own things with you in a bundle. Change +again somewhere when you get out of the town, you'll be safer travelling +in your own clothes. Take some food with you. Here, I'll make up a +parcel while you dress. I'll stick in a bottle of wine. Now you're +right. Walk boldly past the sentries. If you're challenged curse the man +that challenges you. The word for the night is 'Clavering.' Travel by +night as much as you can. Keep off the main roads. Strike straight for +home. It'll be a queer thing if you can't lie safe round Dunseveric for +a few days till we get you out of the country." + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +Lord Dunseveric and Maurice breakfasted together at eight o'clock on the +morning of Neal's escape. They sat in the room where Lord O'Neill lay, +and had a table spread for them beside the window. It was impossible +to eat a meal in any comfort elsewhere in the inn. Indeed, but for +the special exertions of the master and his maid it would have been +difficult to get food at all. Maurice was triumphant and excited. Since +Neal had not been brought back it was reasonable to suppose that he had +made good his escape out of the town, and there was every hope that he +would get safe to the coast. Once there he had friends enough to feed +him, and hiding-places known to few, and almost inaccessible to soldiers +or yeomen. + +Lord Dunseveric asked no questions about Maurice's doings in the night. +He felt perfectly confident that Neal had got off somehow. The details +of the business he would hear later on. For the present he preferred to +know nothing about them. + +An officer entered the room and handed a letter to Lord Dunseveric. +It was a request, in civil language enough, that he would meet General +Clavering in the public room of the inn at nine o'clock, and that +Maurice would accompany his father. + +General Clavering sat at the head of the table when Lord Dunseveric and +Maurice entered. Three or four of the senior officers of the regular +troops sat with him. Captain Twinely, in a suit of clothes he had +borrowed from the master of the inn, and one of his men, stood near the +fireplace. The room had been cleared of the drunken sleepers, but a good +deal of the _dbris_ of their revel--empty bottles, broken glasses, and +little pools of spilt wine--were still visible on the floor. + +"I have to announce to you, Lord Dunseveric," said the general, "that +the prisoner who was confined in the inn cellar last night, Neal Ward, +has escaped." + +Lord Dunseveric bowed, and smiled slightly. His eye lighted on Captain +Twinely, and his smile broadened. The landlord's suit fitted the captain +extremely ill. + +"Indeed," he said, "Captain Twinely seems to be unfortunate with regard +to this particular prisoner. This is, let me see, the third time that +Neal Ward has--ah!--evaded his vigilance." + +"The sentry who guarded the door of the cellar," said General +Clavering, "was attacked, overpowered, bound, and gagged." + +"By the prisoner?" + +"No, my lord, by some one who assisted the prisoner to escape, who, +after dealing with the sentry as I have described, unlocked the door of +the cellar with a key, the duplicate of that which Captain Twinely had +in his pocket. This man and the prisoner subsequently stripped Captain +Twinely of his uniform, and, as I learn from my sentries, Neal Ward +passed through our lines in the disguise of a captain of yeomanry." + +"You surprise me," said Lord Dunseveric, "a daring stratagem; a +laughable scheme, too. I trust you took no cold, Captain. I confess that +I should have liked to have seen you in your shirt tails this morning. +You were, I presume," he stirred a little heap of broken glass with his +foot as he spoke, "_vino gravatus_ when they relieved you of your tunic. +But what has all this to do with me?" + +"Merely this," said General Clavering, "that your son is accused of +having effected the prisoner's escape." + +Lord Dunseveric looked at Maurice, looked him quietly up and down, as if +he saw him then for the first time. + +"I can believe," he said, "that my son might overpower the sentry. He +is, as you see, a young man of considerable personal strength, but +I should be surprised to learn that he dressed the prisoner in the +captain's uniform. I may be misjudging my son, but I have hitherto +regarded him as somewhat deficient in humour. You must admit, General +Clavering, that only a man with a feeling for the ridiculous would have +thought of----" + +"It will be better for you to hear what the sentry has to say, my lord, +and I beg of you to regard the matter seriously. I assure you it will +not bear joking on. The rescue of a prisoner is a grave offence. Captain +Twinely, kindly order your man to tell his story." + +"Since I am not a prisoner at the bar," said Lord Dunseveric, "I shall, +with your permission, sit down. As to the seriousness of the business +in hand, I confess that for the moment the thought of the worthy Twinely +waking this morning not only with a splitting headache but without +a pair of breeches on him keeps the humorous side of the situation +prominent in my mind." + +The sentry told his story. To Maurice's great relief, he omitted all +mention of the girl who had supplied the lamp which so conveniently +burnt low, but he had recognised Maurice and was prepared to swear to +his identity. + +"No doubt," said General Clavering, "you will wish to cross-question +this man, my lord." + +Lord Dunseveric yawned. + +"I think that quite unnecessary," he said, "a much simpler way of +arriving at the truth of the story will be to ask my son whether +he rescued the prisoner or not. Maurice, did you bind and gag this +excellent trooper?" + +"Yes." + +"Did you subsequently release Neal Ward from the cellar?" + +"Yes." + +"Now, Maurice, be careful about your answer to my next question. Did you +take the clothes off Captain Twinely?" + +"Yes." + +"And was that part of the scheme entirely your own? Did the idea +originate with you or with the prisoner whom you helped to escape?" + +"It was my idea." + +"I apologise to you, Maurice. I did you an injustice. You have a certain +sense of humour. It is not perhaps of the most refined kind, still you +have, no doubt, provided a joke which will appeal to the officers' mess +in Belfast, Dublin, and elsewhere; which will be told after dinner in +most houses in the county for many a year to come. And now, General +Clavering, I presume there is no more to be said. I wish you good +morning." + +"Stop a minute," said General Clavering, "you cannot seriously suppose +that your son, simply because he is your son, is to be allowed to +interfere with the course of justice?" + +"Of justice?" asked Lord Dunseveric in a tone of mild surprise. + +"With His Majesty's officers in the execution of their duty--that is, +to release prisoners whom I have condemned--I, the general in command +charged with the suppression of an infamous rebellion. Your son, my +lord, will have to abide the consequences of his acts." + +"Maurice," said Lord Dunseveric, "it is evident that you are going to +be hanged. General Clavering is going to hang you. It is really +providential that you didn't steal his breeches. He would probably have +flogged you first and hanged you afterwards if you had." + +"Damn your infernal insolence," broke out General Clavering furiously, +"You think that because you happen to be a lord and own a few dirty +acres of land that you can sit there grinning like an ape and insulting +me. I'll teach you, my lord, I'll teach you. By God, I'll teach you and +every other cursed Irishman to speak civil to an English officer. You +shall know your masters, by the Almighty, before I've done with you." + +Lord Dunseveric rose to his feet. He fixed his eyes on General +Clavering, and spoke slowly and deliberately. + +"I ride at once to Dublin," he said. "I shall lay an account of your +doings and the doings of your troops before His Majesty's representative +there. I shall then cross to England, approach my Sovereign and yours, +General Clavering. I shall see that justice is done between you and the +people you have outraged and harried. As to my son, I have work for him +to do. I shall make myself responsible for his appearance before a court +of justice when he is summoned. In the meanwhile, I neither recognise +you as my master nor your will as my law. I appeal to the constitutional +liberties of this kingdom of Ireland and to the right of every citizen +to a fair trial before a jury of his fellow-countrymen. You shall not +arrest, try, or condemn my son otherwise than as the law allows." + +General Clavering grew purple in the face. He stuttered, cursed, laid +his hand on his sword, and took a step forward. Lord Dunseveric, his +hands behind his back, a sneer of contempt on his face, looked straight +at the furious man in front of him. + +"Do you propose," he said, "to stab me and then hang my son?" + +This was precisely what General Clavering would have liked to do, but he +dared not. He turned instead on Captain Twinely. + +"Let me tell you, sir, that you're a damned idiot, an incompetent +officer, a besotted fool, and your men are a lot of cowardly loons. +You had this infernal young rebel safe and you let him go. You not only +allowed him to walk off, but you actually provided him with a suit of +clothes to go in. You're the cause of all the trouble. Get your troop +to horse. Scour the country for him. Don't leave a house that you don't +search, nor a bed that you don't run your sword through. Don't leave a +dung-heap without raking it, or a haystack that you don't scatter. Get +that man back for me, wherever he hides himself, or, by God, I'll have +you shot for neglect of duty in time of war, and your damned yeomen +buried alive in the same grave with you." + +The general was still bent on teaching the Irish to know their masters +and making good his boast of reducing them to the tameness of "gelt +cats." With Captain Twinely, at least, he seemed likely to succeed. + +"I can imagine, Maurice," said Lord Dun-severic, when they were alone +together again, "that Captain Twinely and his men have at last got a job +to suit them. Sticking swords through old wives feather beds is safer +work than sticking them through rebels. Scattering haystacks will be +pleasanter than scattering pikemen. Raking dung heaps will, I suppose, +be an entirely congenial occupation." + +His tone changed, He spoke rapidly and seriously. + +"You will ride with me as far as Belfast. From there you must find some +means of communicating with the captain of that Yankee brig of which you +told me. If necessary, go yourself to Glasgow and find the man. Pay him +what he asks and arrange that he lies off Dunseveric and picks up Neal. +You must then go home and see to it yourself that Neal gets safe on +board. It may not be easy, for the yeomen will be after him; but it has +got to be done. I go to Dublin as I said. I shall have some trouble +in settling this business of yours. It really was an audacious +proceeding--your rescue of the prisoner. It will take me all my time +to get it hushed up. Besides, I must use my influence to prevent bad +becoming worse in this unfortunate country of ours. By the way, did you +make any arrangement for the return of Captain Twinely's uniform when +Neal had finished with it?" + +"No, I never thought of that." + +"You ought to have thought of it. Poor Captain Twinely looks very odd in +the inn-keeper's clothes, which do not fit him in the least." + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +It was obvious to Captain Twinely that Neal Ward's instinct would be +to make for Dunseveric. He spread the men under his command, and the +members of a couple of corps similar to his own, in bands of five +or six, across a broad belt of country. He arranged what he called +a "drive," and pushed slowly northward, searching every possible +hiding-place as he went. It seemed to him totally impossible that +Neal could escape. Sooner or later he was sure to come on him, and +then--Captain Twinely chuckled grimly at the thought that he would leave +no chance of a fourth escape. + +This excellently-planned search resulted in the discovery of Captain +Twinely's clothes, damp and somewhat muddy, in a ditch about a mile out +of the town. It did not end in the capture of the fugitive, because +it was founded on a miscalculation. Neal did not make straight for +Dunseveric. When he got out of the town and changed his clothes he went +to Donegore Hill. M'Cracken and Hope were there with the remains of +their army, and Neal was most anxious to join them. The murder of Peg +MacIlrea had made him so furiously angry that he cared nothing about his +own safety. His escape from Antrim was a matter of satisfaction mainly +because it seemed to afford him another opportunity for fighting. He +neither attempted to weigh the chances of success nor considered the +uselessness of continuing the struggle. He wanted vengeance taken on men +whom he hated, and he wanted to have some share himself in taking it. + +He found the roads round Donegore Hill guarded by sentries. The camp +on the top of the old rath had all the appearance of being held by +disciplined troops. There was little sign of the disorganisation and +panic which often follow defeat. The men were calm, self-possessed, and +reasonable, but they were hopeless. Neal realised that this army, at +least, would do no more serious fighting. The men were anxious to make +terms for themselves and for their leaders. They were perfectly well +aware that they were beaten, and could not expect to make any head +against their enemies. + +Neal found James Hope, and was warmly greeted by him. + +"When I discovered that we'd left you behind," said Hope, "I made up +my mind that you must have been shot down along with your uncle and the +fine fellows who made a stand with him. Ah, Neal, we've lost many--your +uncle, Felix Marier, poor Moylin, and many another. One killed here, +another there, but all of them in doing their duty. But we mustn't talk +of these things, lad. Tell me, what brings you here?" + +"Need you ask?" said Neal. "I am come to fight it out to the last." + +"Take my advice and slip off home. There's no good to be done by +stopping with us. Things are desperate. Most of our people are going +home to-day. M'Cracken and a handful--not more than a hundred--are going +to Slievemis in the hope of being able to join Monro in County Down, or +perhaps to get through to the Wexford men." + +"I will go with you." + +"No, no, lad, you've done enough. You've done a man's part. Go home +now." + +"What are you going to do?" + +"I? Oh, I'm only a poor weaver. It doesn't matter what I do. I'm going +on with M'Cracken." + +"So am I. Listen to me, James Hope, till I tell you what is in my +mind--till I tell you what has happened to me since yesterday." + +They sat on the grassy slope of the old rath. The wide plain stretched +before them--green, well wooded, beautiful. There lay Adair's +plantations, the Six Mile Water winding like a serpent among the fields, +the woods of Castle Upton, and the young trees on Lyle Hill, with the +distant water of Lough Neagh glistening in the sunlight. Nearer at hand +thatched farmhouses smoked, signs that the yeomen were enjoying the +fruits of victory. Hope pointed to Farranshane, where William Orr's +house was burning--a witness to a malignity so bitter that it wreaked +the vengeance from which the dead man was safe on his widow and his +orphans. + +Neal told his story, and spoke of the passionate desire for revenge +which burned in him. Hope listened patiently to every word. Then he +spoke. + +"If I were to tell you now, Neal, as I told you once before, that +vengeance belongeth only unto the Lord, you would turn away and listen +to me no more. Therefore, I shall not speak to you in that way at all, +or appeal to those higher feelings which the great God has planted +in the breasts of even the humblest of His servants. I will, instead, +appeal to that which is lower and smaller than the religion of Christ, +and which yet may be in its way a noble thing. I will speak to you as to +a man of honour. I am not fond of the title of gentleman, but I think I +know what is meant by honour. Sometimes it is no more than a fantastic +image bred of prejudice and pride; but sometimes it is high and holy, +next to God. I think, Neal, that you would like to reckon yourself a man +of honour." + +Already James Hope's words were producing an effect on Neal's mind. The +extreme bitterness of his passion was dying away from him. + +"You are right," he said, "I wish to act always as a man of honour, but +my honour is engaged----" + +"That is not what you said before. Before, you spoke of revenge and not +of honour. But let that pass. I will try to show you, as a truly noble +man would, as your friend, Lord Dunseveric, would if he were here to +advise you, how your honour really binds you. You were rescued from +your imprisonment last night and from death this morning by your friend, +Maurice St. Clair, and he bid you go home. He set you free in order that +you might go home. I think he would not have done what he did unless he +had believed that you would go home. You are in honour bound to him. You +are in reality still a prisoner--a prisoner released on parole, although +no formal promise was required of you. Do you understand what I mean?" + +"Yes, I understand; but you are advising me to do a cowardly thing--to +desert you, whom I reckon my friend, in the time of your extremity." + +"Maurice St. Clair was your friend before I was, Neal. You are bound to +him by earlier ties. Besides, he has given you your life." + +"But he is in no danger." + +"I am not sure of that. If it is discovered that he let you go last +night he will surely suffer for it. They have hanged men for less, and +imprisoned or exiled others." + +"Oh," said Neal, "I could find it in my heart to wish they would hang +Maurice. Hope, you know many men and many things, but you don't know +Lord Dunseveric. Why, man, if they hanged Maurice the old lord would +hang them--he would hang them in batches of a score at a time. If any +escaped him he would wait for them till the resurrection morning. He +would meet them as they stepped out of their graves and hang them then. +He would hang them if there wasn't another tree in the whole universe to +put the rope round except the tree of life which stands by the river in +the New Jerusalem." + +He laughed exultingly. Hope looked at him with pitying tenderness. He +understood the hysterical passion which had dragged such words from him. + +"I am glad," he said, "that your friend is in no great danger, but that +does not alter the truth of what I say. You are his prisoner, released +on your parole, and you must present yourself to him when he calls for +you at Dunseveric. Besides, Neal, you owe a duty to your father and to +those at home who love you. For their sakes you must not throw your life +away." + +The anger died out of Neal's heart. This last appeal left him with no +feeling but tenderness. He thought of his father, a lone man, waiting +for news of him, of Donald, of the battle, and the cause. He thought of +Una St. Clair and the ever-new marvel of the love that she had confessed +to him. Still he hesitated. Brought up in the stern faith of the +Puritans, he believed that because a thing offered a prospect of great +delight it must somehow be wrong. The longing to see Una again came +on him, sweeping over all other thought and emotion as the flowing +spring-tide in late September sweeps over the broad sands of the +northern coast. To see her, to hear her, to touch her, perhaps to kiss +her again, was the one thing supremely desirable in life. Therefore, he +felt instinctively that it must be a tempter's voice which showed him +the way to the fulfilment of such desire. + +"Are you sure," he asked, "that you are not, out of love for me, +advising me to do wrong?" + +"I am sure," said Hope. + +Afterwards they talked of how Neal might best accomplish his journey to +Dunseveric. It was clear to Hope, as it had been to Maurice St. Clair, +that the main roads must be avoided, and that all travelling must be +done by night; but it was not very easy to go through an unknown country +by night, and until Neal got as far as Ballymoney he could not be sure +of being able to find his way. + +"I might manage it," he said, "if I could keep to the main road. I have +travelled it once and I think I should not miss it even at night, but +how am I to get along lanes and across fields which I have never seen +without losing myself?" + +"Ah," said Hope, "that is a difficulty, and yet there is a way out of +it. Phelim, the blind piper, is with us here. God knows how he got safe +from the battle yesterday, and found his way to us. He will be no use to +us any more, only a hindrance. We shall not march to battle again with +our pipes playing and our colours flying. I think I shall be able to +persuade him to act as your guide. The blind leading the ignorant, eh, +Neal? But Phelim knows every lane and path in the country. How he does +I don't know. Perhaps some new sense is developed in the blind. +Anyway, night and day are alike to him. If he takes you as far as the +neighbourhood of Ballymoney you'll be able to find the rest of the way +afterwards yourself." + +That night, while M'Cracken marched the remnant of his army to +Slievemis, Neal and blind Phelim set off on their journey north. They +travelled safely in the rear of the yeomen who were searching the +country side. Neal lay hid all one day in a little wood while +Phelim, who seemed to want little rest and no sleep, wandered in the +neighbourhood and brought back tidings of the doings of the yeomen who +had passed. Before daybreak the next morning Neal left his guide behind +him and made his way to the sandhills near Port Ballin-trae. He lay in a +hollow near the mouth of the river Bush. He understood from what Phelim +had told him that Captain Twinely and his men had pushed northwards in +pursuit of him, and that he had followed in their tracks. He realised +that there must be a large force gathered in Bushmills and Ballintoy, +and that the whole country would be scoured to find him. Therefore, +though he was within a few miles of his home, he dare not stir in the +daytime. He lay in his sandy hollow through the long hot day, with the +sound of the sea in his ears. He slept for an hour or two now and then. +Once he crept among the dunes to a place where a little stream trickled +down, in order to get a drink, but he did not venture to stay beside +the stream. For some time he amused himself by plaiting the spiked grass +into stiff green rods, and then, from a razor shell which he found in +his hollow, he fashioned pike heads for the ends of the rods. Afterwards +he picked all the yellow crow-toes within reach, and the broad mauve +flowers of the wild convolvulus. He set them out in gay beds, like +flowers growing in gardens, and edged them round with borders of wild +thyme. Then, with great labour, he collected forty or fifty snail shells +and laid them in rows, making each row consist only of those like each +other in colouring. He had lines of dark brown shells, of pale yellow, +and of striped shells. These again he subdivided according to the width +and number of their stripes. Once he ventured to creep to a place from +which he could watch the sea. He saw that the tide was flowing. Below +him on the strand were a number of seagulls, strutting, fluttering, +shrieking, splashing with wing-tips and feet in the oncoming waves. He +supposed that the young fry of some fish must have drifted shorewards, +and that the birds were feasting on them. Then', at the far end of the +bay, he saw men's figures moving, near the Black Rock, among the boats +hauled up on the shore in the creek from which he and Maurice and Una +had set out to fish on Rackle Roy. A dread seized him that these might +be yeomen. Since he had come within reach of home, since he had seen and +heard the sea, since he had breathed the familiar salt-laden air, his +courage had left him. He felt a very coward, desperately anxious not to +be caught and dragged back again to the horror of death. He wanted to +live now that he was back at home and almost within reach of Una. +He eyed the distant figures anxiously, and then crept back and lay +trembling in his hollow among his ordered snail-shells and the flowers, +already withered, which he had plucked and planted in the sand. + +At last the sun set. Neal waited for an hour while the June twilight +slowly faded. He watched the sandhills round his lair turn from bright +yellow to grey, watched them while they seemed in the fading light to +grow loftier, and assume a weird majesty which was not their's in +the daytime. The objects near at hand, the faded flowers, and the +snail-shells, and the rods of woven bent, lost their bright colours and +became almost invisible. The eternal roaring of the sea seemed to be +subdued, as if even it felt awed by the stillness of the June night. +The sand on which he lay was damped with dew. Only the sharp cry of the +corncrake broke the solemnity of the night. + +He rose, and, peering anxiously before him as each fresh stretch of his +way became visible, crossed the sandhills. Avoiding the stepping-stones +and the regular crossing-place, he waded through the brook which ran +gurgling between the sandhills and the rough track beyond them. He +crossed it, and, skirting the rear of a cottage, reached the top of the +Runkerry cliffs. Far below him the sea rushed, white-lipped, against the +rocks. The tide was almost full. The scene was as it had been ten days +ago, ten years ago, a whole lifetime ago, when he walked this same way +with Donald Ward. Still keeping close to the sea, he avoided the high +road near the Causeway, plodded along the stony track past the Rocking +Stone and the Wishing Well, climbed the Shepherd's Path, and once more +walked along the verge of the cliff above Port na Spaniard and the Horse +Shoe Bay and Pleaskin Head. He reached Port Moon, and saw far below +him the glimmer of a light in the rude shelter where fishermen lodge in +summer time. Avoiding the farmhouse near him on his right, and the lane +which led past it to the high road, he went on, clinging close to the +sea as if for safety. He rested a while in the shelter of the ruins of +Dun-severic Castle, and then went on till his feet were stumbling among +the graves of Templeastra, where the dust of his mother lay. It was dark +now. He guessed that he must have been an hour and a half on his way. He +came close to the manse--his home. Below him lay Ballintoy Strand, with +its sentinel white rocks which keep eternal watch against invading seas. +Between him and his home there was the road to cross and the meadow to +wade through. It must, as he guessed, be eleven o'clock. His father +and Hannah Macaulay would be in bed. He would have to rouse them with +cautious tapping upon window panes. + +He reached the back of the house at last, and saw, to his amazement, +that a light burned in the kitchen, and that the door stood wide open. +A dread seized him. Perhaps the house was occupied by soldiers. For a +moment he thought of turning back again to the sea and the cliffs. But +he wanted food, and it was absolutely necessary for him to communicate +with some one. His plan was to lie hid in the Pigeon Cave, but he must +have food brought to him day by day, and he must let his father or +Hannah know where he was going. + +Very cautiously he crept forward and peered through the window. There +was a candle in its tall iron stand on the floor, and the peat fire +burned brightly on the hearth. A row of brass candlesticks were on the +mantel-board. Hannah Macaulay sat on a chair near the door knitting. The +room, he saw, was neat and orderly as ever. + +The lids of the pots and the metal dish-covers gleamed from the nails +on which they hung round the walls. The pewter plates, bronze jugs, +and upturned noggins stood in shining rows on the dresser shelves. Neal +waited. Not a sound reached him from the house. He took courage and +slipped through the open door. + +"Is that you yoursel', Master Neal?" said Hannah, quietly, "I ha' your +supper ready for ye. I was sitting up for you. You're late the night." + +She rose from her seat and, without a sign of surprise or excitement, +closed the door and bolted it. + +"Hannah, how is it that you are expecting me? You can't have known that +I was coming. How did you know?" + +Hannah took plates from the dresser and food from the cupboard while she +answered him. + +"Master Maurice's groom, the lad they call James, rode in from Antrim +the day afore yesterday with a note for Miss Una ower by. She tellt +me that you'd be coming and that it was more nor like you'd travel by +night. I've had your supper ready, and I've sat waiting for you these +two nights, I knew rightly that it was here you'd come first." + +"Where is my father?" + +"He's gone, Master Neal. The sojers came and took him, but he bid me +tell you not to be afeard or taking on about him. He was thinking they'd +send him across the sea, maybe to Scotland, he said, but they wouldna +hurt him. So eat your bit and take your sup, my bairn. You must be sore +troubled with the hunger. How ever did ye thole?" + +"I have your bed ready for you," she said as Neal ate, "and it's in it +you ought to be by right. I'm thinking it's more than yin night since ye +hae lain atween the sheets, judging by the looks of ye." + +"It's five, Hannah, and it will be twice five more before I sleep in a +bed again. I dare not stay here." + +"Thon's what Miss Una said. But, faith, if it's the yeomen you're afeard +of, I'll no let them near you." + +"I daren't, Hannah; I daren't do it. I must away to-night and lie in the +Pigeon Cave. I'll be safe there, and you must manage somehow to get food +to me." + +"Is it me that you look to be climbing down them sliddery rocks and +swimming intil the cold sea among your caves and hiding holes? I'm too +old for the like, but there's a lassie with bonny brown eyes that'll do +that and more for ye. Don't you be afeard, Master Neal. She'd climb +the Causey chimney pots and take the silver sixpence off the top if +she thought you were wanting it. Ay, or swim intil them caves, that God +Almighty never meant for man nor maid to enter, and if were waiting for +her at the hinder end of one of them. She's been here an odd time or twa +since ever she got the letter that the groom lad fetched. I've seen the +glint in her eyes at the sound o' your name, and the red go out of her +cheek at word of them dratted yeos, bad scran to them! I'm no so old +yet, but I mind weel how a young lassie feels for the lad she's after. +Ay, my bairn, it's all yin, gentle or simple, lord's daughter or +beggar's wench, when the love of a lad has got the grip o' them. And +there was yin with her--the foreign lady with the lang name. For all +that she mocks and fleers as if there was nothing in the wide world but +play-actin' and gagin' about. Faith, she's an artist, but she might be +more help than Miss Una herself if it came to a pinch. She's a cunning +one, that. I'm thinking that she's no unlike the serpent that's more +subtle than any beast of the field. She has a way of glowerin' a body +and giving a bit of a girn to her mouth. Man or woman or red-coated +sojer itself, they'd need to be up gey an' early that would get the +better o' her. A bird might be lang afore it could find time to build a +nest in her ear, so it might. Eh! but, my poor lad, it's a sorry thing +to think of ye lyin' the night through among the hard stones and me in +my warm bed. Eh! but it grieves me sore---- whisht, boy, what's thon?" + +Hannah started to her feet. Hand to ear, lips parted, with eager eyes +and head bent forward she listened. + +"It's the tread of horses; they're coming up the loany." + +"I must run for it," said Neal, "let me out of the door, Hannah." + +"Bide now, bide a wee, they'd see you if you went through the door." + +She put out the lamp as she spoke. + +"Do you slip through to the master's room and open the window. Go canny +now, and make no noise. Get through and off with ye into your cave as +hard as ever you can lift a foot, I'll cap them at the door, lad. I'm +the woman can do it. Faith and I'll sort them, be they who it may, so as +they'll no be in too great a hurry to come ridin' to this house again, +the black-hearted villains. But I'll learn them manners or I'm done wi' +them else my name's no Hannah Macaulay." + +Neal, as he slipped silently from the room, was aware that Hannah +meditated a vigorous attack upon her midnight visitors. She took the +long kitchen poker in her hand, shook it with a grim smile, and thrust +the end of it into the heart of the fire. + +There was a knock at the door. Hannah, standing in a corner of the room, +and hidden from any one looking in through the window, neither spoke nor +stirred. The knocking was repeated, and again repeated. Hannah remained +silent. + +"Open the door," shouted a voice from without, "open the door at once." + +Still there was no reply. + +"We know you're within, Hannah Macaulay, we saw the light before you put +it out. Open to us, or we'll batter in the door, and then it will be the +worse for you." + +"And who may be you that come knocking and banging the door of a dacent +house at this time o' night, making a hullabaloo fit for to wake the +dead; and it the blessed Sabbath too?" + +"Sabbath be damned; it's Thursday night." + +"Is it, then, is it? There's them that wouldn't know if it was Monday +nor Tuesday, nor yet Wednesday, nor the blessed Sabbath day itself, and, +what's more, wouldn't care if they did know. That just shows what like +lads you are. Away home out o' this to your beds, if so be that you have +any beds to go to." + +In fact the men outside were perfectly right. The day was Thursday, +though it neared Friday. The Sabbath was a long way off yet, as Hannah +knew quite well. + +"You doited old hag, open the door." + +"I'm a lone widow woman," said Hannah, plaintively, "I canna be letting +the likes of ye in and me in my bed. It wouldna be dacent if I did. +Where'd my good name be if I did the like and me not know ye?" + +A savage kick at the door shook it on its hinges. + +"Bide quiet, now," said Hannah, "and tell me who ye are afore I open +to you. Would you have me let robbers intil the house, and the master +awa'?" + +"We're men of the Killulta yeomanry, we're here to search the house by +order of Captain Twinely. Open in the King's name." + +"Why couldn't ye have tellt me that afore? There isn't a woman living +has as much respect for the King as mysel'. Wait now, wait till I slip +on my petticoat. You wouldna have a woman come to the door to you in her +shift, would ye?" + +There was a long pause--too long for the yeomen outside. Another kick, +and then another, shook the door. Hannah went over to it and began to +fumble with the bolt. + +"I'm afeard," she said, "that the lock's hampered." + +"I'll soon cure that; stand clear of the keyhole till I fire." + +"For the Lord's sake, man, dinna be shootin' aff your guns, I canna +abide the sound o' the like. It dizzens me. Dinna be hasty, fair and +easy goes far in the day. Who is it you said you were?" + +"The yeomen, you deaf old hag." + +"The yeomen, God bless us, the yeomen. That's the kind of lads that +dresses themselves up braw in sojers' coats and then, when there's any +fighting going on, let's the real sojers do it, and they stand and look +round to see the gommerels admiring them. Faith I'll let you in. There's +no call even for a hirplin ould woman with one foot in the grave and the +ither out of it to be afeard of the likes of you." + +Hannah Macaulay's description of her bodily condition erred on the +side of self-depreciation. The one foot which remained out of the grave +carried her across the kitchen floor with remarkable speed. She took the +poker now red, almost white, hot at the end, darted back to the door, +and flung it open. With a wild whoop she rushed at the two yeomen who +stood on the threshold. There were other yells besides her's, a smell +of burning cloth and singed flesh, a hurried treading of feet, and a +clattering of the hoofs of frightened horses. Hannah sent into the night +a peal of derisive laughter, and then turned into the house and shut the +door. + +"I said I'd sort them," she chuckled, "and I've sorted them rightly. Yin +o' them will carry a mark on his mug to the day of his death, and lucky +if he hasn't lost the sight of an eye. There'll be a hole in the breeks +of the other that'll tak a quare width of cloth to make a patch for +it. And, what's more, thon man'll no sit easy on his horse for a bit. +They'll not be for chasing Master Neal the night any way. But, faith, +this house will be no place for me the morrow. I'll just tak my wee bit +duds under my arm and away with me up to Dunseveric House. Miss Una'll +take me in when she hears the tale I ha' to tell. I'd like to see the +yeos or the sojers either that would fetch me out of the ould lord's +kitchen. If they tak to ravishing and rieving the master's plenishins I +canna help it. Better a ravished house nor a murdered woman." + +Neal got out of the window, and once more crossed the meadow. He lay for +a minute in the ditch beside the road listening intently. He feared that +he might have been tracked home, that the house might be surrounded, and +that escape might be difficult or impossible. But there was no sound +of any sort on the road--neither voices of men, treading of horses, or +jangling of accoutrements. Evidently the men at the door of the manse +were no more than a patrol. They were entering the house out of wanton +desire to annoy Hannah Macaulay or on the chance of discovering there +something which might give them a clue--not because they actually +suspected that he was within. He heard the crash of the first kick on +the door, rose from the ditch, crossed the road, and took to the edge of +the cliffs again. He walked quickly, frightened and shaken. He started +into a breathless run when Hannah's battle whoop reached him on the +still air. He heard distinctly the men's shrieks, and even the noise of +the runaway horses galloping on the hard road. He went the faster--a mad +terror driving him. + +He passed Port Moon again, crossed the majestic brow of Pleaskin Head, +skirted the Causeway, and reached the Runkerry cliffs. He went more +slowly, ceased running, sat down, drawing deep laboured breaths. The +food he ate in the manse had strengthened him. The assurance of the care +and watchfulness of his friends cheered him, but his mind was like that +of a hunted animal. He had no courage left, nothing but an overmastering +desire to hide himself. + +He rose, and went on again, reached the cliff above the Rock Pigeons' +Cave, and found the place where descent to the sea was possible. There +was no path, just a precipitous grass slope, and then steep rocks, and +below them the dark, moaning sea. A timid man might shrink from the +climb in daylight, a bold man would be rash to attempt it at night, but +of this short, slippery grass and these sharp rocks Neal had no fear at +all. He knew them all too well to fear them. He let himself slide down, +sure of the resting-place his feet would find. With firm hand-grips and +confident steps he descended from rock to rock until he stood at last +on a flat shelf, a foot or two above the sea. He saw the long channel, +rock-bounded, narrow, dark, along which he and Maurice had piloted +their boat. He saw beyond it the mouth of the cave--a space of actual +blackness on the gloomy face of the cliff. He heard the water drop from +the roof into the sea with heavy splashes. At his feet the long swell +writhed between the walls of rock, reached up black lips and drew them +down again with hollow, sobbing sound. From the extreme darkness of the +cave came the dull moaning of the ocean, as of some inarticulate monster +bowed with everlasting woe. A swim through this cold, lonely water, +between the smooth walls which rose higher and higher on either side, +into the impenetrable gloom of the echoing cavern and on to the extreme +end of it, was horrible to contemplate. But for Neal there were worse +horrors behind. His cowardice made him brave. He stripped and stood +shivering, though the night air was warm enough. He wrapped his clothes +into a bundle and, with his neck scarf, bound them firmly on his head. +He slipped without a splash into the water and struck out towards the +mouth of the cave. + +The dull swell lifted him on its breast and drew him down again as if to +wrap him with huge cold hands. An undertow of receding water pulled him +to the rocks and he touched them with his hands. He reached the mouth of +the cave, and felt the splash of the drops which fell from it. He moved +very cautiously, fearing to strike suddenly on the sunken rocks. He felt +for them with his feet, reached them, stood upright waist-deep. Then, +with cold limbs and a numb terror in his heart, he plunged forward +again into the deep water within the cave. He swam on, with set teeth, +close-pressed lips, and eyes strained to see a foot in front of him into +the blackness. Once he turned and looked back. Through the mouth of the +cave he saw the dim grey of the June night--a framed space of sky which +was not actually black. He felt as if he were looking his last at the +familiar world of living things--as if he were on his way to some gloomy +other world of moaning, forlorn spirits, of desolate, disappointed +loves, of weary, spent souls floating aimlessly on chill, unfathomable +sorrow. He swam on, and heard at last the splash of the waves on the +shore. His feet touched bottom. He slipped and slid among large slimy +stones, worn incredibly smooth by their age-long washing in this sunless +place. He struggled forward breast-deep, waist-deep, knee-deep, in the +black water. He reached dry ground, crawled upwards till he felt the +boulders no longer damp, and knew that he lay above the reach of the +tide. He unbound the bundle from his head, clothed himself, and felt +the blood steal warm through his limbs again. He staggered further up, +groped his way to the side of the cave, as if the touch of solid rock +would give him some sense of companionship. Then, like a benediction +from the God who watched over him, sleep came. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +The next morning broke cloudless. As the day advanced the sun grew hot. +The land at noon seemed to gasp for breath. The sea lay glowing in the +light; the waves broke in slow rhythm on the sand and rocks, as if the +warmth had imposed even on the Atlantic a mood of luxurious laziness. + +Una St. Clair and the Comtesse de Tourneville, attended by Hannah +Macaulay, walked shorewards from Dunseveric House. It appeared that +they were going to bathe, for they carried bundles of white sheets and +coloured garments, large bundles well wrapped together and strapped. +Hannah Macaulay had, besides, a little raft made of the flat corks which +fishermen use to mark the places where their lobster pots are sunk and +to float the tops of salmon nets. It seemed as if one of the party were +no great swimmer, and did not mean to venture into deep water without +something to which to cling. + +A hundred yards from the gate were two yeomen on horseback. The Comtesse +greeted them cheerfully as she passed. The men followed the ladies along +the road. + +"What are we to do?" said Una, "they mean to watch us." + +"Perhaps not," said the Comtesse, "let us make sure." + +She motioned Una to stop, and sat down on the bank on the roadside. The +men halted and waited also. It became obvious that they intended to keep +the ladies in view. + +"This is abominable," said Una. "How dare they follow us when we are +going to bathe?" + +"My dear," said the Comtesse, laughing, "they very likely think that we +are not going to bathe. So far as I am concerned, their suspicions are +quite just. I am certainly not going to undress on a nasty rock which +would cut my feet, and then go into cold salt water to have my toes +nipped by crabs and lobsters. The worthy Hannah is not going to bathe +either. She has too much good sense. Even these stupid yeomen must guess +that we are carrying something else besides towels." + +"But I am going to bathe," said Una, "and it is intolerable that I +should be spied upon and watched." + +The Comtesse rose and approached the men. + +"Where is Captain Twinely this morning?" she asked, smiling. + +"Here he is, coming along the road forninst you, Miss." + +The man spoke civilly enough. It was natural to be civil to the Comtesse +when she smiled. She had fine eyes, and was not too proud to use them in +a very delightful manner even when the man before her was no more than a +trooper in a company of yeomen. + +"So he is!" she said. "And my good gentleman trooper, how nice your +manners are. I am, alas! no longer 'Miss,' though it pleases you to +flatter me. I am 'Madam,' a widow, quite an old woman." + +She left him and hurried forward to greet Captain Twinely. + +"I am charmed to meet you, Captain Twinely. But why have you never +been up to call on us? We hear that you have been two whole days in our +neighbourhood and not even once have you come to see us. How rude and +unkind you are. I would not have believed it of you. But perhaps you +have been very busy chasing the odious rebels and had no time to visit +us poor ladies." + +"I didn't think I was wanted at Dunseveric House, my lady," said the +captain. + +Like his trooper, he was aware that the Comtesse smiled at him, and that +she had beautiful eyes. + +"I will not take that as an excuse," she said. "Surely you must know, +Captain Twinely, that we are two lonely women, that my lord and my +nephew are away. You must have guessed that we should suffer, ah, so +terribly, from 'ennui'. Is it not the first duty of an officer to +pay his respects to the ladies and to amuse them, especially in this +terrible country where it is only the military men who have any manners +at all?" + +Captain Twinely was delighted and embarrassed. He wished that he had +brushed his uniform more carefully in the morning, and that he had not +been too lazy to shave. He would gladly have been looking his best now +that the eyes of this elegant lady of title and fashion were on him. + +"I am at your ladyship's service," he murmured. + +"Now that is really kind of you. Please get down from your horse. How +can I talk to you when you are so high above me?" + +The captain dismounted and gave his horse to one of the troopers. The +Comtesse laid her hand on his arm and smiled at him. + +"We have a little _fte_ planned for to-day," she said. "We are going to +have a pic-nic by the sea. Will you not join us. It will be so kind of +you. My niece wishes also to bathe. But I--I am not very anxious to go +into the sea. Perhaps you and I might wait for her in some pleasant spot +and prepare the pic-nic while she and her maid go to the bathing-place. +What do you say, captain?" + +"I shall be delighted," he said, "quite delighted." + +Captain Twinely had never before been so smiled on by a pretty +woman. Never before had such fine eyes looked into his with such an +unmistakable challenge to flirtation. He was almost certain that he felt +the Comtesse's hand press his arm slightly. He grew pink in the face +with pleasure. + +"We must tell my niece." + +She leaned towards Captain Twinely and whispered in his ear. Her breath +touched his cheek. The delicate, faint scent of her clothes reached him. + +A confidence, entailing the close proximity of this desirable lady, was +an unlooked-for delight. + +"My dear niece is very young--a mere child, you understand me, unformed, +gauche, what you call shy. You will make excuse for her want of manner." + +The apology was necessary. In Una's face, if he had eyes for it at all, +Captain Twinely might have seen something more than shyness. There was +an expression of loathing on the girl's lips and in her eyes when he +stepped up to her, hat in hand. + +"Una," said the Comtesse, "the dear captain will take pity on us. He +will send one of his men back to the house to fetch a cold chicken and +some wine--and all the delightful things we are to eat and drink. Give +him a note to the butler, Una, we will go on with Captain Twinely." + +Una, puzzled, but obedient to a quick glance from her aunt, wrote +the note. The troopers, leading Captain Twinely's horse, rode back to +Dunseveric House. The Comtesse, still leaning on the captain's arm, +picked up her bundle of bathing clothes. + +"Allow me to carry that for you," said the captain, "allow me to carry +all the bundles." + +"Oh, but no. Have we got a cavalier with such trouble and shall we turn +him into a beast of burden, a--how do you say it?--a baggage ass? The +good Hannah will carry my bundle.'" + +The good Hannah became a baggage animal, but she was not an ass. She +was, indeed, struggling with suppressed mirth. She was confirmed in her +opinion that the Comtesse possessed a subtlety not unlike that of the +serpent in Eden. + +The Comtesse led the way, chatting to Captain Twinely, saying things +more charmingly provocative than any which poor Twinely had ever heard +from a woman's lips. Her eyes flashed on him, drooped before his gaze, +sought his again with shy suggestiveness. She even succeeded, when his +glance grew very bold, in blushing. They reached the little cove where +Maurice's boat lay. + +The Comtesse sat down, and then lolled back on the short grass. Her +motions and her attitudes were the most easy and natural possible, yet +her pose was charming. There was not a fold of her skirt but fell round +her gracefully. From the challenging smile on her lips to the point of +the little shoe which peeped out beneath her petticoat, there came an +invitation to Captain Twinely--a suggestion that he, too, should sit +gracefully on the grass. + +"Now, Una," she said, "go and have your bathe, if you must do anything +so foolish. We will wait for you here, the captain will amuse me till +you return. Kiss me, child, before you go." + +Una bent over her. + +"I'll keep him," whispered the Comtesse, "I'll keep him, even if I have +to allow the animal to embrace me. But, dear Una, do not be very long." + +Una sped away. Hannah, heavily laden, and laughing now outright, +followed her. + +"I never seen the like," she said. "Didn't I say to Master Neal last +night that she was an early one? Eh, Miss Una, did you no take notice of +the eyes of her? She'd wile the fishes out of the sea, or a bird off a +bush, so she would, just by looking sweet at them. It's queer manners +they have where she comes from. I'm thinking that silly gowk of a +captain's no the first man she's beguiled. I was counted a braw lass +myself in me day, and one that could twine a lad round my thumb as fine +as any, but I couldna have done thon, Miss Una." + +Una gave a little shudder of disgust. + +"How could she bear to? How could she touch such a man?" + +"Ay, I was wondering that myself, her that's so high falutin' in her +ways, and no like a common lassie. Not but what thon captain's a clever +enough cut of a man for them as thinks of nothing but a clean figure and +a good leg. He's no that ill-looking; but, eh, there's a glint in his +eye I wouldna trust. I pity the lassie that loves him. But there's no +fear of thon lady falling into sic a snare. She can mine herself well, +I'm thinkin'." + +They reached the cliff above the Pigeon Cave, and Una began her downward +climb. Hannah stared at her in horror. + +"Mind yourself, Miss Una. You're never going down there, are ye? And +you expect me to break my old bones going after you, do ye? Faith and +I willna avaw, I'd rather be back rolling my eyes at the captain and +letting on to him that I wanted a kiss than go down yon cliff." + +"Come," said Una, "it looks worse than it is. Come, Hannah, you must +come. Would you have the poor boy starve in the cave?" + +The appeal was too strong to be resisted. Hannah, with much grumbling, +climbed down. Una carried the bundles one by one to the shelf of rock +from which Neal had slipped into the dark water the night before. She +took the straps from them, and unwound the sheets and bathing clothes. +Within was store of food--parcels of oatcake, baps, cold meat, butter, +cheese, a bottle of wine, a flask of whisky and water, a package of +candles. She had determined that Neal should feast royally in his +hiding-place, and that he should not sit in the dark, though he had to +sit alone. She floated the raft of corks, and very carefully loaded it +with her good things. Then, with a piece of cord, she moored it to the +rock. + +"Are ye no afeard, Miss Una?" said Hannah. "Eh, but it's well to be +young and strong, I wouldna go in there, not for all the gold and silver +and the spices that King Solomon gave to the Queen of Sheba. I wouldna +go in a boat, let alone swimming. Miss Una, could you no shout, and let +him come for the food himself?" + +Una looked at her with a wondering reproach in her eyes. + +"Am I the only one that's to do nothing for him? Didn't Maurice get him +free in the town of Antrim? Didn't you chase the yeomen from him last +night? Isn't Aunt Estelle sitting with that Captain Twinely now? And may +I not do something, too? I think mine's the easiest thing of the four." + +"You're a venturesome lassie, so you are. I dinna like the looks of thon +water. It's over green for me, so it is. I can see right down to the +bottom of it, and that's no natural in the sea, and it so deep, too. And +thon cave, Miss Una, with the smooth, red, clampy sides to it. What call +has the rocks to be red? I'm thinking when God made the rocks black, +and maybe white, it's black and white he meant them to be and no red. I +wouldna say but what there's something no just canny about a cave with +red sides to it higher than a man can stretch. Eh, but you've the chiney +white feet, Miss Una. Mind now you dinna scrab them on the wee shells. +Bide now, bide like a good lassie, till I spread the sheet for you to +tread on. You will no be for going right intil the cave? Would it no +do you to shout when you got to the mouth of it? I dinna like that cave +with the red sides till it. I'm thinking maybe there was red sides to +the cave where the witch of Endor dweft. Are you no sure that there isna +something of that kind, something no right in the gloom beyond there?" + +"Neal's in it," said Una, "what's to frighten me?" + +"Ay, sure enough, he's there, the poor bairn. Lord save us, and keep +us! The lassie's intil the water, and it up ower her head, and she's +drownded. No, but she's up again, and she's swimmin' along like as if +she was a sea maiden with hair all wet. Eh, but she swims fine, and +she's gotten hold of the wee boatie wi' the laddie's dinner on it. Look +at the white arms of her moving through the water, they're like the +salmon fish slithering along when the net is pulled in. She's bonny, so +she is. See till her now! See till her if she hasna lighted on some kind +of a rock. She's standing up on it, and the sea no more than up to the +knees of her. The water is running off her, and she's shaking herself +like a wee dog. She doesna mind it. She's waving her hand to me and her +in the very mouth of thon awful cave. Mine yourself, Miss Una, take heed +now, like a good lass. Dinna go further, you're far enough. Bide where +you are, and shout till him. Lord save us, she's off again, and the wee +boatie in front of her. I've known a wheen o' lassies in my time that +would do queer things for the lads they had their hearts set on, but +ne'er a one as venturesome as her. I'm thinking Master Neal himself +would look twice e'er he swam into thon dark hole. Eh, poor laddie, but +there'll be light in his eyes when he sees the white glint of her coming +till him where he's no expecting her or the like of her." + +Indeed, Una was not so brave as she seemed. Her heart beat quicker as +she struck out into the gloom of the cave. The water was colder, or +seemed colder, than it had been outside. The splashing of drops from +the roof, and the echoing noise of the sea's wash awed her. She felt a +tightening in her throat. She swam with faster and faster strokes. The +sides of the cave loomed huge about her. The roof seemed immensely, +remotely, high. The water was dark now. It was a solemn thing to swim +through it. She began to wonder how far it was to the end of the cave. +A sudden terror seized her. Suppose, after all, that Neal was not in +the cave, suppose that she was swimming in this awful place alone. She +shouted aloud-- + +"Neal, Neal, Neal Ward, are you there?" + +The cave echoed her cries. A thousand repetitions of the name she had +shouted came to her from above, from behind, from right, from left. The +rocks flung her words to each other, bandied them to and fro, turned +them into ridicule, turned them into thundering sounds of terror, turned +them into shrill shrieks. The frightened pigeons flew from their rocky +perches; their wings set new echoes going. Una swam forward, and, +reckless with fright now, shouted again. She heard some one rushing down +to meet her from the remote depths of the cave. The great stones rolled +and crashed under his feet with a noise like the firing of guns. Then, +amid a babel of echoes, came a shout answering her's. + +"I'm coming to you, Una." + +She felt the bottom with her feet. She stood upright. At the sound +of Neal's voice all her fears vanished. She could see him now. He was +stumbling down over the slippery stones which the ebb tide left bare. He +reached the water and splashed in. + +"Stay where you are, you must not come any further." + +"Una," he said, "dear Una, you have come to me." + +She laughed merrily. + +"Don't think I've come to live with you here, Neal, like a seal or a +mermaid. No, no. I've brought you something to eat. Here, now, don't +upset my little boat." She pushed the raft towards him. "Isn't it just +like the boats we used to make long ago when we were little? Oh! do you +remember how angry the salmon men were when you and Maurice stole all +the corks off their net? But I can't stay talking here, I'm getting +cold, and you, Neal, go back to dry land. What's the use of standing +there up to your knees in water? There's no sun in here to dry your +clothes afterwards. No, you must not come to me, I won't have it. You'd +get wet up to your neck. Keep quiet, now. I've something to say to you. +Maurice has gone to Glasgow to see that funny Captain Getty, who made +you both so angry the day we took your uncle from the brig. He is +arranging for the brig to lie off here and pick you up. Maurice and I +will take you out in the boat. We will come in to the mouth of the cave +and shout to you unless it's rough. If it's rough, Neal, you must swim +out and hide somewhere among the rocks. But I hope it will stay calm. +Maurice may be back to-morrow or next day. I've given you enough to eat +for two days. I may not be able to come to-morrow." + +"Do come again, Una, it's very lonely here." + +"I will if I can, Neal. Good-bye. Keep a good heart. Good-bye. Oh, but +it's hard to be leaving you in this dark place, but I think it's safe, +and the country is full of yeomen. Good-bye, Neal. God bless you." + +When Una and Hannah reached the little cove again, they found luncheon +spread out on the grass ready for them. The troopers who had brought +the baskets from Dunseveric House sat on their horses at the end of the +rough track which led to the strand. The Comtesse reclined on a cloak +spread for her on the grass. Captain Twinely, a worshipper with bold +eyes and stupid tongue, sat at her feet and gazed at her. He had ceased +even to wonder at his own good fortune in captivating so fair a lady. He +had forgotten all about the angular daughter of a neighbouring squire, +who was waiting for him to marry her. He was hopelessly, helplessly, +fascinated by the woman in front of him. Estelle de Tourneville had +never made an easier conquest. And she was already exceedingly weary of +the flirtation. The man bored her because he was dull. He disgusted her +because he was amorous. + +"Oh, Una," she cried, "how quick you've been! It hardly seems a moment +since you left. Captain Twinely and I have had such a delightful talk. I +was telling him about the Jacobins in Paris, and how they wanted to cut +my head off in the Terror. My dear, your hair is all wet. You look just +like a seal with your sleek head and your brown eyes. Just fancy, Una, +Captain Twinely thought that we were in sympathy with the rebels here. +He had actually told his men to watch us in case we should try to help +some horrid _sans-culotte_ who is hiding somewhere. Just think of his +suspecting me--me, of all people." + +She cast a glance at Captain Twinely. Her eyes were full of half serious +reproach, of laughter and enticement. + +"I'm very hungry after my swim," said Una, "let us have our lunch." + +Captain Twinely, awkward but anxious to please, was on his feet in +an instant. He waited on the ladies, waited even on Hannah, whom he +supposed to be Una's maid. He did not notice that Una shrank from him. +He probably would not have cared even if he had seen that she avoided +touching his hand as she might have avoided some loathsome reptile. His +thoughts and his eyes were all for the Comtesse. She did not shrink from +him. Her wonderful eyes thrilled him again and again. He touched her +hand, her hair, her clothes, as he handed her this or that to eat +or drink. He grew hot and cold in turns with the excitement of her +nearness. He was ecstatically, ridiculously happy. + +He walked back to Dunseveric House with her. He promised to call on her +the next day. He promised to leave troopers on guard round the house all +night in case a fugitive rebel, wandering in the demesne, might frighten +the Comtesse. He suggested another pic-nic. At last, reluctantly, +lingeringly, he bade her farewell. + +"Adieu, Monsieur le Capitaine," said the Comtesse, "we shall expect you +to-morrow then." + +She stretched out her hand to him. He stooped and kissed it. Then she +turned from him and ran up the avenue after Una and Hannah. The captain +watched her. He pulled himself together, reassumed his habitual swagger, +tried to persuade himself that he looked on the Comtesse as he had long +been accustomed to look on other women. + +"A damned fine woman," he said, "and a bit smitten with me. Begad, these +French women have a great deal to recommend them. Thy catch fire at +once. A man does not have to spend a month dilly-dallying with them, +dancing attendance and looking like a fool while they are as cold as ice +all the time. Give me a good full-blooded filly like this one." + +"Una," said the Comtesse, when she overtook her niece. "Una, I +positively can't stand another day of that man. He's odious. You'll +have to do him yourself to-morrow, and let me go to the young man in the +cave." + +"But, Aunt Estelle, I thought you--you liked it. You looked as if you +liked it." + +"_Mon dieu!_" said the Comtesse, laughing, "of course I looked as if I +liked it. If I had looked as if I disliked it I could not have kept +him for ten minutes, and then what would have happened to you, +mademoiselle?" + +"It was very, very good of you," said Una, penitently. "I can never +thank you enough." + +"Oh, it wasn't so very good of me, and I don't want to be thanked at +all. I'll tell you a secret, Una, and Hannah shall hear it too. I did +like it. Now, what do you think?" + +"You would, my lady," said Hannah. "I know that finely, I'd have liked +it myself when I was young and frisky like you." + +"What would you have liked, Hannah?" asked the Comtesse. + +"Eh! just what you liked yourself, my lady; just seeing a man making +himself a bigger fool nor the Lord meant him to be for the sake of my +bonny face. I'm thinking you're the same as another for a' you're a +countess and have a braw foreign name. You just like what I'd have +liked, and what all women ever I heard tell on liked in their hearts, +though maybe they wouldna own up till it, from thon wench, that might +have been a gran' lady, too, for a' I ken, who made the great silly gaby +of a Samson lie still while she clipped the seven locks off of his head. +She liked fine to see him sleeping there like the tap he was for all the +strongness of him." + +"You are right, Hannah, you are right. Oh, Una dear, if you could have +seen him--but you wouldn't understand. What's the good of telling you? +Hannah, if you'd seen him sitting there like a great woolly sheep, with +the silliest expression in his eyes; if you'd seen him putting out his +hand to touch me, pretending he did it by accident, and then pulling it +away again like one of those snails that crawl about in the sandhills +when you touch his horns with the end of a blade of grass. If you'd seen +him. Oh, I wish you'd seen him!" + +"Faith, I seen plenty." + +"You did not, Hannah; you didn't see half. He was far, far better before +you came back." + +She burst into a peal of half hysterical laughter. She may have enjoyed +the captain's company, but he had evidently tried her nerves. + +"But, Una dear," she said, when she grew calm again, "I hope Maurice +will come soon, or that American ship, or something. I won't be able to +go on very long." + +"There's been an easterly breeze since noon," said Una, "and there's a +haze out at sea." + +"Do talk sense, Una. Here I've been sacrificing myself for you all day, +and when I ask you for a little sympathy you talk to me about an east +wind." + +"But the east wind will bring the brig, aunt. How could she get here +from Glasgow without the wind?" + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +The Comtesse underrated her powers of endurance. For two more whole days +she encouraged Captain Twinely to make love to her. She sat with him in +the sandhills, she walked with him along the strand, she flattered him, +ogled him, enticed him, till the man was beside himself with the +desire of her. But in private it was not safe to speak to her about the +captain. Her temper, when the hours of her love-making were over for the +day, was extremely bad. Even Hannah, who was a match for most women in +the use of her tongue, shrank from the sharp gibes of the Comtesse. Una +tried in vain to soothe the ruffled lady, and had to bear much from her, +but Una could have borne anything patiently. The east wind blew gently +day and night, bringing--surely bringing--the white sails of the brig. +The sea remained calm and she was able to go twice more to the cave. She +saw the yeomen spread over the country, searching everywhere, through +fields and hills and along the river banks, by the shore, among the +rocks, over the Causeway cliffs, through the sandhills, the ruins of +Dunluce, among the white cliffs of Port-rush Strand, at high tide and +low tide, everywhere except the one place--the nook where Una bathed. +Estelle de Tourneville secured that spot from the searchers' gaze. No +man dared go there. Una could forgive the worst of tempers to the woman +who purchased such security. And the Comtesse was excusable. Doubtless, +she paid a heavy price for a delicately-nurtured and fastidious lady. No +one ever knew what she endured. Neither to Una nor any one else did she +tell at the time or afterwards the details of the captain's courtship. + +At last, one evening after dusk, Maurice rode in from Ballycastle. +He brought glorious news. Captain Getty was on his way. He might be +expected off the coast the next day. Maurice had left the brig at the +quay at Greenock ready to sail. Next morning he was up early. He took +bread and meat and went alone to Pleaskin Head, carrying his father's +long telescope with him. All morning he lay on the edge of the cliff +peering eastward across the sea. He was strangely nervous now that the +critical moment had arrived. He understood that the coast was being +carefully watched, that the sight of a ship lying-to a mile or two +from the shore, would certainly excite suspicion; that it might be very +difficult for him to take his boat round to the cave where Neal lay +hidden without being followed. It was absolutely necessary for him to +catch sight of the brig before any one else did, to get off from the +shore before the brig lay to, to be well on his way to her before any +other boat put out to chase him. He knew that his own movements were +watched. He was followed from the house to Pleaskin Head by two yeomen. +As he lay on the cliffs he saw them a few hundred yards inland keeping +guard on him. + +At ten o'clock he caught sight of the topsails of a ship far east, +beyond the blue outline of the Rathlin hills. The wind, very feeble at +dawn, was freshening slightly. The lower sails of the vessel rose slowly +into view. Maurice guessed her to be a brig--to be the brig he looked +for. He lay still, watching her intently, till he was sure. Then he +went home. He found Una and the Comtesse in the breakfast room. Captain +Twinely, on the lawn outside, leaned on the window sill and talked to +them. Maurice, uncontrollably excited, whispered to Una-- + +"Now." + +She rose, and followed him from the room. Captain Twinely eyed them +sharply. He had ceased to distrust the Comtesse, but he was keenly +suspicious of Maurice. Since he had been robbed of his clothes in Antrim +he hated Maurice nearly as bitterly as he did Neal, and was determined +to have him strictly watched. + +"Pardon me, dear lady," he said, "I must give some orders to the +patrol." + +"Don't be long, then," she said, "I want you to-day, Captain Twinely. +Come back to me." + +Their eyes met, and the Comtesse felt certain that her victim would +return to her. She leaped from her chair the moment he left her and ran +from the room. + +"Una," she cried. "Una, Maurice, where are you?" + +She found them; they were packing clothes in a hand-bag--clothes, she +supposed, for Neal. + +"He's gone to give orders to his men about you, Maurice. I know he has. +I haven't a moment to explain. Leave everything to me. I'll manage him, +only trust me and do what I say. Una, are you a born idiot? Take those +things out of the bag. How can you go about with that travelling-bag in +your hand and not excite suspicion? If you must have clothes wrap them +in a bathing-sheet. Oh, what a fool you are!" + +She left them no time to answer her, but fled back to the +breakfast-room. A moment later Captain Twinely found her, lounging--a +figure of luxurious laziness--among the cushions of Lord Dunseveric's +easy chair. + +"We are going on the sea to-day," she said, "my nephew, Maurice, has +promised to take us in a boat to the Skerries. I have never been there, +but I hear they are delightful. I hope you will come with us. Please say +yes. I should feel so much safer in a boat if you were there. My nephew +is very rash. He frightens me. I do not trust him. I shall not feel +secure or easy in my mind unless you come, too. Besides"--her voice +sank to a delicious whisper--"I shall not really enjoy myself unless +you are there." + +She stretched her hand out and laid it with the tenderest motion of +caress on his hand. Captain Twinely could not hesitate, he promised to +go with her. In the back of his mind was a feeling that if he were of +the party Maurice St. Clair could not attempt to communicate with the +fugitive. + +"Maurice," said the Comtesse, "Maurice, are you ready? Captain Twinely +is coming with us to the Skerries for a pic-nic. Won't that be nice? +Come along quickly, we are starting." + +She took the captain with her, and walked down to the cove where the +boat lay. Una and Maurice, with their bundles of clothes, followed. + +"Una," said Maurice, "what does she mean? I can't take this man in the +boat, and I won't. What does she mean by inviting him?" + +"I don't know, but we must trust her. We can trust her. She's been +wonderful all these last three days. Only for her I could never have got +food to Neal." + +"Well," said Maurice, "I suppose if the worst comes to the worst it will +only be a matter of knocking him on the head with an oar. I don't want +to do that if I can help it. My lord will be angry if he has to get +me out of a fresh scrape. It will be a serious matter to assault this +captain in cold blood. I'll do it, of course, if necessary, but I would +rather not." + +The boat was dragged down the beach. The Comtesse looked at it, and +protested. + +"Maurice, surely you are not going in that little boat. It's far too +small. It's not safe." + +"Oh, it's safe enough," said Maurice, "and anyway there's no other." + +"There is," said the Comtesse. "There, look at that nice broad, flat +boat. I'll go in that." + +"The cobble for lifting the salmon net!" said Maurice, with a laugh. "My +dear aunt, you couldn't go to sea in that. She can't sail, and it takes +four men to pull her as fast as a snail would crawl. Who ever heard of +going off to the Skerries in a salmon cobble?" + +"Well," said the Comtesse, angrily, "I won't go in the other. I know +that one is too small. Isn't she too small, Captain Twinely? Look at the +size of the sea. Look how far off the island is! No, I won't go. If you +persist in being disobliging, Maurice, you and Una can go by yourselves. +Captain Twinely and I will stay on shore." + +The boat was already in the water and Una sat in the stern. Maurice, +ankle deep in water, held her bow. Maurice laughed aloud. He began to +understand his aunt's plan. + +"Come, Captain Twinely, we will go for a walk along the cliffs." + +Her hand was on his arm. She held him. He looked at the boat. A swift +doubt shot through his mind. Something in the way Maurice laughed +aroused his suspicion. He took a step forward. The Comtesse clung +tightly to his arm. Maurice gave a vigorous shove and leapt forward over +the bow. The boat shot out and floated clear of the land. + +"Isn't he a disagreeable boy?" said the Comtesse. "You wouldn't have +refused to do what I asked you, would you, Captain Twinely?" + +Her eyes sought his, but he was watching the boat uneasily. Maurice had +the oars out, and was pulling round the Black Rock. + +"He's not going to the Skerries," he said, "he's going in the other +direction." + +"What does it matter where he goes? Besides, you know what stupid things +boats are. They always turn away from the place they want to go to. It's +what they call tacking. Maurice must be tacking now. Let him manage his +horrid boat himself. We needn't trouble ourselves about him. We will go +for a walk on the tops of the cliffs." + +"I thought you did not like walking on the cliffs, you never would walk +there with me before." + +"Please don't be cross with me. May I not change my mind?" + +She stroked his hand and looked up into his face with eyes which +actually had tears in them. "I shall be so miserable if you are cross. +I shall feel that I have spoiled your day. I wish now that I had gone in +the little boat. I wish I had been upset and drowned. Then perhaps you +would have been sorry for me." + +She was crying in earnest now. Captain Twinely yielded, yielded to her +tears, to the fascination of her presence, to the passion of his love +for her. Very tenderly and gently he led her up the steep path to the +top of the cliffs. Holding her hands in his he walked silently beside +her. He was a bad man, revengeful, cruel, cowardly, but he really loved +the woman beside him. His was no heroic, spiritual love, but it was the +best, the strongest, of which his nature was capable. He could never +for her sake have lived purely and nobly, or learned self-denial, but, +cowardly as he was, he would have died for her. + +Suddenly she stood still, snatched her hand from his grasp, and stepped +away from him. + +"Now," she cried, "at last! at last! There, Captain Twinely, there is +the boat with the sail spread, shooting out to sea. Look at her; look +carefully; look well. How many people are there in her? Can you see? I +can see very well. There are three, and who is the third?" + +The tears were gone out of her eyes now. They blazed with triumph and +satisfaction. She laughed aloud, exultingly, bitterly. + +"Who is the third? Can you see? He is Neal Ward, the man you've chased, +the man you've been seeking day and night. There"--she pointed further +eastwards--"there is the American brig which will bear him away from +you. Do you understand?" + +Captain Twinely followed her gaze and her pointing finger. He began to +understand. + +"And I did it. I fooled you. I blinded your eyes while my niece fed him +in his hiding-place. I encouraged you to seek everywhere, and kept you +back from the place where he was. I--I made pretence of tolerating your +hateful presence. I made you think that I cared for you, loved you, you, +you--I would rather love a toad." + +"You have deceived me, then, all the time, played with me." + +"Yes," she laughed wildly, "deceived you, played with you, fooled you, +cheated you, and hated you--yes, hated, hated the very sight of you, the +abominable sound of your voice, the sickening touch of your hand." + +"And I loved you," he said, simply. "I loved you so well that I think I +would have done anything for you. There was no need for you to fool me. +I would have let the man go if you had asked me. I would have let him +go, though I hate him, and I could not have asked leave even to kiss +your hand for my reward. I would have been content just to have pleased +you. Why did you cheat me?" + +The Comtesse had no pity for him. The memory of the words he had spoken +to her, of his foolish face, of his amorous ways, of the touchings of +his hands which she had endured, thronged on her. Her lips curled back +over her teeth. Her eyes were hard like shining steel. + +"I hate you," she hissed at him. "I have always hated you since the +night when you seized me and dragged me into the meeting-house. I would +have revenged myself for that even if there had been no prisoner to save +from you." + +"I did not do that," said Captain Twinely, "and I did not know who you +were at the time. Be just to me even if you hate me. God knows that I +would have died to save you from the smallest hurt." + +He fell on the ground before her. + +"Oh," he cried, "have some pity for me. I love you with all my soul. Let +me serve you, let me wait on you. Let me see you sometimes and hear your +voice. Have you no pity for me? I do not ask for love, or friendship, or +the meanest gift. Only do not hate me. I have led an evil life, I know +it, but for your sake, for your sake, if you will pity me, I will do +anything. I will be anything you bid me. But do not hate me. For the +love of God, by the mercy of Christ the Saviour, do not cast me utterly +away from you. Do not hate me." + +He crawled forward, and clutched the bottom of her skirt with his hand. +With a swift movement she snatched it from his grasp. + +"I do hate you," she cried, "and I shall always hate you. From this out +I shall always hope and pray and strive to get to heaven when I die, +not for the love of the saints or because I think that I shall be happy +there, but just because I shall be safe from the sight of you, for you +will surely be in hell." + +She turned and walked down the path they had ascended together. She left +him grovelling on the ground, his face slobbered with tears and grimy +with the clay his hands rubbed over it. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +The boat sped seawards. The wind had freshened since the morning, and +worked round after the sun, as the wind does in settled weather. It blew +now from the south-east, and the boat reached out with a free sheet. Una +sat in the stern and held the tiller. Her eyes glistened with excitement +and delight. At her feet, on the floor boards of the boat, sat Neal, +dripping after his swim out of the cave. The sun shone warm on him, and +he had Una close to him. He was safe at last, freed from the terrible +anxiety and fears. He had life before him--a glad, good thing, yet there +was more sorrow than joy in his face. In an hour, or less than an hour, +he must say farewell to Una. He felt that he would gladly have gone back +to the gloom of the cave for the sake of a brief visit from her every +day. He would have accepted the life of a hunted animal rather than +part, for years perhaps, from Una. He was sure that he had never known +the fulness of his love for her until this hour of parting. His eyes +never left her face. Now and then, when she could spare attention from +her steering, she answered his glances. In her face there was no sorrow +at all, only merry delight and the anticipation of more joy. "I have +brought you a suit of my clothes, and some change of linen," said +Maurice. "I have them in a bundle here, done up in a great sheet. Hullo! +there are two bundles. I didn't notice that you had brought a second +one, Brown-Eye. You'll not leave me a rag to my back if you give Neal +two suits." + +"It's all right, Maurice," said Una, "the second bundle has my clothes +in it." + +"Your clothes, Brown-Eyes! Why have you brought clothes?" + +"I'm going with Neal, of course." + +Neal sat upright suddenly and stared at her with a new expression in his +eyes. He was the prey of sheer astonishment, then of a rapture which set +his heart beating tumultuously. + +"You are going with Neal! Nonsense, Brown-Eyes. How can you?" + +"I've money to pay my passage," she said, "and if I hadn't I'd go just +the same. I shall climb up into the brig, and I won't be turned out of +her." + +"You can't," said Maurice. + +"Oh, but I can, and I will. Do you think you and father are the only two +in the family that have wills of your own. You'll take me, Neal, won't +you? We'll be married as soon as ever we get to America. I'm like the +girl in the song-- + + "'I'll dye my petticoat, I'll dye it red, + And through the world I'll beg my bread,' + but I won't leave you now, Neal." + +She began to sing merrily, exultingly-- + + "Though father and brother and a' should go mad, + Just whistle and I'll come to you, my lad." + +"Well," said Maurice, "if you go I may as well take my passage, too. I +daren't go home and face my lord with the news that you've run off from +him. But steady, Brown-Eyes, watch what you're doing. We're close on +the brig now. We'll neither go to America nor back home if you upset us +now." + +He took in the sprit of the sail as Una rounded the boat under the +brig's stern. A rope was flung to them and made fast. Another rope, a +stouter one, was lowered to Neal. Una seized it and climbed up. Willing +hands caught her, lifted her over the bulwarks, and set her on the deck. + +"Am I to ferry you across, too, young lady?" asked Captain Getty. + +"Yes," said Una, "I am going with you." + +Neal leaned across the thwarts of the boat to Maurice. + +"Stay you here," he said, "leave this to me." + +He gained the deck of the brig. Una met him with outstretched hands and +sparkling eyes. + +"Isn't this glorious?" she said. "You never guessed, Neal. Confess that +you never guessed." + +Then she shrank back from him, frightened by what she saw. His face was +ashy grey, save for two flaming spots on his cheek bones. His lips +were trembling. His eyes told her of some desperate resolution, of some +counsel adopted with intense pain. + +"What is the matter, Neal! Do you not want me after all? Will you not +take me?" + +"No, I will not take you." + +It was all he succeeded in saying before a sob choked him. Una stared at +him in terrified surprise; but even then, even with his own words in her +ears, she did not doubt his love for her. She waited. + +"Una," he said at last, "I cannot take you with me." + +She gazed at him with wide, pitiful eyes, like the eyes of a little +child struck suddenly and inexplicably by the hand of some trusted +friend. Neal trembled and turned away from her. He could not look at her +while he spoke. + +"Una, dearest, it is not that I do not love you. I love you. Oh, heart +of my heart, I love you. I would give----" + +He sobbed again. Then, with an effort, he mastered himself, and spoke +slowly in low, tender tones. + +"Una, your father has trusted me. He has helped me, saved me. He has +been my friend. I am bound in honour to him. I cannot take you from him +like this." + +"Ah!" she said. "Honour! Is your honour more than love?" + +"Una, Una, can't you understand? It's because I love you so well that I +cannot do this. Wait, dearest, wait a little while. I shall come back +to you. The world is not so wide that it can keep me from you. The time +will not be long." + +He turned to her, and saw again the intolerable stricken sadness of her +eyes. + +"My darling," he said, "I cannot bear it. I will take you with me. Come. +What does it matter about honour or disgrace? What have we to do with +right or wrong? Will you come, Una?" + +"Her eyes dropped before his gaze. Her hands clasped and unclasped, the +fingers of them sliding close-pressed against each other. She trembled. + +"If it is wrong----," she whispered. "Oh, Neal, I do not understand, but +what you think wrong is wrong for me, too. I will not do what you say is +wrong. But, oh! come back to me, come back to me soon. I cannot bear to +wait long for you." + +All the joy was gone from her. Forgetful of the strangers who stood +round her, she covered her face with her hands and wept bitterly. + +Maurice's voice reached them from the boat. + +"Be quick, Neal. I must cast off and let you get under way. They've got +the old salmon cobble out, and they're coming after us. Captain Twinely +must have managed to tear himself away from the Comtesse. They are +pulling six oars, and the cobble is full of men. Be quick." + +Una stopped crying on the instant. She cast a terrified glance at the +approaching boat. Then she ran across the deck to Captain Getty. She +seized his hand, and fell on her knees before him. + +"Keep him safe, Captain Getty. Keep him safe. The soldiers, the yeomen, +are after him. Do not give him up to them. They will hang him if they +get him. Keep him safe. Do not let them take him." + +"Young lady, Miss," said Captain Getty, "stand up and dry your eyes. +Your sweetheart's safe while he stands on my deck. Safe from them. For +tempests and fire and the perils of the deep, and the act of God"--he +lifted his cap from his head--"I can't swear, but as for darned British +soldiers of any kind--such scum set no foot on the deck of Captain +Hercules Getty's brig--the _Saratoga_. You see that rag there, young +lady, that rag flying from the gaff of the spanker, it's not much to +look at, maybe, not up to the high-toned level of the crosses and the +lions that spread themselves and ramp about on other flags, but I +guess a man's free when that flies over him. You take my word for it, +Miss--the word of Captain Hercules Getty--the Britisher will knuckle +under to that rag. He's seen the stars and stripes before now, and he +knows he's just got to slip his tail in between his hind legs and scoot, +scoot tarnation quick from the place where that rag flutters on the +breeze." + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +In the summer of 1800 the Act of Union was passed. The Irish +Constitution ceased to exist. The country lay torpid and apathetic under +the blow. Blood had been let in Antrim and Down, in Wexford and Wicklow. +The society of United Irishmen was broken. The Protestant gentry were +frightened or bribed. They, or the greater part of them, surrendered +their birthright without even Esau's hunger for excuse. Roman Catholic +ecclesiastics, deluded by the promise of emancipation, which was not +kept for many a long year afterwards, offered a dubious welcome to the +English power. The people, cowed, helpless, expectant of little any way, +waited in numb indifference for what the new order was to bring. There +was little joy and little cause for joy in Ireland then. + +From the gate of Dunseveric House, in the twilight of the short October +afternoon, came a young man who seemed to feel no sense of depression or +sadness. He strode briskly along the muddy road, swinging his stick in +his hand, whistling a merry tune. After a while, for very exuberance +of spirits, he broke into song. His voice rang clear through the damp, +misty air-- + + "Oh, my love's like a red, red rose, + That's newly sprung in June: + Oh, my love's like the melody + That's sweetly played in tune." + +A hundred yards or so further along the road walked another traveller. +He carried a knapsack on his shoulders and a stout staff in his hand. +When the song reached his ears he stopped, listened carefully, and then +waited for the singer to overtake him. It seemed as if the young man +was too glad at heart to sing through one song. He began again, and +his voice was full of passion, as if he had abandoned himself to the +inspiration of his words-- + + "Oh, wert thou in the cauld blast, + On yonder lea, on yonder lea, + My plaidie to the angry airt, + I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee." + +"Neal Ward," said the man who waited. + +The singer paused. + +"I'm Neal Ward, my friend, who ever are you? And I know your voice. I +know it. Let me see your face, man. You're Jemmy Hope. As I'm a living +man, you're Jemmy Hope. I couldn't have asked a better meeting." + +He seized Hope's hand and wrung it heartily. He held it firm. + +"There's no man in the world I'd rather have met to-night. But I might +have guessed I'd meet you. When a man's happy every wish of his heart +comes to him. It's only the poor devils who are sad that have to wait +and sigh for what they want and never get it." + +"So you are happy, Neal. I am right glad of it. It makes me happy, too, +for all that's come and gone, to listen to your singing. Give me a share +of your good news, Neal. We want good news in Ireland now-a-days. What +makes you happy?" + +"I'm to be married to-morrow, Jemmy Hope. To-morrow, to-morrow, man. +Isn't that enough to make me happy?" + +He put his arm round Hope, and led him along the road. He walked as if +there were music in his ears which made him want to dance. + +"She's the best girl in all the world," he said, "the bravest and the +truest and the sweetest-- + + 'Or were I a monarch o' the globe, + With thee to reign, with thee to reign, + The brightest jewel in my crown + Wad be my queen, wad be my queen.' + +Haven't I the right to be happy, James Hope? Tell me that." + +"You have the best gift that God has got to give to man," said Hope, +"and I that speak to you know. I have my own dear Rose. I have found +that the love of a good woman made all my trouble easy, turned sorrow of +heart into a kind of gladness, brought joy out of disappointment, made +poverty sweet to bear." + +"But I'm not poor," said Neal, "I have a home to offer her, a home not +unworthy of her. I have money to give her what she wants. I shall take +her across the sea in a fine ship that I own myself, in a cabin I have +fitted out for her, fine enough for a crowned queen, but not fine enough +for her-- + + "'Blair in Athol's mine lassie, + Fair Dunkeld is mine lassie, + St. Johnston's bower and Hunting Tower, + And a' that's mine is thine, lassie.' + +Oh, man, but I have cause for my happiness. I have the world before +me, good work to do, good money to earn, and her love like a "perpetual +sun-shine to make life fair to me." + +Then suddenly his voice changed. + +"Ah, but my happiness is not complete. There are two things I want yet. +I want my father to come out with me, and I want you, too, my friend." + +"And will your father not go? I heard that they had released him at last +from the prison in Scotland, whew they kept him since the year of the +break at Antrim. He's home again." + +"Ay, he's home, and it's little cause he has to stay here. They have +put a new minister in his place. The Synod, the conscienceless villains, +declared it vacant. Castlereagh, through his satellite Black, has +corrupted them, too. He'll preach no more in the old meeting-house, nor +sit over his bodes in the old manse. He's at the Widow Maclure's now, +the woman whose husband was hanged. He'll not want his bit while I've +money in my pocket. But I'd like to bring him with me, to give him a +better home." + +"And will he not go?" + +"He will not. He says he's too old to go to a new land now; but you'll +help me to persuade him. I think, maybe, if you'd come with me that he'd +come, too. And you will come, won't you?" + +Hope shook his head. + +"Don't shake your head at me that way, James Hope. You don't know what +you're refusing. I can give you work to do out there, and money to earn, +and a fine house to live in. It's a good land, so it is; it's a land of +liberty. We've done with the tyrannies of this worn-out old world. A man +may speak his mind out there, and think his own thoughts and go his own +way. We doff our hats and make our bows to no man living, only to him +who shows himself by fine deeds to be our better. It's the land for you +and the land for me, and the land for every man that loves freedom. Will +you not come?" + +They reached the door of the Maclures' house and entered. A bright fine +burned on the hearth. The Widow Maclure was busy spreading a white cloth +on the table. Her eldest girl, a child of twelve years old, stood near +at hand with a pile of wooden porridge bowls in her arms. The two other +children, holding by their mother's skirts, followed, smiled on and +chidden as they impeded her work, and babbled questions about this or +that. Beside the fire, in the chair that had once belonged to the master +of the house, sat Micah Ward. He looked very old now and infirm. The +months in a prison hulk in Belfast Lough and the long weariness of his +confinement in bleak Fort George had set their mark upon him. On his +knees lay a Greek lexicon, but he was pursuing no word through its +pages. It was open at the fly-leaf inside the cover. He was reading +lovingly for the hundredth time an inscription written there-- + +"This book was given to Rev. Micah Ward by his fellow-prisoners in +Fort George, in witness of their gratitude to him for his ministrations +during their captivity, and as a token of their admiration for his +fortitude, his patience, and his unfailing charity." + +There followed a list of twenty names. Four of them belonged to men of +the Roman Catholic faith, six of them were the names of Presbyterians, +ten were of those who accepted the teaching of that other Church which, +trammelled for centuries by connection with the State, hampered with +riches secured to her by the bayonets of a foreign power, dragged down +very often by officials placed over her by Englishmen, has yet in spite +of all won glory. Out of her womb have come the men whose names shine +brightest on the melancholy roll of the Irish patriots of the last two +centuries. She has not cared to boast of them. She has hidden their +names from her children as if they were a shame to her, but they are +hers. + +Thus far off in a desolate Scottish fortress, after the total failure +of every plan, in the hour of Ireland's most hopeless degradation, the +great dream which had fired the imagination of Tone and Neilson and +the others, the dream of all Irishmen uniting in a common love of their +country, a love which should transcend the differences of rival creeds, +found a realisation. The witness, written in crabbed characters on +the fly-leaf of a lexicon, lay on the knees of a broken old man in the +cottage of a widow within earshot of the perpetual clamour of the bleak +northern sea. + +"Well, father," said Neal, "here I am back again. And here's Jemmy +Hope, whom I picked up on the road. He's come to see you. He's going to +persuade you to cross the sea with me. You and I and he together, and +Hannah Macaulay, who's coming, too. Una will make you all welcome on her +sturdy ship. It's her ship now. All that I have is her's." + +Micah Ward looked at his son with a gentle, sad smile on his face. Then +he turned to welcome his visitor. + +"So you have come to see me, James Hope. It was good of you. Ah, man, +there's not so many of us left now. Orr, they hanged him; M'Cracken, +they hanged him; Monro, they hanged him; Porter, they hanged him. And +many another, many another. And the rest are gone across the sea. You +and I are left, with one here and there besides--a very small remnant, +a cottage in a vineyard, a lodge in a garden of cucumbers, a besieged +city." + +"It's hard to tell," said Hope, "why they did not hang me, too. There +were times when, only for my wife, who would have grieved after me, I +could have found it in my heart to wish they would." + +"Father," said Neal, "Hope is coming to America with me." + +"Nay, lad, nay. I was born in Ireland, I've lived my life in Ireland, +I'll die in Ireland when my time comes. Maybe before the end I'll find a +chance to strike another blow for her." + +"Doubtless," said Micah Ward, "such a blow will be stricken, but not in +our time, James Hope. The fighting spirit is gone from us. The men are +laid low or scattered or broken. The people speak about the 'break.' +They call it well. 'Shall iron break the northern iron and the steel?' +Yea, but iron hath broken us. It hath entered into our souls. And if one +look unto the land, behold darkness and sorrow and the light is darkened +in the heavens thereof." + +"But there is another land," said Neal, "where the sun shines, where +neither palaces of kings, nor haughty churches, nor the banners and +cannon smoke of England's soldiers, nor yet the gallows, casting shadows +over the green fields, and overtopping every village, can come between +the people and the good light which the Lord God made for them. That's +the land for you and me." + +"For you, Neal," said Micah Ward, "and for the girl you love. But there +is no other land except only this lost land for me and him." + +He took Hope's hand and held it. Then, with his other hand, he drew his +son down beside him. Neal knelt on the earthen floor of the cottage. He +felt hands laid upon his head--his father's hands and James Hope's. The +benediction came from both of them, though it was Micah Ward's voice +which spoke the words-- + + "The Lord hear thee in the day of trouble, Neal; + The name of the God of Jacob defend thee; + Send thee help from the sanctuary, + And strengthen thee out of Zion; + Remember all thy offerings, + And accept thy burnt sacrifice; + Grant thee according to thine own heart, + And fulfil all thy counsel." + + +THE END + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Northern Iron, by George A. 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Birmingham + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Northern Iron, by George A. Birmingham + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Northern Iron + 1907 + +Author: George A. Birmingham + +Release Date: January 23, 2008 [EBook #24140] +Last Updated: October 4, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE NORTHERN IRON *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE NORTHERN IRON + </h1> + <h2> + By George A. Birmingham + </h2> + <h4> + Dublin: Maunsel & Co., Limited + </h4> + <h3> + 1907 + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h3> + TO FRANCIS JOSEPH BIGGER, <br /> <br /> ARDRIGH, BELFAST. + </h3> + <p> + <i>My Dear Bigger,</i> + </p> + <p> + <i>This story, as you have already guessed, is the fruit of a recent + holiday spent in County Antrim. The writing of it has been a great + pleasure, for almost every place mentioned in it recalls the goodness of + the friends who received me and made my holiday a happy one. I think of + kind people when I write of Dunseveric and Ballintoy—of hours spent + in their company among the Runkerry cliffs, the sandhills, the Skerries, + and of the morning on which I swam, like Neal and Una, into the Rock + Pigeons’ Cave, I remember a time—full of interest and delight—spent + with you when I mention Donegore, Antrim, and Temple-Patrick. My mind + dwells on an older, a very dear friend and relative, when I tell of Neal’s + visit to Belfast. And the book is more than the recollection of a summer + holiday. I go back in it to my own country—to places familiar to me + in boyhood as the mountains and bays of Mayo are now; to days very long + ago, when I caught cuddings and lithe off the Black Rock or Rackle Roy and + learned to swim in the Blue Pool at Port Ballintrae. Yet I know that I + could not, for all that I remembered of my boyhood or learned during my + holiday, have written this story without your help. You told me what I + wanted to know, you corrected, patiently, my manuscript, and you have + helped me to enter into the spirit of the time. For all this I owe you + many thanks, and if I have succeeded in writing a story which interests my + readers they, too, will owe you thanks.</i> + </p> + <p> + <i>I have tried to be faithful to the facts of history and to represent + the thoughts and feelings of the men who took part in the</i> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Out, unhappy far off things + And battles long ago,” + </pre> + <p> + <i>of which I chose to write. Most of my characters are purely imaginary. + Of the men who really lived and acted in 1798 only one—James Hope—appears + prominently in my story. In his case I have taken pains to understand what + manner of man he was before I wrote of him, and I believe that, feeble + though my presentation of his character may be, you will not find it + actually untruthful.</i> + </p> + <p> + <i>I am your friend,</i> + </p> + <p> + <i>GEORGE A. BIRMINGHAM.</i> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>THE NORTHERN IRON</b> </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + THE NORTHERN IRON + </h1> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I + </h2> + <p> + The road which connects Portrush with Ballycastle skirts, so far as any + road can and dare, the sea coast. Sometimes it is driven inland a mile or + so by the impossibility of crossing tracts of sandhills. The mounds and + hollows of these dunes are for ever shifting and changing. The loose sand + is blown into new fantastic heights and valleys by the winter gales. No + road could be built on such insecure foundation. Elsewhere the road + shrinks back among the shelterless fields for fear of mighty cliffs by + which this northern Antrim coast is defended from the Atlantic. No + engineer in the eighteenth century, when the road was made, dared lay his + metal close to the Causeway cliffs or the awful precipice of Pleaskin + Head. Still, now and then, in places where there are no sandhills and the + cliffs are not appalling, the road ventures, for a mile or two, to run + within a few hundred yards of the sea, before it is swept, like a cord + bent by the wind, further inland. Thus, after passing the ruins of + Dunseveric Castle, the traveller sees close beneath him the white + limestone rocks and broad yellow stretch of Ballintoy Strand. Here, when + northerly gales are blowing, he may, if he is not swept off his feet, + cling desperately to his garments and watch the great waves curl their + feathered crests as they rush shorewards. He may listen, awestruck, to the + ocean’s roar of amazement when it batters in vain the hard north coast, + the rocks and sand which defy even the strength of the Atlantic. + </p> + <p> + A quarter of a mile back from this piece of road there stood, in 1798, the + meeting-house of the Presbyterians and their minister’s manse. The house + stands on the site of a bare, shelterless hill. It is three storeys high—a + narrow, gaunt building, grey walled, black-slated. Its only entrance is at + the back, and on the shoreward side. This house has disdained the shelter + which might have been found further inland or among its fellow-houses in + the street of Ballintoy. It faces due north, preferring an outlook upon + the sea to the warmth and light of a southern aspect. It is bare of all + architectural ornament. Its windows are few and small. The rooms within + are gloomy, even in early summer. Its architect seems to have feared this + gloominess, for he planned great bay windows for three rooms, one above + the other. He built the bay. It juts out for the whole height of the + house, breaking the flatness of the northern wall. But his heart failed + him in the end. He dared not put such a window in the house. He walled up + the whole flat front of the bay. Only in its sides did he place windows. + Through these there is a side view of the sea and a side view of the main + wall of the house. They are comparatively safe. The full force of the + tempest does not strike them fair. + </p> + <p> + In one of the gloomy rooms on a bright morning in the middle of May sat + the Reverend Micah Ward, the minister. The sun shone outside on the yellow + sand, the green water, and the white rocks; but neither sun nor sea had + tempted Micah Ward from his books. Great leather-covered folios lay at his + elbow on the table. Before him were an open Hebrew Bible, a Septuagint + with queer, contracted lettering, and an old yellow-leaved Vulgate. The + subject of his studies was the Book of Amos, who was the ruggedest, the + fiercest, and the most democratic of the Hebrew prophets. Micah Ward’s + face was clean-shaved and marked with heavy lines. Thick, bushy brows hung + over eyes which were keen and bright in spite of all his studying. Looking + at his face, a man might judge him to be hard, narrow, strong—perhaps + fanatical. Near the window:—one of the slanting windows through + which it is tantalising to look—sat a young man, tall beyond the + common, well knit, strong—Neal Ward, the minister’s son. He had + grown hardy in the keen sea air and firm of will under his father’s rigid + discipline. He had never known a mother’s care, for Margaret Ward, a + bright-faced woman, ill-mated, so they said, with the minister, never + recovered strength after her son’s birth. She lingered for a year, and + then died. They laid her body in Templeastra Graveyard, near the sea. Over + her grave her husband set a stone with an austerely-worded inscription to + keep her name in memory:—“The burying-ground of Micah Ward. Margaret + Neal, his wife, 1778.” Such inscriptions are to be found in scores in the + graveyards of Antrim. The hard, brave men who chose to mark thus the + resting-places of their dead disdained parade of their affliction and + their heart-break, and held their creed so firmly that they felt no need + of any text to remind them of the resurrection of the dead. + </p> + <p> + Neal Ward, like his father, had books and papers before him, but his + attention was not fixed on them. Now and then, with spasmodic energy, he + copied a passage from the page before him. Then, with a sigh, he laid his + pen down and gazed out of the window. His father took no notice of the + young man’s want of application. No words passed between the two. Then + suddenly the silence was broken by a cry from the field below the house— + </p> + <p> + “Hello! Neal! Neal Ward! Hello! Are you there?” + </p> + <p> + The young man started to his feet and made a step to the window. Then + turning, he looked at his father. The frown on Micah Ward’s brow deepened + slightly. Otherwise he made no sign of having heard the cry. He went on + writing in his careful, deliberate manner. The voice from outside reached + the room again. + </p> + <p> + “Neal! Neal Ward! Come out. What right has a man to shut himself indoors + on a day like this?” + </p> + <p> + Neal stood irresolute, looking at his father. At last he spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Can I go out, father? I have almost finished the transcription of the + passage which you set me.” + </p> + <p> + Micah Ward laid down his pen, sprinkled sand on his paper, and looked up. + He gazed steadily at his son. The young man’s eyes dropped. He repeated + his question in a voice that was nearly trembling. + </p> + <p> + “Can I go out, father?” + </p> + <p> + “Who is it calls you, Neal?” + </p> + <p> + “It is Maurice St. Clair.” + </p> + <p> + “Maurice St. Clair,” repeated Micah Ward. Then, with a note of deep scorn + in his voice, “The Hon. Maurice St. Clair, the son of Lord Dun-severic. + Are you to do his bidding, to run like a dog when he calls you?” + </p> + <p> + “He is my friend, father.” + </p> + <p> + “Is he a fit friend for you? Have I not told you that his people and our + people are enemies the one to the other? That the oppression wherewith + they oppress us—but there. Go, since you want to go. You do not + understand as yet. Some day you will understand.” + </p> + <p> + Neal left the room without haste, closing the door quietly. Once free of + his father’s presence he seized a cap and ran from the house. Half-way + between him and the high road, knee deep in meadow grass, stood Maurice + St. Clair. + </p> + <p> + “Come along, come along quick,” he shouted. “I had nearly given up hope of + getting you out. We’re off for a day’s fishing to Rackle Roy. We’ll bag a + pigeon or two at the mouth of the cave before we land. Brown-Eyes is down + on the road waiting for us with rods and guns. We’ve all day before us. My + lord is off to Ballymoney, and can’t be back till supper-time.” + </p> + <p> + “What takes Lord Dunseveric to Ballymoney to-day?” asked Neal. “There’s no + magistrates’ meeting, is there?” + </p> + <p> + “No. He’s gone to meet our aunt, Madame de Tourneville. She’s been coming + these five years, ever since she ran away from Paris at the time of the + Terror; but it’s only now she has succeeded in arriving.” + </p> + <p> + Together the two young men crossed the field and vaulted the wall which + separated the manse land from the road. The girl whom her brother called + Brown-Eyes waited for them. The name suited her well, and came naturally + from Maurice. He was tall and fair, yellow-haired, blue-eyed, large + limbed, a fine type of Antrim Irishman, the heir of the form and face of + generations of St. Clairs of Dunseveric. The girl, Una St. Clair, belonged + to a different race—came of her mother’s people. She was small, + brown-skinned, brown-eyed, dark-haired. She grew as the years went on more + and more like what her mother had been. Lord Dunseveric, watching his + daughter pass from childhood to womanhood, saw in her the very image of + Marie Dillon, the French-Irish girl who had won his heart a quarter of a + century before in Paris. + </p> + <p> + “Take the guns, Neal. Here, Brown-Eyes, give me the rods and the basket. + There’s no need for you to break your little back carrying them.” + </p> + <p> + “Why should I when I’ve two big men to carry them for me? Indeed, I’m not + sure but one of you ought to carry me, too. You’re big enough and strong + enough.” + </p> + <p> + She smiled gaily at Neal as he shouldered the guns. They had built sand + castles together when they were little children, and tempted the waves to + chase them up the sand, flying barefoot from the pursuing lip of foam. + They had climbed and fallen, explored rocky bays, penetrated to the depths + of caves as they grew older. Always Una St. Clair had queened it over the + boys, teased them, petted them, scolded them. Now, grown to womanhood, she + discovered new powers in herself which made Neal at least more than ever + her slave. + </p> + <p> + They reached the little bay where the boat lay pulled up among the rocks. + Maurice and Neal lifted her stern on to a roller and dragged her towards + the sea. Una, running before them, laid other rollers on the pathway of + slippery rock till the boat floated. Then she climbed the gunwale and + settled herself on the stern seat among the rods and guns. The two young + men shoved off into deep water, springing into the boat with dripping feet + as she slid out clear of the shore. They placed the heavy oars between the + wooden thole pins and steadied the boat while Una shipped the rudder. The + wind was off shore and the sea, save for the long heave of the Atlantic, + was still. The brown sail was hoisted and stretched with the sprit. Then, + sailing and rowing, they swept past Carrighdubh, the Black Rock, which + guarded the entrance of the little bay, and passed into the shadow of the + mighty cliffs. + </p> + <p> + A silence fell on them. The laughter and gay talk ceased. The sense of + holiday joyfulness was overwhelmed by a vague awe of the ocean’s + greatness, the oppression of its strength, and the black towering rocks + which hung over the boat, casting a gloom across the sea. The feeling of + this solemnity abides through life with the men and women who have been + bred as children on this north Antrim coast. If they live their lives out + among its rugged harbours and stern ways they become, as the fishermen + are, people of slow thoughts, long memories, and simple outlook upon life. + The fear of the Lord is over their lives. If they wander elsewhere, making + homes for themselves among the southern or western Irish, or, further + still, to England or America, they may learn to be in appearance as other + men are—may lose the harsh northern intonation from their talk, but + down in the bottom of their hearts will be an awful affection for their + sea, which is like no other sea, and the dark overwhelming cliffs whose + shadow never wholly leaves their souls. In times of stress and hours of + bitterness they will fall back upon the stark, rigid strength of those + who, seeing the mightiest of His works, have learned to fear the Lord. + </p> + <p> + The boat lay off the entrance of the Pigeon Cave. The sportsman’s sense + awoke in Maurice. He gave a brief order to Neal, laid his oar across the + boat, stood up and took in the sprit, letting the sail hang in loose + folds. He unstepped the mast and sat down again. + </p> + <p> + “You may unship the rudder, Brown-Eyes, You had better leave the boat to + Neal and me to bring up to the cave. Pass the gun forward to me and the + powder horn.” + </p> + <p> + He loaded, ramming the charge down and pressing down the wad. Neal and the + girl sat silent. The solemn enchantment of the scene was on them still. + Then the two men took the oars again. Very cautiously they rowed along the + narrow channel which led to the opening of the cave. The rocks lay low at + first on each side of them; brown tangles of weed swayed slowly to and fro + with the onward sweep and eddy of the ocean swell. Then, as the boat + advanced, the rocks rose higher on each side, sheer shining walls, whose + reflection made the clear water almost black. The huge arch of the cave’s + entrance faced them. Behind was the dark channel, and beyond it the + sunlight on the sea, before them the impenetrable gloom of the cave. The + noise of the water dropping from its roof into the sea beneath struck + their ears sharply. The hollow roar of the sea far off in the utmost + recesses of the cave came to them. The girl leaned forward from her seat + and laid her hand on Neal’s arm. He looked at her. Her eyes, the homes of + laughter and quick inconsequences, were wide with dread. Neal knew what + she felt. It was not fear of any definite danger or any evil actually + threatening. + </p> + <p> + It was awe, the feeling of mariners of other days who penetrated to + unknown seas, of men in primitive times who knew that fairy powers dwelt + in dark lakes and precipitous mountain sides. + </p> + <p> + The bow of the boat touched the huge boulders which formed a bar across + the mouth of the cave. Maurice leaped out, gun in hand, and stood knee + deep in the water, feeling with his feet for a secure resting-place. + </p> + <p> + “Keep the boat off, Neal, and take your shot if you get a chance.” + </p> + <p> + He shouted—“Hello-lo-oh.” + </p> + <p> + The rocky sides and roof of the cave echoed back his cry a hundred times. + Again he shouted, and again, until shouts and echoes meeting clashed with + each other, and it seemed as if the tremendous laughter of gleeful giants + mocked the solemn booming of the sea. There was a rush of many wings, and + a flock of terrified rock pigeons flew from the cave. Maurice fired one + barrel after another in quick succession, and two birds dropped dead into + the water. Neal, shaking the girl’s hand from his arm, fired, too. From + his seat in the swaying boat it was difficult to aim well. He missed once, + but killed with his second shot. The boat was borne forward and bumped + sharply on the boulders at the cave’s mouth. The laughter of the echo died + away. Instead of it came, like angry threats, the repetition of their four + shots, multiplied to a fusilade of loud explosions. + </p> + <p> + “Come back, Maurice,” cried Una. “Come back and let us get out of this. + I’m frightened. I cannot bear it any longer.” + </p> + <p> + “You shall have all the four wings of my birds to trim your hats with, + Brown-Eyes,” said Maurice, as he clambered dripping into the boat. “Neal + will stuff his bird for you and perch him on a stone. You shall have him + to set on the top of your new bureau, the one Aunt Estelle sent you when + she escaped from Paris without having her head chopped off.” + </p> + <p> + They pushed the boat cautiously back along the channel, travelling stern + first, for there was little room to turn, and even in calm weather men do + not willingly lay a boat across the sea in such a place. + </p> + <p> + “Now for Rackle Roy and a basketful of glashins and lithe,” said Maurice. + </p> + <p> + East a little and out seawards from the mouth of the cave lies a long, + flat rock, dry at low water, and even at flood tide in calm weather, swept + with desolating surf when the Atlantic swell rolls in or the wind lashes + the nearer sea to fury. Right out of the centre of the rock the waves have + fashioned a deep bay, curved like a horse-shoe. This is a famous + fishing-place. As the tide rises, lithe and glashin, brazers, gurnet, rock + codling, and crowds of cuddings come here to feed, and the fisherman, on + those rare days, when he can land at all, may count on bringing home with + him great bunches of fish strung through the gills. + </p> + <p> + The rock lay far enough from the cliff to be clear of the shadow. The sun + shone on its brown weed-clad sides, glistened on black clusters of + mussels, glowed on the red seams of the rock where the iron cropped out, + and baked the black basalt of the upper surface. The spirits of the party + revived when they landed. Una’s gaiety returned to her. + </p> + <p> + “Have you forgotten the bait, Maurice? I’m sure you have. It would be like + you to come for a day’s fishing without bait.” + </p> + <p> + “No, then, I haven’t. There are three large crabs in the boat, and even if + there wasn’t one at all we could do nicely with limpets. There’s worse + bait than a good limpet.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, and if you have the crabs I expect you’ve forgotten the sheep’s + wool. What do you think, Neal? Yesterday we were fishing cuddings off the + Black Rock and Maurice ran out of wool. The fish simply sucked the bait + off our hooks and laughed at us. What did Maurice do but take my hairs. He + pulled them out one by one as he wanted them, and wrapped the bait on with + them.” + </p> + <p> + “Your wool, Brown-Eyes, doesn’t come up to that of the sheep. It’s not + soft enough. But I shan’t want it to-day. I’ve got my pockets half full of + the proper sort.” + </p> + <p> + Neal laughed, but he felt that to use Una’s hair as a wrap for the red + pulp of a crab’s back or the soft, black belly of a limpet was a kind of + profanation. He was a keen fisherman, but he would rather have missed the + chance of catching the largest lithe that ever swam than lure it with a + bait fastened with Una’s glossy hair. + </p> + <p> + They fished till noon, and the tide rose slowly round their rock. Then + Una’s luncheon basket was fetched from the boat, the mooring rope was made + secure above high water mark, and the three sat down on the sun-baked rock + and ate with keen appetites. Maurice stared seawards. + </p> + <p> + “That brig,” he said, “is lying very close inshore. Look at her, Neal.” + </p> + <p> + “I saw her pass the point of the Skerries an hour ago.” said Neal. “She + must have hauled her wind since then to fetch in so close with the tide + running against her.” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder why she’s doing it,” said Maurice. “She’ll have to run off again + to clear Benmore.” + </p> + <p> + “She looks a big ship,” said Una. + </p> + <p> + “Maybe she’s 250 tons,” said Neal. “She’s about the size of the brig that + sailed from Portrush for Boston last summer year with two hundred + emigrants in her.” + </p> + <p> + “She’s fetching closer in yet,” said Maurice. “See, she’s hoisted some + flag or other, two flags, no, three, from the peak of her spanker. It’s a + signal. I wonder what they want. Now they’ve laid her to. She must want a + boat out from the shore. Come on, Neal, come on, Brown-Eyes. We’ll go out + to her. We’ll be first. There’s no other boat nearer than those at the + Port, and we’ve got a long start of them. Never mind the fish. Or wait. + Fling them in. I dare say the men on the brig will be glad of them. She + must be an American.” + </p> + <p> + In a few minutes the boat was pulled clear of the little bay and out of + the shelter of Rackle Roy. The mast was stepped and the sail set. The + sheet was slacked out and the boat sped seawards before the wind. Maurice + was all impatience. He got out his oar. + </p> + <p> + “It’s no use,” said Neal, “the breeze has freshened since morning. She’ll + sail quicker than we could row.” + </p> + <p> + The brig lay little more than a mile from the shore. The boat soon reached + her. + </p> + <p> + “Boat, ahoy,” yelled a voice from the deck. “Lower your sail, and come up + under my lee.” + </p> + <p> + Maurice and Neal obeyed. The sea was rougher than it had been near the + shore. The boat, when Maurice had made fast the rope flung to him, plunged + up and down beside the brig, and needed careful handling to prevent her + being damaged. + </p> + <p> + The crew looked over the side with eager curiosity. + </p> + <p> + “Say, boys,” said the captain, “what will you take for your fish? I’ll + trade with you.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t want to sell them,” said Maurice. “I’ll give them to you.” + </p> + <p> + His voice and accent, his refusal to barter, betrayed the fact that he was + a gentleman. + </p> + <p> + “I guess,” said the captain, “that you’re an aristocrat, a British + aristocrat, too proud to take the money of the men who whipped you in the + States. That’s so.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m an Irish gentleman,” said Maurice. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Mr. Irish Gentleman, if you’re too darned aristocratic to trade, + I’ll give you a present of a case of good Virginia, and you may give me a + present of your fish. I’d call it a swap, but if that turns your stomach + I’ll let you call it a mutual present, an expression of international + goodwill.” + </p> + <p> + “Fling him up the fish, Neal,” said Maurice. + </p> + <p> + Then another man appeared beside the captain on the quarter-deck. He was + not a seafaring man. He was lean and yellow, and had keen grey eyes. His + face seemed in some way familiar to Neal, though he could not recollect + having ever seen the man before. + </p> + <p> + “Yon are the Causeway cliffs,” he said, “and yon’s Pleaskin Head, and the + islands we passed are the Skerries?” + </p> + <p> + “You know this coast,” said Neal. + </p> + <p> + “I knew this coast, young man, before your mother had the dandling of you. + I know it now, though it’s five and twenty years since I set foot on it. + But that’s not the question. What I want to know is this. Can you put me + ashore? I could do well if you land me at the Causeway. I’d make shift + with my bag if you put me out at Port Ballin-trae. I don’t want to be + going on to Glasgow just for the pleasure of coming back again.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll land you at the Black Rock under Run-kerry,” said Maurice, “if you + can pull an oar. The wind’s rising, and I’ve no mind to carry idle + passengers.” + </p> + <p> + “I can pull an oar,” said the stranger. + </p> + <p> + “I guess he can pull enough to break your back, young man,” said the + captain. “He’s an American citizen, and he’s been engaged in whipping your + British army. I guess an American citizen can lick a darned aristocrat at + pulling an oar same as he did at shooting off guns.” + </p> + <p> + “Shut your damned mouth,” said Maurice, suddenly angry, “or I’ll leave you + to land your passenger yourself and see how you like beating the bottom + out of your brig against our rocks. You’ll find an Irish rock harder than + your Yankee wood.” + </p> + <p> + The passenger fetched a small hand-bag and lowered it into the boat. Under + a shower of jibes from the captain, Maurice and Neal pushed off and + started for the row home against the wind. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II + </h2> + <p> + The passenger took his seat in the bow of the boat and stripped off his + coat in readiness to pull an oar. But no oar was offered to him. Maurice + St. Clair seemed to have entirely forgotten the stranger’s presence. The + remarks of the American captain had angered him, and his mind worked on + the insults hurled at him in parting. Neal was angry, too. They pulled + viciously at the oars. From time to time Maurice broke out fiercely— + </p> + <p> + “An unmannerly brute! I wish I had him somewhere off the deck of his brig. + I’d teach him how to speak to a gentleman. + </p> + <p> + “Is that his filthy tobacco at your feet, Brown-Eyes? Pitch it overboard. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose he’s a specimen of the Republican breed. That’s what comes of + liberty and equality and French Jacobinism and Tom Paine and the Rights of + Man. Damned insolence I call it.” + </p> + <p> + “I’d like to remind you, young man———.” The words came + with a quiet drawl from the passenger in the bow. + </p> + <p> + Maurice stopped rowing, and turned round. + </p> + <p> + “Well, what do you want to say? More insolence? Better be careful unless + you want to try what it feels like to swim ashore.” + </p> + <p> + “I’d like to remind you, young man, that Captain Hercules Getty, of the + State of Pennsylvania, who commands the brig ‘Saratoga,’ belongs to a + nation which has fought for liberty and won it.” + </p> + <p> + “What’s that got to do with his insolence?” + </p> + <p> + “I reckon that an Irishman who hasn’t fought and hasn’t won ought to sing + small when he’s dealing with a citizen of the United States of America.” + </p> + <p> + Neal turned in his seat. The stranger’s reproach struck him as being + unjust as well as being in bad taste. Maurice St. Clair was the son of a + man who had done something for Ireland. + </p> + <p> + “You don’t know who you’re talking to,” he said, “or what you’re talking + about. Lord Dunseveric, the father of the man in front of you, commanded + the North Antrim Volunteers, and did his part in winning the independence + of our Parliament.” + </p> + <p> + The stranger looked steadily at Neal for sometime. Then he said— + </p> + <p> + “Is your name Neal Ward?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. How do you know me?” + </p> + <p> + “You’re the son of Micah Ward, the Presbyterian minister?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I just guessed as much when I took a good look at your face. Will + you ask your father when you go home whether the Volunteers won liberty + for Irishmen, and what he thinks of the independence of an Irish + Parliament filled with placemen and the nominees of a corrupt + aristocracy?” + </p> + <p> + “Who are you?” asked Neal. + </p> + <p> + “My name’s Donald Ward. I’m your father’s youngest brother. I’m on my way + to your father’s house now, or I would be if you two young men would take + to your oars again. If you don’t I guess the first land we’ll touch will + be Greenland. We’d fetch Runkerry quicker if you’d pass forward the two + thole pins I see at your feet and let me get an oar out in the bow. The + young lady in the stern can keep us straight with the helm.” + </p> + <p> + “Give him the thole pins, Neal,” said Maurice, “and then pull away.” + </p> + <p> + “Just let me speak a word with you, Mr. St. Clair,” said Donald Ward, as + he hammered the thole pins into their holes. “You’re angry with Captain + Hercules Getty, and I don’t altogether blame you. The captain’s too fond + of brag, and that’s a fact. He can’t hold himself in when he meets a + Britisher. He’s so almighty proud of the whipping his people gave the + scum. But there’s no need for you to be angry with me. I’m an Irishman + myself, and not a Yankee. I fought in North Carolina, under General + Nathaniel Greene, but I fought with Irishmen beside me, men from County + Antrim and County Down, and they weren’t the worst men in the army either. + When I fight again it’ll be in Ireland, and not in America. If I riled you + I’m sorry for it, for you’re an Irishman as well as myself.” + </p> + <p> + Maurice’s anger was shortlived. + </p> + <p> + “That’s all right,” he said. “Here, I say, you needn’t pull that oar. Neal + and I will put you ashore. We’ll show that much hospitality to a County + Antrim man from over the sea.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said Donald Ward. “Thank you. You mean well, and I take your + words in the spirit you speak them; but when I sit in a boat I like to + pull my own weight in her.” + </p> + <p> + He shoved out his oar as he spoke, and fell into time with the long, + steady stroke which Neal set. + </p> + <p> + Una leaned forward and spoke in a low voice to Neal, timing her words so + that they reached him as he bent forward at the beginning of each stroke. + </p> + <p> + “Is’nt it curious, Neal, that Maurice and I are going back to welcome an + aunt whom we have never seen, and that you are taking an unknown uncle + home with you?” + </p> + <p> + Then, after a pause, she spoke again. + </p> + <p> + “It’s like a kind of fate, Neal, one of the things which happen to people, + and alter all their lives, and they can’t do anything to help themselves. + I wonder will we ever have good times together again, now that this aunt + of mine and this uncle of yours have come?” + </p> + <p> + “Why shouldn’t we?” said Neal. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don’t know. But your uncle seems to be one of the people who make a + great clatter about liberty and equality and the rights of man. And you + know Aunt Estelle belonged to the old aristocracy in France. They wanted + to guillotine her in the Terror. I don’t think she will love Republicans.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose not,” said Neal, gravely. + </p> + <p> + “But that won’t prevent our being friends, Neal?” + </p> + <p> + “Una, my father is always talking about the struggle that’s coming in + Ireland. I don’t know much about politics. I think I hate the whole thing. + But if there is trouble I suppose that I shall be on one side and you on + the other.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t look so sad, Neal.” + </p> + <p> + Then, as his spirits grew depressed, her’s seemed to rise buoyantly. She + raised her voice so that she could be heard in the bow of the boat. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Donald Ward! Mr. Donald Ward! Your nephew, Neal, is telling me that + when we have a reign of terror in Ireland you will make him cut off my + head. Please promise me you won’t.” + </p> + <p> + Donald rested on his oar and gazed at the girl as she sat smiling at him + in the stern of the boat. + </p> + <p> + “Young lady,” he said, “don’t trouble yourself. We didn’t hurt woman or + girl in America. No woman shall die a violent death in Ireland at the + hands of the people.” + </p> + <p> + “And no man, either?” cried Una. “Say it again, Mr. Donald Ward. Say ‘And + no man, either.’ Can’t we settle everything without killing men?” + </p> + <p> + “Men are different,” said Donald. “It’s right for men to die fighting, or + die on the scaffold if need be.” + </p> + <p> + A silence followed Donald Ward’s words. In 1798 talk of death in battle or + death on a scaffold moved even the youngest and most careless to serious + thought. The world was full then of the kind of ideas for which men are + well content to die, for the sake of which also they did not hesitate to + shed blood. The Americans had set mankind a headline to copy in their + Declaration of Independence. The French wrote Liberty with huge red + flourishes which set the heart of Europe beating high. Italians were + proclaiming a foreign army the liberators of their country, while Jacobins + growled fiercely against the Pope. Kosciusko, in Poland, organised a + futile revolution, and fell in the cause of national freedom. Even + phlegmatic Englishmen caught the spirit of the times, hated intensely or + worshipped enthusiastically that liberty which some saw as an imperial + goddess for the sake of whose bare limbs and pale, noble face death might + be gladly met; while others beheld in her a blood-spattered strumpet + whirling in abandoned dance round gallows-altars which reeked with human + sacrifice. + </p> + <p> + Ireland in those days was intellectually and spiritually alive. Men were + quick to feel the influence of world-wide ideas, and in Ireland the love + of liberty glowed brightly; nowhere more brightly than among the farmers + and lower middle classes of the north-eastern counties. The position was a + strange one. The landed gentry, who themselves, a few years before, + claimed and won from England the independence of their Parliament, grew + frightened and drew back from the path of reform on which alone lay + security for what they had got. The wealthier merchants and manufacturers, + satisfied with the trade freedom which brought them prosperity, were + averse to further change. The Presbyterians and the lower classes + generally were eager to press forward. They had conceived the idea of a + real Irish nation, of Gael and Gall united, of Churchman, Roman Catholic + and Dissenter working together for their country’s good under a free + constitution. But it soon became apparent that the reforms they demanded + would not be won by peaceful means. The natural terror of the classes + whose ascendancy or prosperity seemed to be threatened, the bribes and + cajoleries of British statesmen, turned the hearts of those who ought to + have been leaders from Ireland to England. The relentless logic, the + clear-sighted grasp of the inevitable trend of events, and the restless + energy of men like Wolfe Tone, changed a party of constitutional reformers + into a society of determined revolutionaries. Threats of repression were + answered by the formation of secret societies. Acts of tyranny, condoned + or approved by terror-stricken magistrates, were silently endured by men + filled with a grim hope that the day of reckoning was near at hand. + Far-seeing English statesmen hoped to fish out of the troubled waters an + act of national surrender from the Irish Parliament, and were not + ill-pleased to see the sky grow darker. Everyone else, every Irishman, + looked with dread at the gathering storm. One thing only was clear to + them. There was coming a period of horror, of outrage and burning, of + fighting and hanging, the sowing of an evil crop of fratricidal hatred + whose gathering would last for many years. + </p> + <p> + The boat reached the little bay under the Black Rock. There was no need to + drag her far up the beach now, for the tide was full. Working in silence, + the three men laid her beside the broad-bottomed cobble used for working + the salmon-net, and pushed her bow up against the coarse grass which + fringed the edge of the rocks. They carried the oars and sails into a + fisherman’s shelter perched on a rock beside the bay. Then Donald Ward + turned to Maurice and said— + </p> + <p> + “I am going to my brother’s house. I shall walk by the path along the + cliffs, and my nephew will go with me. Your way home, unless I have + entirely forgotten the roads, is not our way. We part here, therefore. I + bid you good night, and thank you heartily.” + </p> + <p> + “We had intended,” said Maurice, “to walk home with Neal. We have time + enough.” + </p> + <p> + His sister, quicker than he to take a hint, pulled him by the arm, and + whispered to him. Then she spoke aloud. + </p> + <p> + “Good night, Mr. Donald Ward. Good night, Neal. Perhaps we shall see you + to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + The uncle and nephew climbed the hill which led to the top of the cliffs + together. For a time neither of them spoke. The elder man seemed to be + absorbed in picking out the landmarks which had once been very familiar to + him. At last he spoke to Neal. + </p> + <p> + “Does your father wish you to have Lord Dun-severic’s son and daughter for + your friends?” + </p> + <p> + Neal hesitated for a moment, and then answered. + </p> + <p> + “He knows that they are my friends.” + </p> + <p> + “It would be better if they were not your friends. I have heard of Lord + Dunseveric, a strong man and an able man, a good friend of his own class, + not a good friend of the people.” + </p> + <p> + He paused. Neal wished to speak, to say some good of Lord Dunseveric; to + declare the strength of his friendship for Maurice. He could not speak as + he wished to speak. An unfamiliar feeling of oppression tied his tongue. + His uncle’s will dominated his. + </p> + <p> + “What is the girl’s name?” asked Donald. + </p> + <p> + “Una.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and what did her brother call her?” + </p> + <p> + “Brown-Eyes.” Neal felt as if the words were dragged from him. + </p> + <p> + “Are you the lover of this Una Brown-Eyes?” + </p> + <p> + Neal flushed. “You have no right to ask any such question,” he said, “and + I shall not answer it. I will just say this to you. Do you suppose that + Lord Dunseveric would accept me, a penniless man, the son of a + Presbyterian minister, a member of a Church he despises, and connected + with a party he hates—do you suppose he would accept me as a suitor + for his daughter’s hand?” + </p> + <p> + “You have answered my question, though you said you would not answer it. + You have told me that you love the girl. I have watched her smile at you, + and seen her eyes while she talked to you, and I can tell you something + more, something that perhaps you do not know—the girl loves you.” + </p> + <p> + Again Neal flushed. His uncle had put into words what he had never yet + dared to think. He loved Una. His uncle had assured him of something else, + something so glorious as to be incredible. Una loved him. Then he became + conscious that Donald Ward’s eyes were on him—cold, impassive, + unpitying; that Donald Ward was waiting till the throbs of joy and + excitement calmed in him, waiting to speak again. + </p> + <p> + “Put the thought of the girl from you. She is not for you, nor you for + her. Forget her. It will be better for you and for her. You shall have + work to do soon. Work is for men. Seeing babies in brown eyes is only for + boys.” + </p> + <p> + They left the path which skirted the tops of the cliffs, crossed a field + or two, and joined the road which led to Micah Ward’s manse. The sound of + the sea died away, though the smell of it and the feeling of its + neighbourhood were still with them. The savage grandeur of ocean and cliff + no longer oppressed their spirits. It seemed natural to talk of common + things and to leave high themes behind them in the lonely places they had + left. Donald Ward gazed with interest at the white-walled thatched + cottages on the roadside. He commented on the disappearance of some + homestead he remembered, or the building of a new one where none had been + before. It was evident that, in spite of his twenty-five years’ absence, + he cherished a clear and accurate recollection of the district he was + passing through. He inquired after the families who had lived in the + different houses, naming them. He learned how one or another had + disappeared, how old men were gone, and sons reigned in their stead. He + even supplied Neal with information now and then about some young man or + girl who had gone to America. + </p> + <p> + They arrived at the manse. Neal led his uncle through the yard, meaning to + enter as usual by the kitchen door. On the threshold the housekeeper met + him. + </p> + <p> + “Is that you, Master Neal? You’re queer and late. You’ve had a brave time + gadding with your fine friends and never thinking how you were leaving + your old father to eat his dinner his lone. And who’s this you have with + you? What sort of behaviour is this, to be coming here bringing a stranger + with you to a decent, quiet house, and he maybe——” + </p> + <p> + “Whisht, now, Hannah. Will you hold your whisht (tongue?)?” said Neal. + “It’s my uncle I have with me. You ought to be able to remember him.” + </p> + <p> + The old woman came forward to the place where Donald Ward stood, and + peered at his face. + </p> + <p> + “Aye, I mind you well, Donald Ward. I mind you well. You hadna’ just too + much of the grace of God about you when you went across the sea, and I’m + doubting by the looks of you now that you’ve done more fighting than + praying where you were.” + </p> + <p> + “Hannah Keady,” said Donald Ward. + </p> + <p> + “Hannah Macaulay,” said the housekeeper, “and forbye the old minister and + Master Neal here, they call me Mistress Macaulay that have any talk with + me. I’m married and widowed since you crossed the sea.” + </p> + <p> + “Mistress Hannah Macaulay,” said Donald, “you were a slip of a girl with a + sharp tongue when I mind you first, and a woman with a sharp tongue when I + said good-bye to you. You have lost your bonny looks and your shining red + hair; you’ve lost a husband, so you tell me, but you haven’t lost your + tongue.” + </p> + <p> + The old woman smiled. The compliment pleased her. + </p> + <p> + “Come in,” she said, “come in. The minister’ll be queer and glad to see + you. You know that fine. But have done with your old work. We’ve no more + call for Hearts of Oak boys, nor Hearts of Steel boys, nor for burning + ricks, nor firing guns.” + </p> + <p> + She led the way through the kitchen, up a narrow flight of stone stairs, + and opened the door of the room where the minister sat over his bodes. + </p> + <p> + “Here’s Master Neal home again,” she said, “and he’s brought your brother + Donald Ward along with him.” + </p> + <p> + Micah Ward rose to his feet and met his brother with outstretched hands. + </p> + <p> + “Is it you, Donald? Is it you, indeed? I’ve been thinking long for you + this many a time, my brother, and wearying for you. We want you, Donald, + we need you sore, sore indeed.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Micah,” said Donald, “you’ve grown into an old man.” + </p> + <p> + The contrast between the two brothers was striking, more striking than the + likeness of their faces, though that was obvious. Micah was stooped and + pallid. He walked feebly. His limbs were shrunken. His hair was thin and + white. Donald stood upright, a well-knit, vigorous man. The point of his + beard and the hair over his ears were touched with iron grey, but no one + looking at him would have doubted his energy and capacity for physical + endurance. + </p> + <p> + “Grey hairs are here and there upon us, and we know it not—Hosea, + 7th and 9th,” said the minister. “But there’s fifteen years atween us, + Donald. It makes a difference. Fifteen years age a man, but I’m supple and + hearty yet.” + </p> + <p> + “Will I cook the salmon for your supper?” said the housekeeper. “You’ll + not be contenting yourselves with the stirabout now that you have your + brother back again with you.” + </p> + <p> + “Cook the salmon, Hannah; plenty of it, and some of the ham and the eggs. + And, Neal, do you take the key of the cellar and get us a bottle of wine + and the whisky that old Maconchy brought in from Rathlin last summer. It’s + not often I take the like, Donald, but it is meet that we should make + merry and be glad.” + </p> + <p> + Mistress Hannah Macaulay was a competent cook and housekeeper. It is + noticeable that women with sharp tongues are generally more efficient than + their gentler sisters. Solomon, who knew a good many things, seems also to + have known this. He was of opinion that a peaceful dinner of herbs is + better than a stalled ox and contention therewith. He knew that he could + not have both. It is the shrew who succeeds in giving the males dependent + on her stalled oxen and such like dainties to eat. + </p> + <p> + The caressing wife and the sweet-tempered cook accomplish no more than + dinners of herbs, and generally even they are not particularly appetising. + The fact is, that the management of domestic affairs is the most trying of + all occupations. Cooking, washing, cleaning, and generally doing for men + in a house means continuous irritation and worry. A woman, however + sweet-natured originally, who is condemned to such work must either lose + her temper over it, in which case she may cook stalled oxen, but will + certainly serve them with sauce of contention, or she may give up the + struggle and preserve her gentleness. Then she will accomplish no more + than dinners of herbs, boiled cabbages, from which tepid water exudes, and + dishes of pallid turnips, supposed to be mashed but full of lumps. Solomon + preferred, or said he preferred, kisses and cauliflowers. On questions of + taste there is no use disputing. + </p> + <p> + Mistress Hannah Macaulay’s salmon steaks came to the table with an + appetising steam rising from their dish. Her slices of fried ham formed an + attractive nest for the white-skinned poached eggs. She had plates of + curly oatcake and powdery farles. She had yellow butter in saucers. She + brought the porridge to table in well-scoured wooden bowls with horn + spoons in them. + </p> + <p> + “The stirabout is good,” she said. “I thought you’d like to sup them + before you ate the meat.” + </p> + <p> + Neal poured the wine into an old cut-glass decanter, and set Maconchy’s + bottle of whisky, distilled, no doubt, by Maconchy himself among the + Rathlin Hills, beside his father’s plate. + </p> + <p> + Micah Ward said a long grace, in which he thanked the Almighty for the + fish, the ham, the eggs, the porridge, and his brother’s return from + America. As a kind of supplement, he added a prayer for the peace of his + household, in which Hannah Macaulay, appropriately enough under the + circumstances, was especially named. + </p> + <p> + After supper the two brothers drew their chairs to the fire. It was late + in May, but the air was still chilly in the evenings. Hannah took down + from the mantel-piece two well-polished brass candlesticks, fitted them + with tall dipt candles, and set them on the table she had cleared of + plates and dishes. Donald took a tobacco-box from his pocket, and filled a + pipe. + </p> + <p> + “Neal,” said his father, “you may go to your own room and complete the + transcription of the passages of Josephus which you left unfinished this + morning.” + </p> + <p> + “Let the lad stay,” said Donald. + </p> + <p> + “Neal knows nothing of the matters about which we must talk, brother, nor + do I think it well that he should know; not yet, at least.” + </p> + <p> + “Let the lad stay,” repeated Donald. “I’ve seen younger men than he is + doing good work. Neal ought to be working, too. We cannot do anything + without the young men.” + </p> + <p> + Micah Ward yielded to his brother. + </p> + <p> + “Draw your chair to the fire, Neal,” he said. “You may stay and listen to + us.” + </p> + <p> + At first the talk was of old days. An hour went by. Donald filled his pipe + more than once, and finished his tumbler of punch. Story followed story of + the doings of the Hearts of Steel and Hearts of Oak. Donald, as a boy, had + taken his part—and that a daring part—in the fierce struggle + by which the northern tenant-farmers gained fuller security and a chance + of prospering a whole century before their brethren in the south and west, + with the aid of the English Parliament, won the same privileges. Then + Donald, speaking oftener and smoking less, told of his own share in the + American War of Independence. Neal, listening, was thrilled with the + stories of unequal battles between citizen soldiers and trained troops. He + glowed with excitement as he came to understand the indomitable courage + which faced reverse after reverse and snatched complete victory in the + end. Donald dwelt much on the part which Irishmen had taken in the + struggle, especially on the work of Ulster men, Antrim men, men of the + hard northern breed, of the Presbyterian faith. + </p> + <p> + “There’s no breaking our people, Micah; men of iron, men of steel.” + </p> + <p> + “Shall iron break the northern iron, and the steel?” quoted Micah Ward, + and then, with that wonderful Puritan accuracy of reference to the Bible, + gave chapter and verse for the words—Jeremiah the 15th and 12th. + </p> + <p> + “And the spirit’s not dead in you at home, is it, Micah? The breed is pure + still.” + </p> + <p> + It was Micah’s turn to speak. Neal sat in astonishment while his father + told of the wrongs which the northern Presbyterians and the southern Roman + Catholics suffered. Never before had he heard his father speak with such + passion and fierceness. There was a pause at last, and Donald rose to his + feet. He re-filled his glass from the punch-bowl, raised it aloft, and + said:— + </p> + <p> + “I give you a toast. Fill your glass, brother. No, that will not do. Fill + it full, and fill a glass for Neal. Stand now. I will have this toast + drunk standing. ‘Here’s to America and here’s to France, the pioneers of + human liberty, and may Ireland soon be as they are now!’” + </p> + <p> + “Amen,” said Mica h Ward solemnly. + </p> + <p> + “Drink, Neal, drink. Drain your glass, boy. I will have it,” said Donald. + </p> + <p> + “The northern iron, the northern iron, and the steel,” muttered Micah. + </p> + <p> + Then the brothers drew their chairs closer together, and Micah, speaking + low, as if he dreaded the presence of some unseen listener, began to tell + of the plans of the United Irishmen. He mentioned the names of one leader + and another; told how the Government, vigilant and alert, had already + struck at the organisation; of the general dread of spies and informers. + He entered into details; told how the cannon, once given by the Government + to the Volunteers, were hidden in one place, how muskets were stored in + another, how the smiths in every village were fashioning pike heads, how + many men in each locality were sworn, how every male inhabitant of Rathlin + Island had taken the oath. Donald interrupted him now and then with sharp + questions. The talk went on and on. The tones of the speakers grew lower + still. Neal lost much of what was said. His interest slackened. His eyes + closed at last, and he fell fast asleep. + </p> + <p> + It was late, close on midnight, when his uncle shook him into + consciousness again. The candles were burned down. The fire was out. The + atmosphere of the room was heavy with tobacco smoke. The punch-bowl was + empty, and the two bottles, empty also, stood beside it. It seemed to Neal + that his uncle spoke thickly in bidding him good night, and walked + unsteadily across the room. But Micah Ward’s voice was clear and his steps + were firm. Only, as Neal thought, his eyes shone more brightly than usual, + and he held himself upright. The stoop was gone from his shoulders, and + the peering, peaked look from his eyes. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III + </h2> + <p> + The Lords of Dunseveric once lived in a castle perched on the edge of a + cliff, a place inferior to the neighbouring Dunluce as a stronghold, but + equally uncomfortable as a residence. The walls were thick, the rooms + little larger than prison cells, and the windows very small and narrow, + but they were wide enough to let the wind whistle through them and the + rain trickle over their sills to the stone floors inside. The doctor of a + modern sanatorium for consumptive people would have been well satisfied + with the ventilation of Dunseveric Castle. On stormy days in winter it + must have been most unsafe to venture out of doors. The worst winds, + fortunately, always blow inwards from the sea, but there are eddies round + buildings, and with precipices on three sides of him, the ancient lord of + Dunseveric had need to walk cautiously and provide himself, when possible, + with something to hold on to. Some time at the end of the seventeenth + century the reigning lord, giving up in despair the attempt to render + habitable a home more suited to a seagull than a nobleman, being also less + in dread than his ancestors of sea pirates and land marauders, determined + to build himself a house in which he could live comfortably. He selected a + site about a mile inland from the original castle, and laid the + foundations of Dunseveric House. Then, despairing perhaps of living to + complete his architect’s grandiose plans, he gave up the idea of building + and hired a house near Dublin. During the early part of the eighteenth + century he interested himself in Irish politics, and succeeded, as + influential politicians did in those days, in providing comfortably for + outlying members of his family from the public purse. His son, when it + came to his turn to reign, ignored the foundations which his father had + laid, and erected a mansion such as Irish gentlemen delighted in at the + time—a Square block of grey masonry with small windows to light + large rooms, a huge basement storey, and an impressive flight of stone + steps leading up to the front door. He also enclosed several acres of land + with a stone wall, called the space a garden and planted it with some + fruit trees which did not flourish. + </p> + <p> + His son, the Lord Dunseveric of 1798, having little left him to do in the + way of building, devoted his early years to planting and laying out + pleasure grounds round the new house. His wife, a French woman of Irish + extraction, brought a cultivated taste to his aid. No doubt her ideas and + her husband’s energy would in the end have created a beautiful and + satisfying demesne round Dunseveric House if it had not been for the north + wind and the sea spray. These were hard enemies for a landscape gardener + to fight, and when Lady Dunseveric died her husband gave up the struggle, + having nothing better to show for his time and money than some fringes of + dejected-looking alders and a few groves of stunted Scotch firs. He even + neglected the glass houses which his wife had built. Irish politics became + extremely interesting just after Lady Dunseveric died, and an Irish + gentleman might well be forgiven for neglecting the culture of his demesne + when his time was occupied with drilling Volunteers, passing Grand Jury + resolutions in support of the use of Irish manufactured goods, and + subsequently preparing schemes for the internal development of Ireland. + </p> + <p> + Thus Dunseveric House was by no means an attractive place to Estelle, + Comtesse de Tour-neville, when she first visited it. Accustomed to the + scenery round her dead husband’s château in the valley of the Loire, and + attached to the life of the French Court, the appearance of Dunseveric + House struck her as utterly dismal. She had every reason beforehand to + suppose that it would be dismal, and was quite convinced that it would not + suit her as a place of residence. Forced to flee from France in 1793, she + put off taking refuge in her brother-in-law’s house as long as possible, + and only arrived there after spending three years among hospitable friends + in England. + </p> + <p> + “The poor Marie, my poor sister,” she said, when Lord Dunseveric, at the + end of the long drive from Ballymoney, turned the horses up the bare + avenue. + </p> + <p> + To her maid, in the privacy of her bedroom, she opened her grief more + fully. + </p> + <p> + “I remember very well when my sister married, though I was but a little + girl at the time, eight or perhaps nine years old. I remember that all the + world talked of her handsome Irish husband. He was a fine man then. He is + a fine man still, and has the grand manner. Oh, yes, he is very well. And + my nephew. He is well made, big and strong like all the men of his race + and blood. But he has no manner—none. If only my sister had lived + she might have formed him. But—poor Marie!” + </p> + <p> + She sighed. The maid hazarded a suggestion that Lady Dunseveric had found + life <i>triste</i>, too <i>triste</i> to be endurable. + </p> + <p> + “You are right,” said the Comtesse, “she must have died of sheer dulness. + She had two children. That was occupation for a while, no doubt. But, <i>mon + dieu</i>, a lady cannot go on having children every year like a woman of + the <i>bourgeoisie</i>. It would be too tedious. She died. She was right. + And now I am here in her place. I am here with my lord, who has good + manners but does not care about me, wishes me anywhere but in his house; a + nephew who has no manners and a great deal of stupidity, and a niece who + is much too old to be my niece, and who is too like me in face and figure + for us to get on well together. Otherwise, truly, she is not like me. She + is content to spend all day in a boat on the sea catching fish. Conceive + it yourself, Susanne, she was catching fish, and her companion was the son + of the <i>curé</i>, a man of some altogether impossible Protestant sect.” + </p> + <p> + But the Comtesse had the good manners or the good sense not to grumble + about her surroundings to anyone except her maid. She so far understood + the philosophy of a happy life as to know that pleasure awaits those only + who succeed in making themselves pleasant. + </p> + <p> + She came down the morning after she arrived in time for breakfast, + although the English breakfast was a meal she had learned to detest, and + the North of Ireland families have made an even more serious business of + it. She expressed a delight which she cannot be supposed to have felt at + the sight of salmon, fried, cold, kippered; ham, eggs, fowl, farles of + home-made bread, oat-cake, honey, jam, butter. To the secret amusement of + Lord Dun-severic she even accepted a bowl of porridge which her nephew + offered her, and then, to the astonishment of Maurice, asked if she might + eat honey with it. She was delightfully optimistic about the prospects of + amusement for the day. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going to take me, Una? There are so many things that I want + to see. I recall the letters which Marie, your mother, used to write to me + about wonderful cliffs and gloomy caves and white rocks and long strands. + Of course you have all the business of the house to attend to. I quite + understand. I will wait. But afterwards, where will you take me?” + </p> + <p> + Una glanced out of the window. The south wind of the day before had + brought, as south winds usually do in County Antrim, abundant rain. + Maurice, appealed to, gave it as his opinion that there was no chance of + the weather improving until three o’clock, and that there wasn’t much + chance of sunshine even then. + </p> + <p> + “But, at least,” said the Comtesse, “I shall be able to see your old + castle? I have heard so much about the castle. Could we not even go + there?” + </p> + <p> + “We might,” said Una dubiously, “but you will have to walk across two + fields, and the grass is long at this time of year. I don’t mind getting + wet, of course, but you——” + </p> + <p> + “I think, Estelle,” said Lord Dunseveric, “that you had better give up the + idea of any expedition out of doors. Una will have a good fire lighted for + you in the morning-room, and you must make yourself as comfortable as you + can.” + </p> + <p> + When breakfast was over, Lord Dunseveric himself conducted his sister to + the morning-room. He selected a chair for her. He placed a small table + beside her. He stirred the fire into a fair blaze. He even fetched some + books for her from the library. But the Comtesse was not content. + </p> + <p> + “Please sit down,” she said, “and talk with me.” + </p> + <p> + The prospect of a long morning spent sitting on a chair talking to a woman + was not one which pleased Lord Dunseveric very greatly, but his manners + were, as his sister-in-law had observed, excellent. He had letters to + write and an important communication from the general in command of the + troops in Belfast to consider. But he sat down beside his sister-in-law as + if he were really pleased at having the chance of a long chat with her, as + if she did him a favour in granting him the privilege of keeping her + company. + </p> + <p> + “What shall we talk about?” she said. “About dear Marie? About old times? + That would be too sad. About Maurice and Una? What is Maurice to do? Have + you obtained for him—how do you say it?—a commission in the + army? There is nothing better for a young man than to spend a short time + in the army. He sees the world. He learns manners and how to bear himself + and speak to a woman. And Una? We must have Una presented at Court. Will + you take her to Dublin this year? I think that you ought to. It is not + good for a girl to grow up all alone here.” + </p> + <p> + “I fear it will hardly be possible for me to go to Dublin either this year + or next.” + </p> + <p> + “But why? Surely you would be well received? Or is it not so? I suppose + that you are one of the <i>grands seigneurs</i> of Ireland, one of the + leaders of your aristocracy. Besides, <i>mon frère</i>, your appearance, + your manner——. There cannot be many of your Irish gentry——.” + </p> + <p> + She paused and smiled on him most pleasantly. Lord Dunseveric was + sufficiently a man of the world to understand that this pretty lady was + flattering him. He even thought that she was not doing it very well, that + her methods were too obvious to be really artistic. Nevertheless, he liked + it. We most of us enjoy being flattered very much, especially by pretty + women, though we take a great deal of trouble to persuade ourselves that + we despise the flatterer and her ways. The Comtesse would have said + similar things to any man whom she wanted to please, and Lord Dunseveric + was quite aware of the fact. Still he was pleased. It was a long time + since a woman in a pretty dress, a woman who knew how to assume a graceful + attitude, had taken the trouble to flatter him. He smiled response to her + smile. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve no doubt that I should be, as you put it, well received. I’m not + afraid that His Excellency would show me the cold shoulder, but the + present condition of the country is critical. I think it my duty to stay + at home. I am afraid that we are on the brink of an attempt at + revolution.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mon dieu!</i> And have you Jacobins, too? I thought there were no such + things in Ireland. Tell me about your Jacobins.” + </p> + <p> + Again Lord Dunseveric was conscious that the Comtesse was trying to please + him, was displaying an interest, which did not seem wholly natural, in a + subject on which he would like to talk. + </p> + <p> + “I’m afraid, Estelle, that an account of our Irish politics would weary + you. Politics are dull. You would send me away if I talked about + politics.” + </p> + <p> + “I assure you, no,” she said. “In France we found politics most exciting. + The poor Comte, my husband, found them altogether too exciting. Do tell me + about your Irish Jacobins. Are they also <i>sans-culottes?</i>” + </p> + <p> + “They are mostly Presbyterians, dour, pigheaded, fanatical Republicans, + who want to get an army of your French friends over to help them.” + </p> + <p> + “Presbyterians! How droll! I thought Presbyterians were——But + is not Maurice’s friend, the young man who goes out fishing in the sea + with Una, is not he a Presbyterian? I think they said last night that he + was the son of a <i>curé</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he is. His father has the reputation of being one of the most + fanatical of the whole lot. But the young fellow is all right, so far as I + know.” + </p> + <p> + The Comtesse was silent for a minute or two. She appeared to be + considering Lord Dunseveric’s last remark. When she spoke again it was + evident that her thoughts had wandered from Neal Ward’s politics to + another subject. + </p> + <p> + “Is it right, do you think, that this young man should be so intimate with + Una? She is a very attractive girl, and at a very dangerous age.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, they’ve played together since they were children. Young Ward is a + nice boy and a good sportsman.” + </p> + <p> + “Still, he would not be suitable. Am I right?” + </p> + <p> + “If you mean that he wouldn’t do as a husband for Una, you are right, but + I don’t think for a moment that any such nonsensical idea ever crossed + their minds. I like Neal. He’s a fine, straightforward boy, and a good + sportsman.” + </p> + <p> + “I should like to see this model young man. Perhaps you English—pardon + me, my dear brother, you Irish—are differently made; but with us the + nicer a young man is the more dangerous we reckon him.” + </p> + <p> + “There’s no difficulty about your meeting him. I’ll ask him to dinner + to-day if you like. I’m sure Maurice will be pleased to ride over with the + invitation.” + </p> + <p> + “Charming,” said the Comtesse. “Then I shall judge for myself.” + </p> + <p> + Neal Ward accepted the invitation when he received it. Perhaps he would + not have been able to do so had he been obliged to submit it to his father + and his uncle; but they had gone out together early in the day. Neal + understood that his uncle was to be introduced to several people of + importance, members of his father’s congregation, men who were deeply + involved in the plans of the United Irishmen. He was left alone with a + task to perform. He was not now transcribing passages from Josephus. His + uncle had decided that he was to be trusted, and, as a proof of + confidence, he was set to compile from various papers a list of those in + the neighbourhood who could be relied on to take up arms when the day of + the contemplated outbreak arrived. The work interested Neal greatly. He + knew most of the men whose names he copied. Some of them he knew + intimately. Now and then he was surprised to find that some well-to-do and + apparently well contented farmer was a member of the society. Once he + paused and hesitated about going on with his work. He came to a statement + of the fact that one, James Finlay, had been enrolled as a United Irishman + and admitted to the councils of the local committee. Neal knew James + Finlay, and disliked him. Once he had caught him at night in the act of + netting salmon in the river. Neal had threatened to hand him over to Lord + Dunseveric. The poacher blustered, threatened, and even attempted an + attack upon Neal. He got the worst of the encounter, and after vague + threats of future vengeance, relapsed into whining supplication. Neal + spared him, considering that the man had been well thrashed, and having + the dislike, common to all generous-minded Irishmen, of bringing to + justice a delinquent of any kind. But he disliked and distrusted James + Finlay, and he did not understand how his father and the others came to + trust such a man. He wrote the name, reflecting that Finlay had left the + neighbourhood some weeks before in order to seek employment in Belfast. + Shortly afterwards he completed his task. Maurice St. Clair arrived with + Lord Dunseveric’s invitation. Neal locked up his papers, changed his + clothes, and went through the rain to Dunseveric House. He was not + comfortable or easy in his mind. Yesterday it was natural and pleasant to + spend the day with Maurice and Una. To-day he knew things of which he had + been entirely ignorant before. He knew that he himself was committed to a + share in a desperate struggle, in what might well become a civil war, and + that he would be fighting against Lord Dunseveric and against his friend + Maurice. It did not seem to him to be a fair and honourable thing to eat + the bread of unsuspecting enemies. Twice, as he tramped through the rain + to Dunseveric House, he stopped and almost decided to turn back. Twice he + succeeded in silencing his scruples and quieting the complaints of his + conscience. Each time it was the thought of Una which decided him. There + was in him a hunger to see the girl, to be near her, to touch her hand, to + hear her voice. Since his uncle had spoken to him about her on the evening + of his arrival Neal had become acutely and painfully conscious of his love + for her. Long ago he had loved her. Looking back he thought that he had + always loved her. Now he knew that he loved her. That made a great + difference. + </p> + <p> + He was welcomed when he arrived by Lord Dun-severic with friendly courtesy—by + Una shyly. Her manner was not as it had been the day before. The frank + friendliness was gone. There was something else in its place, something + which thrilled Neal with hope and fear. Perhaps the girl felt + instinctively the change in Neal. Perhaps she was conscious of her aunt’s + keen laughing eyes. Who can tell how a girl first becomes conscious of the + fact that a young man loves her? The Comtesse also welcomed Neal. She set + herself to please and flatter him. At dinner she talked brightly and + amusingly. It seemed to Neal that she talked brilliantly. She told stories + of the old French life. She related her recent experiences of English + society. She rallied Lord Dunseveric on his grave dignity of manner. She + drew laughter again and again from Una and Maurice. But she addressed + herself most to Neal. He was intoxicated with her vivacity, the swift + gleams of her wit, her delicate beauty, her exquisite dress. He had never + seen, never even imagined, the existence of such a woman. Lord Dunseveric + watched her and listened to her with quiet amusement. It seemed to him + that his sister-in-law meant not only to rescue Una from an undesirable + lover, but to attach a handsome, gauche youth to herself. He understood + that a woman like Estelle de Tourneville might find the attentions of Neal + Ward vastly diverting in a place like Dunseveric, where nothing better in + the way of a flirtation was to be looked for. + </p> + <p> + The wine and fruit were placed on the table and the servants withdrew. The + Comtesse, with her wine-glass in her hand, stood up. + </p> + <p> + “It is not at all the fashion,” she said, “for a lady to make a speech. I + shall shock you, my lord, but you will forgive me, for you know the world. + I shall shock my sweet Una, but she will forgive me because her heart has + no room in it for unkind thoughts of anyone. I shall shock my nephew and + the solemn Mr. Neal Ward, and they will not forgive me because they are + young and, therefore, have very strict ideas of how a woman ought to + behave herself. Nevertheless, I am going to make a speech and propose a + toast. I am Irish. Long ago my fathers lived in Ireland and were <i>grands + seigneurs</i> as my good brother, Lord Dunseveric, is to-day. They left + Ireland for the sake of their faith and their king. They went to France; + but I am not, therefore, French. I am Irish. Now that the French people + have turned against us, have even wished to cut off my head, which I think + is much more ornamental on my shoulders than it would be anywhere else—now + I have returned to Ireland, I ask you all to drink my toast with me. I + propose—‘Ireland.’ I, who am loyal to the old faith and the memory + of the legitimate king, I will drink it. My lord, who is of another faith + and loyal to another king, will drink it also. Mr. Neal, who has a third + kind of faith, and is, I understand, not loyal to any king, will, no + doubt, drink it. My friends—‘Ireland.’!” + </p> + <p> + She raised her glass to her lips and sipped the wine. All the four + listeners stood and raised their glasses. + </p> + <p> + “‘Ireland,’” said Lord Dunseveric gravely. “I drink to Ireland.” + </p> + <p> + Then, with the glass at his lips, he paused. There was a noise of horse + hoofs on the gravel outside. A horseman, in military uniform, cantered by. + He was followed by another, a trooper. The little company in the + diningroom stood still and silent. The bell at the door of the house was + rung violently. Its sound reached them. A vague uneasiness came upon them. + One by one they sat down and laid their glasses—the wine untasted—on + the table before them. A servant entered the room. + </p> + <p> + “Captain Twinely, my lord, of the Killulta Company of Yeomanry, wishes to + see your lordship on important business.” + </p> + <p> + “Ask him to come in here,” said Lord Dunseveric. + </p> + <p> + Una rose as if to leave the room. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Lord Dunseveric, “stay where you are, and do you stay, too, + Estelle. This Captain Twinely must drink a glass of wine with us. He + passes for a gentleman. Then if he has business with me I shall take him + away. I must not break up our little party. It is not every day that we + have the pleasure of listening to such charming speeches as your’s, + Estelle.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Twinely entered the room with a swagger. He made a great noise + with his heavy boots and with his spurs as he crossed the polished floor. + </p> + <p> + “I ask your pardon, my lord. I ask the ladies’ pardon. I am not fit for + your company. I have ridden far today, and the roads are bad, damned bad. + I rode on the king’s business.” + </p> + <p> + “The ladies,” said Lord Dunseveric, “will be pleased if you will drink a + glass of wine with them. Are you alone?” + </p> + <p> + “I left my troop in Ballintoy. The sergeant will see that they obtain + refreshment. My servant holds my horse outside.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall send him some refreshment,” said Lord Dunseveric. “And your + horses must be stabled here till you have told me how I can serve you.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Twinely drank his wine, bowed to the ladies, and then said— + </p> + <p> + “I come at an inconvenient hour, my lord. You have just dined and you have + pleasant company, but I must crave your attention for a letter which I + bring you. The king’s business, my lord.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Dunseveric rose, and led the way to the library. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t doubt,” said Captain Twinely, “no one could be such a fool as to + doubt the loyalty of every member of your lordship’s household and of + every guest in your lordship’s house; but in deliver-ing my letter and my + message I prefer to be where there is no chance of eavesdropping. Will you + allow me to make sure that we are not overheard?” + </p> + <p> + Lord Dunseveric himself shut the door of the room and drew a bolt across + it. Captain Twinely took a sealed packet from his breast. Lord Dunseveric + looked carefully at the address, broke the seal, and read the contents of + the paper within. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know the contents of this paper, Captain Twinely?” + </p> + <p> + “My orders are to solicit your lordship’s assistance, as a Justice of the + Peace for the county, in arresting certain persons and taking possession + of some arms concealed in the neighbourhood. I do not know the names of + the persons or the place where the arms are concealed. I have not been + treated with confidence. I’m a loyal man, but I’m only a plain gentleman. + I may say that I feel aggrieved. I deserved more confidence.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Dunseveric read the letter again before he answered. + </p> + <p> + “I am directed here to arrest, with your assistance, five persons. All of + them are men who are well known and respected in this neighbourhood. I + know nothing of the evidence against them, beyond the mere fact, stated + here, that from information received they are believed to be engaged in a + plot for an armed rebellion. Captain Twinely, I have not a very high + opinion of the men from whom the Government receives information, and I + have reason to believe that the information is not always trustworthy. + There have been recently—— but I need not go into that. I am a + loyal man. I am willing to assist the Government in any way in my power, + but my loyalty has limits. Two of the persons named in this letter I shall + not arrest. One of them I believe to be innocent of all designs against + the Government; the other is a very feeble old man, who will not in any + case be dangerous as a rebel, and whom I have private reasons for not + wishing to arrest. I am willing to go with you to the houses of the other + three and arrest them. As for the concealed arms—cannon it is stated + here—I do not believe they exist, but I shall take you to the place + named, and let you see for yourself. Will this satisfy you?” + </p> + <p> + “Your lordship has to consider whether it will satisfy my commanding + officer. I should have thought it better, more advisable, more prudent, + for your lordship to obey the orders you have received exactly.” + </p> + <p> + The man’s words were perfectly civil, but his manner and tone suggested a + threat. Lord Dun-severic stiffened suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “I shall consider your commanding officer,” he said, “when I am shown that + he has any right to command me.” + </p> + <p> + “Your loyalty——,” began Captain Twinely. + </p> + <p> + “My loyalty to the king and the Irish constitution is not to be suspected + or impugned by Mr. Twinely, of Killulta.” + </p> + <p> + “My lord, I consider that an unhandsome speech. I am only a plain + gentleman, but I am loyal. We county gentlemen ought to stand together. I + expected more consideration from you, my lord. I do not like your sneering + tone. By God, if it were not that I am on the king’s busi—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, if you were not on the king’s business——” + </p> + <p> + But Captain Twinely did not finish his speech. + </p> + <p> + “I shall have some refreshment brought in here to you, Captain Twinely,” + said Lord Dunseveric. “I shall, with your permission, order a servant to + ride to Ballintoy and bring your troop here. When they arrive I shall be + ready to go with you. In the meanwhile, I beg you to excuse my leaving + you. I have some private matters to arrange before we start.” + </p> + <p> + He walked to the door, drew back the bolt, bowed, and left the room. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV + </h2> + <p> + Lord Dunseveric returned to the dining-room. He found the Comtesse seated + on a chair which had been placed on the table to give dignity to her + position. On the floor, beneath this lofty throne, knelt Neal Ward, his + hands tied behind him with a dinner napkin. Maurice, with a carving-knife + in his hand, stood on guard over the prisoner. Una, her eyes shining with + laughter, was making a speech. + </p> + <p> + “Please, don’t interrupt,” said the Comtesse, “we are holding a + courtmartial on Mr. Neal. Una is acting as prosecutor; I am the judge. In + a few minutes, when I have delivered my sentence, Maurice will flog the + prisoner, and afterwards hang him with one of the bell ropes.” + </p> + <p> + “I want to speak to you, Neal,” said Lord Dunseveric, gravely. + </p> + <p> + Neal pulled his hands from their bandage, and rose, blinking and + uncomfortable, to his feet. + </p> + <p> + “How solemn you are!” said the Comtesse. “What has that very boorish + Captain Twinely been telling you? Has a rebellion broken out? Is there + going to be a battle? Have they come to arrest Mr. Neal in real earnest? I + believe they have. Never mind, Mr. Neal, we will organise a rescue party. + They are not real soldiers, you know—only—-only—what do + you call them?—ah, yes, yeomen. We will fall upon these yeomen after + dark and carry you off to safety.” + </p> + <p> + “Maurice,” said Lord Dunseveric, “have two horses saddled, and get on your + boots. I shall want you to ride along with me. Come, Neal.” + </p> + <p> + The three men left the room. + </p> + <p> + “Una,” said the Comtesse, “come quick and change your dress. We will go + and see what is happening. Oh, this is most exciting, and the day has been + so dull and long. Come, Una, come; we will not let anyone see us. We will + take the most delightful short cuts. We will lie hidden in ditches while + they pass. We must see everything. Come, come, come.” + </p> + <p> + “But—my father——” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you dear dutiful child! Just for once don’t mind about your father. I + am sure something thrilling is going to happen. Haven’t you a duty of + obedience towards your aunt? I cannot go without you, for I should + certainly lose my way.” + </p> + <p> + The arrival of Captain Twinely, Lord Dun-severic’s grave face, and his + summons to Neal had filled Una’s mind with an undefined dread of some + threatening evil. She was nearly as anxious as her aunt to know what was + to happen. The prospect of a scamper across country through the rain + daunted her very little. She had no doubt of her ability to keep in touch + with the horsemen without being discovered. They would keep to the high + road. To her every short cut was known, every hill for observation, and + every possible hiding-place were as familiar to her as the lawn of + Dunseveric House. + </p> + <p> + Lord Dunseveric led the way to his own dressing-room, beckoning Neal to + follow him. + </p> + <p> + “Sit down, Neal,” he said, “and listen. I must talk while I boot and + change my coat. This Twinely, who takes rank as a captain of yeomen, and + has, as I suppose, a following of blackguards, brings me orders which I + cannot disobey—at least which I mean to disobey in only one + particular. I am bidden to search your father’s meeting-house for cannon + supposed to be concealed there. I am going to search, and search + thoroughly. Your answer will make no difference to my action; but I should + like you to tell me, are the cannon there?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not believe there are any cannon,” said Neal; “I never heard of + them, or had any reason to suspect their existence.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Dunseveric watched him keenly as he replied. Then he said— + </p> + <p> + “I believe what you say, of course. If there are cannon there you know + nothing of it. Now, another question. I am to arrest several persons whose + names have been sent to me; your name stands second on the list. Are you a + United Irishman? Have you sworn the oath?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Neal, without hesitation. “I have not sworn. I have not been + enrolled as one of the society.” + </p> + <p> + “I may take it that the Government has acted on false information in + ordering your arrest?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. The man who gave that information certainly lied. I knew nothing of + the plans of the United Irishmen yesterday, but it is right that I should + tell you——” + </p> + <p> + “It is not right that you should tell me anything more. You have answered + my two questions. I have your word for it that you are not a United + Irishman, and I have your word that the information received by the + Government is false. I want to hear no more on that subject. I shall take + the responsibility of refusing to arrest you. I am also bidden to arrest + your father. I ask you no questions about him. I simply inform you that I + am not going to arrest him either. I do not believe in his innocence. I + think it likely that he is implicated in the conspiracy, but I am not + going to arrest him. He is too old to fight, and when the other three men + on my list are in prison he will have ceased to be dangerous. Further, + your father, in his writings, has attacked, and, in my opinion, slandered + me personally.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean in the <i>Northern Star?</i>” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. In the series of articles called ‘<i>Letters of a Democrat,</i>’ + which are attributed, I think rightly, to your father.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Dunseveric paused. Neal remained silent. He had not read the + articles, but he believed his father had attacked the landlord aristocracy + with great bitterness, and he thought it likely that Lord Dunseveric had + cause for complaint. + </p> + <p> + “I do not choose,” said Lord Dunseveric, “to take part in the arrest of a + man who may be regarded as my personal enemy. You may tell your father + this, and you may tell him further that if he is a wise man he will leave + the country at once. The next magistrate charged with his arrest may not + have my scruples or my reasons for hesitating. Now, listen to me, Neal, + before I leave you, and mark what I say. I admit, and I always have + admitted, the justice of the claims which your people make. There ought to + be equality, full and complete, for you and the Catholics. There ought to + be an end to the tyranny under which you suffer, but you are going the + wrong way about getting your wrongs righted. Your rebellion, if there is + to be a rebellion, can’t succeed. You will be crushed. And Neal, lad, that + crushing will be an evil business. It will be evil for you and your + friends, but that’s not all. It will be made an excuse for taking away the + hard won liberty of Ireland. Keep out of it, Neal. Take my advice, and + keep out of it, for your own sake and for Ireland’s.” + </p> + <p> + He took the young man’s hand, wrung it, and then turned and left the room. + Neal stood for a while dazed and bewildered. He had known before that his + father was a supporter of the United Irishmen. He had guessed, though + until that morning he had not actually known, how deeply he was versed in + the secrets of the society. He had never imagined that the doings and + sayings of an obscure Presbyterian minister were being watched and noted + by Government spies. He found it hard to realise that the eyes of remote + authorities, of secretaries of state, of generals of armies, were fixed on + the wind-swept, desolate, northern parish, on the gaunt, grey manse he + called his home. Yet the evidence of this incredible surveillance was + plain and unmistakable. Men of his father’s congregation, men whom he + supposed he knew personally, were to be seized and marched off, to be + flogged perhaps as others had been, to be imprisoned certainly, to be + hanged very likely, in the end. His father was a marked man, with the + choice before him of exile or imprisonment, perhaps death. He himself was + suspected, had been informed against, lied about, by someone. His mind + flew back to the list of names he had copied out that morning, to the one + name which had arrested his attention especially. He remembered that James + Finlay owed him a grudge, desired revenge; he felt sure that James Finlay + was the informer. Others might have betrayed the secrets of the society. + James Finlay alone, so far as he could recollect, had any motive for + incriminating him, an entirely innocent man. + </p> + <p> + He was roused from his thoughts by the sound of horses trampling on the + gravel sweep outside. The yeomen, summoned from Ballintoy, had arrived at + Dunseveric House. They were laughing, talking, and singing as they rode, a + disorderly mob of horsemen rather than a troop of soldiers. After a few + minutes they rode past the window again. Captain Twinely was at their + head. Ten or twelve yards in front of him, as if disdainful of his + company, rode Lord Dunseveric and Maurice. + </p> + <p> + They were wrapped in long horsemen’s cloaks, for the rain beat down on + them. The wind was rising, and blew in strong gusts. The sun had set and + the evening was beginning to darken. Neal ran down to the hall, seized his + coat and stick, and went out. The horsemen moved along the avenue at a + steady trot. Neal saw them turn to the right and go along the road which + led to the manse and the meeting-house. He started to run across the + fields. He hoped to reach the manse and warn his father before the + soldiers arrived at the meeting-house. He ran fast, choosing the shortest + and easiest way, avoiding boggy patches of ground which would have checked + his progress. After a while, from a point of vantage, he was able to catch + a glimpse of the road. He noted that he was level with the yeomen, and he + knew that from the point where he saw them the road took a wide curve + inland. He calculated that by running fast he would be able to cross it in + front of the troop, and by keeping along the cliffs would be able to reach + the manse before the soldiers did. He sped forward. Suddenly, as he + descended the hill to the road, he became aware of two figures crouching + behind the bank which divided the road from the field. He was dimly aware + that they were women. He did not look carefully at them. His eyes were + fixed on the horsemen against whom he was racing. He gained the edge of + the field and sprang upon the bank. He heard his name called softly. + </p> + <p> + “Neal, Neal, Neal Ward.” + </p> + <p> + Then somewhat louder by another voice. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Neal, come and help us.” + </p> + <p> + He recognised Una’s voice and then that of the Comtesse. He had no time to + think what they wanted or how they came to be crouching in a damp ditch in + the rain while the evening darkened over them. He leaped from the bank, + crossed the road, and raced off again towards his father’s house. + </p> + <p> + He arrived at the door, breathless, but sure that he was in good time. He + burst into the sitting-room and found his father and uncle, their lamp + already lighted, bending over a pile of papers which lay before them on + the table. + </p> + <p> + “The soldiers, the yeomen, are on their way here,” he gasped. + </p> + <p> + Micah Ward started to his feet. + </p> + <p> + “What do you say?” + </p> + <p> + “The yeomen are on their way to the meetinghouse. They are going to search + for arms, for cannon, which they say are concealed there.” + </p> + <p> + Micah Ward stood stock still. His body seemed to have become suddenly + rigid. His face grew quite white. Donald, leaning back in his chair, + smiled slightly. + </p> + <p> + “So,” he said, “they have begun. Are there cannon there, brother?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, there are,” said Micah, slowly. “Four six-pounders. They belonged to + the Volunteers. We kept them. We thought they might be useful some day.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said Donald, “it’s a pity. We shall have the trouble of re-capturing + them. Come, let us go down to the meeting-house. I should like to see + these terrible yeomen.” + </p> + <p> + “Some one has given them information,” said Micah. He was silent for a + minute. Then he muttered as if to himself— + </p> + <p> + “Some one has informed against us. Some one has brought this evil upon us. + Who has done this thing? Who is our secret enemy?” + </p> + <p> + “Come,” said Donald, “don’t stand muttering there.” + </p> + <p> + But Micah did not heed him. Raising both hands above his head, and looking + upward, he spoke slowly, clearly— + </p> + <p> + “May the curse of the Lord God of Israel light on the man who has informed + against us. May he be smitten with madness and blindness and astonishment + of heart. May he grope at the noonday as the blind gropeth in the + darkness. May his life hang in doubt before him. May he fear day and + night, and have none assurance of his life. May he say in the morning—‘Would + God it were even! And at even—‘Would God it were morning!’ for the + fear of his heart wherewith he shall fear and the sight of his eyes which + he shall see.” + </p> + <p> + “That,” said Donald, “is a mighty fine curse. I’m darned if I ever heard a + more comprehensive kind of curse. We had a God-forsaken half-breed in our + company, under General Greene, who could curse quite a bit, and he never + came near that curse. But I reckon that a good deal of it will have to be + wasted. There isn’t a man living who could stand it for long. Still, if + you name the man for us, I’ll do the best I can with him. I may not be + able to work the blindness and the groping just as you’d wish, but I’ll + undertake that his life hangs in doubt before him for a bit.” + </p> + <p> + Micah Ward, without seeming to hear his brother’s speech, stalked + bare-headed from the room and led the way to the meeting-house. + </p> + <p> + The yeomen were marching up the hill from the main road. They sang a song + with a ribald chorus, such as men sing in a tavern when they have drunk + deep. Lord Dunseveric and Maurice had already reached the door of the + meeting-house, and sat silent on their horses. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Ward,” said Lord Dunseveric, “will you give me the keys and save me + from the necessity of breaking open the door? I see Neal with you. I + suppose he has told you what we have come to do?” + </p> + <p> + “I shall never render the keys to you,” said Micah Ward. “Do the work of + scorn and oppression that you intend, but do not ask me to aid you.” + </p> + <p> + The yeomen, still singing, straggled up while Lord Dunseveric and Micah + Ward spoke. Suddenly their song ceased, and they listened in a silence of + sheer amazement while Donald Ward addressed their captain. + </p> + <p> + “Say”—his voice was cold, clear, and contemptuous—“do you call + yourself a captain? And is this your notion of discipline? I guess, young + fellow, if we’d had you with General Greene in Carolina we’d have combed + you out and flogged the drunken ragamuffins you’re supposed to be + commanding. But I reckon you’re just the meanest kind of Britisher there + is, that kind that swaggers and runs away.” + </p> + <p> + “Seize that man,” said Captain Twinely. “Tie him up. Flog him. Cut the + life out of him.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Dunseveric touched his horse with the spur and rode forward. “Captain + Twinely, I told you I should have no flogging here. I mean to be obeyed. + And you, sir, you are a stranger here. Who are you?” + </p> + <p> + “This,” said Micah Ward, laying his hand on his brother’s arm, “is my + brother.” + </p> + <p> + “Captain Twinely, dismount two of your men. Let them conduct Mr. Ward and + his brother back to the manse and mount guard at the door. Maurice, tie + your horse to the tree yonder, and go with them. See that no incivility is + used. When they are safe in the manse you can return here.” + </p> + <p> + Neal walked to the rear of the troop, and stood at the side of the road + near the wall, while his father and uncle were marched away under charge + of two troopers and Maurice St. Clair. + </p> + <p> + “Sergeant,” said Captain Twinely, “take four men and force this door.” + </p> + <p> + Neal heard his name called in a low voice by some one near him. + </p> + <p> + “Neal, Neal, Neal Ward.” + </p> + <p> + It was Una’s voice. His father and uncle had passed down the road. The + yeomen were eagerly watching their comrades’ attempts to force the door. + </p> + <p> + Neal stepped over the low stone wall. He felt a hand grasp his and heard + Una speak again. + </p> + <p> + “Neal, stay with us. I’m frightened.” + </p> + <p> + A low musical laugh followed, and then the voice of the Comtesse— + </p> + <p> + “You are a most ungallant cavalier, Mr. Neal. You left us alone in one + ditch this evening already. You really must not leave us in another.” + </p> + <p> + The effort to force the door of the meeting-house was unsuccessful. + </p> + <p> + “Put a musket to the key-hole,” said Captain Twinely, “and blow off the + lock.” + </p> + <p> + There was an explosion. The woodwork was splintered and shattered. A + single push opened the door. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said Captain Twinely, “come in and search.” + </p> + <p> + The little meeting-house was scantily furnished. A high, octangular wooden + pulpit with a precentor’s pew in front of it stood at the far end. The + place was bare of hanging or cupboard which could have been used as a + hiding-place. The men tramped about, upsetting the benches and cursing as + they tripped upon them. + </p> + <p> + “It’s as dark as hell,” said Captain Twinely. “Send a man down to the + minister’s house and let him fetch up a bundle of bogwood to serve us for + torches. I must have light.” + </p> + <p> + One of the men departed on the errand. The sergeant, mounted on the + pulpit, rapped on the desk in front of him to secure silence, and said in + a high-pitched, drawling voice— + </p> + <p> + “Beloved! Brands snatched from the burning! Sanctified vessels! Let us, in + this hour of trial and tribulation, when the ungodly triumph and prosper + in their way, let us sing the Ould Hunderd to the comfort of our souls.” + </p> + <p> + At the sound of his voice the troopers who remained outside crowded into + the building, leaving two or three of their number to take care of the + horses. Well satisfied with his congregation, the sergeant sang to the + tune sanctified by two centuries of Puritan worship:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “There was a Presbyterian cat + Who loved her neighbour’s cream to sup; + She sanctified her theft with prayer + Before she dared to lap it up.” + </pre> + <p> + A burst of applause greeted the performance of this ribald parody. There + were calls for more such psalmody. “Give us another verse, Sergeant.” + “Tune up again, Dick.” “Goon, goon.” Lord Dunseveric, who had remained + outside, dismounted and stalked through the door. He had caught the tune, + though not the words of the sergeant’s song. He guessed at some ribald + irreverence within. His face was white with anger. + </p> + <p> + “Silence,” he cried. + </p> + <p> + The sergeant, half drunk, looked at him with an insolent grin. + </p> + <p> + “Your lordship will like the second verse better— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “There was a Presbyterian wife—” + </pre> + <p> + Lord Dunseveric forced his way through the soldiers who stood between him + and the singer, and approached the pulpit with clenched fists and lips + pressed close together. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Who found her husband growing old; + She sanctified——-” + </pre> + <p> + sang the sergeant, leering at Lord Dunseveric, but before he got any + further a woman’s shriek rang through the building. The sergeant stopped + abruptly. The men crowded through the door, eager for some new excitement. + Lord Dunseveric and Captain Twinely followed as quickly as they could. + There was another shriek, a sound of blows and cursing. Then men’s voices + rose above the tumult. “Down with the damned croppy.” “Throttle him.” + “Knife him.” “Hold him now you’ve got him.” “Take a belt for his arms.” + “Ah, here’s Tarn with the torches.” “Strike a light, one of you.” “There’s + two of them, two wenches, by God, and young ones.” “Fetch them into the + meeting-house and make them dance.” “Ay, by God, we’ll tie their + petticoats round their necks and then make them dance.” + </p> + <p> + There was a rush of men to the door of the meeting-house. Lord Dunseveric + and Captain Twinely were borne back before they could see what was going + on. Some one struck a light and illuminated a branch of bogwood which he + held above his head as a torch. + </p> + <p> + “Drag in the prisoner,” yelled a voice. “We’ll give him a place in the + front and let him see his wenches dance.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Dunseveric, unable to make his voice heard above the tumult, saw Neal + Ward, his arms bound to his sides by a belt strapped round him, dragged + into the meeting-house. His face was cut and bleeding slightly. His coat + was rent from collar to skirt. + </p> + <p> + “Make way, make way, for the ladies.” + </p> + <p> + A trooper entered with two women. He had an arm clasped round each. Lord + Dunseveric recognised with amazement and horror his daughter and + sister-in-law. Una made no resistance. She was terrified into a state of + helplessness. The Comtesse struggled desperately, tearing with her hands + at the trooper’s face. Captain Twinely recognised the ladies almost + immediately, and strove to reach them. Before he could make his way Lord + Dun-severic’s voice rang out above the tumult. + </p> + <p> + “Maurice, are you there? Come in here at once.” + </p> + <p> + There was something in his voice, a tone of authority, a note of grim + determination, which cowed the rabble of men for an instant. Maurice St. + Clair pushed his way through the door in silence. + </p> + <p> + “Maurice,” said Lord Dunseveric, this time in quiet, even tones, “take + that scoundrel by the throat, and if he offers any resistance choke him.” + </p> + <p> + The man loosed his hold of the two women, and his hand flew to his sword + hilt, but before he could draw it, Maurice bounded upon him and flung him + to the ground. Once, twice, thrice, as the trooper strove to raise + himself, his head was dashed down on the hard earthen floor of the + meeting-house. + </p> + <p> + After the third time he lay still. Maurice rose and stood over him. + </p> + <p> + “Captain Twinely,” said Lord Dunseveric, “loose the belt from your + prisoner’s arms at once.” + </p> + <p> + The order was obeyed, and Neal stood free. “Bid your men leave the + meeting-house, all but the man who holds the torch and the one who lies + there on the floor.” + </p> + <p> + The men, cowed and sullen, went out. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said Lord Dunseveric, “I will have this matter cleared up and I + will have justice done.” He turned to Neal. + </p> + <p> + “How came you here with my daughter and the Comtesse de Tourneville?” + </p> + <p> + Neal stood silent. + </p> + <p> + “It was my fault,” said the Comtesse. “I brought Una. I wanted to see what + was going on. Mr. Neal had nothing to do with it. He tried to save us + when, when that man”—she pointed to the soldier on the floor—“found + us.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that so?” asked Lord Dunseveric of Neal. + </p> + <p> + “It is.” + </p> + <p> + “Maurice,” said Lord Dunseveric, “take your sister and your aunt home, and + when you get them there see that they do not leave the house again. Stay. + Take Neal with you. Those ruffians outside will scarcely venture to molest + you, but, in case any of them are drunk enough to try, you will be the + better of having Neal beside you. Captain Twinely, you will kindly give + orders to your men that my son and his party are to be allowed to pass.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Dunseveric was left alone in the meeting-house save for the man who + held the torch and the trooper who lay unconscious on the floor. + </p> + <p> + “Give me the light,” he said, “and go you over to your comrade. Loose his + tunic and feel if his heart still beats.” + </p> + <p> + The man did as he was bidden, and reported that the trooper whom Maurice + had stunned was still alive. Lord Dunseveric walked to the door of the + meeting-house and said— + </p> + <p> + “Captain Twinely, you will now be so good as to take the man who lies here + on the floor and hang him at once. We are not well off for trees in this + country, but there is at least one at the back of the meeting-house tall + enough for the purpose.” + </p> + <p> + There was a threatening growl from the men outside. They drew together. + Their hands were on their swords. Captain Twinely stood a little apart + from them. His eyes were fixed on the ground. He made no motion, and + showed no sign of obeying the orders he was given. Lord Dunseveric looked + first at him and then at the group of angry troopers. He stepped out of + the meeting-house and faced them. He took out his watch and looked at it. + </p> + <p> + “I give you ten minutes,” he said, “in which to obey my order. If that man + is not hanged in ten minutes I shall march you back to Dunseveric House, + where there are trees enough, and hang every one of you there.” + </p> + <p> + They could have killed him easily as he stood there. They probably would + have killed him if he had shown the smallest sign of fear. They knew + perfectly well that he could not have marched them to Dunseveric House or + anywhere else if they had chosen to resist. Nevertheless, they obeyed him. + A rope was fetched from the saddle of one of the troopers. In those days + the yeomen carried ropes fit for hanging men as they went through the + country. The unconscious man was carried from the meeting-house and hung + up on the only tree large enough to bear his weight. Lord Dunseveric, with + his watch in his hand, saw the thing done with a quiet smile. Then he + spoke again to Captain Twinely. + </p> + <p> + “You had better proceed with your search for the cannon. It is getting + late, and you have already wasted a great deal of time.” + </p> + <p> + More torches were lit. The men, now thoroughly cowed, dragged down the + pulpit and the precentor’s pew. The earth under them was not beaten hard + as was the earth of the rest of the floor. Captain Twinely took a torch + and peered at it. + </p> + <p> + “Fetch a spade,” he said. + </p> + <p> + They shovelled the earth into a heap against the wall and uncovered four + cannons. They were wrapped in oily rags, and well preserved, in spite of + their damp hiding-place. Lord Dunseveric looked at them carefully. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” he said. “Four of the six-pounders which I bought for my company of + volunteer artillery in 1778. I often wondered what had become of them. + Now, Captain Twinely, you have got the cannon, you had better go on to + arrest your prisoners. I shall go with you, and remember I shall permit no + violence unless resistance is offered. I have given your men one lesson + to-night already. I am quite prepared to give them another if necessary.” + </p> + <p> + The rain had ceased when Maurice and Neal, with their charge, left the + meeting-house. The direction of the wind had changed since sunset. It blew + in from the north and was sweeping the clouds away. The moon, then in its + first quarter, seemed to be racing across the sky among the torn fragments + of black cloud. Now and then it reached an open space and shed a pale, + white light over the landscape. Again, it was hidden and the night was + very dark. Already the wind had aroused the sea to its old warfare against + the rocks and strands. Its hollow roaring was borne far inland. For a time + the little party walked in silence. The Comtesse was the first to speak. + </p> + <p> + “If that is the way your loyal troops behave, Maurice, I think that I + prefer the <i>sans culottes</i>. Ugh! my clothes are half torn off my + back. I shall never be able to wear this dress again. It will smell, + positively smell, of the grimy hands of that drunken wretch.” + </p> + <p> + “What brought you out?” asked Maurice. “If you had stayed at home nothing + would have happened to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said the Comtesse, “if you begin to lecture me, to preach sermons + to me, I shall sit down and cry. I could scream and kick at this moment + with the greatest ease and pleasure. Then what would you do, my nephew?” + </p> + <p> + “Maurice,” said Una, “let us go home across the fields. Don’t let us go by + the road. I’m afraid of meeting those men again. They will be coming after + us.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense, Una,” said the Comtesse, “we have climbed walls enough + to-night; we have lain in ditches enough. For my part, if there is a road + I shall go along it. Come, Maurice.” + </p> + <p> + She walked quickly on, and Maurice, puzzled and uncomfortable, followed + her. Then Neal laid his hand on Una’s arm. + </p> + <p> + “This way,” he said. “I will take you home by the fields.” + </p> + <p> + He sprang across the ditch and stretched out his hand to the girl. Without + a word she took it and followed him. They walked in silence over the rough + ground. They crossed a wall, and then another, and each time Neal thrilled + at the touch of her hand as he turned to help her. + </p> + <p> + “You were very brave, Neal,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “It’s not much to be brave for you, Una. Oh, I wish I could have saved + you.” + </p> + <p> + He had her hand in his again, and this time it seemed as if it lingered in + his clasp. + </p> + <p> + “Una,” he said. “Una.” + </p> + <p> + But her face was turned away from him, and she made no answer. The tone of + his voice set her pulses beating with a strong excitement, so that she + could not look at him or speak. He was silent again. They reached the high + wall which bounded the demesne of Dunseveric House. Once more, as they + climbed, her hand was in his. + </p> + <p> + This time he held it fast. It seemed to him that he was doing something + that would call down on him swift rebuke and angry reproach. He expected + to have the hand snatched from him. Then, with wonder and a glow of + rapturous delight, he felt it lie passive in his. He realised that he was + being swept beyond his self-control; that his desire for the girl beside + him was stronger than his reason. He yielded to an impulse of sheer + passion, clasped Una in his arms, and kissed her face. Again and again he + kissed her. He felt her arms tighten round him, knew that she was clinging + to him. Then suddenly he let her go and stood back from her, + terror-stricken. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Una, what have I done? I am mad.” + </p> + <p> + She stood before him, her face covered with her hands. + </p> + <p> + “Una, speak to me. Can you ever forgive me? My love made me mad.” + </p> + <p> + She raised her face and looked at him. In the dim moonlight he saw in her + eyes a look of wonderful tenderness. He realised without a word from her + that she loved him, too. + </p> + <p> + “Una—I ought never—I was wrong. But I love you more than my + life. Una, you are too far above me. You are a great man’s daughter. How + did I dare?” + </p> + <p> + She came close to him and spoke. + </p> + <p> + “There is no above or below, Neal, when we love each other. How can I be + far above the man who loves me?” + </p> + <p> + “But there is no hope for us, none at all anywhere. Even to-morrow I may + have to go—Una, I may have to fight——” + </p> + <p> + “Whatever comes, Neal, I know that you will be brave and good. Be brave + and good, dear Neal, and then God will give us our hearts’ desire. I am + not afraid of the future. Why should you be afraid? If you do what is + right and honourable what is there to fear? God is good.” + </p> + <p> + They walked together to the house. Then Neal turned and went home. The + future, so far as he could see into it, was dark enough. His love seemed + utterly hopeless, yet his heart was full of unspeakable joy. He knew, + beyond all possibility of doubt, that Una loved him and would love him + whatever happened. Her strangely simple faith seemed to make all things + plain before him. Una loved him and God was good. It was enough. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V + </h2> + <p> + When Neal arrived at the Manse he found that the sentries who had stood on + guard at the door were gone. The yeomen had disappeared from before the + meeting-house. The broken door, the fragments of the wrecked pulpit, and + the figure of the dead trooper swinging from the branch on which he had + been hanged were left as witnesses of the Government’s methods of keeping + the peace in Ireland. + </p> + <p> + Inside the house Micah Ward paced restlessly up and down the floor of his + study. Donald, his pipe in his mouth, sat on a chair tilted back till its + front legs were six inches off the floor, and watched his brother. His + attitude was precarious, but he seemed comfortable. Micah paused in his + rapid walking as Neal entered the room. + </p> + <p> + “What have you been doing, Neal?” he said. “Your face is cut, your clothes + are torn; you look strangely excited.” + </p> + <p> + “I have been fighting,” said Neal. He did not think it necessary to add + that he had also been love-making, though it was the interview with Una, + far more than the struggle with the yeoman, which was accountable for the + gleaming eyes and exalted expression which his father noticed. + </p> + <p> + “I trust you were victorious,” said his father, “that your foot has been + dipped in the blood of your enemies, that you have broken their bonds + asunder, and cast away their cords from you.” + </p> + <p> + “I was beaten,” said Neal, smiling. It did not just then seem to matter in + the least whether he got the better or the worse in any fight. + </p> + <p> + “You take it easily,” said Donald. “That’s right. You’re blooded now, my + boy. You’ll fight all the better in the future for tasting your own blood + to-night. I’m glad you are back with us. Your father has been giving out + the most terrific curses against Lord Dunseveric for having brought the + yeomen down on us and taken away his little cannons. I tell him he ought + to be thankful they went into the meeting-house instead of coming here. + They’d have made a fine haul if they’d walked in and taken the papers he + and I had before us when you came here. They’d have had the name of every + United Irishman in the district, and could have picked them out and hanged + them one by one just as they wanted them.” + </p> + <p> + “They’ve got as much information, pretty near, as they want,” said Neal. + “They are going to arrest three men to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “God’s curse on Eustace St. Clair, him whom men call the Lord of + Dunseveric,” said Micah Ward. + </p> + <p> + “Spare your curse,” said Neal. “It wasn’t Lord Dunseveric who brought the + yeomen on us, and what’s more, only for Lord Dunseveric you’d be arrested + yourself along with the others.” + </p> + <p> + “What’s that you are saying, Neal?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m saying that the yeomen brought orders from Belfast to arrest you, and + me, too, and that Lord Dunseveric refused to execute them.” + </p> + <p> + “And so I owe my liberty to him! I must thank him for sparing me. I must + fawn on him as my benefactor, I suppose. But I will not. I refuse his + mercy. I scorn it. I cast it from me. I shall go out and offer myself to + the yeomen. They are to take my friends, my people, and spare me. I will + not be spared. Am I the hireling who fleeth when the wolf cometh? I go to + deliver myself into their hands.” + </p> + <p> + “You’ll be a bigger fool than I take you for if you do,” said Donald. + “Listen to me now. From what Neal has told us it’s evident that you’re + wrong about Lord Dunseveric. It wasn’t he who brought the yeomen on us. + There is someone else giving information, and it’s someone who knows a + good deal. Come now, brother Micah, cudgel your brains; think, man, think, + who is it?” + </p> + <p> + Micah sat down at his writing-table and passed his hand over his forehead. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot think,” he said. “I cannot, I will not believe that any of our + people are traitors.” + </p> + <p> + “These orders which Neal speaks of came from Belfast,” said Donald. “Who + has lately left this place and gone to Belfast?” + </p> + <p> + “I can tell you,” said Neal. “James Finlay. And James Finlay had a grudge + against me. The others whom he denounced were United Irishmen, perhaps, I + was not. Why was I marked down, unless it was out of private revenge? And + there is nobody, nobody in the world, I believe, who has cause to wish for + vengeance on me but only James Finlay.” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot believe it of him,” said Micah. “He came to me himself and asked + to be sworn. He was a member of the committee.” + </p> + <p> + “If you ask me,” said Donald, “I think the case looks pretty black against + James Finlay. I think, if things are to go on as they ought to, it will be + better to cut the throat of James Finlay. I don’t know him myself. Perhaps + you do, Neal.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Neal, “I know him.” + </p> + <p> + “And he is in Belfast,” said Donald. “Now, what was his reason for going + to Belfast?” + </p> + <p> + “He went to obtain employment there,” said Micah. “He took letters from me + to some of our leaders. He went as my agent, properly accredited. My God! + If he is a traitor!” + </p> + <p> + “I think, Neal,” said Donald, slowly, “that you and I will take a little + trip to Belfast. I should like to see Belfast. They tell me it’s a rising + town. I should also very much like to see our friend, James Finlay. I + suppose we shall be able to get horses to-morrow. Oh, yes, I’ve money to + pay for them. I didn’t come over here with an empty purse. Anyway, I think + Belfast would suit me better than this place. Your people, Micah, don’t + seem very fond of fighting.” + </p> + <p> + “You are wrong, brother. They will lay down their lives right willingly + when the hour comes.” + </p> + <p> + Donald shrugged his shoulders. “Their meeting-house has been sacked, their + minister has been insulted, three of their members are to be arrested, and + they haven’t offered to strike a blow. If they had the courage of doe + rabbits they’d have chopped up those yeomen into little bits and then + scattered them for dung over the fields. I reckon that unless the Belfast + people are better than these men of yours I’d be better back in the + States. We knew how to fight for our liberty there.” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t understand, Donald. Believe me, you do not understand. We must + wait for orders before we strike.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, orders. Waiting for orders. I know the meaning of that. It means + waiting till the English have picked off your leaders one by one. I know, + I know.” + </p> + <p> + Donald knocked the ashes out of his pipe, filled it, and lit it again, and + puffed slowly. Micah sat at the table, his head resting in his hands. Neal + sat down and waited. There was silence in the room for a long time. + Donald’s pipe was smoked out and lit again before he spoke. Then he said— + </p> + <p> + “I’m sorry, brother, that I spoke as I did. I don’t doubt but that your + men are brave enough. They would have fought if they had known what was + going on.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” said Micah. “You were right. I ought to have fought if there + were no one else. I ought to have died. I would to God that I had died + before our meeting-house was pillaged, before my people, the men who + trusted me, were taken captive. I was a coward. I am a coward.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I am a coward, too,” said Donald, “and no man ever called me that + before. But I’m not, and you’re not. We were two unarmed men against + fifty. I’m fond enough of fighting, and I take on a job with long odds + against me, but not such long odds as that. Rouse yourself, brother. Neal + and I are going to Belfast. We shall want letters from you. We must be + accredited like Mr. James Finlay, whom we hope to meet. Stir yourself now + and write for us.” + </p> + <p> + “I will, I will. Neal, there is no ink here. I remember that I used all my + ink yesterday. Neal, fetch me ink from the shelf beside the window.” + </p> + <p> + In a few minutes Micah’s pen was travelling slowly over the paper. Neal + could hear its spluttering and scratching. Suddenly, there was a noise of + loud knocking at the door of the house. Donald started and laid down his + pipe. Neal rose to his feet, and stood waiting for some order from his + father. Micah stopped writing, and turned in his chair. All trace of + nervousness and agitation had vanished from his face. His expression was + gentle and joyous. He smiled. + </p> + <p> + “They have come to take me also,” he said. “I am right glad. I shall not + be indebted to the oppressor for my liberty. I shall be where a shepherd + ought to be—with the sheep whom the wolf attacks.” + </p> + <p> + Again came the noise of knocking, heavy, authoritative, threatening. + </p> + <p> + “Be quick, my son, and open the door. Bid those who enter welcome.” + </p> + <p> + Neal went to the door, and opened it. Lord Dunseveric stood outside, the + reins of his horse’s bridle thrown over his arm, his riding whip in his + hand. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose your father is within, Neal. I want to speak to him. Will you + ask him if I may enter?” + </p> + <p> + “He bid me say that you were welcome,” said Neal. + </p> + <p> + Lord Dunseveric stared at him in surprise. “How did he know who was at the + door? But it does not matter. Show me where to tie my horse, Neal, and I + will enter.” + </p> + <p> + Neal led the way into the room where his father and his uncle sat. Lord + Dunseveric bowed to Micah Ward, and then, with a glance at Donald, said— + </p> + <p> + “The matter on which I wish to speak to you, sir, is somewhat private. Is + it your wish that this gentleman be present?” + </p> + <p> + “It is my brother, Donald Ward,” said Micah. “He knows my mind. I have no + secrets from him.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Dunseveric bowed again, and said, with a slight smile— + </p> + <p> + “It is possible that Mr. Donald Ward may find some of your secrets rather + embarrassing to keep.” + </p> + <p> + “I can take care of myself, master,” said Donald, “or, maybe, I ought to + say, my lord. But your lordships and dukeships, and countships and + kingships stick somewhat in my throat. I come from America, where we hold + one man the equal of another.” + </p> + <p> + “You are a young nation,” said Lord Dunseveric. “In time you will perhaps + learn courtesy. But I did not come here to-night to teach manners to + vagrant Yankees. I came to tell Mr. Ward that he has been denounced to the + Government as a seditious person, and that I received orders to-night to + arrest him.” + </p> + <p> + “And why did you not execute them?” said Micah Ward. “Did I ask you to + spare me? Have you come here to be thanked for your mercy? I wish to God + you had arrested me.” + </p> + <p> + “I assure you,” said Lord Dunseveric, “that I expect no thanks, nor do I + claim any credit for being merciful. You owe your escape solely to the + fact that I happen to be a gentleman. It did not consist with my honour to + arrest a man who was my personal enemy.” + </p> + <p> + “Then,” said Micah Ward, “what have you come here for now?” + </p> + <p> + “I have come, Mr. Ward, to warn you, if you will accept my warning, that + you are in great danger, that the ramifications of your conspiracy are + known to the Government, that your society is honeycombed with treachery, + that your roll of membership contains the names of many spies.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that all?” said Micah. + </p> + <p> + “No, sir, that is not all. I have a regard for your son. He has been the + companion of my children. He has grown up at my feet. He has eaten at my + table. I like him and I respect him. I beg of you to consider what the + consequences will be for him if you drag him into this insane conspiracy. + His name was along with yours on the list of seditious persons placed in + my hands to-night. He has an hour or two ago incurred the anger—the + dangerous anger—of a body of yeomen and their commander. I beg that + you will consider his safety, and not take him with you on the way on + which you are going.” + </p> + <p> + “Neal,” said Micah Ward, “is no more than a boy. He knows nothing about + politics. What has my action to do with Neal?” + </p> + <p> + “His name,” said Lord Dunseveric, “stood next to yours on the list of + suspected persons which was put into my hands to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “So be it,” said Micah, solemnly! “if my son is to suffer, if he is to + die, he can die no better than fighting for liberty against oppression.” + </p> + <p> + “And I’m thinking,” said Donald, “that you are going a bit too fast with + your talk about dying. I’ve fought just such a fight as my brother is + thinking of. I’m through with it now, and I’m not dead. By God, we saw to + it that it was the other men who died. We won, sir. Mark my words, we won. + It was the people that carried the day in America. They carried the day in + France. What’s to hinder us from carrying the day in Ireland, too?” + </p> + <p> + Lord Dunseveric looked at Donald during this speech and kept his eyes + fixed upon him for some minutes afterwards. He was considering whether it + was worth while replying to this boastful American Irishman. At last he + turned again to Micah Ward. + </p> + <p> + “I have still one more appeal to make to you, Mr. Ward. You care for + Ireland. Is it not so? I believe you do. Believe, me, I care for Ireland, + too.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Micah, “you care for Ireland, but what do you mean by Ireland? + You mean a bloodthirsty, supercilious, unprincipled ascendancy, for whom + the public exists only as a prey to be destroyed, who keep themselves + close and mark men’s steps that they may lay in wait for them; who forge + chains for their country, who distrust and belie the people, who scoff at + the complaints of the poor and needy, and who impudently call themselves + Ireland. You have made the sick and the lame to go out of their way. You + have eaten the good pastures and trodden down the residue with your feet. + You care for Ireland, and you mean by Ireland the powers and privileges of + a class. I care for Ireland, but I mean Ireland, not for certain noblemen + and gentlemen, but Ireland for the Irish people, for the poor as well as + the rich, for the Protestant, Dissenter, and Roman Catholic alike.” + </p> + <p> + “I have never denied, nor do I wish to deny, the need of reform,” said + Lord Dunseveric, “but I see before all the necessity of loyalty to the + constitution.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, to the constitution which gives the whole power of the country to a + few proud aristocrats, which excludes three-fourths of the people from its + benefits, which allows eight hundred thousand Northerns to be insulted and + trampled on because they speak of emancipation, which uses forced oaths, + overflowing Bastilles and foreign troops for extorting the loyalty of the + Irish people.” + </p> + <p> + “I will not argue these things with you now,” said Lord Dunseveric, “my + time is short. I would rather pray you to consider what the end of your + conspiracy must be. If you succeed, and I do not believe you can succeed, + you will deluge the country in blood. If your best hopes are realised, and + you receive the help you hope for from abroad, you will make Ireland the + cockpit of a European war. Our commerce and manufactures, reviving under + the fostering care of our own Irish Parliament, will be destroyed. Our + fields, which none will dare to till, will be fouled with the dead bodies + of our sons and daughters. But why should I complete the picture? If you + fail—and you must fail—you will fling the country into the + arms of England. Our gentry will be terrified, our commons will be cowed. + Designing Englishmen will make an easy prey of us. They will take from us + even the hard-earned measure of independence we already possess. We shall + become, and we shall remain, a contemptible province of their Empire + instead of a sovereign and independent nation. The English are wise enough + to see this, though you cannot see it. Man, <i>they want you to rebel</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that all you have to say?” said Micah. + </p> + <p> + “That is all.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I bid you farewell, Eustace St. Clair, Lord of Dunseveric. You have + spoken well and pleaded speciously for yourself and your class. I might + listen to you if I had not seen your armed ruffians break into our + meeting-houses; if I had not in memory stories of burnt homesteads, + outraged women, tortured men; you might persuade me if I did not know that + to-night you have taken my friends, that you will drag them before unjust + judges, and condemn them on the evidence of perjured informers, as you + condemned William Orr. Human endurance can bear no more. Patience is a + virtue of the Gospel, but it becomes cowardice in the face of certain + wrongs. Go, I have done with you. Go, torture, burn, shed innocent blood, + and then, like the adulterous woman, eat and wipe your mouth, and say ‘I + have done no wickedness.’” + </p> + <p> + “I came into your house on a mission of friendliness and mercy,” said Lord + Dunseveric. “I have been met with insults and lies, lies known to be lies + to you who speak them. I go, and I pray that we shall meet no more until + the day when, in the light of God’s judgment, you will be able to see what + is in my heart and understand what is in your own.” + </p> + <p> + “Amen,” said Micah Ward, “I bide the test.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Dunseveric bowed and walked to the door of the room. Then he paused, + turned, and held out his hand to Neal. + </p> + <p> + “You will stay with your father, Neal,” he said. “I do not deny that you + are right, but I will not part from you in unfriendliness. God keep you, + boy, and remember, for old time’s sake, for the sake of the days when you + stood by my knee with my own children, you have always—whatever + happens—always a friend in me.” + </p> + <p> + Neal’s eyes filled with tears. He could not speak. He carried Lord + Dunseveric’s hand to his lips, and then let it go reluctantly. He heard + the door shut, the trampling of the horse’s hoofs on the gravel outside. + Then, with a sudden sob, which he could not repress, went across the room + and sat down beside his father. + </p> + <p> + Donald alone remained cheerful and unimpressed. + </p> + <p> + “I know that kind of man,” he said. “A fine kind it is. We had some of the + same sort in America. They crossed the border afterwards to Canada. I + suppose you mean to ship your aristocracy to England, Micah? From all I + hear they like lords over there. But now to work. We can’t afford to sit + still while Master James Finlay is loose about the country with your + letters in his pocket. We must get on his trail, Neal, you and I. We must + hinder him from doing more mischief. The first thing we want is horses. + Micah, where are we to get horses—two strong nags, fit for the + road?” + </p> + <p> + Micah Ward sat silent and absorbed. His eyes were fixed on the wall in + front of him. His lips moved, as if he were speaking, but no sound passed + them. His hands on the table in front of him twitched. He was a prey to + some violent emotion. Donald called him again, and again failed to arouse + his attention. Then he turned to Neal. + </p> + <p> + “There’s no use in trying to rouse your father, Neal. He will not hear us. + Do you know anyone who will sell or hire us horses?” + </p> + <p> + “Rab MacClure has horses,” said Neal. “He has two, I know. He lives not + far from this, about a mile along the road towards Ballintoy.” + </p> + <p> + “Come, then,” said Donald, “I suppose the family will be all abed by this + time. We must rouse them. There’s Scripture warrant for it. ‘Friend, lend + me three loaves.’ We must imitate the man in the Gospel. If he won’t give + us the horses for the asking we must weary him with importunity.” + </p> + <p> + It was ten o’clock when Donald and his nephew set out. The clouds were + blown away, and the sky clear. The moon rode high, and by its light they + caught glimpses from the road of the white foam of the sea breaking on the + dark strand below them. The roar of the waves came loud to them as they + walked. A quarter of an hour’s quick walking brought them to their + destination. + </p> + <p> + “There’s the house,” said Neal. + </p> + <p> + “They are not in bed,” said Donald, “I can see lights in the windows.” + </p> + <p> + Neal led the way across a stile and over a field. Lights moved from one + window to another in the house. A sound of wailing rose! and fell, + mingling with the monotonous roar of the waves. The door stood wide open. + Within, a woman rocked herself to and fro on a low stool. Three children + clung to her petticoats and cried piteously. A farm labourer stood, + stupidly motionless, beside the dresser. A maid servant, with a light in + her hand, flitted restlessly in and out of the kitchen. Her hair hung + loose about her shoulders. She was but half dressed, like one aroused + suddenly from bed. A rush-light burned in an iron stand on the floor, + shedding a feeble light. Donald and Neal stood at the door astonished. + </p> + <p> + “Our friends the yeomen have been here,” said Donald. “I guess they have + taken the man of the house away with them. We’ve another account to settle + with James Finlay when we get him.” + </p> + <p> + “Mistress MacClure,” said Neal, “I’ve come to know if you will hire or + sell us two horses. We must be travelling to-morrow morn.” + </p> + <p> + “Horses,” cried the woman. “Who speaks o’ horses? I wouldna care if ye + were to rive horse and beast and a’ from me now. My man’s gone. Oh, my + weans, my weans, who’ll care for you now when they’ve kilt your da? Oh, + the bonny man, and the kind!” + </p> + <p> + “Is it you, Master Neal?” said the farm servant. “Will you no fetch the + minister till her?” + </p> + <p> + “I will, I will,” said Neal, conscience-stricken at having mentioned his + own need in a home so sorely stricken with grief. He ran from the house + back to the manse. + </p> + <p> + Donald took the labourer outside the door and spoke to him. He explained + that he was the minister’s brother. He said that he had pressing need of + the horses. He offered money. The man shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “They are no mine, and the mistress is in no way to bargain with you the + night.” + </p> + <p> + “I want the horses,” said Donald, “to ride after the villain who betrayed + your master.” + </p> + <p> + The man’s face brightened suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “Aye, and is that so? Why couldn’t ye have tell’t me that afore? Keep your + money in your pouch. You’ll have the horses in the morn. I’ll take it on + myself to give them to you. I’d like fine to be going along. But there’s + the mistress and the weans. I darena leave them, and I willna. There’s na + yin only me and the God that’s above us all for her to look to now.” + </p> + <p> + Micah Ward, followed by his son, hastened to the MacClure’s house. He + stood for a moment on the threshold, lifted his hat solemnly from his + head, and invoked a blessing on the building and all in it. Then he went + to the woman, took one of her hands in his, and spoke to her with + wonderful tenderness. + </p> + <p> + “Bessie, my poor bairn. Hearken to me, Bessie. Quit crying now, quit + crying. Do you mind, Bessie, the day I was in with you and Rab away at + Ballymoney? Do you mind how you said to me that every day you thanked God + for the good husband he had given you? Do you mind that? Ah, woman, you + mind it well. And you know rightly what the blessed book says to you—’ + The Lord gave and the Lord hath taken away. Blessed be the name of the + Lord.’ Are you to receive good at the Lord’s hand, my bairn, and not evil, + too?” + </p> + <p> + He laid his hand upon her head and prayed aloud. The terrified maid stood + still, her light in her hand, her hair in tangled strings, half covering + her face. The labourer, Donald, and Neal stood together near the door. The + children buried their heads in their mother’s lap. Micah Ward poured out + his very soul in supplication. Very literally it might be said that he + wrestled with his God in prayer. It was in some such terms that he himself + would have described the spiritual effort which he made. More than once, + after a pause in his outpouring he repeated, in tones which were almost + fierce in their determination, the words of Jacob to the angel—“I + will not let you go until you bless me.” For a long time he continued to + pray, interrupted by no sound except an occasional bitter cry from Bessie + MacClune. One after another the feeble lights flickered, guttered and went + out. The room was in darkness. Through the open door came the long roaring + of the sea. Within, Micah Ward’s voice rose to passionate cries or sank to + a tender whisper. Bessie MacClure’s grief found utterance now only in + half-choked sobs. At last even these ceased. Her hands ceased wandering + over the curly heads of the children, asleep now with her lap for their + pillow. She felt upwards along Micah Ward’s coat. Her fingers crept along + his sleeve, found his hand, pulled it down to her, and laid her cheek + against it. He ceased to pray. The victory was won. He had, by sheer + violence, dragged peace for a stricken soul from the closely-guarded + treasury of the Lord of Sabaoth. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI + </h2> + <p> + Early next morning Donald Ward and Neal set forth on their journey. Rab + MacClure’s horses served them well. By breakfast time they reached + Ballymoney. They sat in the inn kitchen while the woman of the house + broiled salmon for them. She was full of excitement, and very ready to + talk. The yeomen had ridden through the town the day before. They had + stopped at her house to drink. The officer and some of the men had paid + their score and ridden on. Ten of them remained behind, and demanded more + drink. Tumblers were brought to them as they sat in their saddles. One of + them had proposed a toast—“To hell with all Papists and + Presbyterians.” + </p> + <p> + “And that was no civil talk to use to me, when all the town knows that my + man is an elder in the kirk.” + </p> + <p> + But there was more to follow. The troopers had flung down the tumblers—“the + bonny cut glasses that were fetched from Wexford”—and shattered them + on the pavement of the courtyard. Then they rode off without paying a + penny, and when the mistress cried after them one man came back with his + sword drawn in his hand, and she was fain to flee and hide herself. But + the story of her own wrongs did not quench the good dame’s curiosity. She + recognised Neal as the son of the minister in Dunseveric. It was towards + Dunseveric that the yeomen had ridden. What did they do there? Had there + been hanging work or burning—the like of what went on in other + parts? Had they visited the minister’s house? Did Neal see them? + </p> + <p> + Donald Ward was a talkative man, and somewhat given to boasting; but, + apart from the fact that the business of the night before gave him little + excuse for glorying, he had plenty of sound sense—too much sense to + gossip with the mistresses of inns about serious business. He signed to + Neal to keep silent, and himself parried the shower of questions so + adroitly that his hostess got no information from him. She tired at last, + and with a show of disappointed temper, put the salmon on the table. + </p> + <p> + “There’s your fish for you,” she said, “and fadge and oaten farles, and if + you want more you’d better show some civility to the woman that does for + you.” + </p> + <p> + She left the room, and stood, her hands on her hips, staring into the + street. + </p> + <p> + “We’re well rid of her tongue,” said Donald. + </p> + <p> + Before the travellers’ appetites were half satisfied she was with them + again. She ran into the kitchen with every sign of terror in her face. + </p> + <p> + “They’re coming,” she said. “I seen them coming round MacCance’s corner, + and they have men with them and led horses. I seen them plain, and one of + them is Rab MacClure, of Ballintoy. Away with you, Neal Ward, away with + you. I’m thinking that them that has Rab MacClure and his feet tied under + the horse’s belly will be no friends of your father’s or yours.” + </p> + <p> + Donald Ward rose to his feet and stretched himself. + </p> + <p> + “The woman’s right, Neal.” He showed no signs of hurry in his speech. “I’m + thinking it will be safer for us to be out of this. Here, mistress, what’s + the reckoning?” + </p> + <p> + “Not a penny, not a penny, will I take. Are them murdering devils to drink + without paying and me taking money from the son of Micah Ward or any + friend of his? But for God’s sake get you gone. I’ll keep them dandering + about the door for a while, and do you get your horses and out by the back + way into the field. You can strike the road again lower down.” + </p> + <p> + It was late in the evening when Donald and Neal, with weary horses and + wearier limbs, came close to Antrim. Neal was unused to riding long + distances, and Donald complained that a voyage across the Atlantic left a + man unfit for land travelling. They accosted a stranger on the road and + asked his guidance to the best inn. The man answered them in a civil way. + He spoke with a northern accent, but his voice was singularly sweet and + gentle, and his words were those of a cultured man. + </p> + <p> + “I am on my way to the Massereene Arms,” he said. “I think you will find + the accommodation good both for yourselves and your horses.” + </p> + <p> + He walked with them, chatting about the weather and the condition of the + roads. He said that he himself had that day walked from Ballymena, and + intended to spend the night in Antrim. He asked no questions and seemed in + no way concerned with the affairs of his chance acquaintances. + </p> + <p> + Donald and Neal took their horses to the inn yard and saw them rubbed + down, stabled, and fed. Then they entered the public room of the inn, sat + down, and ordered their supper. The man who had guided them to the door + sat at a corner of the table eating a frugal meal of bread and cheese. + Beside his tumbler stood a large jug of buttermilk. In a few minutes he + rose from the table and took his seat on a bench near the fire, where the + light from a lamp, which hung on the wall, fell on him. He drew a notebook + from his pocket, and proceeded to write in it, referring from time to time + to scraps of paper, of which he seemed to have a large number. He was a + man of middle height, of a spare frame, which showed no sign of great + personal strength, but was well knit, and might easily have been capable + of great endurance. His face was thin and narrow. He had very dark hair, + and dark, gentle eyes. There was a suggestion about the mouth of the kind + of strength which often goes with gentleness. + </p> + <p> + To Neal the appearance of the man was not very interesting. He watched him + in mere idleness while waiting for the girl to bring the supper Donald had + ordered. If there had been anyone else in the room Neal would not have + wasted a second glance on the unobtrusive stranger. Yet, as he watched the + man he became aware of something about him which was attractive. There was + a dignity in his movements quite different from Donald Ward’s habitual + self-assertion, different, too, from the stately confidence of Lord + Dunseveric. There was a quiet seriousness in the way he set to work at his + writing, and a methodical carefulness in his sorting of the scraps of + paper which he drew one by one from his pocket. The maid entered with the + wine and food which Donald had ordered. + </p> + <p> + “You’ll be for beds, the night,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Ay,” said Donald, “and do you see that the feathers are well shaken and + the beds soft. If you’d ridden all the miles I’ve ridden to-day, my girl, + after not being on the back of a horse for three months, you’d want a soft + bed to lie on.” + </p> + <p> + The stranger looked up from his notebook. There was laughter in his dark + eyes, but it went no further than his eyes. His lips showed no inclination + to smile. + </p> + <p> + Another man entered the room—a burly, strong man. He wore top boots, + as if he had been riding. He looked like a well-to-do farmer. He gave no + order to the girl, but walked straight to where the dark-eyed stranger + sat. Greetings passed between them, and then talk in a low voice. Both of + them looked at Donald and Neal. Then, beckoning to the girl, the stranger + asked if he could be accommodated with a private room. The girl nodded, + and went to prepare one. Donald Ward finished his supper, rose, stretched + himself, yawned, and then drawing a stool near the fire, sat down and + filled his pipe. Neal, interested to watch the evening street traffic in a + strange town, climbed on to the deep sill of the window and pushed the + lattice open. A blind piper sat on a stone bench outside the inn and + played a reel for some boys and girls who danced on the road. A horseman—a + handsomely-dressed man and well mounted—rode slowly up the street + towards Lord Massereene’s demesne. One of the dancers crossed his way and + caused the horse to shy. The rider cut at the girl with his whip. An angry + growl followed the retreating figure. The piper stopped playing for a + minute and listened. His face wore that eager look of strained attention + which is seen often on the faces of the blind. He began to play again, and + this time his tune was the “Ça Ira.” It was well-known to his audience and + its significance was understood. Several voices began to hum it in unison + with the pipes. More voices joined, and in a minute or two the little + crowd was shouting the tune. A grave, elderly man, in the dark dress and + white bands of a clergyman, stepped out of a house opposite the inn and + approached the piper. The dancers and the onlookers stopped singing and + saluted him respectfully. He spoke to the piper. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be playing that tune, Phelim. Play your reel again. There’s trouble + where those French tunes are played. It was so in Belfast a while ago. We + want no riot in Antrim nor dragoons in our streets.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m thinking,” said the blind man, “that it’s the voice of Mr. Macartney, + the Rector of Antrim, that I’m listening to. Well, reverend sir, I’ll stop + my tune at your bidding. Not because you’re a magistrate, nor yet because + you’re a great man, but just for the sake of the letter you wrote to save + William Orr from being hanged.” + </p> + <p> + The pipes gave a long wail and were silent. Then another man came up the + street. Neal could not see his face, for his hat was slouched over it, but + the sound of his voice reached the open window. + </p> + <p> + “What’s this, boys? What’s this? Which of you is it bids the piper stop + his tune? It’s only cowards and Orangemen that don’t like that tune.” + </p> + <p> + The voice struck Neal as one that he had heard before, but he could not + recollect where he had heard it. He leaned out of the window to hear + better. + </p> + <p> + The clergyman stepped out into the road and confronted the newcomer. + </p> + <p> + “It was I who bid the piper stop that tune. What have you to say to me?” + </p> + <p> + The other approached him swaggering, then hesitated, stood still, took off + his hat, and held it in his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, nothing to you, nothing at all, Mr. Macartney. I did not know you + were here. Indeed, you were quite right to stop the man. As for what I + said, I beg you to forget it. It was nothing but a joke, a little joke of + mine.” + </p> + <p> + He bowed and cringed. He spoke in a deprecating whine, very different from + the blustering tone he had used before. Neal’s interest in the scene + before him became suddenly very acute. He was almost certain now that he + recognised the voice. The whining tone brought back to him the night when + he had interfered with James Finlay’s salmon poaching. The voice was, he + felt sure of it, Finlay’s voice. He drew back quickly, and from within the + window watched Finlay pass through the inn door. He heard his steps in the + passage, heard him open the door of the room in which the travellers were + gathered. Neal shrank back into the shadow of the window seat and watched. + </p> + <p> + Finlay swaggered across the floor and then paused and looked at Donald + Ward, who smoked his pipe in the chimney corner. Then he turned to the + other two. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know this gentleman,” he said. “Is he——?” + </p> + <p> + He paused, his eyebrows elevated, his face expressing significant + interrogation. Neal saw him plainly in the lamp light. He had not been + mistaken in the voice. It was James Finlay. The man who had guided them to + the inn rose without speaking and led the way to the private room which + the maid had prepared for his reception. Neal jumped down from his seat + and approached his uncle. + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Donald,” he said, “that was James Finlay, the man we are looking + for.” + </p> + <p> + Donald took his pipe out of his mouth and looked hard at Neal. + </p> + <p> + “Are you quite sure?” he said. “It won’t do to be making a mistake in a + job of this sort.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m quite sure.” + </p> + <p> + Donald replaced his pipe in his mouth and puffed hard at it for some + minutes. Then he said— + </p> + <p> + “You don’t know either of the other two, I suppose? No. Well it can’t be + helped. It would have been convenient if we had known. They may be honest + men or they may be another pair of spies. I think I’ll try and find out + something about them. Do you stay here, Neal, and watch. Let me know if + any of the three of them leave the house. I’ll go down the passage to the + tap-room. I’ll drink a glass or two, and I’ll see what information I can + pick up. You see, my boy, if the other two are honest men we ought to warn + them of our suspicions about Finlay. If they are spies we ought to know + their names and warn somebody else. Any way, keep your eye on Finlay, and + let me know if he stirs.” + </p> + <p> + A sensation of horror crept over Neal when his uncle left him. He realised + that he was hunting a fellow-creature, that the hunt might end at any + moment in the taking of human life. In Dunseveric Manse, while the anger + which the yeomen’s blows and bonds had raised in him was awake, while the + enormity of Finlay’s treachery was still fresh in his mind, it seemed + natural and right that the spy should be killed. Now, when he had seen the + man swagger down the street, when he had just watched him cringe and + apologize, when he had sat within a few feet of him, it seemed a ghastly + and horrible thing to track and pursue him for his life. A cold sweat + bathed his limbs. His hands trembled. He sat on the stool near the fire + shivering with cold and fear. He listened intently. It was growing late, + and the piper had stopped playing in the street. The boys and girls who + danced had gone home. There were voices of passers by, but these grew + rarer. Now and then there was the trampling of a horse’s hoofs on the road + as some belated traveller from Belfast pushed fast for home. A murmur of + voices came to him from the interior of the inn, he supposed from the + tap-room to which his uncle had gone, but he could hear nothing of what + was said. Once the girl who had served his supper came in and told him + that his bed was ready if he cared to go to it. Neal shook his head. + Gradually he became drowsy. His eyes closed. He nodded. Then the very act + of nodding awoke him with a start. He blamed himself for having gone near + to sleeping at his post, for being neglectful of the very first duty + imposed on him. The horror of the watch he was keeping returned on him. He + felt that he was like a murderer lurking in the dark for some unsuspecting + victim. For Finlay had no thought that he was distrusted, discovered, + tracked. Then, to steel himself against pity, he let his mind go back over + the events of the previous night. He thought of the scene in the + MacClures’ cottage, of the heart-broken woman, of her husband riding with + the brutal troopers to a trial without justice and a death without pity. + He felt with his hand the blood caked on his own cheek, the scab on the + cut where the yeoman had struck him. He remembered Una’s shriek and the + Comtesse’s frantic struggles as the soldiers dragged them from their + hiding-place. Of his own rush to their rescue he remembered little save + the momentary delight of feeling his fists get home on the men’s faces. + </p> + <p> + He had nerved himself now with memories and conquered his qualms. He felt + that it would be easy work and pleasant to drag James Finlay to earth and + trample the life out of him. The thought of the insults of the brutal men + who held Una and his own impotent struggles with the belt which bound him + made him fierce enough. But the mood passed. His mind reverted to the + subject which had never, all day, been far from his thoughts. He recalled + each detail of his walk back to Dun-severic with Una, her words of praise + for his bravery, the resting of her hand in his as they crossed stiles and + ditches, the times when it rested in his hand longer than it need have + rested, the great moment when he had ventured to clasp and keep it fast. + He thrilled as he recollected holding her in his arms, the telling of his + love, and Una’s wonderful reply to him. Emotion flooded him. Una loved him + as he loved her. The future was impossible, unthinkable. At the best of + times he could not hope that proud Lord Dunseveric would consent to let + him marry Una; and now, of all times, now, when he was engaged in a + dangerous conspiracy, pledged to a fight which he felt already to be + hopeless; when he had the hangman’s ladder to look forward to, or, at + best, the life of a hunted outlaw and exile to some foreign land; what + could he expect now to come of his love for Una? His mind refused to dwell + on such thoughts for long. It went back to the simple fact, the glorious, + incredible thing which he had learned. Una loved him. That was sufficient + for him then. He was happy. + </p> + <p> + The door of a room somewhere within the house closed noisily. There were + footsteps on the stairs and then in the passage. Neal was alert. He + quenched the light which hung on the wall and stood in the darkness + looking out of the door. He saw three men pass him—James Finlay and + the other two. They stood at the street door speaking last words in low + voices. Neal sped down the passage to the tap-room. His uncle sat in a + cloud of tobacco smoke, with a tumbler in his hand. Round him was gathered + a knot of admirers, most of them somewhat tipsy. Donald was telling them + stories of the American war. At the sight of Neal he rose quickly and laid + down his tumbler. It was evident that he, at least, had drunk no more than + he could stand. + </p> + <p> + “Well, has he moved?” he whispered. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Neal. “He and the second man are going. They had their hats on + and were bidding good night to the first, the man who brought us here.” + </p> + <p> + Donald left the tap-room quickly. The street door closed, and in the + passage he found himself face to face with the gentle-mannered traveller + whom he had accosted in the street. + </p> + <p> + “I think,” said Donald, “that I have the honour of addressing Mr. Hope.” + </p> + <p> + “James Hope,” said the other, “or Jemmy Hope. I am but a weaver, a simple + man. I take no pride in the titles men give each other.” + </p> + <p> + “James Hope,” said Donald, “I’ve heard of you, and I’ve heard of you as an + honest man. I reckon there’s no title higher than that one. I think, sir, + that you have a room at your disposal in this house. May I speak with you + there? I have matters of some importance.” + </p> + <p> + James Hope turned without a word and led the way upstairs to a small room. + Three candles stood on the table. There were also tumblers and an empty + whisky bottle. It was noticeable that there were only two tumblers. James + Hope had not been drinking. Donald walked over to the table and blew out + one of the candles. + </p> + <p> + “I’m not more superstitious than other men,” he said, “but I won’t sit in + the room with three candles burning. It’s damned unlucky.” + </p> + <p> + Again, as earlier in the public room, Neal thought that James Hope was + going to laugh. But again the laughter got no further than his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said Donald, “if you’ve no objection, I’ll have a fresh bottle on + the table and some clean glasses. You know this inn, James Hope, what’s + their best drink?” + </p> + <p> + “I have but a poor head,” said Hope. “I drink nothing but water. But I + believe that the whisky is good enough.” + </p> + <p> + “Neal, my boy,” said Donald, “the wench that bought us our supper is gone + to bed, and the landlord’s too drunk to carry anything upstairs. You go + and fill the jug there with hot water in the kitchen, and I’ll get some + whisky from the taproom.” + </p> + <p> + Donald filled himself a glass with a generous proportion of spirit, and + lit his pipe again. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve a letter here, addressed to you,” he said. + </p> + <p> + He fumbled in his breast pocket, drew forth a leather case, and took from + it one of the letters which Micah Ward had written. James Hope read it + carefully. + </p> + <p> + “You are,” he said, “the Donald Ward mentioned in this letter, and you are + Neal Ward, the son of a man whom we all respect and admire. I bid you + welcome.” + </p> + <p> + He held out his hand, first to Donald, who shook it heartily, and then to + Neal. He fixed his dark eyes on the young man’s face, and looked long and + steadily at him. Neal’s eyes wavered and dropped before this earnest + scrutiny, which seemed to read his very thoughts. + </p> + <p> + “God bless you and keep you, my boy,” said James Hope. “You are the son of + a brave man. I doubt not that you will be a brave man, too, brave in a + good cause.” + </p> + <p> + Donald Ward seemed a little impatient at this long scrutiny of Neal and + the speech which followed. He took several gulps of whisky and water and + blew clouds of tobacco smoke. He cleared his throat noisily and said. + </p> + <p> + “You’ll be satisfied, James Hope, by the letter I’ve given you that we are + men to be trusted?” + </p> + <p> + “God forbid else,” said Hope. “Whom should we trust if not the brother and + son of Micah Ward?” + </p> + <p> + “Then I’ll come straight to the point,” said Donald. “Who were the two men + that were with you just now?” + </p> + <p> + “The one of them,” said Hope, “was Aeneas Moylin, a Catholic, and a friend + of Charlie Teeling. He’s a man that has done much to bring the Defender + boys from County Down and Armagh into the society. He has a good farm of + land near by Donegore.” + </p> + <p> + “And the other?” + </p> + <p> + “The other you ought to know, Neal Ward. He’s from Dunseveric. His name’s + James Finlay.” + </p> + <p> + “I do know him,” said Neal, “but I don’t trust him.” + </p> + <p> + “He came to me,” said Hope, “with a letter from your father, like the + letter you bring yourself. I have trusted him a great deal.” + </p> + <p> + “Trust him no more, then,” said Donald, “the man’s a spy. My brother was + deceived in him.” + </p> + <p> + “These are grave words you speak,” said Hope. “Can you make them good?” + </p> + <p> + Donald told the story of the raid on the Dunseveric meeting-house. He + dwelt on the fact that only five or six people knew of the buried cannon, + that of these, only one, James Finlay, had left Dunseveric, that Neal + Ward’s name had appeared on the list of suspected persons, though Neal had + hitherto taken no part and had no knowledge of the doings of the United + Irishmen; that his name must have been given to the authorities by some + one who had a private spite against him; that James Finlay, and he alone + of the people of Dunseveric, had any cause to seek revenge on Neal. + </p> + <p> + “It’s a case of suspicion,” said James Hope, “of heavy suspicion, but + you’ve not proven that the man’s a traitor.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Donald, “it’s not proven. I know that well, but the man ought + to be trusted no more until his character is cleared. He ought to be tried + and given a chance of defending himself.” + </p> + <p> + James Hope sat silent. His fingers pushed back the lock of dark hair which + hung over his forehead. His face grew stern, and there was a look of + determination in his dark eyes. A frown gathered in deep wrinkles on his + forehead. At last he spoke. + </p> + <p> + “You are on your way to Belfast. I shall give you a letter to Felix + Matier, who keeps the inn with the sign of Dumouriez in North Street. You + will find him easily. His house is a common meeting-place for members of + the society. I shall tell him to have a careful watch kept on Finlay, and + to communicate with you.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll deal with the man,” said Donald, “as soon as I have anything more + than suspicion to go on.” + </p> + <p> + “Deal uprightly, deal justly,” said Hope. “Ours is a sacred cause. It may + be God’s will that we are to be victorious, or it may be written in His + book that we shall fail. He alone knows the issue. But, either way, our + hands must not be stained with crime. We must do justly, aye, and love + mercy when mercy can be shown without imperilling the lives of innocent + men.” + </p> + <p> + “Traitors must be dealt with as traitors are in all civilised States,” + said Donald. + </p> + <p> + “Ay, truly, when we are sure that they are traitors.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall make sure,” said Donald, “and then——” + </p> + <p> + “Then———,” Hope sighed deeply. “Then—— you + are right. There is no help for it. But remember, Donald Ward, that you + and I must answer for our actions before the judgment seat of God. + Remember, also, that our names and our deeds will be judged by posterity. + We must not shrink from stern necessities laid upon us. But let us not + give the enemy an excuse to brand us as assassins in the time to come.” + </p> + <p> + “God damn it, man, you speak to me as if you thought me a hired murderer. + I take such language from no man living, and from you no more than + another, James Hope. You shall answer for your words and your + insinuations.” + </p> + <p> + Donald stood up as he spoke. His face was deeply flushed. He had drunk + heavily during the evening. Even the best men, the leaders of every class + and section of society drank heavily in those days. He was an exceptional + man who always went to bed in full possession of his senses. Donald Ward + was no worse than his fellows. But the man whom he challenged was one of + the few for whom the wine bottle had no attractions. He was also one of + those—rare in any age—who had learnt the mastery of self, whom + no words, even insulting words, can drive beyond the limits of their + patience. + </p> + <p> + “If I have spoken anything which hurts or vexes you, Donald Ward, I am + sorry for it. I had no wish to do so. Comrades in a great enterprise must + not quarrel with each other. I offer you my hand in token that I do not + think of you as anything but an honourable man.” + </p> + <p> + “Spoken like a gentleman,” said Donald, grasping the outstretched hand. + “Enough said, you have satisfied me that you meant no insult. A gentleman + can do no more.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not what they call a gentleman,” said James Hope, “I am only a poor + weaver with no claim to any such title.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII + </h2> + <p> + At breakfast the next morning James Hope spoke again about Finlay. + </p> + <p> + “The man went home last night with Aeneas Moylin. I think that I ought to + go to Donegore to-day and tell Aeneas of our suspicions. I had intended to + go straight to Templepatrick, and I might have had your company so far, + but it will certainly be better for me to go round by Donegore.” + </p> + <p> + Donald Ward nodded. + </p> + <p> + “I shall not see Finlay himself,” said Hope. “He was to leave early this + morning for Belfast. You must ride fast to be there before him.” + </p> + <p> + He paused. Then, after a moment’s thought, he said: + </p> + <p> + “I should like to have Neal with me, if you can spare him, Donald Ward, if + you do not object to riding alone.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure,” said Donald, “that Neal will benefit much more by your + company than mine. He can join me in Belfast this evening.” + </p> + <p> + This was Donald’s apology, his confession of contrition for the rough + language of the night before; his confession that in James Hope he had met + a man who was his superior. + </p> + <p> + “So be it,” said Hope. “I shall not propose to you, Neal, that we ride and + tie as the custom of the country is for travellers who have only one horse + between them. You shall lead the horse, and so we shall be able to talk to + each other.” + </p> + <p> + Neal agreed to the plan gladly. He was greatly attracted by James Hope, + and glad to spend some hours with him. + </p> + <p> + The girl came running into the room, her face flushed with excitement. + </p> + <p> + “Come, come,” she cried, “the soldiers are riding down the street in their + braw red coats. Oh, the bonny men and the bonny horses!” + </p> + <p> + The three travellers went to the door of the inn. Four companies of + dragoons were passing through the town at a trot. It was Neal’s first view + of any considerable body of troops. He stared at them, fascinated by the + jingling and clattering of their accoutrements. These were very different + from the yeomen he had seen at Dunseveric. Everything about them, the + uniformity of their appearance, the condition of their arms and horses, + the regularity of their march, expressed the fact that they were highly + disciplined men. Donald Ward smiled grimly as he watched them. + </p> + <p> + “There are the men we’ve got to beat,” he said. “Fine fellows, eh, Neal? + They look as if they could sweep you and me and Jemmy Hope here, and a + crowd like us, out of their way; but I’ve seen men in those same pretty + clothes glad enough to turn their backs on troops no better organised nor + drilled than ours will be.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor fellows!” said Hope “poor fellows! Paid to fight and die in quarrels + which are not their own. To fight for their masters, that their masters + may grow rich and great. And yet they are of the people, too. It is just + starvation, or the fear of it, that led them to enlist.” + </p> + <p> + “Where are they going now?” asked Neal. + </p> + <p> + “To Belfast,” said Hope. “I heard that the garrison there was deemed + insufficient and that a fresh regiment of dragoons had been ordered in + from Derry.” + </p> + <p> + “Look at them well, Neal,” said Donald. “Look at them so that you’ll know + them when you next see them. You’ll meet them again before long.” + </p> + <p> + James Hope and Neal started on their walk soon after the dragoons had + passed. Just outside the town they turned aside to view the round tower, + the most famous of the buildings of its kind in the north. + </p> + <p> + “None knows,” said Hope, “who built these towers, or why, but it seems + certain to me that they were built by men with lofty thoughts, by men who + looked upward rather than to the earth. Some say that it was to other gods + they looked up and not to the true God. What does it matter? Their hearts, + like their towers, rose clear of earthly hamperings and reached towards + heaven.” + </p> + <p> + He asked Neal many questions about his way of life and education, about + the books he had read, and the periods of history he found specially + interesting. + </p> + <p> + “I had no such opportunities when a boy,” said Hope, “as you have had. I + am a self-educated man. I never had but fifteen months of schooling in my + life. What little knowledge I have I gained with great difficulty.” + </p> + <p> + This surprised Neal, for it seemed to him that he had never talked to + anyone who possessed more of that sweetness and wide reasonableness of + outlook upon life which ought to be the end of education. He tried to + express something of what he felt, but Hope stopped him and turned the + talk into other channels. + </p> + <p> + At Farranshane Hope bade him stand still and look at a farmhouse which + stood a little back from the road. + </p> + <p> + “It was there,” he said, “that William Orr lived. His widow and weans are + there now. You know the story, Neal?” + </p> + <p> + “I know it; yes, I know the outlines of it. Do you tell it to me again.” + </p> + <p> + Hope repeated the story, which in those days hardly needed telling among + the Antrim peasants, of the man whose name had become a watchword; so that + men, seeking to revive failing enthusiasms, said to each other—“Remember + Orr.” It was a pitiful tale; a man marked down as odious by a powerful + faction, spied upon, informed against, tried by prejudiced judges, + condemned on the word of false witnesses, hanged. The same tale might have + been told of many another then, but William Orr came first on the list of + such martyrs, and even now his name is not wholly forgotten. + </p> + <p> + They reached Donegore. Moylin’s house—a comfortable, two-storeyed + building, built of large blocks of stone—stood on the side of the + steep hill, near the old church and the graveyard. Hope, bidding Neal wait + for him on the roadside, entered the house. In about a quarter of an hour + he returned. + </p> + <p> + “It is as I thought,” he said. “Finlay left early this morning after + arranging for a meeting of the United Irishmen here next week. Well, there + is no more to be done for the present. I have warned Moylin to be careful. + Come and let me show you the ancient fort from which the parish takes its + name and the view from it.” + </p> + <p> + “This,” said Hope, when they stood at last on the top of the great rath, + “is my Pisgah. From this I have looked many a time over the land. See, + west, south, east of you, how it spreads, rich, beautiful, from the shores + of Lough Neagh to the shores of Belfast Lough and the sea of Moyle. Here + great men, warriors of the past, had their hill-top burial, and it may be + fixed their fortress home. From this they looked over the country which + they took and held by strength of arm and courage of soul. Are we a meaner + race, men of a poorer spirit? Shall we not enter in and possess the land + in our turn? All over the world the voice of liberty is heard now, clear + and strong, bidding the people assert themselves and claim right and + justice. Are our ears alone deaf to the high call? Has the pursuit of + riches dulled our souls? Is the clink of gold and silver so loud in our + ears that we can hear nothing else?” + </p> + <p> + They descended the grassy sides of the old fort, walked down the steep + lane from Moylin’s house, and joined the road again. Turning to the right, + they went under the shade of fine trees which reached their branches over + the road from the demesne in which they grew. + </p> + <p> + “The big house in there,” said Hope, “belongs to one of the landlord + families of this county. It has been their’s for generations. On the lawn + in front of that house a company of Volunteers used to meet for drill. The + owner of the house, the lord of the soil, was their captain. In those days + we had all Ireland united—the landlords, the merchants, and the + farming people. Now it is not so. Our landlords won then what they wanted—freedom + and power. They have ruled Ireland since 1782. The merchants and + manufacturers also won what they chiefly wanted—the opportunity of + fair and free trade. They have grown rich, and are every year growing + richer. They bid fair to make Ireland a great commercial nation—what + she ought to be, the link between the Old World and the New. But both the + landlords and the traders have been selfish. Having gained the object of + their desires, they are unwilling to share either power or riches with the + people. They have refused to consider reasonable measures of reform. They + have goaded and harried us until——” + </p> + <p> + He ceased speaking and sighed. + </p> + <p> + “But,” he went on, “they will not be able to keep either their power or + their riches. In refusing to trust the people they are ensuring their own + doom. They forget that there is a power greater than theirs—that + England is continually on the watch to win back again her sovereignty over + Ireland. Our upper class and our middle class are too jealous of their + privileges to share them with us. They will give England the opportunity + she wants. Then Ireland will be brought into the old subjection, and her + advance towards prosperity will be checked again as it was checked before. + She will become a country of haughty squireens—the most contemptible + class of all, men of blackened honour and broken faith, men proud, but + with nothing to be proud of—and of ruined traders; a land of + ill-cultivated fields and ruined mills; a nation crushed by her + conqueror.” + </p> + <p> + Neal listened attentively. It was curious that the fear to which James + Hope gave expression was the very same which he had heard from Lord + Dun-severic. Each dreaded England. Each saw that out of the turmoil of + contemporary politics would come the restoration of the English power over + Ireland. But Lord Dunseveric blamed the schemes of the United Irishmen. + James Hope blamed the selfishness of the upper classes. Neal tried to + explain to his companion what he understood of Lord Dunseveric’s opinions. + </p> + <p> + James Hope broke in on him, interrupting him. + </p> + <p> + “But the people are slaves, actually slaves, not a whit better. Are + nine-tenths of the people to be slaves to one-tenth? The thing is + unendurable. Look at the Catholics in the south, men without + representation, without power, without direct influence; men marked with a + brand of inferiority because of their religion. Look at the men of our own + faith here in the north. Our case is not wholly so bad, but it is bad + enough. We have asked, petitioned, begged, implored, for the removal of + our grievances. If we are men we must do more—we must strike for + them. Else we confess ourselves unworthy of the freedom which we claim. + They alone are fit for liberty who dare to fight for liberty. Think of it, + Neal Ward, think. It is we, the people, digging in the fields, toiling at + the looms, it is we who make the riches, who win the good fruit from the + hard ground, who weave the thread into the precious fabric. And we are + denied a share in what we create. It is from us in the last resort that + the power of the governing classes comes. If we had not taken arms in our + hands at their bidding, if we had not stood by them, no English Minister + would ever have yielded to their demands, and given them the power which + they enjoy. And they will not give us the smallest part of what we won for + them. ‘What inheritance have we in Judah? Now see to thine own house, + David. To your tents, O Israel!’” + </p> + <p> + James Hope’s voice rose. His eyes flashed. His whole face was enlightened + with enthusiasm as he spoke. Neal listened, awed. Here was the devotion to + the cause of suffering and oppressed men, the spirit which had produced + revolution, which had begotten from the womb of humanity pure and noble + men, which had, in the violence of its self-assertion, deluged cities with + blood and defiled a great cause with dreadful deeds. He had no answer to + make, and for a long while they walked in silence. + </p> + <p> + Reaching Templepatrick, Hope took Neal to the house of John Birnie, a + hand-loom weaver, a cousin of his own. They were welcomed by the woman of + the house and given a share of a meal which even to Neal, brought up as he + had been without luxury in his father’s manse, seemed poor and meagre. But + no thought of the hardness of their fare seemed to trouble the mind of the + weaver and his wife. Theirs was the kind of hospitality which disdains + apology or pretence. They gave of their best. There was no more that they + could do. Also, it was evident that the tickling of the palate with food, + or the filling of the belly with delicate things was not a matter of much + importance to these people. Living hard and toilsome lives, they had the + constant companionship of lofty thoughts. They felt as James Hope did, and + spoke like him. + </p> + <p> + Neal lingered so long in the company of these new friends that it was far + on in the afternoon when he started on his ride, and late in the evening + when he arrived in the outskirts of Belfast. It was his first visit to the + town, and he approached it with feelings of interest and curiosity. Riding + down the long hill by which the road from Templepatrick approaches + Greencastle on the way to the town, he was able to gaze over the waters of + the lough which lay stretched beneath him on his left. In the + Carrickfergus roads several ships lay at anchor, among them a frigate of + the English navy. Pinnaces and small craft plied between them and the + shore, or headed for the entrance of Belfast Harbour by the tortuous + channel worn through mud and sand by the Lagan. Below him, by the sea, + were the handsome houses which the richer class of merchants were already + beginning to build for themselves on the shores of the lough. Between + Carnmoney and Belfast he passed the bleach greens of the linen weavers, + where the long webs of the cloth, for which Belfast was afterwards to + become famous, lay white or yellow on the grass. On his right rose the + rugged sides of the Cave Hill. High above its rocks towered MacArt’s fort, + where Wolfe Tone, M’Cracken, Samuel Neilson, and his new friend, James + Hope, with others, had sworn the oath of the United Irishmen. They had + separated far from each other since the day of their swearing, but each in + his own way—Tone among the intrigues of Continental politics, + M’Cracken in Belfast, Neilson and Hope among the Antrim peasantry—had + kept the oath and would keep it until the end. + </p> + <p> + Entering the town, he passed the recently-erected poorhouse and infirmary, + a building designed with a curious spacious generosity, as were the + buildings in Dublin and elsewhere which Irishmen erected during the short + day of their national independence. In Donegall Street he saw the new + church—Ann’s Church, as the people called it—-thinking rather + of the lady of Lord Donegall, who interested herself in its building, than + the Mother of the Virgin in whose honour good Protestants were little + likely to build a church. But the classic portico and tall tower did not + hold his attention long. He could not but notice that there was an air of + anxious excitement in the demeanour of the citizens who passed him in the + street. They were all hurrying one way, making from one direction or + another for the side street whose entrance faced the church. Neal accosted + one or two, but received either no answer or words uttered so hurriedly + that he could not catch their import. Determined at length to get some + intelligible reply to his questions, he pulled his horse across the path + of an elderly gentleman of respectable appearance. + </p> + <p> + “Will you tell me,” he said, “the way to North Street? I am a stranger in + your town.” + </p> + <p> + “And if you are a stranger you will do well to keep out of North Street + the night.” + </p> + <p> + “But I seek a house of entertainment to which I have been directed—Felix + Matier’s inn at the sign of Dumouriez.” + </p> + <p> + “Who are you, young man, who seek that house? They say——. But + let me pass, let me pass. I am the secretary of William Bristow, the + sovereign of Belfast, and I must see for myself, I must see for myself + what these incarnate devils of dragoons are doing in our streets.” + </p> + <p> + “I will not let you pass,” said Neal, “till you give me a civil answer to + my question. I think you citizens of Belfast are as uncivil as men say you + are, and are all gone mad to-night that you will not direct a stranger on + his way.” + </p> + <p> + “A wilful man, a wilful man. Follow me. Or, let me lay my hand on your + bridle. The crowd gathers fast. It may be that your horse, if I keep by + it, will enable me to push my way through. But blame me not if you come by + a broken head through your wilfulness.” + </p> + <p> + Neal’s guide, the sovereign’s pursy and excited secretary, led the horse + down the side street, along which the people were hurrying. Suddenly the + crowd hesitated, stopped, began to surge back again. Neal, standing up in + his stirrups, saw that the end of the narrow street along which he rode + was blocked by another crowd, which fled into it from a larger + thoroughfare beyond. There was much trampling and pushing and shouting. + Neal’s guide, clinging desperately to the horse’s bridle, was borne back. + The horse began to plunge. This was too much for the old gentleman. He + loosed his grip. + </p> + <p> + “Go on,” he said, “go on if you can, young man. That’s the North Street in + front of you.” + </p> + <p> + The reason for the crowd’s flight became obvious. A number of dragoons, + dismounted, half-clothed, and apparently free from all discipline, came + rushing down North Street. As they swept past the entrance of the side + street Neal had a clear view of them over the heads of the crowd. In a + moment they had passed out of sight again, but the moment was enough. + Running with the soldiers, his arm gripped by a dragoon, but running with + his own free will, was James Finlay. Neal was stung to fury by the sight + of this man. He had no doubt at all now that he had to do with a traitor. + He drove his heels against his horse’s side, lashed at the creature’s + flanks with his rod, and fairly forced his way through the cursing, + shouting crowd into North Street. + </p> + <p> + At the far end of the street he saw the dragoons raging and rioting round + a house which stood a storey higher than any other near it. The whole + length of the street lay almost empty before him. The soldiers had + effectually cleared a way for themselves. He rode towards the scene of the + riot. He saw that two civilians were defending the front of the house + against the soldiers. They fought with sticks, and Neal recognised one of + them as his uncle, Donald Ward. Before he could reach them they were + forced into the house, and followed indoors by some of the dragoons. James + Finlay had disappeared. Neal hesitated and stopped, uncertain what to do. + Some of the soldiers placed a ladder against the wall. One of them + mounted, with a sledge hammer in his hand, and battered at the iron + supports which held a signboard to the wall. The iron bars bent under his + blows, the holdfasts were torn from the wall, and the painted board fell + into the street. A yell of triumph greeted the fall. The soldiers stamped + on the board with their heavy boots and hacked at it with their swords. + Then another man mounted the ladder with a splintered fragment in his + hand. He whirled it round his head, and flung it far down the street. + </p> + <p> + “There’s for the rebelly sign,” he shouted. “There’s for Dumouriez! + There’s the way we treat damned French and Irish croppies.” + </p> + <p> + The crowd, which had gathered courage and followed Neal down the street, + answered him with a groan and a volley of stones. The man sprang from the + ladder, called to his comrades, and in a moment the dragoons drew together + and, their swords in their hands, charged the crowd. Neal’s horse, + terrified by the shouting, became unmanageable. Neal flung himself to the + ground, staggered, was knocked down and trampled on, first by the flying + people, then by the soldiers who pursued them. He rose when the rush was + over. The street around him was empty again. The fragments of the + shattered signboard lay around. The windows of the house that had been + attacked were all broken, either by the stones of the people or the blows + of the soldiers. There was a sound of fighting within the house. Neal ran + towards the door. A woman’s shriek reached him, and a moment later a + soldier came out of the door dragging a girl with him. He had a wisp of + her hair gathered in his hand, and he pulled at it savagely. The girl + stumbled on the doorstep, fell, was dragged a pace or two, staggered to + her feet, clutched at the soldier’s hand and fastened her teeth in his + wrist. Neal sprang forward at the man’s throat, grasped it, and, by the + sheer impetus of his spring, bore the dragoon to the ground. He was + conscious of being uppermost in the fall, of the fierce struggling of the + man he held, of the girl tearing with her hands and writhing in the effort + to free her hair, of shouting near at hand, of a rush of men from the + house. Then he received a blow on the head which stunned him. He awoke to + consciousness a few minutes later, and heard his uncle’s voice. + </p> + <p> + “Is the girl inside and the man? Have you got him? Then for the door. + They’ll hardly venture into the house again after the reception we gave + them. It was a mighty nice fight while it lasted. Now a light, a light. + Let us see if anyone’s hurt.” + </p> + <p> + Someone brought a light. Neal tried to rise, but was too giddy. The girl + whom the soldier had dragged into the street stood beside him. Her hair—bright + red hair—hung about her shoulders. Her dress was in tatters, she was + spitting blood, and wiping it off her mouth with the back of her hand. + </p> + <p> + “Hullo, Meg, Peg, whatever your name is,” said Donald Ward, “you’re + bleeding. Where are you cut? Let me see to it?” + </p> + <p> + “Thon’s no my blood,” said the girl. “It’s his. I got my teeth intil him. + Ay, faith, it’s his blood that I’m spitting out of my mouth. I did hear + tell that it was black blood was in the likes of him, but I see now it’s + red enough. I’m glad of it, for I’ve swallowed a gill of it since I + gripped his wrist, and I wouldna’ like to swallow poison.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, Peg, my wench, since you’re not hurt, let’s take a look at + the man that helped you. He’s lying there mighty quiet. I’m afraid there’s + some harm done to him.” + </p> + <p> + Donald Ward took the light and bent over Neal. + </p> + <p> + “By God,” he said, “it’s Neal, and he’s hurt or killed.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s all right,” said Neal, feebly, “I’m only dizzy. I got a bang on the + head. I’ll be all right in a minute.” + </p> + <p> + “Matier,” said Donald, “come and help me with the boy. I must get him to + bed. Where can I put him?” + </p> + <p> + “There’s not a room in the house with a whole pane of glass in the + window,” said Felix Matier, “except my own. It looks out on the back, and + the villains never came at it. We’ll take him there. I’ll lift his + shoulders, and go first.” + </p> + <p> + He approached Neal and was about to lift him when the girl pushed him + aside and stooped over Neal herself. + </p> + <p> + “Come now, what’s the meaning of this, Peg Macllrea? Are you so daft with + your fighting that you hustle your master aside?” + </p> + <p> + “Master or no master,” said Peg, “you’ll not carry him. It was for me that + he got hurted, and it’s me that’ll carry him.” + </p> + <p> + She put her arms under Neal and lifted him. He was a big man, but she + carried him up a flight of stairs and laid him on her master’s bed. The + long matted tresses of her red hair hung over his face, and an occasional + drop of the blood which still dripped from her fell on him. Donald Ward + and Matier followed her. + </p> + <p> + “Let’s have a look at him,” said Donald. “Ah! here’s a scalp wound and a + cut on the head the length of my finger. This must be seen to. Run, Peg, + get me linen and a basin of cold water. It must have been a boot did this. + A kick from one of the rascally dragoons as they passed over him when we + chased them. Now, Neal, are you hurt anywhere else?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m bruises from head to foot. Half the people in Belfast have trampled + over me this night, and when they wear boots they wear mighty heavy ones.” + </p> + <p> + Donald, with wonderful gentleness, took Neal’ clothes off him, put on him + a night shirt of Felix Matier’s, and laid him between cool sheets. + </p> + <p> + “Sit you here, Peg,” he said, when he had bandaged the cut head, “with the + jug of water beside you, and keep the bandage wet. The other bruises are + nothing, but a broken head needs to be minded. Now, Neal, don’t you talk.” + </p> + <p> + Matier fetched a bottle of wine and set it with the light on the table + which stood near the window. + </p> + <p> + “We’ll have to sit here,” he said, “if we don’t disturb your nephew. Every + other room in the house is in a state of scatteration. I have set the + girls to clean up a bit, and after a while they’ll have beds for us to + sleep in. It’s a devil of a business, but as poor Tone used to say when + things went wrong with him— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘Tis but in vain + For soldiers to complain.’” + </pre> + <p> + “What started the riot?” asked Donald. “The Lord knows. Those dragoons + only marched into the town this afternoon. I suppose the devil entered + into them, if the devil’s ever out of them at all.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess,” said Donald, “those were the lads that marched through Antrim + this morning.” + </p> + <p> + “The very same.” + </p> + <p> + “They’re strangers to the town, then?” + </p> + <p> + “Ay; I don’t suppose one of them ever saw Belfast before.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me this, then. How did they know what house to attack? They came + straight here.” + </p> + <p> + “It was my sign angered them. They couldn’t abide the sight of Dumouriez’ + honest face in a Belfast street. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Then let us fight about, Dumouriez; + Then let us fight about, Dumouriez; + Then let us fight about, + Till freedom’s spark is out, + Then we’ll be damned no doubt—Dumouriez.” + </pre> + <p> + “You miss the point, man; you miss my point. How did they know about your + sign or you either, unless someone told them?” + </p> + <p> + There was a knocking, gentle at first, and then more confident, at the + street door. Donald looked inquiringly at his host. + </p> + <p> + “It’s all right,” said Matlier, “I know that knock. It’s James Bigger, a + safe man.” + </p> + <p> + He left the room and returned with a young man whom he introduced to + Donald Ward. + </p> + <p> + “We were just talking about the riot,” said Donald. “What’s your opinion + about it, Mr. Bigger?” + </p> + <p> + “There are five houses wrecked,” said Bigger, “and every one of them the + house of a man in sympathy with reform and liberty and the Union.” + </p> + <p> + Donald and Matier exchanged glances. + </p> + <p> + “They were well informed,” said Donald. “They knew what they were at, and + where to go.” + </p> + <p> + “They say,” said Bigger, “that the leaders of the different parties had + papers in their hands with directions on them. They were seen looking at + them in the streets.” + </p> + <p> + “I’d like to put my hand on one of those papers,” said Donald. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Zipperty, zipperty, zand,” + </pre> + <p> + quoted Matier, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “I wish I’d a bit of that in my hand.” + </pre> + <p> + “You know the old rhyme.” + </p> + <p> + Neal lay quiet, but wide awake. The conversation interested him too much + to allow him to sleep. Twice he tried to speak, but each time Peg + Macllrea, determined now that he was under her care to keep him quiet, put + her hand over his mouth. At last he succeeded in asserting himself in + spite of her. + </p> + <p> + “I saw James Finlay,” he said, “along with a party of the soldiers going + up this street.” + </p> + <p> + The three men at the table turned to him. Donald seemed about to + cross-question him when Peg Macllrea spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Is it a bit of the soger’s paper you’re wantin’? Here’s for you.” + </p> + <p> + She fumbled in the pocket of her skirt and drew out a crumpled scrap of + paper. + </p> + <p> + “I snapped it out of his hand in the kitchen. It was for grabbing it that + he catched me by the hair o’ the head. I saw him glowerin’ at it as soon + as ever he came intil the light.” + </p> + <p> + Donald Ward took it from her hand and read— + </p> + <p> + “The house of Felix Matier, an inn at the far end of North Street, to be + known easily by the sign of Dumouriez which hangs before the door. Felix + Matier is + + +.” + </p> + <p> + He passed it without comment to Matier, who read it and laughed. + </p> + <p> + “They have me marked with three crosses,” he said. “I’m dangerous. But + what do they mean by it. How do they come to know so much about me? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘Ken ye aught of Captain Grose Igo and ago. + Is he amang friends or foes? Iram, coram, dago.’ +</pre> + <p> + “Who set the dragoons on you?” said Donald. “That’s the question.” + </p> + <p> + “By God, then, it’s easily answered,” said Matier. “I’ll give it to you in + the words of the poet— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘Letters four do form his name. + He let them loose and cried Halloo! + To him alone the praise is due.’ +</pre> + <p> + “P.I.T.T. Does that content you?” + </p> + <p> + “Pitt,” said Donald. “Oh, I see. That’s true, no doubt. But I want some + one nearer hand than Pitt. Who gave them this paper? Whose is the writing + on it?” + </p> + <p> + “I can tell you that,” said James Bigger. “I have a note in my pocket this + minute from the man who wrote that. It’s a summons to a meeting for + important business at the house of Aeneas Moylin, on the hill of Donegore, + next week.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you?” said Donald. + </p> + <p> + “Ay, and the man’s name is James Finlay.” + </p> + <p> + A dead silence followed the statement. It was Donald who broke it. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon, friend Bigger, that I’ll go with you to that meeting. We’ll + take Neal here along, too. He knows the man. There’ll be some important + business done that night, though maybe not quite the same as what James + Finlay has planned.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII + </h2> + <p> + Neal Ward was awakened next morning by the noise which Peg Macllrea made + sweeping and tidying the room where he slept. He lay for a few minutes + watching the girl. Her red hair was coiled up now in a neat roll at the + back of her head. Her freckled face was clean, and had apparently escaped + bruising in her conflict with the dragoon. She wore a short grey skirt of + woollen homespun. The sleeves of her bodice were rolled up, and displayed + a pair of muscular red arms. The girl was more than commonly tall, and + anyone listening to her heavy footfall, and noting her thick figure and + broad shoulders, would have understood that she was well able to carry a + young man, even of Neal’s height, up a flight of stairs. The dragoon might + easily have come to the worst in single combat with such a maiden if he + had not obtained an advantage over her at the start by twisting her hair + round his hand. + </p> + <p> + It was not very long before she noticed that Neal was awake. She came over + to him smiling. + </p> + <p> + “You’ve had a brave sleep,” she said. “It’s nigh on eleven o’clock. The + master and Mr. Ward are out this twa hours. They bid me not stir you. I + was just readying up the room a bit, and I went about it as mim as a + mouse.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m thinking,” said Neal, “that I’ll be getting up now.” + </p> + <p> + “‘Deed, then, and you’ll no. The last word the master said was just that + you were to lie in the day. I’m to give you tea and toasted bread, and an + egg if you fancy it.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” said Neal, “I can’t lie here in bed all day.” + </p> + <p> + “Whisht, now, whisht. Be good and I’ll get you them twa graven images the + master’s so set on and let you glower at them. Maybe you never seen the + like.” + </p> + <p> + She spoke precisely as if she had a sick child to humour; as if she were + the nurse in charge, determined at any sacrifice to keep the peevish + little one from crying. She crossed the room to a book-case and took down + two bronze busts. With the utmost care she carried them over and laid them + on the bed in front of Neal. + </p> + <p> + “The master’s one of them that goes neither to church nor mass nor + meeting,” she said. “If ever he says his prayers at all, at all, it’s to + them twa graven images he says them, and the dear knows they’re no so + eye-sweet.” + </p> + <p> + She left the room, well satisfied apparently that she had provided her + patient with playthings which would keep him good till she returned with + his breakfast. Neal took up the busts and examined them. He would not have + known whose faces were represented had not an inscription on the pedestal + of each informed him. “Voltaire,” he read on one, “Rousseau” on the other. + These were strange household gods for a Belfast innkeeper to revere. Neal, + gazing at them, slowly grasped their significance. He had heard talk of + French ideas, had seen his father shake his head over the works of certain + philosophers. He knew that there was an intellectual freedom claimed by + many of those who were most enthusiastic in the cause of political reform. + He had not previously met anyone who was likely to accept the teaching of + either Voltaire or Rousseau. His eyes wandered from the busts to the + book-case on which they had stood. It was well filled, crammed with books. + Neal could see them standing in close rows, books of all sizes and + thicknesses, but he could not read the names on their backs. Peg Macllrea + returned with his breakfast on a wooden tray. She put it down in front of + him and then set herself to entertain him while he ate. + </p> + <p> + “Thon was a brave coup you gave the soger in the street,” she said. “You + gripped him fine, the ugly devil. But you did na hurt him much. He was up + and off when they got us dragged from him, as hard as ever he could lift a + foot. You’ll be fond of fighting?” + </p> + <p> + “So far,” said Neal, “I have generally got the worst of it when I have + fought.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, you would. Your way of fighting is no just the canniest, but I like + you no the worse for it. You might have got off without thon bloody clout + on the top of your head if ye’d just clodded stones and then run like the + rest of them. But that’s no your way of fightin’. Did ye ever fight + afore?” + </p> + <p> + “Just two nights ago,” said Neal, “and I got the scrape on the side of my + face then.” + </p> + <p> + “And was it for a lassie you were fightin’ thon time? I see well by the + face of you that it was. And she liked you for it. Did she no? She’d be a + quare one that didna. Did she give you a kiss to make the scrab on your + face better? I wouldna think twice about giving you one myself only you + wouldn’t have kisses from the likes of me. Be quiet now, and sup up your + tea. I willna have you offering to slabber ower my hand if that’s what + you’re after.” + </p> + <p> + Neal, who had felt himself goaded to some act of gallantry, returned + sheepishly to his tea and toast. + </p> + <p> + “You’re no a Belfast boy?” said Peg. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Neal, “I’m from Dunseveric, right away in the north of the + county.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, are you? Do you mind the old rhyme— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘County Antrim, men and horses, + County Down for bonny lasses.’ +</pre> + <p> + Maybe your lassie, the one that kissed you, was out of the County Down?” + </p> + <p> + “She was not,” said Neal, unguardedly. + </p> + <p> + Peg Macllrea laughed with delight and clapped her hands. + </p> + <p> + “I knew rightly there was a lassie, and that she kissed you. Now you’ve + tellt me yourself. But I willna split on you, nor I willna let on that you + tellt on her. But I hope she’s bonny, though she does not come from the + County Down.” + </p> + <p> + Neal grew angry. It did not seem fitting that this red-haired, freckled + servant, with her bold tongue and red arms, should make game of Una St. + Clair’s kisses. They were sacred things in his memory. + </p> + <p> + “Now you’re getting vexed,” she said. “You’re as cross as twa sticks. I + can see it in your eyes. Well, I’ve more to do than to be coaxing you.” + </p> + <p> + She turned her back on him and began to sing— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “I would I were in Ballinderry, + I would I were in Aghalee, + I would I were on bonny Ram’s Island, + Sitting under an ivy tree. + Ochone! Ochone!” + </pre> + <p> + “Peg,” said Neal, “Peg Macllrea, don’t you be cross with me.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “I would I were in Ballinderry,” + </pre> + <p> + she began again. + </p> + <p> + “Peg,” said Neal, “I’ve finished my tea, and I wish you’d turn round. + Please do, please.” + </p> + <p> + She turned to him at last with a broad smile on her face. + </p> + <p> + “Is that the way you wheedled the poor lassie out of the kiss? But there + now, I’ll no say a word more about her if it makes you sore. But I can’t + sit here crackin’ all day. I’ve the dinner to get ready, and the master’ll + be quare and angry if it’s no ready against he’s home.” + </p> + <p> + She picked up the tray as she spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Would you like me to leave you them twa graven images?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I’d like you to take them away,” said Neal, “and then get me a book out + of the case.” + </p> + <p> + “I will, surely. What sort of a book would you like? A big one or a wee + one. There’s one here in a braw red cover with pictures of ships in it. + Maybe it might content you.” + </p> + <p> + “Read me a few of their names,” said Neal, “and I’ll tell you which to + bring.” + </p> + <p> + “Faith, if you wait for me to read you the names you’ll wait till the + crack of doom. Nobody ever learned me readin’, writin’, or ‘rithmetic.” + </p> + <p> + “Bring me three or four,” said Neal, “and I’ll choose the one I like + best.” + </p> + <p> + She deposited half a dozen volumes on the chair beside him and left the + room. Neal took them up one by one. There was a volume of “Voltaire,” Tom + Paine’s “Rights of Man,” “The Vindiciæ Gallicæ,” by Mackintosh, Godwin’s + “Political Justice,” Montesquieu’s “Esprit des Lois,” and a volume of + Burns’ poetry, not long out from a Belfast printer. Neal already knew + Godwin’s works and the “Esprit des Lois.” They stood on his father’s + bookshelves. He glanced at the pages of the others, and finally settled + down to read Burns’ poetry. The Scottish dialect presents little + difficulty to a man bred among County Antrim people. The love songs, with + their extraordinary freshness and vivid emotion, delighted Neal. Like many + lovers of poetry, he tasted the full pleasure of verse best when he read + it aloud. One after another he declaimed the marvellous songs, returning + again and again to one which seemed peculiarly suited to his circumstances— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “It’s not the roar o’ sea or shore + Wad make me longer wish to tarry; + Nor shouts o’ war that’s heard afar— + It’s leaving thee, my bonny Mary.” + </pre> + <p> + He read the song aloud for the fourth time. As he uttered the last words + he heard a laugh, and, looking up, saw his host, Felix Matier, standing at + the door of the room. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Neal, good morrow to you. You’re well enough in body, to judge by + your voice. But if that poem’s a measure of the state of your mind you’re + sick at heart. Never mind Mary, man. There’s better stuff in Burns than + that. He’s no bad poet, is Rabbie Burns. Listen to this now. Here’s one + I’m fond of.” + </p> + <p> + He took the book out of Neal’s hand, and read him “Holy Willie’s Prayer.” + His dry intonation’, his perfect rendering of the dialect of the poem, the + sly twinkle of his eyes as he read, added exquisite malice to the satire. + </p> + <p> + “But maybe,” he said, “I oughtn’t to be reading the like of that to you + that’s the son of the Manse, though nobody would think of Holy Willie and + your father together. I’m not very fond of the clergy myself, Neal, either + of your Church or another. I’m much of John Milton’s opinion that new + presbyter is just old priest writ large, but if there’s one kind of + minister that’s not so bad as the rest it’s the New Light men of the + Ulster Synod, and your father’s one of the best of them. But here’s + something now that Micah Ward would approve of. Just let me read you this. + I’ll have time enough before your uncle comes in. He’s not a man of books, + that uncle of yours, and I’d be ashamed if he caught me reading at this + hour of the day. But listen to me now.” + </p> + <p> + He took up the volume of “Voltaire” and read— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + L’âme des grands travaux, l’objet des nobles voeux, + Que tout mortel embrasse, ou désire, ou rapelle, + Qui vit dans tous les coeurs, et dont le nom sacré + Dans les cours des tyrans est tout bas adoré, La Liberté! + J’ai vu cette déesse altière + Avec égalité répandant tous les biens, + Descendre de Morat en habit de guerrière, + Les mains teintes du sang des fiers Autrichiens + Et de Charles le Téméraire.” + </pre> + <p> + Felix Matier’s manner of pronouncing French was somewhat painful to listen + to. Voltaire would probably have failed to recognise his solitary lyric if + he had heard it read by Mr. Matier. But if the poet had discovered that + the verses were his own and had got over his shudder at a mangling of + French sounds worse than the worst he can have heard at Potsdam from the + courtiers of Frederick William, he would probably have been well enough + satisfied with the spirit of the rendering. Mr. Matier, of the North + Street, Belfast, was obviously a sincere worshipper of the <i>déesse + altière</i>, and would have been delighted to see her hands <i>teintes du + sang</i> of the men who had torn down his sign the night before. Neal, + though he could read French easily, did not understand a single word he + heard. He took the book from his host to see what the poem was about. Mr. + Matier did not seem the least vexed, although he understood what Neal was + doing. + </p> + <p> + “The French are a great people,” he said. “Europe owes them all the ideas + that are worth having. I’d be the last man to breathe a word against them, + but I must say that it requires some sort of a twisted jaw to pronounce + their language properly. I understand it all right when it’s printed, but + as for Speaking it or following it when a Frenchman speaks it——” + </p> + <p> + He shrugged his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “But it’s time I stopped moidering you with poetry. I hope you’re really + feeling better. I hope Peg took good care of you, and brought you your + breakfast.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed she did. She took rather too good care of me. I thought one time + she was going to kiss me. + </p> + <p> + “Did she make to do that? Well, now, just think of it! Isn’t she the + brazen hussy? And I’m sure her breath reeked of onions or some such like.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said Neal, “we didn’t get as far as that. Her breath may be roses + for all I know.” + </p> + <p> + “You kept her at arm’s length. Serve her well right. I never heard of such + impudence. But these red-haired ones are the devil. It’s the same with + horses. I had a chestnut filly one time—a neat little tit in her way—but + she’d kick the weathercock off the top of the church steeple whenever she + was a bit fresh. Never trust anything red. A red dog will bite you, a red + horse will kick you, a red wench will kiss you, besides being a damned + unlucky thing to meet first thing in the morning, a red soldier will hang + you. There’s only one good thing in the world that’s red, and that’s a red + cap—the red cap of Liberty, Neal, and may we soon have all the red + coats in the country cut up into such head-gear.” + </p> + <p> + It was fortunate for Neal that he found Felix Matier’s conversation + amusing and Felix Matier’s books interesting. He had ample opportunity of + enjoying them during the week which followed the dragoons’ riot. Donald + Ward refused, as long as possible to allow him to get out of bed, and even + when Neal was up and dressed, peremptorily forbade him to leave the house. + He spoke weighty words about his experience of wounds, of frightful + consequences which followed cuts on the head when the cold of the outer + air got at them, of men who had died of lockjaw because they would not + take care of scalp wounds, of burning eruptions which broke out on the + unwary, of desperate fevers threatening life and reason. + </p> + <p> + Neal was puzzled. He had tumbled about among the rocks at Ballintoy a good + deal during his boyhood, cutting and bruising most parts of his body. Even + his head had not escaped. There was a deep scar under his hair which he + had come by in the course of an attempt to enter a long fissure among the + rocks of the Skerries, off Port-rush. But such wounds had troubled him + very little. He had never made a fuss about them or taken any special + precautions on account of them, neither knowing nor caring anything about + the evils which may follow wounds, which do follow wounds, in pampered + bodies. He could not understand why his uncle, who was certainly not + otherwise given to morbid coddling, should insist upon such excessive care + of a cut which was healing rapidly. + </p> + <p> + The fact was that Donald Ward was nervous about Neal, not at all on + account of his cut head, which was nothing, but because Captain Twinely + and his yeomen had returned to Belfast. It leaked out that the military + authorities were not pleased with Captain Twinely. He had brought back + three prisoners and the cannon, but he had not brought back Micah Ward, + who was particularly wanted. Captain Twinely, angry at his cold reception, + and furious at the hanging of his trooper, was anxious to revenge himself + upon some one. Lord Dun-severic was too great a man to be attacked. The + Government could not afford to interfere with his methods of executing + justice in North Antrim. Captain Twinely was given a broad hint that he + must hawk at lower game, and keep his mouth shut about the hanging of his + trooper. There was no objection to the yeomen outraging women so long as + they confined themselves to farmers’ wives, but an insult offered to Lord + Dunseveric’s sister and daughter, under Lord Dunseveric’s own eyes, was a + different matter. The less said the better about the hanging of the man + who had distinguished himself by that exploit. Captain Twinely, growing + savage at this second snub, and afraid lest perhaps he himself might be + sacrificed when Lord Dunseveric’s story of his raid came to be told, + sought to ingratiate himself with the authorities by offering them a fresh + victim. He gave an exaggerated version of Neal Ward’s attack on the + troopers outside the meeting-house, and drew an imaginary picture of the + young man as a deep and dangerous conspirator. He even managed to shift + the responsibility for the hanging of the trooper from Lord Dunseveric’s + shoulders to Neal’s. He knew that Neal had left Dunseveric, and he assured + Major Fox, the town major, that Neal was at that moment in Belfast + arranging for the outbreak of the rebellion. Major Fox was worried by the + complaints which respectable citizens were making about the dragoons’ + riot. He was anxious to prove, if possible, that the soldiers’ conduct had + been provoked by the violence of the United Irishmen. He produced the man + whom Peg Macllrea and Neal had mangled and set him before the public as an + object of pity, his wrist tied up and his head elaborately bandaged. A + great idea flashed on him. He allowed it to be understood that he was on + the track of a most dangerous rebel—a young man who had hanged a + yeoman in Dunseveric and nearly murdered a dragoon in Belfast. In reality + he was too busy just then with more important matters to make any real + search for Neal Ward. But a week later he offered a reward of fifty pounds + for such information as would lead to his apprehension. + </p> + <p> + But the rumours of Captain Twinely’s sayings were sufficient to frighten + Donald Ward. He did not shrink from danger himself, and, had his own life + been threatened, would have taken measures to protect himself without any + feeling of panic, but his apprehension of peril for Neal was a different + matter. He felt responsible for his nephew, and did not intend to allow + him to be captured if caution could save him. Therefore, he insisted on + Neal’s remaining indoors, and plied him with the most alarming accounts of + the danger of his wound. He hoped in a few days to get Neal out of Belfast + to the comparative safety of some farmhouse. He was particularly anxious + that Finlay, who would certainly recognise the young man, should not see + him. + </p> + <p> + News reached Belfast that the United Irishmen in Wexford were in arms and + had taken the field against the English forces. The northern leaders + became eager to move at once and to strike vigorously. Everything seemed + to depend on their obtaining the command of Antrim and Down, and opening + communications with the south. James Hope arrived in Belfast. Henry Joy + M’Cracken was there. Henry Monro rode in every day from Lisburn. Meeting + after meeting was held in M’Cracken’s house in Rosemary Lane, in Bigger’s + house in the High Street, in Felix Matier’s shattered inn, or in Peggy + Barclay’s. Robert Simms, the general of the northern United Irishmen, + resigned his position. His heart failed him at the critical moment, and + when pressed by braver men to take the field at once he hung back and gave + up his command. He forgot his oath on MacArt’s Fort, where he stood side + by side with Wolfe Tone. Henry Joy M’Cracken, a man of another spirit, was + appointed in his place. With extreme rapidity and an insight into the + conditions of the struggle, marvellous in a man with no military training, + he laid his plans for simultaneous attacks upon a number of places in Down + and Antrim. + </p> + <p> + The Government was not idle. The northern United Irishmen were the best + organised and most formidable body to be dealt with. During the pause + before the outbreak of hostilities spies went busily to and fro. Reports + were carried to the authorities of every movement made, of almost every + meeting held. Men were arrested, imprisoned, flogged in the streets of + Belfast. Information was forced from prisoners under the lash. Parties of + yeomen rode through the country burning, ravishing, and hanging as they + went. + </p> + <p> + James Finlay earned his pay with the best of his kind, denouncing men whom + he knew to be United Irishmen, and giving information about their + whereabouts. He was settled in Bridge Street, and, strangely blind to the + fact that he was no longer trusted, invited the leaders to confer with + him, and allowed his house to be used as a store for ammunition. Donald + Ward, grimly determined that this man should get his deserts, insisted + that nothing should be said or done to alarm him. + </p> + <p> + “We can’t deal with him here,” he said. “Wait, wait till we get him down + to Donegore next week. If we frighten him now he won’t go.” + </p> + <p> + Of all these doings Neal heard only vague rumours. Sometimes Peg Macllrea, + crimson with horror and rage, came to him and told him of a flogging, + sparing him no details of the brutality. Sometimes his uncle sat an hour + with him and talked of the fight that was coming. He seemed neither + impatient nor excited. He looked forward with calm satisfaction to the day + when he would have a gun in his hand and an opportunity of shooting at the + men who were harrying the country. + </p> + <p> + “We have a couple of brass cannons, Neal. They’re not much to boast of, + but if they are properly served they will do some mischief. I have a + little experience of artillery, though it wasn’t in my regular line of + fighting. I think I’ll perhaps get charge of one of them.” + </p> + <p> + Felix Matier came often to see Neal. As things grew darker outside he + became more and more extravagantly cheerful. His talk was all of liberty, + of the dawn of the new era, of the breaking of old chains, and the rising + of the peoples of the world in unconquerable might. + </p> + <p> + “We’re to do our share in the grand work, Neal Ward, you and me; we’ll + have our hands in it in a day or two now. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘May liberty meet with success! + May prudence protect her from evil! + May tyrants and tyranny tine in the midst + And wander their way to the devil.’ +</pre> + <p> + “Ora, but fighting’s the work for a man after all. Here am I that have + spent my life making up reckonings and seeing to drink and men’s dinners + and the beds they were to sleep in. But I never was contented with such + things, and the money I made didn’t content me a bit more. <i>They</i> + taught me better, boy.” He put his hand on the pile of books which lay on + the table in front of Neal. “They taught me that there was something + better than making money and eating full and living soft, something in the + world a man might fight for. Eh, but I wasn’t meant for an innkeeper—I + was meant for a fighter. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘I’d fight at land, I’d fight at sea; + At hame I’d fight my auntie, O! + I’d meet the devil and Dundee + On the braes o’ Killiecrankie, O!’” + </pre> + <p> + James Hope also came to see Neal. His talk was very different from the + flamboyant exultation of Felix Matier; very different also from Donald + Ward’s cool delight in the prospect of battle. James Hope seemed to + realise the awful gravity of taking up arms against established + government. He alone understood the very small chance there was of victory + for the United Irishmen. Yet Neal never for an instant doubted Hope’s + courage. He felt that this man had argued out the whole matter with + himself and thought deeply and prayed earnestly and had made up his mind. + </p> + <p> + “I do not think that we are sure to win, Neal, but I hope that our + fighting will enable those coming after us to obtain by other means the + liberty and security which will surely be withheld from them unless we + fight. I do not say these things to every one, but I feel safe in saying + them to you. You will not fear to die, if death is to be the end of it for + us.” + </p> + <p> + Neal felt convinced that Hope himself would go calmly, steadfastly on if + he were quite sure that the gallows waited for him. It was to Hope, more + than to either of the others, that he complained about his confinement in + Matier’s house. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot bear,” he said, “to be shut up here. I am not ill. The cut on my + head is cured now. There must be some other reason for keeping me here. Am + I not to be trusted? You say that you believe I will not shrink. Why keep + me here as if you were all afraid of my turning coward or traitor?” + </p> + <p> + Hope parried these complaints as well as he could, telling Neal that a + soldier’s first duty was obedience, that in good time he would be given + something to do; that in the meanwhile he must show himself brave by being + patient! + </p> + <p> + “It is harder,” he said, “to conquer yourself than to conquer your enemy.” + </p> + <p> + One day, when Neal had been a week in captivity, he broke out passionately + to Hope— + </p> + <p> + “I cannot bear this any longer. I hear of you and my uncle and the others + risking your lives. I hear of the brutality of the soldiers. I hear of + great plans on foot. I claim my share of the danger that surrounds us. I + understand now why you all combine to keep me here. You are afraid of my + running risks. I claim, I claim as a right, that I be allowed to take the + same risks as the rest.” + </p> + <p> + James Hope sat silent. His fingers played with the dark lock of hair which + hung over his forehead. Neal knew the gesture well. It was common with + Hope when he thought deeply and painfully. His fine dark eyes were fixed + on Neal’s, and there was the same curiously gentle expression in them + which had attracted Neal the first time he noticed it. + </p> + <p> + “I admit your claim,” said Hope, slowly, at last. “I shall speak to your + uncle. To-morrow, I think I may promise this; to-morrow you shall come + with me, and we shall do something which will be difficult, and I think a + little dangerous too.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX + </h2> + <p> + James Hope kept his promise. About noon the next day he came to the inn + and found Neal waiting for him impatiently. + </p> + <p> + “We are going,” he said, “to James Finlay’s house. Before we start I think + I ought to tell you that in any case you could not stay here any longer. I + saw this morning a proclamation offering a reward of fifty pounds for your + capture, and I have no doubt that Finlay will earn it if he can, even if + the soldier you mauled does not trace you here.” + </p> + <p> + “I am ready,” said Neal. + </p> + <p> + “You are not afraid? I see you are not, and we are not going to run into + any unnecessary danger. Finlay will not betray you at once. He will not + run out and call soldiers to take you the moment he sees you. He has a + deeper plan. He has arranged that a meeting of our leaders will be held in + Aeneas Moylin’s house to-morrow night. He is to be there himself, and he + has received assurance that most of our chief men will be there. We have + little doubt that he has given information about the meeting, and made his + arrangements for capturing us all. We shall tell him that you are to be + there, too. Then he will not want to risk exposing himself by betraying + you at once. He will wait for you till to-morrow. But when to-morrow comes + he will not find our leaders at Donegore. I have not asked, and I do not + wish to know, what he will find when he gets there.” + </p> + <p> + “I understand,” said Neal. “When we meet I am to pretend that I trust him + thoroughly.” + </p> + <p> + Hope smiled. + </p> + <p> + “You are a good soldier. You are prepared to obey, and you do not ask too + many questions. But I am going to trust you fully, and tell you why we are + going to Finlay’s house to-day. Some time ago we stored some cases of ball + cartridges there. They are in a cellar, and I have no doubt that Major Fox + knows all about them, and thinks them as safe as if they were in the + munition room of the barrack. You and I are going to carry off those + cases. We want the cartridges badly, and we cannot wait for them. We shall + be using them, I hope, the day after to-morrow, and if we leave them there + till Finlay goes to Donegore to-morrow evening I fear they may be seized + by the soldiers. We must take them at once, and it seems to me that our + best chance will be to walk off with them in broad daylight without an + attempt at concealment. We shall bring them here.” + </p> + <p> + “How many cases are there?” asked Neal. + </p> + <p> + “Eight,” said Hope. “We must manage to carry four each, but the distance + is not very great.” + </p> + <p> + Neal drew a deep breath of relief when he reached the street. Any service, + however dangerous, any form of activity in the open air, was a joy to him + after his long confinement in the house. + </p> + <p> + The streets, as he and Hope passed through them, were full of soldiers. + Companies of yeomen marched and countermarched in indifferent order + through every thoroughfare. Pickets of regulars, their bayonets fixed, + stood at the street corners and in front of the principal buildings. + Troops of dragoons, rattling and jingling, trotted briskly in one + direction or another. Orderlies cantered their horses from place to place. + Business in the town was almost suspended. Many of the shops were shut. + Grave citizens, engaged in pressing affairs, hurried, with downcast eyes, + along the causeways, seldom stopping to speak to each other, greeting + acquaintances with hasty nods. Women of the better sort, if they ventured + out at all, walked quickly, heavily cloaked and veiled. The trollops and + street walkers of a garrison town emerged from their lairs even at midday, + and stood in little groups at the corners exchanging jests with the + soldiers on picket duty, or shouted ribaldries to the yeomen and dragoons + who passed them. Idle maid servants, sluttish and dishevelled, leaned far + out of the upper windows of the houses to gaze at the pageant beneath + them. In the High Street a crowd of loafers—coarse women and + soldiers off duty—was gathered in front of an iron triangle where, + it was understood, some prisoners were to be flogged. Town, Major Fox, + Major Barber, and some other officers in uniform, strolled up and down in + front of the Exchange, rudely jostling such merchants as ventured to enter + or leave the building. + </p> + <p> + James Hope walked slowly through the streets, chatting cheerfully to Neal + as he went. Now and then he even stopped to watch a troop of dragoons go + by or to gaze at the uniforms of the soldiers who stood on guard. In + crowded places he waited quietly until he saw a way of passing on without + pushing or attracting attention to his movements. The trial was a severe + one for Neal’s nerves. It was hard to pose as a curious sightseer within a + few feet of men who could have earned fifty pounds by arresting him. + </p> + <p> + At last, after many pauses, and what seemed an interminable walk, Hope + stopped at the door of a respectable looking house and knocked. A woman + half opened the door and eyed them suspiciously. Then, recognising a + whispered pass-word of some sort from Hope, she admitted them and ushered + them into a room on the ground floor. James Finlay sat at a table with + writing materials spread before him. He started slightly when he saw Neal, + but recovered himself instantly. He came forward, shook hands with Hope, + and then said to Neal— + </p> + <p> + “You and I know each other, Mr. Ward. I trust your father is in good + health, and that all is well at Dunseveric?” + </p> + <p> + Neal, though he had schooled himself beforehand to greet Finlay cordially, + shrank back. He felt a violent loathing for the man. It became physically + impossible for him to take Finlay’s hand in his, to speak smooth words to + this hypocrite who inquired of the good health of the very people he had + betrayed. Hope saw the hesitation and tried to cover it with a casual + remark. Finlay also saw it and misinterpreted it. + </p> + <p> + “I hope,” he said, “that you do not bear me any malice on account of the + little trouble there was between us long ago in the north. You ought to + forgive and forget, Mr. Ward. We are both workers in the same cause now. + At least, I suppose you are a United Irishman like your father or you + wouldn’t come here with James Hope to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “Neal Ward,” said Hope, “is going to the meeting at Donegore to-morrow + evening.” + </p> + <p> + Neal recovered himself and held out his hand to Finlay. + </p> + <p> + There was another knock at the door of the house. Finlay started violently + and ran to the window. + </p> + <p> + “It’s all right,” he said, “it’s only a lad I keep employed. I sent him + out an hour ago to find out what was going on in the streets and to bring + me word.” + </p> + <p> + He returned to Hope with a smile on his face, but he had grown very white, + and his hands were trembling slightly. A boy burst into the room, followed + by the woman who had opened the door for Hope and Neal. + </p> + <p> + “Master,” he cried, “they’ve brought out Kelso into the High Street. The + soldiers are dragging him along. They are going to flog him.” + </p> + <p> + The boy’s eyes were wide with excitement. Having delivered his message, he + turned and fled. A flogging was too great a treat for Finlay’s boy to + miss. The woman, without staying to don hat or shawl, went after him. + Finlay called to her to stay. She shouted her answer from the threshold. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think I’m daft to be sitting my lone in your kitchen and them + flogging a clever young man in the next street?” + </p> + <p> + Then the hall-door slammed. Finlay turned to Hope. He was whiter than + ever, and his whole body shook as if with an ague. + </p> + <p> + “Kelso will tell,” he said. “Kelso knows, and they’ll flog the secret out + of him. He’ll tell, I know he will. He must tell; no man could help it.” + </p> + <p> + If Finlay was pretending to be terrified he acted marvellously well. It + seemed to Neal that he really was afraid of something, perhaps of some + sudden betrayal of his treachery, of vengeance taken speedily by Hope. + </p> + <p> + “What ails you?” said Hope. “You needn’t be frightened.” + </p> + <p> + “The cartridges, the cartridges,” wailed Finlay. “Kelso knows they are + here.” + </p> + <p> + “If that’s all,” said Hope, “Neal Ward and I will ease you of them. We + came here to take them away.” + </p> + <p> + “You can’t, you can’t, you mustn’t. They’d hang you on the nearest lamp + iron if they saw you with the cartridges.” + </p> + <p> + There was a bang on the door and a moment later a knocking on the window + of the room, and then a woman’s fate was pressed against the glass. Hope + sprang across the room and flung open the window. The servant woman who + had gone to see the flogging pushed her head into the room and said— + </p> + <p> + “They’re taking down Kelso, and he’s telling all he knows. Major Barber + and the soldiers are getting ready to march. It’s down here they’ll be + coming.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s time for us to be off, then,” said Hope. + </p> + <p> + “Come along, Neal, down to the cellar, and let us get the cartridges.” + </p> + <p> + James Finlay followed them downstairs, begging them not to attempt to + carry off the cartridges. He held Hope by the arm as he spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t do it,” he said, “for God’s sake don’t do it. The soldiers are + coming. They will be here in a minute. They will meet you. They will hang + you. I know they will hang you. Oh! for God’s sake go away at once while + you have time. Leave the cartridges.” + </p> + <p> + Hope shook off the grip on his arm with a gesture of impatience. He pushed + open the cellar door. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Neal,” he said, “pick up as many of the cases as you think you can + carry.” + </p> + <p> + James Finlay turned from Hope and seized Neal by the hands. The man was + trembling from head to foot; his face was deadly white; the sweat was + trickling down his cheeks in little streams. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t let him. Oh! don’t let him. He won’t listen to me. Stop him. Make + him fly.” + </p> + <p> + He fell on his knees on the floor and clasped Neal’s legs. He grovelled. + There was no possibility of doubting the reality of his emotion. This was + not acting. The terror was genuine. James Finlay was desperately + frightened. + </p> + <p> + “Get out of my way. No one is going to hurt you in any case.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s not that,” he said. “Believe me if you can. Believe me as you hope + to be saved. I can’t, I won’t see <i>him</i> hanged. I can’t bear it.” + </p> + <p> + He was speaking the literal truth. He believed that James Hope would be + caught and would then and there be hanged. Finlay had betrayed many men, + had earned the basest wages a man can earn—the wages of a spy. He + knew that his victims went to flogging and death, but he never watched + them flogged, he never saw them die. He even bargained never to stand in a + witness box. The results, the inevitable issues of his betrayals, were + never immediately before his eyes. Between him and the punishment of his + victims there was always some space of time spent in prison, some + appearance of a legal trial, some pretence of a just judgment. He was + able, with that strange power of self-deception which most men possess, to + conceal from himself that it was his information which led to the + brutalities which followed it. If James Finlay had been obliged himself to + execute the men whose execution his testimony secured; if he had been + forced to lay the lash on quivering flesh or fit the noose round the necks + of living men; it is likely that no bribe would have bought him, that + sheer cowardice and an instinctive horror of death and pain would have + saved him, as no consideration of honour and truth did, from the extreme + baseness of an informer’s trade. Here lay part of the meaning of his + terrified desire for Hope’s escape. He could not bear to see men hanged + before the door of his own house, or hear with his ears their shrieks + under the lash. + </p> + <p> + But there was more behind this feeling than utter cowardice. He knew James + Hope, knew him intimately, though he had known him only for a short time. + Like Neal Ward he had walked with Hope along the roads and lanes of County + Antrim, had heard him talking, had seen—as no man, even the basest, + could fail to see—the wonderful purity and unselfishness of Hope’s + character. James Finlay had sold his own honour, but there remained this + much good in him, he refused to sell Hope’s life. God, reckoning all the + evil and baseness of James Finlay’s treachery and greed, will no doubt set + on the other side of the account the fact that even Finlay recognised high + goodness when he saw it, that he did not betray Hope, that he grovelled on + the floor before a man whom he hated for the chance of saving Hope from + what seemed certain death. + </p> + <p> + Neal pushed Finlay aside and stepped forward. He took five of the cases of + cartridges—three under his right arm two under his left. Hope raised + the other three. Then, picking up a bundle from a corner, he said— + </p> + <p> + “There is more gear here, which we may as well take with us. There is a + green jacket which some of our young fellows may like to wear, and a flag; + we ought to have a flag to fight under.” + </p> + <p> + They turned to leave the house. Neal cast one glance behind him and saw + Finlay lying curled up on the ground, his face covered with his hands, as + if he were already trying to shut away from his eyes the sight of Hope’s + body dangling from a lamp iron. + </p> + <p> + Reaching the street, Hope stood for a moment and glanced up and down it. A + party of soldiers was marching towards them. Hope looked at them + carefully. + </p> + <p> + “These are not the men whom the woman warned us of. Major Barber, if he + were coming here from High Street, would be marching the opposite way. + This is some company of yeomen.” + </p> + <p> + A band played at the head of the approaching company, and the men stepped + out briskly to the tune of “Croppies Lie Down.” Their uniforms were gay, + their arms and accoutrements in good order, the officer in command was + well mounted; a crowd of idle young men and some women were walking beside + and behind the soldiers, attracted by the music and the unusually smart + appearance of the men. + </p> + <p> + “I know these,” said Hope, “they are the County Down Yeomanry. They have + just marched in, and are no doubt going to report themselves. Come, Neal, + this is our chance.” + </p> + <p> + He joined the crowd which walked with the soldiers. Neal followed him + closely. Hope, as if feeling the weight of the boxes he carried, walked + slowly until he found himself in that part of the crowd which followed the + regiment. Then, pushing forward briskly, he and Neal came close behind the + last soldiers. The ranks were not well kept, nor the march orderly. Hope + made his way forward until he and Neal were walking amongst the yeomen. As + they swung out of the street they were met by another body of troops. + </p> + <p> + “These are regulars,” whispered Hope, “and Major Barber is in command of + them. That is he.” + </p> + <p> + The two bodies of troops halted. There was a brief conversation between + their commanding officers. Then an order was given. The yeomen, their band + playing briskly again, marched on. Hope and Neal, now in the very middle + of the ranks, marched with them. The royal troops presented arms as they + passed. Major Barber watched them critically. + </p> + <p> + “It’s a pity these volunteers won’t learn their drill,” he said to a young + officer beside him. “Look at that for marching. The ranks are as ragged as + the shirt of the fellow we’ve just been flogging; but they’re fine men and + well armed. By Jove, they have two country fellows with them carrying + spare ammunition. I’ll bet you a bottle of claret there are cartridges in + those cases.” + </p> + <p> + He pointed to Hope and Neal. + </p> + <p> + “Ought to have a baggage waggon,” said the officer, “or ought to put the + fellows into uniform. They might be damned rebels for all any one could + tell by looking at them.” + </p> + <p> + “I’d expect to meet a rebel pretty near anywhere,” said Major Barber, + “but, by God, I would not expect to find one marching in the middle of a + company of yeomen.” + </p> + <p> + The yeomen passed and the infantry marched again towards Finlay’s house. + Hope turned to Neal. Laughter was dancing in his eyes, but, except for his + eyes, his face was grave. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” he whispered, “we’ve got to slip out of the ranks and make our way + into North Street.” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke he lurched against the yeoman next to him and allowed the + bundle he carried to slip from his arm. The soldier cursed him for a + clumsy drunkard. Hope, in return, abused the soldier for knocking the + parcel out of his arms, and then called to Neal— + </p> + <p> + “Wait for me, mate, wait till I gather up my goods again.” + </p> + <p> + He deposited his cartridge cases on the ground, went after the bundle + which had rolled into the gutter, and then, arranging his load slowly, + allowed the yeomen to march past. + </p> + <p> + “Did you hear Major Barber say that he’d be ready to bet that these cases + held cartridges? A sharp man, Major Barber! But there are more men than + him about with eyes in their heads. The next officer we meet will be + wanting to know where we are taking the cartridges. We won’t have another + company of yeomen to vouch for our characters. I think, Neal, we’d better + get something to cover these up. There’s a man here in charge of a + carman’s yard who is sure to have a couple of sacks which will suit us + very well.” + </p> + <p> + He passed under an archway, followed by Neal, and entered a small yard. + </p> + <p> + “Charlie,” he cried, “are you there, Charlie?” + </p> + <p> + A young man emerged from one of the stables. He started at the sight of + Hope. + </p> + <p> + “Are you mad, Jemmy Hope?” he said. “Are you mad, that you come here, and + every stable full of dragoons’ horses? They have them billeted on us, + curse them, and the villains are in the coachhouse polishing their bits + and stirrup irons. Hark to them.” + </p> + <p> + “I hear them,” said Hope. “Get me two of your oat sacks, Charlie, good + strong ones. I have goods here that want protecting from the sunlight.” + </p> + <p> + The man cast a swift glance round, ran to one of the stables, and fetched + the sacks. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Neal, pack up, pack up.” + </p> + <p> + He pushed his own cases into one of the sacks. Neal followed his example. + </p> + <p> + “It won’t do,” said Hope, “the sacks don’t look natural. There are too + many sharp corners bulging out. Charlie, lad, fetch us some straw—a + good armful.” + </p> + <p> + While they were stuffing the sacks with the straw one of the dragoons + swaggered across the yard. He stood watching Hope and Neal for a minute or + two, and then said. + </p> + <p> + “What have you there that you’re so mighty careful of?” + </p> + <p> + “Whisht, man, whisht,” said Hope, “it’s not safe to be talking of what’s + here.” + </p> + <p> + He winked at the soldier as he spoke—a sly, humorous wink—a + wink which hinted at a good joke to come. The dragoon, a fat, good-natured + man’, grinned in reply. + </p> + <p> + “I won’t split on you, you young thieves. I’ve taken my share of loot + before this, and I expect some pickings out of the croppies’ houses before + I’ve done. I won’t cry halvers on you. What’s yours is yours. But tell us + what it is.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s cases of cartridges,” said Hope, winking again. “We’re taking them + to the general in command of the rebel army, so don’t be interfering with + us or maybe they’ll hold a courtmartial on you.” + </p> + <p> + The fat dragoon laughed. The idea of packing up ammunition for the + croppies in the temporary barrack of a squadron of dragoons, and using His + Majesty’s straw to stuff the sacks, appealed to him as extremely comic. + Hope and Neal shouldered their bundles and left the yard. + </p> + <p> + “I’m afraid,” said Hope, “that we can’t store these in Matier’s house. + When Barber learns that the cases are gone he’ll search high and low for + them, and Matier’s will be just one of the places he’ll look sooner or + later. Are you good for a tramp, Neal, with that load on your back?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Neal, “I’ll carry mine for miles if you like.” + </p> + <p> + “Then,” said Hope-, “we’ll just look in at Matier’s as we pass, and if the + coast’s clear I’ll leave word where we’re going. I know a snug place on + the side of the Cave Hill where we can lie for the night. To-morrow you + can join your uncle at Donegore.” + </p> + <p> + There were no soldiers round the inn when they reached it. Felix Matier + and Donald Ward were both out. Hope left his message with Peg Macllrea, + who was sanding the parlour. + </p> + <p> + “So you’re going to sleep out the night on the Cave Hill?” she said to + Neal. “That’ll be queer and good for your clouted head I’m thinkin’.” + </p> + <p> + “It’ll do my head no harm,” said Neal. “You know well enough, Peg, that + there never was much the matter with it.” + </p> + <p> + They shouldered their loads again, walked up the street, and then, + quickening their pace, tramped along the Shore Road for about three miles. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said Hope, “turn to the left up that loaning, and we’ll strike for + the hill.” + </p> + <p> + They crossed the fields round the homesteads which lay between the hill + and the road, reached uncultivated and stony ground, and then commenced + their climb. Neal was strong, active, and accustomed to fatigue, but he + began to feel the weight of his sack of cartridge cases before he had + climbed five hundred feet. When Hope bade him halt he was glad enough to + lie panting on the springy heather. + </p> + <p> + “We’re safe now,” said Hope, “but we’ve got further to go before night. We + must make the place I named so that the men will be able to find me and + the cartridges to-morrow morn.” + </p> + <p> + Neal, ashamed of his weariness, bade Hope lead on. + </p> + <p> + “I might have trysted with them for Mac Art’s Fort,” said Hope. “It was + there that Neilson and Tone and M’Cracken swore the oath. That would have + been a brave romantic spot for you and me to spend the night. We might + have thought of great things there with the stars over us and nothing else + between us and God’s heaven. But it’s a draughty place, lad.” The laughter + came into his eyes as he spoke. “A draughty place and a stony, like Luz, + where Jacob lay, and maybe the angels wouldn’t come near the likes of us. + The place I have in my mind is warmer.” + </p> + <p> + They reached it at last—a little heathery hollow, lying under the + shelter of great rocks. + </p> + <p> + “You might sleep in a worse place, Neal. It was here that Wolfe Tone and + the men I told you of dined three years ago—and a merry day they had + of it. I could wish we had a few of the scraps they left. It’s cold work + sleeping in the open on an empty stomach, but we must just cheer each + other with Tone’s byword— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘’Tis but in vain + For soldiers to complain.’” + </pre> + <p> + Neal, lying full length on the heather in the warmth of the afternoon sun, + dropped off to sleep. He had undergone severe physical exertion, which + told on him. He had been through an hour and more of great excitement, + which exhausted him far more than the exertion. When he woke the sun had + sunk behind the hill, and the air was pleasantly cool. Hope sat beside + him, gazing out across the Lough and the town which lay below them. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve been thinking, Neal, of that man Finlay. He was frightened to-day + when we were in his house. Now what had he to be frightened about?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” said Neal, “but I agree with you. The man certainly wasn’t + play-acting. He was in real fear.” + </p> + <p> + “I think,” said Hope, “that he was afraid the soldiers would take us and + hang us.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” said Neal, “why should he fear that when he has betrayed us?” + </p> + <p> + “The human heart,” said Hope, after a pause, “is a strange thing. The Book + tells us that no man is altogether good; no, not one, and that’s true. + Never was a truer word. We try, lad, we try, and the grace of God works in + us, but there remains the old leaven of evil; ay, it’s there, even in the + heart of a saint. Now, it isn’t written, but I think it’s just as true + that there’s no man altogether bad. There’s a spark of good somewhere in + the worst of us, if we could but get at it. There’s a spark of good in + Finlay.” + </p> + <p> + “How can there be?” said Neal, angrily. “The man’s a spy, an informer, a + paid liar, a villain that takes gold and perjures himself.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s true, over true. And yet he wanted to save our lives to-day. I + tell you the man’s not all bad. There’s something of the grace of God left + in him after all.” + </p> + <p> + Neal was not inclined to argue about the matter. He sat silent, watching + star after star shine out of the moonless sky. After a long silence Hope + spoke again. + </p> + <p> + “There are men among us who mean to take Finlay’s life. I can’t altogether + blame them. He deserves to die. But Neal, lad, don’t you have act or part + in that. Remember the word,—‘Vengeance is mine and I will repay, + saith the Lord.’ If there’s a spark of good in him at all, who are we that + we should cut him off from the chance of repentance? ‘The bruised reed + shall he not break; the smoking flax shall he not quench.’ Remember that, + Neal.” + </p> + <p> + From far down the side of the hill the sound of a woman’s voice reached + them faintly. It drew nearer. + </p> + <p> + “That’s some slip of a lassie from off the farms below us,” said Hope. + “She’s looking out for some cow that’s strayed.” + </p> + <p> + “She’s singing,” said Neal. “I catch the fall of the tune now and then.” + </p> + <p> + “She’s coming nearer. It can’t be a cow she’s seeking. No beast would + stray that far up amongst the heather and the stones.” + </p> + <p> + The voice came more and more clearly. The words of the song reached them— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “I would I were in Ballinderry, + I would I were in Aghalee, + I would I were in bonny Ram’s Island + Sitting under an ivy tree. + Ochone, ochone!” + </pre> + <p> + “I know that song,” said Neal. + </p> + <p> + “Everybody knows that song. There isn’t a lass in Antrim or Down but sings + it.” + </p> + <p> + “But I know the singer too. I heard Peg Macllrea sing it once, Matier’s + Peg, and I’m not likely to forget her voice.” + </p> + <p> + “If you’re sure of that, Neal, I’ll let her know we’re here. Anyway it can + do no harm. There isn’t a farm lass in the whole country would betray us + to the soldiers. Wait now till she sings it again.” + </p> + <p> + By the firesides of Irish cottages when songs are sung during the long + winter evenings the listeners often “croon” an accompaniment, droning in + low voices over and over again a few simple notes which harmonise with the + singer’s voice. When the girl began her tune again Hope sang with her, + repeating “Ochone, ochone” down four notes from the octave of the keynote + through the mediate to the keynote again. When she reached the end of the + last line his voice rose suddenly to an unexpected seventh, which struck + sharply on the ear. Prolonging the note after the girl’s voice died away, + he rose to his feet and waved his arms. Soon Peg Macllrea was beside them. + </p> + <p> + “I tell’t the master where ye were,” she said, “and I tell’t Mr. Donald. + They couldn’t come theirsells, and they were afeard to let me out my lone. + But I knew finely I could find you. I knew Neal here would mind my song. I + brought you a bite and a sup so as you wouldn’t be famished out here on + the hillside.” + </p> + <p> + She took a basket from her arm and laid it at Neal’s feet. + </p> + <p> + “Sit down, Peg,” said Hope, “sit down and eat with us. You’re a good girl + to think of bringing us the food, and you’ll be wanting some yourself + after your walk.” + </p> + <p> + “I canna bide with you, and I ate my supper before I made out. I must be + gettin’ back now. But I’ve a word to give you from your uncle, Neal. He + bid me tell you that you’re trysted with him for Aeneas Moylin’s house the + morrow night at eight o’clock.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X + </h2> + <p> + Early next morning Neal bade farewell to Hope and started on his walk to + Donegore. For a while he kept along the side of the hill above the + homesteads that clustered on the lower slopes. Nearing Carnmoney he + descended and entered a small inn in order to obtain some breakfast. He + found the master and his wife in a state of great excitement at the news + which had just reached them that their son had been arrested in Belfast. + It was some time before Neal could persuade the poor people to attend to + his wants, and it was a wretched breakfast which he obtained in the end. + Leaving the inn, he walked along the high road through Molusk. He felt + tolerably safe, though bodies of troops and yeomen occasionally passed + him. His appearance was known to very few, and the people of the district + through which he was going were either United Irishmen or in strong + sympathy with the society. It was unlikely that any small body of troops + would venture to make an arrest unless the officer in command was + perfectly certain of the identity of his prisoner. So bold and determined + were the people that Neal, stopping opposite a forge, saw the smith + fashioning pike heads openly, and apparently fearlessly. A number of men + stood round the forge door talking earnestly together. Among them was + Phelim, the blind piper, whom Neal had seen in the street of Antrim. They + did not care to be silent or to lower their tones when Neal came within + earshot. + </p> + <p> + “The place of the muster,” said the piper, “is the Roughfort. Mind you + that now, and let them that has guns or pikes bring them.” + </p> + <p> + “And will M’Cracken be there?” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, he will. Did you no see the proclamation?” + </p> + <p> + “Will Kelso,” said some one to the smith, “are you working hard, man? + We’ll be needing a hundred more of them pike heads by the morrow’s morn.” + </p> + <p> + The smith let his hammer fall with a clang on the anvil, and wiped his + brow. + </p> + <p> + “If you do as good a day’s work the morrow with what I’m working on the + day there’ll be no cause to complain of you.” + </p> + <p> + For the first time since he left Dunseveric Neal felt a glow of hope for + the success of the movement. He knew what kind of men these farmers and + weavers of Carnmoney and Templepatrick were—austere, cold men, + difficult to stir to violent action; much more difficult to cow into + submission when once roused. And it appeared to him that they were + effectually roused now. He recalled his father’s fanciful application of + the verse from the prophet Jeremiah. He felt, as he listened to the men + round the forge, the hardness of “the northern iron and the steel.” Was + there among the blustering yeomen and the disciplined troops of the King + iron strong enough to break this iron? + </p> + <p> + He left the forge and passed on. His thoughts wandered from the enterprise + to which he had pledged himself, and went back, as time after time during + the last week they had gone back, to Una. He walked slowly, wrapped in a + delicious day dream. Neglecting all fact, driving from his mind the + pressing realities which separated him hopelessly from the girl he loved, + he imagined himself walking with her hand-in-hand in some fair place far + from strife and the oppression which engendered strife. A feeling of + fierce anger succeeded his day dream. The sun shone around him, the fields + were fair to see. Life ought to be like the sun and the fields—simple + and good and beautiful. Instead it was difficult and cruel. He was being + dragged into a vortex of hate and battle. He loathed the very thought of + it. He wanted peace and love. And yet, what escape was there for him? Did + he even want to escape if he could? The wrong and tyranny he was to resist + were real, insistent, horrible. He would be less than a man, unworthy of + the love and peace he longed for, if he failed to do his part in the + struggle for freedom and right. + </p> + <p> + At midday he reached Templepatrick village, and found the inn occupied by + a company of yeomen. He sought the house of the weaver with whom he had + dined, in company with James Hope, on his way to Belfast. The door was + closed, which struck Neal as strange, for the day was hot and bright. + Coming near, he was surprised not to hear the rattle of the loom. Birnie + was a diligent man; it was not like him to leave his loom idle. And the + house was not empty; he could hear a woman’s voice within. He tapped at + the door, intending to ask for a meal and for leave to rest awhile in the + kitchen. There was no answer, and yet he heard the woman still speaking in + low, even tones. He tapped again, and then, despairing of attracting + attention, raised the latch, half opened the door, and looked in. + </p> + <p> + In the centre of the room, before the table, a young woman knelt + motionless, her hands stretched out before her. Neal heard her words + distinctly. She was praying aloud, steadily, quietly, but with intense + earnestness, repeating petition after petition for her husband’s safety. + Very softly Neal withdrew, and closed the door. He might go dinner-less, + but he would not interrupt the woman’s prayer. He turned, to find a little + girl gazing at him. He recognised her as the Birnies’ child. + </p> + <p> + “Were you wanting my da?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, little girl, but I see he’s gone away.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, but if any stranger come for him I was to tell my mammy.” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind,” said Neal, “you mustn’t disturb her now.” + </p> + <p> + “Will I no, then, when I was bid? Mammy I Mammy!” + </p> + <p> + In answer to the child’s cry, the mother opened the door. + </p> + <p> + “What ails you, Jinny? I beg pardon, sir, were you waiting long on me?” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t know me, Mrs. Birnie. You don’t remember me, but I came here + one day before with James Hope.” + </p> + <p> + “I mind you rightly, now,” she said. “Come in and welcome, but if it’s my + Johnny you’re wanting to see, he’s abroad the day.” + </p> + <p> + “I won’t disturb you,” said Neal. + </p> + <p> + “You’ll come in. You’ll no be disturbing me. There’s time enough for me to + do what I was doing when the wean called me.” + </p> + <p> + Neal entered the house and sat down. + </p> + <p> + “You’ll be wanting a bite to eat,” said Mrs. Birnie. “It’s little I have + to set for you. The wee bit of meat we had I cooked for him to take with + him. It’s no much Jinny and I will be wanting while he’s awa from us. Ay, + and it’s no much Jinny and I will get if he doesna come back to us.” + </p> + <p> + “Where has he gone?” said Neal. + </p> + <p> + “He’s gone to the turn-out,” she said, “to the turn-out that’s to be the + morrow. It’s more goes to the like, I’m thinking, than comes back again. + He’s taken the pike with him that lay in the thatch over our bed this year + and more. But the will of the Lord be done.” + </p> + <p> + “May God bring him safe home to you,” said Neal. + </p> + <p> + “Ay, for God can do it, God can do it. I take no shame to tell you, young + as you are, that I was just beseeching the Lord to do that very thing the + now while you were standing at the door with Jinny. But the Lord’s ways + are not our ways.” + </p> + <p> + She set a plate of oatcake and a jug of buttermilk on the table before + Neal, and bade him eat. When he had finished, he sat and talked with her + awhile, trying to cheer her. But she was not a woman to whom it was easy + to speak comfortable platitudes. She knew the risks her husband ran—the + risk of battle, and the worse risks which would follow defeat. Neal rose + at last and bid her farewell. + </p> + <p> + “When you are saying a prayer for your husband,” he said, “say one for me; + I’ll be along with him. I’m going to fight, too.” + </p> + <p> + “And will you be for the turn-out, then, with the rest of them? Ay, I’ll + say a prayer for you, And—and, young man, will you mind this? When + you’re killing with your pike and your gun, even if it’s a yeo that’s + forninst you, gie a thought to the woman that’s waiting at home for him, + and, maybe, praying. What would hinder her to pray for her husband even if + he’s a yeoman itself?” + </p> + <p> + It was seven o’clock when Neal reached Aeneas Moylin’s house, after + climbing the steep lane that led to Donegore Hill. He found six men seated + in the kitchen—Donald Ward, Felix Matier, James Bigger, Moylin, and + two others whom he did not know. + </p> + <p> + “It’s Neal Ward,” said Donald. “It’s my nephew. Sit you down, Neal.” + </p> + <p> + No one else spoke, though all nodded a welcome to Neal, and room was made + for him at the table round which they sat. Aeneas Moylin rose and fetched + another chair from the next room. Neal noticed that all six men were armed + with swords and pistols. Donald Ward sat at the head of the table, and had + the air of presiding over the assembly. There was dead silence in the + room, save for the ticking of a clock which stood in a dark corner out of + reach of the rays of the lamp. No man looked at any of his fellows. They + stared fixedly at the ceil-ing, the table, or the walls of the room. After + about ten minutes, Felix Marier rose, crossed the room, and peered at the + face of the clock. He went to the door and looked down the lane. Then, + with a sharp in drawing of the breath, he took his seat again. The + movement roused Donald Ward. He fumbled in his pocket and took out his + tobacco box and pipe. He held up the box—a round metal one—between + his finger and thumb. Neal, watching, noticed with surprise that his + uncle’s hand trembled. Donald held the box without opening it for perhaps + two minutes. Then, when he was satisfied that his hand had become quite + steady, he filled his pipe. He rose, took a red peat from the hearth, and + pressed it into the bowl of the pipe. He did not sit down again, but stood + with his back to the fire, smoking slowly. + </p> + <p> + Aeneas Moylin spoke in a harsh, constrained voice. + </p> + <p> + “Would you like to drink while you wait? I have whisky in the house.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Donald. + </p> + <p> + No one else spoke. Several of the men passed their tongues over their dry + lips. They would have liked to drink. Their mouths craved for moisture, + their nerves for stimulant, but they did not dispute Donald Ward’s + emphatic refusal of the offer. + </p> + <p> + THE NORTHERN IRON. 175 + </p> + <p> + Felix Matier rose again. Again he peered at the clock, again he opened the + door and looked down the lane. This time he turned almost immediately, and + said in a whisper— + </p> + <p> + “There’s a man coming up the lane, a single rider. I hear the tramp of his + horse.” + </p> + <p> + He hurried back to his seat, as if he were afraid of being found apart + from his comrades, as if he expected to discover safety in being just as + they were. Donald Ward took his seat at the head of the table. His pipe + was still between his teeth, but he ceased to puff at it. It went out. The + noise of the approaching horse was plainly audible in the room. Felix + Matier suddenly laughed aloud, and then, half chanting the words in a + cracked falsetto, quoted— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “What is right and what is wrang by the law? + What is right and what is wrang? + A short sword and a lang, + A stout arm and a Strang, + For to draw.” + </pre> + <p> + “Silence,” said Donald. + </p> + <p> + “It is the man,” said Aeneas Moylin, “I hear him putting his horse into + the shed. It must be he, for no stranger would know the ways of the + place.” + </p> + <p> + James Bigger drew a pistol from his pocket, looked carefully at the + priming, cocked it, and laid it on the table before him. He sat at the end + of the table opposite Donald Ward, and was nearest to the door. + </p> + <p> + The latch was lifted from without, and James Finlay entered the room. + </p> + <p> + “You are welcome,” said Donald, and every man at the table repeated the + words. + </p> + <p> + Something in the tone of the greeting, some sense of the feeling of those + who sat in the room, startled Finlay. He glanced quickly at the faces + before him, became deadly white, took a step forward, and then turned to + the door. It was shut, and James Bigger, pistol in hand, stood with his + back against it. Finlay stood stock still. Neal, looking at him, saw in + his eyes an expression of wild terror—an agonised appeal against the + horror of death. In a single instant the man had understood that he was to + die. Neal felt suddenly sick. Then a faintness overcame him. He leaned + back in his chair unable to move or speak. He heard, as if from a great + distance, as if out of some other world, his uncle’s voice— + </p> + <p> + “The men you expected are not here, friend Finlay. M’Cracken is busy + elsewhere, Munro has an engagement this evening, Hope, whom you let slip + through your fingers yesterday, is not here to meet you.” + </p> + <p> + “I wear to you,” said Finlay, “that I tried to save Hope yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + Donald took no notice of the words. He went on in a cool, not unfriendly + voice— + </p> + <p> + “We are here instead, and I think we are quite competent to conduct the + business for which we have met; but you will agree with us that this house + will not be a suitable place for our meeting. We think it possible that + Aeneas Moylin’s house may be honoured to-night by a visit from some + dragoons or yeomen. They will probably be here in half an hour or so. In + the meanwhile, we shall adjourn. There is near at hand a building in which + we may do our business with perfect safety. You have heard, no doubt, of + the custom of body-snatching. Certain men—resurrectioners, I think, + they are called—have of late been robbing the graves of the dead and + selling the bodies to the medical schools for the use of students. The + good people of Donegore have built in their churchyard a very strong vault + with an iron door, of which Aeneas Moylin keeps the key. Here they lock up + the bodies of their dead for some time before burying them—until, in + fact, the natural process of decay renders them unsuitable for dissection. + This is their plan for defeating the resurrectioners. There is no corpse + in the vault to-night. We shall adjourn to it for our meeting. The walls + are so thick, I am told, that remarks made even in a loud tone inside will + be perfectly inaudible to eavesdroppers. The door is very small, and we + can hang a cloak over it, so that our light will not be visible. It will + be quite safe, I think; besides, it will be very comforting to think that + if one of us should die suddenly his body will not become a prey to the + ghoulish people of whom we have been speaking.” + </p> + <p> + He paused. Then, changing his tone, gave a series of orders sharply— + </p> + <p> + “Bind his hands; gag him; bring a lantern and means of lighting it; bring + the key of the vault; leave the light burning in this room. Come.” + </p> + <p> + The orders were quickly obeyed. It was evident that every man had his part + assigned to him beforehand, and was ready to perform it. There was no + confusion, and no talking. + </p> + <p> + Aeneas Moylin led the way. Two others followed, holding Finlay, gagged and + bound, by the arms. Donald Ward, his sword drawn, brought up the rear. + They moved like shadows, silent as the prowling body-snatchers of whom + Donald had spoken. In front of them, a dark mass in the June twilight, + stood the church, and round it rows and rows of gravestones. Moylin + crossed the stile. Finlay sank helplessly in a heap in front of it. He + could not, or would not, put his feet on the stone steps. Without a word + his two guards lifted him over and set him down among the graves. Donald + crossed last. Moylin, skirting the north side and east end of the church, + led the way to a corner of the cemetery where as yet there were no graves. + Here, barely visible among the tangle of brambles, nettles, and high grass + which surrounded it, was the vault. Kneeling down, Moylin fumbled with the + lock, turned the key with a harsh, grating sound, and swung open the iron + door. It was so low that he had to crawl through. Once inside, he lit the + lantern which he carried, and set it on a projecting ledge of the rough + masonry. Finlay was dragged in. The others followed, until only Neal and + his uncle stood outside. + </p> + <p> + “Go next, Neal.” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot, uncle, I cannot. I am not able to bear this. Let me go away.” + </p> + <p> + “No. Go in, Neal. I want you. I shall let you go before the end.” + </p> + <p> + The vault was very small inside. It was hardly possible to stand upright, + and there was little room for moving. James Finlay, still bound and + gagged, lay at full length on the floor. Round him, their backs against + the walls, crouched the other men. Moylin’s lantern cast a feeble, smoky + light. The air was heavy and close. It was the air of a charnel house. + </p> + <p> + “Take from the prisoner the arms he has about him,” said Donald. “Search + his pockets, and hand me any papers you find. Now unbind his hands and + free his mouth. + </p> + <p> + “James Finlay, we are here to do strict justice. You shall have every + opportunity of making any defence you can when you hear the charges + against you. If you clear yourself you shall go free. If you fail to clear + yourself you must abide the sentence we shall pronounce on you.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean to murder me,” said Finlay. + </p> + <p> + “We do not mean to murder you. We mean to try you fairly, to acquit or + condemn you in strict justice. The first charge against you is this. + Having been sworn a member of the United Irishmen’s society in Dunseveric, + having been elected a member of the committee, you did in Belfast betray + the fact that there were cannons hidden in Dunseveric meeting-house, and + gave the names of your fellow-members to the military authorities.” + </p> + <p> + “I deny it,” said James Finlay. “You have no proof of what you assert. + Will you murder a man on suspicion?” + </p> + <p> + “Neal Ward,” said Donald, “is this the James Finlay who was sworn into the + society by your father?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Neal. + </p> + <p> + “Tell us what you know about the visit of the yeomen to Dunseveric.” + </p> + <p> + Neal repeated the story, telling how he knew that his own name was on the + list of persons to be arrested. There was a short silence when he had + finished. Then James Bigger said— + </p> + <p> + “You have not proved that charge. The circumstances are suspicious, but + you have proved nothing.” + </p> + <p> + Donald Ward bowed. Finlay raised his eyes for the first time since he had + been dragged into the vault, and looked round him. There had risen in him + a faint gleam of hope. + </p> + <p> + “You are charged,” said Donald again, “with having provided the dragoons + who rioted in Belfast last week with information which led them to attack + and wreck the houses of those who are in sympathy with the society.” + </p> + <p> + “I deny it. I was not in Belfast that day. I was here in Donegore with + Aeneas Moylin.” + </p> + <p> + “You were here the day before,” said Moylin. “You left me that day early. + You might have been in Belfast.” + </p> + <p> + “I was not,” said Finlay. + </p> + <p> + Donald Ward produced the scrap of paper which Peg Macllrea had taken from + the dragoon. + </p> + <p> + “Is that your handwriting?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + James Finlay looked at it. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “James Bigger, give me the last letter you had from Finlay. Now put the + lantern down on the floor.” + </p> + <p> + He looked steadily at the two papers, and then said— + </p> + <p> + “In my opinion these two are written in the same hand.” + </p> + <p> + He passed them to the man next him. They went from one to another, and the + lantern followed them on their round. Each man examined them, and each + nodded assent to Donald’s judgment. + </p> + <p> + “Let me see them,” said Finlay. + </p> + <p> + They were handed to him. + </p> + <p> + “I wrote neither of them,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Your name is signed to one,” said Donald. + </p> + <p> + “I did not write it. I had hurt my hand on the day that note was written. + I employed another man to write for me. The writing is his, not mine.” + </p> + <p> + “Name the man you employed.” + </p> + <p> + “Kelso, James Kelso.” + </p> + <p> + “Kelso was flogged yesterday,” said Donald, “and is in prison now. Do you + expect us to believe that he is an informer? Is flogging the wages the + Government pays to spies?” + </p> + <p> + “I tried to save Hope yesterday,” said Finlay. “Neal Ward, you have borne + witness against me, tell the truth in my favour now.” + </p> + <p> + “I believe,” said Neal, “that he did his best to save Hope and me + yesterday. I believe that he wanted to save us.” + </p> + <p> + He told his story, and he told of the conversation on the Cave Hill + afterwards. Again the flicker of hope crossed Finlay’s face. + </p> + <p> + “You hear,” he said. “Would I have done that if I had been a spy? Could I + not have handed them over to Major Barber if I had wished?” + </p> + <p> + “I shall give you credit for wishing to save Hope,” said Donald. “Now I + shall pass on to examine the papers found on your person to-night.” + </p> + <p> + Finlay protested eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “I beg that you do not examine the papers you have taken from me. They are + of a very private nature.” + </p> + <p> + “I can believe,” said Donald, “that they are of such a kind that you would + willingly keep them private.” + </p> + <p> + “I protest against your reading them. You have no right to read them. They + concern others besides myself. I give you my word.” Donald smiled + slightly. “I swear to you, I will take any oath you like that there is no + paper there concerned with politics. You will be sorry if you read them. I + assure you that you will repent it afterwards. You will be doing a base + action. You will pry into a woman’s secrets. You will bring dishonour on + the name of a lady, a noble lady.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you expect us to believe,” said Donald, “that any lady, noble or other—that + any woman, that any soldier’s drab even—has written love letters to + you?” + </p> + <p> + He opened the first which came to hand of the pile of papers which lay at + his feet on the ground. Finlay suddenly collapsed. His impudence, his + ready tongue, deserted him. He had fought hard for his life, had lied—though + he lied clumsily in his terror—had twisted, doubled, fought point + after point. Whatever the papers were that had been found on him, he + recognised that they condemned him utterly and hopelessly. The game was up + for him. He saw death near at hand, as he had seen it earlier when he + first realised that he was trapped in Moylin’s kitchen. Donald read paper + after paper silently. Some he laid aside, some he passed to the man next + him to read. Finlay rallied again. He made another effort to save himself. + </p> + <p> + “Listen,” he said, “I have influence with the Government. I don’t deny it. + Call me an informer, a spy, any name you like, but admit that I have + served my masters well. I can claim my reward from them. Let me go, and I + swear to obtain pardons for you. I can save you, and I will. I offer you + your lives as a ransom for mine.” + </p> + <p> + “Would you make us what you are?” said Donald, sternly. “Would you buy our + honour, you that have sold your own?” + </p> + <p> + Finlay, who had knelt during his last appeal, fell forward. He grasped + Neal with his hands. It was impossible in the dim light to see the faces + of the men around him, but some instinct told him that Neal alone felt any + pity for him, that from Neal alone he could look for mercy. + </p> + <p> + “Save me, Neal Ward,” he cried. “For God’s sake, save me. Plead for me. + They will listen to you. I am not fit to die. Grant me one day, only one + day. I will do anything you wish. I will—— Oh God, Oh Christ, + Oh save me, save me now.” + </p> + <p> + Neal felt drops fall on his hands, sweat from Finlay’s brow or tears from + his eyes. He spoke— + </p> + <p> + “Spare him,” he said. “Who are we to judge and to slay? James Hope said to + me last night that we should refrain from taking vengeance. I ask you to + respect what he said. Think of it. This man’s case to-day may be your’s + to-morrow. Remember you may take life, but you cannot give it back again. + Oh, this is too horrible—to kill him now, like this.” + </p> + <p> + He felt, while he spoke, Finlay’s clasp tighten on him. He felt the + wretched man cover his hands with kisses, mumble, and slobber over them. + There was silence for a while when Neal ceased speaking. Then Donald Ward + said— + </p> + <p> + “Neal, you had better go outside. This is no work for a boy. It is, as you + say, horrible. To inflict death is horrible, but it is sometimes just. If + ever it is just for man to shed the blood of his brother man it is just to + shed James Finlay’s. He has broken oaths, has brought death on men, has + made women widows and children fatherless; has wrecked the happiness of + homes. He has done these things for the sake of gain, for money counted + out to him as the priests counted money out to Judas.” + </p> + <p> + It was impossible to plead his cause any more. Moylin pushed open the iron + door of the vault. Neal dragged his hands from Finlay’s grasp, and crawled + out. He heard the door clang behind him, shut fast again upon the broken, + terrified wretch and his judges—relentless men of iron, the northern + iron. + </p> + <p> + No sound reached him from the vault. Save for the occasional belated + cawing of some rooks in the trees which shadowed the graveyard, no sound + reached him at all. He sat down among the nettles, the brambles, and the + rank grass and burst into tears. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI + </h2> + <p> + The paroxysm of tears swept Neal as the Atlantic waves sweep foaming and + furious over Rackle Roy. Then it passed and left him panting, shaking with + recurrent sobs, and a prey to an hysterical dread of hearing some sound + from the vault beside him. He sat absolutely motionless. He hardly dared + to breathe. He waited in horrible expectation of hearing something. He + listened intent, agonised, feeling that if a sound reached him he would + cry aloud and on the instant become a raving madman. The scene inside the + vault rose to his imagination. Far more really than he saw the dim church + and the trees, he saw Finlay grovelling on the ground and the stern men + crouching over him. He saw a knife gleam in the lantern’s light. He shut + his eyes, as if by shutting them he could blot out the pictures of his + imagination. He waited to hear a shriek, a smothered cry, a groan, the + laboured breath of struggling men, the splash of blood. The suspense + became an agony. He rose to his feet and fled. + </p> + <p> + He stumbled over a grave, and fell headlong, bruising his outstretched + hands against a tombstone. He rose instantly and fled again. Stumbling + again, he struck his head against the wall of the church. Dizzy and + bewildered, he hastened on, driven forward by the terror of hearing some + death noise from the vault. Tripping, staggering, rushing blindly, he + reached the stile at last, and stood beyond it on the road. Before him was + Moylin’s house. The window was lighted up, the door was open. He saw men + seated within, and heard them laugh aloud. They seemed to him not men, but + fiends making merry over murder, and the winning for their hell of a new + damned soul. He fled from them as he had fled from the sound he dreaded. + He rushed down the steep lane. Loose stones rolled under his feet. Sparks + started into sudden brightness where the nails in his boot soles struck + flints. The hedges rose high on each side of him, making the lane, even in + the pale June night, intolerably dark. He fled on, blind, reckless, for + the moment mad. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly he was stopped short. Strong arms were round him. He was flung to + the ground. A man knelt on his chest. Rough hands grasped his throat. + </p> + <p> + “Who have you there, Tarn?” + </p> + <p> + “A damned fool for certain, whoever he is. What brings him down a hill + like this in the dark, as if the devil was after him?” + </p> + <p> + “Loose his throat; do you want to choke him. Let him speak. Now, then, + man, tell us who you are, and what you’re doing here.” + </p> + <p> + Neal’s powers of reasoning and thought returned to him. With the presence + of real danger his fear vanished. He saw the forms of the men above him, + discerned against the dull grey of the sky that they were armed and in + uniform. He understood at once that he had fallen into the hands of + soldiers, perhaps of yeomen. + </p> + <p> + “Who are you?” said the voice again. + </p> + <p> + Then the man who knelt on him added a word of warning— + </p> + <p> + “If you won’t speak, we’re the boys who know how to loose your tongue. + We’ve made many a damned croppy glad to speak when we’d dealt with him.” + </p> + <p> + Neal remained silent. + </p> + <p> + “Get him on his feet, Tam, and we’ll take him to the Captain. If he’s not + a rebel himself he’ll know where the rebels are hid.” + </p> + <p> + Neal was pulled up by the arms and marched along the lane again to + Moylin’s house. He was led into the kitchen. Two men sat at the table + drinking. They were in uniform. Neal recognised it as that of the Kilulta + yeomen, the men who had raided his father’s meeting-house. He recognised + one of the officers—Captain Twinely. The sergeant made his report. + He and his men had been patrolling the lane as they had been ordered. They + had heard a man running fast towards them, had stopped him, and arrested + him. + </p> + <p> + “Who are you, and what are you doing here?” asked Captain Twinely. + </p> + <p> + Neal made no answer. The sergeant peered closely at his face. + </p> + <p> + “I think I know the man, sir. He’s the young fellow that was with the + women at the meetinghouse in the north. The man the old lord made us loose + when we had him. What do you say, Tarn?” + </p> + <p> + “You’re right as hell,” said the trooper who stood by Neal. “I’d know the + young cub in a thousand.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Twinely rose, tools the lamp from the hook where it hung, held it + close to Neat’s face, and looked at him. + </p> + <p> + “I believe you’re right,” he said. “Now, young man, we know who you are; + You’re Neal Ward.” He drew a paper from his pocket and looked it over. + “Yes, that’s the name, ‘Neal Ward, son of the Reverend Micah Ward, + Presbyterian minister of Dunseveric. A young man, about six foot high, + well built, fair hair, grey eyes, active, strong.’ Yes, the description + fits all right. Now, Mr. Neal Ward, since I’ve answered my first question + myself, perhaps you’ll be so good as to answer my second for me. Where are + your fellow-rebels?” + </p> + <p> + Neal was silent. + </p> + <p> + “Come now, that won’t do. We know there’s a meeting of United Irishmen + here to-night. We know that the leaders, M’Cracken, Monro, Hope, and the + rest are somewhere about. Where are they?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” said Neal, “and if I did I wouldn’t tell you.” + </p> + <p> + The sergeant struck him sharply across the mouth with the back of his + hand. + </p> + <p> + “Take that for your insolence. I’ll learn ye to say ‘sir’ when ye speak to + a gentleman.” + </p> + <p> + “Answer my question,” said Captain Twinely, “or, by God, I’ll make you.” + </p> + <p> + “Try him with half hanging,” said the other officer, speaking for the + first time. “I’ve known a tongue wag freely enough after it’s been + sticking black out of a man’s mouth for a couple of minutes.” + </p> + <p> + “Too risky, Jack. The last fellow you half hanged wouldn’t come to life + again; turned out to be whole hanged, by gad.” He laughed. “There’s fifty + pounds on the head of this young cock, and it’s ten to one but the + rascally Government would back out of their promise if we brought them + nothing but a damned corpse. Besides, I want the information. The vermin’s + nest must be somewhere round. I want to get the lot of them. No, no; + there’s more ways of making a croppy speak than half hanging him. We’ll + try the strap first, any way. Now, Mr. Neal Ward, will you speak or will + you not?” + </p> + <p> + “I will not.” + </p> + <p> + “Hell to your soul! but I’m glad to hear it. I owe you something, young + man, and I like to pay my debts. If you’d spoken without flogging I might + have had to bring you into Belfast with a whole skin. Now I’ll have you + flogged, and you’ll speak afterwards. Tam, give the sergeant your belt. + Sergeant, there’s a tree outside. Tie the prisoner up and flog him till he + speaks, but don’t kill him. Leave enough life in him to last till we get + him to Belfast, unless he speaks at once.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir, but if your orders are so particular I’d rather you’d be + present yourself to see how much he can stand.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m not going to leave my bottle,” said Captain Twinely, “to stand sentry + over croppy carrion. Flog him till you lay his liver bare, sergeant, but + don’t cut it out of him.” + </p> + <p> + The sergeant saluted, and marched Neal out of the house. His coat was + dragged off him, his shirt stripped from his back, his hands tied to the + tree which stood before Moylin’s house. He set his teeth and waited. The + predominating feeling in his mind at first was not fear but furious anger. + He had shrunk in terror from the near prospect of seeing Finlay die. He + felt nothing now except a passionate desire for revenge. + </p> + <p> + The sergeant swung the trooper’s belt round his head, making it whistle + through the air. Neal shivered and shrank, but the blow did not fall. The + sergeant was in no hurry. + </p> + <p> + “You hear that,” he said, swinging the belt again. “Will you speak before + I lay it on you? You shall have time to consider. Nobody shall say I + hurried a prisoner. We’ll sing you a psalm, my dearly beloved, a sweet + psalm to a most comfortable tune. At the end of the first verse I’ll give + you another chance. If you don’t speak then——. Now Tarn, now + lads all, tune up to the Ould Hunderd, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘There was a Presbyterian cat + Who loved her neighbour’s cream to sup; + She sanctified her theft with prayer + Before she went to drink it up.’” + </pre> + <p> + The troopers, who appeared to have learned both tune and words since the + night when the sergeant sang them in Dunseveric meeting-house, shouted + lustily. Following their sergeant, they drawled the last line until it + seemed to Neal as if they would never reach the end of it. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Mr. Neal Ward,” said the sergeant, “you’ve had a most comfortable + and cheering psalm for the hour of your affliction. Will you speak, or——. + Damn your soul, Tam, what are you at?” + </p> + <p> + The man next him lurched suddenly forward, clutching at the sergeant. In + another instant there was a dull thud, and Donald Ward stood over the + sergeant with a pistol, grasped by its barrel, in his hand. He had brought + the butt of it down on the man’s skull. Two more of the yeomen fell almost + at the same instant. The rest, three of them with wounds, fled, yelling, + down the lane. + </p> + <p> + “The croppies are on us! Hell and murder! We’re dead men!” + </p> + <p> + There were about twenty of them, all well armed, but a night surprise has + a tendency to shake the firmest nerves. Captain Twinely and his + fellow-officer played no very heroic part. At the first sound of the + shouting and the footsteps of the flying troopers they rushed into the + inner room and crawled under the bed, fighting desperately with each other + for the place nearest the wall, but Donald Ward had no time to go after + them. + </p> + <p> + “Cut the boy down,” he said. + </p> + <p> + It was Felix Matier who set Neal free. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, whistle and I will come to you, my lad,” he quoted, as he hustled the + shirt over Neal’s shoulders. “Why didn’t you whistle, Neal, or shout, or + something? Only for that devil’s song we’d never have found you. I guessed + he was at some mischief when I heard him begin it.” + </p> + <p> + “Silence,” said Donald, “and let us get out of this. The place must be + swarming with troops, and those yelling cowards will arouse every soldier + within a mite of us. It may not be so easy to chase the next lot. Over + into the churchyard again, and then, Moylin, we must trust to you. You + know the country, or you ought to, and I don’t.” + </p> + <p> + Aeneas Moylin led the way into the churchyard again, and across the wall + at the lower end of it. The noise of many horsemen riding fast reached + them from the lane they had left. The frightened yeomen had gathered + troops to aid them, dragoons who had been posted on the main road down + below. From the top of the rath, which rose dark above even the tower of + the church, there came shouts. Men had been placed there, too, and were + gathering to their comrades opposite Moylin’s house. The hunt would begin + in earnest soon. Donald called a halt and, cowering under the shadow of a + thick hedge, the little party of fugitives held a consultation. + </p> + <p> + “We might go back to the vault,” said James Bigger. “They would find it + hard to get at us there, even if they discovered us. They couldn’t burn us + out, for the walls are solid stone and four foot thick at least.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m not going to spend the night with—— with what’s there,” + said Felix Matier. “I’m not a coward, but I won’t sit in the dark all + night with my knees up against—ugh!” + </p> + <p> + “James Finlay?” said Bigger. “He won’t hurt you now.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m for getting away if possible,” said Donald. “I’m not frightened of + dead men, but I want to be at the fight tomorrow. If we stay here all + night we’ll miss it.” + </p> + <p> + “Hark!” said Moylin, “they’re in the churchyard. I hear them stumbling + about among the graves. We can’t get back now, even if we want to. Follow + me.” + </p> + <p> + Creeping along the side of the hedge, they crossed the field they were in, + another, and another after that. They came upon a by-road. + </p> + <p> + “We must cross this,” said Moylin, “and I think there are soldiers nigh at + hand.” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly the sky behind them grew strangely bright. A flame, which cast + black shadows from hedge and tree and wall, which lit up every open space + of ground, shot up. + </p> + <p> + “Down,” said Donald, “down for your lives, lie flat. Where the devil have + they got the fire?” + </p> + <p> + “It’s my house,” said Moylin, quietly, “the roof is thatched. It burns + well, but it won’t burn for long.” + </p> + <p> + The shouts of the soldiers round the burning homestead reached them + plainly. A body of horsemen cantered along the lane in front of them. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said Donald, “now, while their backs are turned, get across.” + </p> + <p> + They crossed unseen, and gained the shelter of the ditch at the far side. + They crept along it, seeking some boundary wall or hedge running at right + angles which would cast a shadow over them. The horsemen passed again, but + this time the risk of discovery was less. The thatch of Moylin’s house had + almost burned itself out. Only a red glow remained, casting little shadow, + lighting the land dimly. They crossed the field in safety and reached a + grove of trees. + </p> + <p> + “We’re right now,” said Moylin. “We can take it easy from this on.” + </p> + <p> + “Neal Ward,” said Felix Matier, “next time you get yourself into a scrape + I’ll leave you there. I haven’t been as nervous since I played ‘I spy’ + twenty years ago among the whins round the Giant’s Ring. Fighting’s no + test of courage. It’s running away that tries a man.” + </p> + <p> + “Phew!” said Donald, wiping his brow. Even he seemed to have felt the + strain of the last half-hour. “I did some scouting work for General Greene + in the Carolinas. I’ve lain low in sight of the watch-fires of Cornwallis’ + cavalry, but I’m damned if I ever had as close a shave as that. I felt + jumpy, and that’s a fact. I think it was the sight of your bare back, + Neal, and that blackguard brandishing his belt over you that played up + with my nerves.” + </p> + <p> + “Let’s be getting on,” said Moylin, “my house is ashes now, the house I + built with my own hands, the room my wife died in, the bed my girl was + born in. She’s safe out of this, thank God. I want to be getting on. I + want to be in Antrim to-morrow with a pike in my hand and a regiment of + dragoons in front of me.” + </p> + <p> + Under Moylin’s guidance they travelled across country through the night. + About three in the morning, when the east was beginning to grow bright + with the coming dawn, they reached a substantial farmhouse and climbed + into the haggard. + </p> + <p> + “We’re within twenty yards of the main road now,” said Moylin, “about a + mile and a half outside the town of Antrim. We can lie here till morning. + It’s a safe place. The man that owns it won’t betray us if he does find us + here.” + </p> + <p> + At six o’clock Donald Ward awoke. The rest of the party lay stretched + around him, sleeping as men do after severe physical exertion and mental + strain. He sat still for a while, and then crept out of the barn where + they slept, and reconnoitered the farmhouse. He was surprised to find no + sign of life about it. Doors and windows were fast shut. No dog barked at + him. No cattle lowed. Not even a hen pecked or cackled in the yard. He + returned to the barn and roused the rest of the party. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve been looking round,” he said, “to see what chance we have of getting + breakfast. As far as I can make out the place is deserted.” + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn’t wonder,” said Moylin, “if the man that owns it has cleared + out. He’s a bit of a coward, and he’s not much liked in the country + because he tries to please both parties.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought you said last night,” said Donald, “that he wouldn’t betray + us.” + </p> + <p> + “No more he would,” said Moylin, “he’d be afraid of what might happen him + after, but I never said he’d help us. It’s my belief he’s gone off out of + this in dread of what may happen in Antrim to-day. He’ll be at his + brother’s farm away down the Six Mile Water.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Donald, “it doesn’t matter about him. The question is, how + are we to get something to eat?” + </p> + <p> + A long consultation followed. There were serious difficulties. The amount + of food required for seven hungry men was considerable, and Donald Ward + insisted strongly on the necessity of having a good meal. It was decided + at last that two of the party should venture into Antrim to buy bread and + wine. No one knew what troops there might be in the town. It would not be + safe to count on the support of the inhabitants if they happened to have + soldiers in their houses. The inns might be full of officers. The shops + might be in the hands of the royal troops. + </p> + <p> + “It’s no use discussing the difficulties and dangers,” said Donald at + last. “We’ve got to risk it. We can’t fight all day on empty stomachs. + We’d fight badly if we did. I and Neal here will go into Antrim, we’re the + least likely to be recognised. The rest of you are known men. We’ll bring + you back something to eat.” + </p> + <p> + At eight o’clock they set out, and reached the town just as the people + were beginning to open their doors. Donald Ward pressed some money into + Neal’s hand. + </p> + <p> + “Go into the inn where we stopped,” he said. “Get a couple of bottles of + wine and some cold meat if you can. I’ll go on to the baker’s. We’ll meet + again opposite the church. If I’m not there in twenty minutes go back + without me; I’ll wait that long for you. Walk in as if you owned the + shanty. There’s nothing starts suspicion as quick as looking frightened. + Bluster a bit if they look crooked at you, and answer no questions for + anybody.” + </p> + <p> + Neal did his best to follow the advice. But it is not easy for a man who + has slept two successive nights in the open, who has had no opportunity of + shaving, and who has crawled in ditches for several miles, to assume the + airs of an opulent and self-contented tourist. Neal was painfully + conscious that he must look like a disreputable tramp. Nevertheless he + squared his shoulders, held up his head, and jingled his money in his + pocket as he passed through the door. He called valiantly for the master. + A girl, tousle-headed and heavy-eyed, looking as if she, too, had slept on + a hillside or slept very little in bed, came to him. He recognised her as + the same who had waited on him and Donald when they spent the night in the + inn. She was sharp-sighted in spite of her sleeplessness. She knew Neal. + </p> + <p> + “In there with you,” she said, pointing to a door, “I’ll get you what + you’re after wanting. The dear knows there’s broken meat in plenty here + the morn.” + </p> + <p> + Neal entered the room. The table was littered with the remains of + breakfast. A large party had evidently been there and had gone. Neal + guessed that at least a dozen people had sat at the table. With his back + to the room, looking out of the window, stood a young man, booted and + spurred for riding, well dressed, well groomed, a sword by his side. His + figure struck Neal as being familiar. A second glance made him sure that + this was Maurice St. Clair. For a moment he hesitated. Then he said— + </p> + <p> + “Maurice.” + </p> + <p> + “Neal,” said the other, turning quickly. “What brings you here? God, man, + you mustn’t stay. My father is in the house and Lord O’Neill. Thank God + the rest of them are gone.” + </p> + <p> + “What brings you and your father to Antrim, Maurice?” + </p> + <p> + “There was to have been a meeting of the magistrates of the county here + to-day. My father rode in last night and brought me with him, but there + came an orderly from Belfast this morning with news which fluttered our + company. The rebels are to attack the town to-day. Oh, Neal, but it was + fun to see the hurry the worshipful justices were in to get home this + morning. There were a round dozen of them here last night drinking death + and damnation to the croppies till the small hours. This morning it was + who would get his breakfast and his horse first. You never saw such + scrambling.” + </p> + <p> + “You and your father stayed,” said Neal. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Is it likely my lord would ride away from danger? You know him, + Neal.” + </p> + <p> + The girl entered with a basket on her arm. With a glance at Maurice St. + Clair she came close to Neal and whispered— + </p> + <p> + “There’s for you. There’s plenty wine and cold meat for half a score. I’ll + be tongued by the master after, it’s like, but I’ll give it for the sake + of Jemmy Hope, who’s a better gentleman than them that wears finer coats, + that never said a hard word or did an uncivil thing to a poor serving + wench no more than if she’d been the first lady in the land.” + </p> + <p> + Neal took the basket and bade farewell to Maurice, but as he turned to + leave the room Lord Dunseveric and another gentleman entered. Neal stood + back, hoping to escape notice, but Lord Dunseveric saw and recognised him. + </p> + <p> + “O’Neill,” he said to his companion, “pardon me a moment. This is a young + friend of mine to whom I would speak a word.” + </p> + <p> + He led Neal to the window. + </p> + <p> + “Are you on your way home, Neal?” + </p> + <p> + “No, my lord.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose I must not ask where you are going or what you mean to do. I + don’t ask, but I advise you strongly to go home. The game is up, Neal. The + plans of your friends have been blown upon. Their secrets are known. See + here.” + </p> + <p> + He held out a printed paper. Neal took it and read— + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow we march on Antrim. Drive the garrison of Randalstown before + you, and haste to form a junction with the commander-in-chief.—Henry + Joy M’Cracken. First year of Liberty, 6th June, 1798.” + </p> + <p> + “That paper was handed to General Clavering last night,” said Lord + Dunseveric, “and half a dozen more copies were sent to other officers. Is + it any use going on now?” + </p> + <p> + “My lord,” said Neal, “I have heard things—I have seen things. Last + night I myself was stripped for flogging. They have set a price on my + head. I put it to you as a gentleman, as a just man and a brave, would it + be right to go back now?” + </p> + <p> + “It is no use going on.” + </p> + <p> + “But would you go back? Would you desert friends who did not desert you? + Would you leave them?” + </p> + <p> + “A wise man does not struggle against the inevitable, Neal.” + </p> + <p> + “But a man of honour, my lord. What would a man of honour do?” + </p> + <p> + “A man of honour,” said Lord Dunseveric, “would act as you are going to + do.” + </p> + <p> + “Farewell, my lord, I go with an easy mind now, if I go to my death, for I + have your approval.” + </p> + <p> + “Neal Ward,” said Lord Dunseveric, “I have known you since you were a boy, + and I’ve loved you next to my own children. I don’t say you are acting + wrongly or dishonourably, but you and your friends are acting foolishly. + You cannot win. You and hundreds of innocent people must suffer, and + Ireland, Neal, Ireland will come to the worse, to the old subjection, to + the old bondage, to the old misery, through your foolishness. I say this, + not to dissuade you from going on, for I think that you must go on now, + but in order that when you look back on it all afterwards you may remember + that there were true friends of Ireland who were not on your side.” + </p> + <p> + Neal bent over Lord Dunseveric’s hand and kissed it solemnly. + </p> + <p> + “I have known two great and good men,” he said. “You, my lord, and one + whose name you might count contemptible, James Hope, the weaver, of + Templepatrick. I think myself happy that I have had the goodwill of both. + And, my lord, I think Ireland the most unhappy country in the world + because to-day these two men will be in arms against each other.” + </p> + <p> + He sobbed. Then, lest he should betray more emotion, went quickly from the + inn. + </p> + <p> + He found his uncle waiting for him outside the church. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Neal,” he said, “how have you sped? You have a basket; I hope it is + full. See here, I have four loaves of bread. The baker man would have + denied me. He suspected me, but I had my answer for him. I told him I was + groom to a great lord who was staying in the inn. I made free with the + name of your friend, Lord Dunseveric. I told him that if he refused my + lord the bread he wanted he would hang him for his insolence. I got the + bread. For the first time and the last I have been a serving man. Now, + back, back as fast as we can go to our hungry comrades.” + </p> + <p> + After they left the town Donald Ward grew grave again. + </p> + <p> + “My lad,” he said, “we shall have a fight to-day—a fight worth + fighting. It won’t be the first time I’ve looked on bare steel or heard + the bullets sing. I know what fighting means, and I know this, that many + of us will lie low enough before the sun sets. It may be my luck to come + through or it may not. I have a sort of feeling that I am to fire my last + shots to-day. Don’t look at me like that, boy, I’m not frightened. I’ll + fight none the worse. But I want to settle a little bit of business with + you now that we are alone. I have a paper here, I wrote it last night + while you slept; I signed it this morning, and I have it witnessed. I got + a parson to witness it, a kind of curate man, a poor creature. I caught + him going into the church to say prayers, and made him witness my + signature. I had time enough, for you were longer at the inn than I was at + the baker’s. Here it is for you, Neal. In case of my death it makes you + owner of my share of a little business in the town of Boston. My partner + is managing it now. We own a few ships, and were making money when I left. + But it did not suit me. I got the fighting fever into my blood during the + war. I couldn’t settle down to books and figures. Maybe you’ll take to the + work. If you do you ought to stand a good chance of dying a rich man, and + you’ll be comfortably off the day you hand that paper to my partner. Not a + word now, not a word. I know what you want to say. Twist your lips into a + smile again. Look as if you were happy whatever you feel, and when all’s + said and done you ought to be happy. Whatever the end of it may be we’ll + get our bellies full of fighting to-day, and what has life got to give a + man better than that?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII + </h2> + <p> + After breakfast Donald Ward led his party along the road up which + M’Cracken’s force must march to reach Antrim. At about noon he met the + advance guard of United Irishmen. Several of Donald’s companions were + recognised by these men, and his party were led back to where M’Cracken + himself marched with the central division of his army. It was then that + Neal first saw this leader—a tall, fair-haired, gentle-faced man, + dressed in a white and green uniform, armed with a sword. He spoke to + Donald Ward, and then calling Neal, questioned him about the condition of + the town of Antrim. Neal repeated all that Lord Dunseveric had said, and + told how he had been shown a copy of the proclamation. + </p> + <p> + “You will not tell anyone else what you have told me, Mr. Ward,” said + M’Cracken, “the news that our plans are known to the enemy might be + discouraging to the men. It does not alter my determination to take Antrim + to-day. Now I must give you your orders and your posts.” He called Donald + Ward to him. “You will take charge of our two pieces of cannon,” he said. + “They are at the rear of the force. Neal Ward, you will join the first + division of the army—the musketeers—and place yourself under + James Hope’s command. I think this is what both you and he would wish. + Felix Matier and James Bigger will do likewise. Moylin, you and your two + friends will march with the pikemen, whom I lead myself. Some of the men + have arms for you.” + </p> + <p> + The party had fallen somewhat to the rear of the column during this + conversation with M’Cracken. Neal and his two companions hurried forward + at once in order to reach the division of musketeers which was in the van. + They had opportunity as they passed along to admire the steady march and + the determined bearing of the men. Green flags were everywhere displayed. + The long pikes, iron spear-heads fastened on stout poles, were formidable + weapons in the hands of strong men. An almost unbroken silence was + preserved in the ranks. The northern Irishmen are not great talkers at any + time. Set to work of deadly earnest, they become very silent, very grim. + </p> + <p> + There were men in the little army belonging to some of the finest fighting + stocks in the world. There were descendants of the fiery Celtic tribes to + whom Owen Roe O’Neill taught patience and discipline; who, under him, if + he had lived, might well have broken even Cromwell’s Ironsides and sent + the mighty Puritan back to his England a beaten man. Despised, degraded, + enslaved for more than a century, these had yet in them the capacity for + fighting. There were also the great-grandsons of the citizen soldiers of + Derry—of the men who stood at bay so doggedly behind their walls, + whom neither French military art nor Celtic valour, nor the long suffering + of famine and disease, could cow into surrender. There were others—newcomers + to the soil of Ireland—who brought with them to Ulster the + traditions of the Scottish Covenantors, memories of many a fierce struggle + against persecution, of conflict with the dragoons of Claverhouse. All + these, whose grandfathers had stood in arms for widely different causes, + marched together on Antrim, an embodiment of Wolfe Tone’s dream of a + united Ireland. Their flags were green, vividly symbolic of the blending + of the Protestant orange with the ancient Irish blue. M’Cracken, with such + troops behind him, might march hopefully, even though he knew that the + cavalry, infantry, and artillery were hurrying against him along the banks + of the Six Mile Water, from Blaris Camp and Carrickfergus. + </p> + <p> + James Hope greeted Neal warmly. + </p> + <p> + “There is a musket for you,” he said, “and your own share of the + cartridges you helped to save. There’s a lad here, a slip of a boy, who is + carrying them for you.” + </p> + <p> + He looked round and pointed out the boy to Neal. + </p> + <p> + “There he is; you may march in the ranks along with him.” + </p> + <p> + Neal took his place beside a boy with bright red hair and a pleasant + smiling face, who handed him a musket and a pouch of cartridges. + </p> + <p> + “Them’s yours, Neal Ward. Jemmy Hope bid me bring them for you.” + </p> + <p> + “But what are you to do?” said Neal. “You have no musket for yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Faith I couldn’t use it if I had. I never shot off one of them guns in my + life. I’d be as like to hit myself as any one. I’ll just go along with + you, I have a sword, and I’ll be able to use that if I get the chance.” + </p> + <p> + Neal looked at the lad beside him, noted his smooth face and sparkling + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “You must be very young,” he said, “too young for this work.” + </p> + <p> + “I might be older than you now, young as I look. But is thon Mr. Matier + coming till us? Go you and talk to him if you want. I won’t have him here, + marching along with me.” + </p> + <p> + At about half-past one Hope halted his musketeers. He was in sight of + Antrim, and he waited for orders. It was clear that the town was held by + English troops. Their red coats were visible in the main street, but, + without that, the houses which burnt here and there gave sufficient + evidence of the presence of a ravishing army. + </p> + <p> + M’Cracken made a speech to his men—an eloquent speech. Now-a-days we + are inclined to look with some contempt on men who make eloquent speeches. + We are so accustomed to the perpetual flow of our Sunday oratory that we + have come to think of speeches as mere preliminaries to copious draughts + of porter in public-houses—a sort of grace before drink, to which no + sensible man attaches any particular importance. But the orators of + M’Cracken’s day spoke seriously, with a sense of responsibility, because + all of them—Flood, Grattan, and the rest—spoke to armed men, + who might at any time draw swords to give effect to the speaker’s words. + M’Cracken spoke to men with swords already drawn and muskets loaded. + Therefore, he had some right to be eloquent, and his hearers had some + right to cheer. + </p> + <p> + Felix Matier had somehow laid hands on Phelim, the blind piper, and set + him playing. A hundred voices, voices of marching men, caught the tune, + whistled, and sang it. Matier’s own voice rang out clearest and loudest of + all. It was, the “Marseillaise” they sang—a not inappropriate anthem + for soldiers about to fight for the liberty of man. But James Hope had + something else in his mind besides the storming of a French Bastille and + the guillotining of a French aristocracy. He believed that he was + fighting: for Ireland, and the foreign tune was not to his mind. Laying + his hand on Matier’s shoulder he commanded silence. Then whispering to + Phelim, he set a fresh tune going on the pipes. An ancient Irish war march + shrilled through the ranks—a tune with a rush in it—a tune + which sends the battle fever through men’s veins. Now and then the passion + of it reaches a climax, and the listeners, almost in spite of themselves, + must shout aloud. It is called “Brian Boroimhe’s March,” and it may be + that his warriors shouted when the pipers played it marching on Clontarf + against the Danes. Hope’s musketeers heard it, whistled it as the piper + played, hummed it in deep voices, and always, when the moment came, + shouted aloud. + </p> + <p> + The musketeers halted, and the pikemen passed them by. The broad, straight + street lay before them, and at the end of it, half sheltered by the market + house, were the English infantry. Behind them, blocking the end of the + street, splitting it as it were into two roads, which run to the right and + left, was the wall of Lord Massereene’s demesne. Across the bridge the + English cannon, almost too late, were being hurried by an escort of + sweating dragoons. There was work with them for Hope’s musketeers and + Donald Ward’s two brass six-pounders. But between the infantry and + M’Cracken’s men was a body of cavalry, sitting in shelter behind the wall + which surrounded the church. These would cut the musketeers to pieces. The + pikemen must face them first. + </p> + <p> + The horsemen wheeled from their shelter and charged. The long pikes were + lowered, steadied, held in bristling line. There was trampling, shouting, + cursing, torn horses, wounded men, dust, and confusion. Then the horsemen + turned back, musket bullets followed them, men reeled from the saddles, + horses stumbled, the pikemen at the lower end of the street shook + themselves and cheered. They had tasted victory. A louder cheer followed. + Another body of pikemen, true almost to the moment of their time, marched + in along the Carrickfergus Road and joined M’Cracken. The whole body moved + forward together. Down the street to meet them thundered the dragoons who + had brought the cannon in across the bridge. Hope’s musketeers fired + again, but no bullets could stop the furious charge. The dragoons were on + the pikes—among the pike men, There was stabbing and cutting, pike + and sabre clashed. Again the cavalry were driven back, again the musket + bullets followed them—musket bullets fired by marksmen. M’Cracken, + at the head of his men, pushed forward. The dragoons took shelter, the + English artillery and infantry opened fire. The street was swept with + grape-shot and bullets. + </p> + <p> + Neal, in the front rank of Hope’s men, was loading and firing rapidly. He + heard a shout behind him. + </p> + <p> + “Way there, make way!” + </p> + <p> + He turned. Donald Ward and two men with him had got one of their + six-pounders mounted on a country cart. They dragged the gun to the middle + of the road. Donald, sweating and dusty, but calm and alert, with a grim + smile on his face, laid the gun, loaded, fired. Again he fired. The gun + was well aimed. His shot ploughed its way among the men who served the + English guns, but at the second discharge a round shot flung it from its + carriage and laid it useless on the road. The man who stood beside it + cursed and flung his hands up in despair. Donald Ward turned quickly. + </p> + <p> + “Back,” he said, “get the other gun.” + </p> + <p> + The pikemen pressed on against the storm of grape and cannister and + bullets. The guns ceased firing to let the dragoons charge. Again the + pikemen knelt to receive them, and flung them back. At last the wall of + the churchyard was reached. The pikemen leaped into the churchyard and + breathed in safety. A flag was raised above the wall, a green flag. A wild + cheer greeted it. Hope shouted an order to his men. They rushed forward + along the ground that had been so hardly won, and took their places with + their comrades behind the wall. Leaning over it, or finding loopholes in + the rough masonry, they opened fire on the infantry before them. A large + body of pikemen crossed the road and entered a lane. They pressed along + behind the houses of the street to turn the flank of the English infantry + who were drawn up against the demesne wall. The English commander saw his + danger, and sent dragoons charging down the street again. But Hope’s + musketeers were in the churchyard this time. They fired at close range. + The dragoons hesitated. The remaining pikemen rushed out on them. The + colonel reeled in his saddle, struck by a bullet. His men wavered. In one + instant the pikemen were among them. Three horsemen shouted to the men to + rally, and with the flats of their swords struck at those who were + retreating. But the dragoons had had too much of the pikes. They turned + and fled up the street. Sweeping to the left they galloped in confusion + from the battle. The three horsemen who did not fly were surrounded. The + main body of the pikemen pressed forward; the flanking party joined them. + The English infantry and gunners were driven through the gates and took + shelter behind the walls of the demesne. + </p> + <p> + In the middle of the street the three horsemen fought for their lives + against a handful of men who had held back from the main charge. Neal + recognised two of them—saw with horror Lord Dun-severic and Maurice + cutting at the pikes with their swords. He leaped the wall and rushed to + their help. The third horseman—the unfortunate Lord O’Neill—was + separated far from them. He fell from his saddle, ripped by a pike thrust. + Lord Dunseveric’s horse was stabbed, and threw its rider to the ground. + Maurice leaped down and raised his father. The two stood back to back + while the pikemen pressed on them. Then Neal reached them. With his musket + clubbed he beat down two of the pikes. The men cursed him, and, furious at + his interference, thrust at him. A sword flashed suddenly beside him, and + a pike, which would have pierced him, was turned aside. Neal saw that the + red-haired boy who marched with him in the morning had followed him from + the churchyard and was fighting fiercely by his side. The pikemen realised + that they were attacking their friends. Leaving Neal and his protector, + they ran to join their comrades. + </p> + <p> + “Yield yourselves,” shouted Neal. “You are my prisoners. Yield and you are + safe.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Dunseveric bowed. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, Neal,” he said, quietly, “we yield to you.” + </p> + <p> + A bullet struck the ground at their feet, and then another. The soldiers + behind the demesne wall were firing at them. The boy who had saved Neal + from the pike thrust gave a sudden cry and sank on the ground. + </p> + <p> + “I think,” said Lord Dunseveric, “you had better pick up that boy and walk + in front of us. It is possible that our men will cease firing when they + see that Maurice and I are between them and you.” + </p> + <p> + Neal stooped and raised the boy. + </p> + <p> + “I can walk fine,” he said, “if you let me put my arm round your neck.” + </p> + <p> + There was a pause in the fighting. The English infantry drawn up on the + terrace behind the wall would not fire on Lord Dunseveric and his son. + Hope’s musketeers in the churchyard watched in silence while the little + procession approached them. Neal, with his arm round the wounded boy, + walked first. Lord Dunseveric, following, drew his snuff-box from his + pocket, tapped it, and took a pinch, drawing the powder into his nostrils + with deliberate enjoyment. + </p> + <p> + “It seems, Maurice,” he said, with a slight smile, “that we are people of + considerable importance. Two armies are looking on while we march to + captivity, and yet we do not appear in a very heroic light. We are the + prisoners of one badly-armed young man and a wounded boy.” + </p> + <p> + “Neal saved us,” said Maurice. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Lord Dunseveric, “that is, no doubt, the way to look at it. We + should certainly have been piked if it had not been for Neal.” + </p> + <p> + Neal lifted the wounded boy over the churchyard wall and knelt beside him + on the grass. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you hit?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “It’s my leg, the calf of my leg, but it’s no that bad, I could get along + a bit, yet.” + </p> + <p> + The English infantry opened a furious fire on M’Cracken’s pikemen, who + stood around the cannon they captured. Hope’s musketeers replied, firing + rapidly. Many of them had fallen. There were muskets to spare, and the + wounded men, crawling round their comrades, loaded for them, and passed + the guns up to those who still could shoot. The whole churchyard was full + of smoke, and a heavy cloud of it hung in the still air before the wall. + It became impossible to see plainly what was happening. Neal was aware + that Felix Matier stood beside him, and that Lord Dunseveric was somewhere + behind him watching, with cool interest, the progress of the fight. + Suddenly Felix Matier shouted— + </p> + <p> + “We’re blinded with this smoke. We must see to shoot. We must see to aim. + Follow me who dare!” + </p> + <p> + He leaped into the street, and knelt down. The air was clearer there than + in the churchyard. He aimed steadily, fired, loaded, and fired again. The + bullets of the infantry splashed on the ground around him like rain drops + in a heavy shower. His clothes were cut by them. It seemed a miracle that + he did not fall. He began to sing, and this time there was no one to + forbid his “Marseillaise.” Then, while his voice rose to its highest, + while he seemed, out there alone in the bullet-swept street, a very + incarnation of the battle spirit—the end came for him. He flung up + his arms, rose, staggered towards the shelter of the churchyard, turned + half round in the direction of the men who fired at him, and dropped dead. + </p> + <p> + Lord Dunseveric stepped forward and tapped Neal on the shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Listen,” he said. + </p> + <p> + From the Belfast Road, along which the United Irishmen had marched in the + morning, came the sound of drums. Through the smoke it was possible to + discern dimly that a large body of troops was approaching the town. There + could be no doubt as to who they were. No reinforcements for M’Cracken’s + army could be looked for from the south. Neal grasped the meaning of what + he saw. Hope’s men in the graveyard, which they had held so long, were + caught between the soldiers in the demesne and these fresh troops who + marched on them. Others besides Neal saw what was happening. The firing + slackened. Here and there a man dropped his musket and stared wildly + around. At the top of the street the dragoons who had fled appeared again. + They attacked M’Cracken’s pike-men once more, and this time victoriously. + Shaken by the fire of the soldiers behind the wall, disheartened by the + appearance of the enemy in their rear, these men, who had fought so well, + could fight no more. Some fled, some, with their leader, faced the + dragoons and, their pikes still forming a bristling hedge in front of + them, retired sullenly eastwards from the town. + </p> + <p> + The musketeers were left alone. Their position seemed desperate. Neal + stopped firing, and looked round. Hope stood bare-headed, his sword in his + hand. + </p> + <p> + “We have fought a good fight, men, and we’ll fight again, but we must get + out of this now. Load and reserve your fire till I give the order. Follow + me.” + </p> + <p> + He stepped into the street. His men, gaining courage from the cool + confidence of his voice, loaded their muskets and went after him. + </p> + <p> + “Neal,” said Lord Dunseveric, “this is madness. Stay. There are at least a + thousand men in front of you. You can’t cut your way through them.” + </p> + <p> + But Neal did not listen. To him, for the moment, it was enough that Hope + was leading. + </p> + <p> + “Neal, Neal, don’t leave me.” + </p> + <p> + It was the voice of the boy who had stood by him in the street and turned + the pikes aside. + </p> + <p> + “See, I have bound up my leg. I can walk.” + </p> + <p> + Neal took him by the arm, and together they joined the remnant of Hope’s + musketeers in their march against the fresh troops who approached them. + </p> + <p> + Lord Dunseveric, heedless of the bullets which still swept the street from + the demesne, stood on the graveyard wall. He was excited at last. + </p> + <p> + “Maurice,” he cried, “these men are going to certain destruction, but, by + God, their courage is glorious. Look, they are out of the town. They have + halted. They fire. Now, if the English officer has any horse he can cut + them to pieces. He should advance, cavalry or no cavalry. A charge with + the bayonets would settle it. See, Maurice, the red coats have halted. + They are forming a square; they expect to be charged. The rebels have + turned. They are satisfied with having checked the advance. They are + making back into the town. Are they mad? No, by God, they wheel to their + right. They are off. They have escaped.” + </p> + <p> + The meaning of Hope’s manoeuvre broke suddenly on Lord Dunseveric. There + was a road at the end of the town leading north-east to Done-gore. By + going along it Hope could join M’Cracken and the remains of the army. But + to keep it open he had to check the advance of the English reinforcements. + He feinted against them, calculating that their commander would not know + how the fight had gone in Antrim, and must of necessity move cautiously. + He risked the utter destruction of his little force in making his bid for + safety. He reaped the reward of courage and skill, extricating his + musketeers from what seemed an impossible position. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII + </h2> + <p> + General Clavering seemed in no way disconcerted by the escape of Hope’s + musketeers. He marched through the town with drums beating and colours + flying, having very much the air of a victorious general. Lord Dunseveric + stepped out of the graveyard and saluted him. + </p> + <p> + “Accept my congratulations,” he said, “on your timely arrival. You have + released me and my son from what might have been an unpleasant and + uncomfortable captivity.” + </p> + <p> + “I am glad,” said the general, “to have been of any service to your + lordship. I trust you suffered no ill-usage at the hands of the rebels. If + you did——-, well, we have an opportunity of settling our + scores with them now.” + </p> + <p> + He smiled, but the look on his face was by no means pleasant to see. + </p> + <p> + “I received no ill-usage at all,” said Lord Dunseveric. “On the contrary, + I was treated with as much courtesy as was possible under the + circumstances. I would ask your forbearance towards any prisoners you may + take, and your kindness to the wounded. There are many of them in the + churchyard.” + </p> + <p> + “You may be sure that your lordship’s recommendation shall have due weight + with me.” + </p> + <p> + The words were civil, but Lord Dunseveric detected a sneer in the voice + which uttered them. He was not well pleased. + </p> + <p> + “I trust, sir,” he said coldly, “that I am to take your words literally + and not interpret them in accordance with the tone in which they are + spoken.” + </p> + <p> + “If you want plain speaking, Lord Dunseveric,” said the general, “I shall + deal with the rebels, whole or wounded, as rebels deserve. I mean to make + these Antrim farmers as tame as gelt cats before I’ve done with them.” + </p> + <p> + He beckoned to an officer of his staff, and gave some orders. In a few + minutes several companies of mounted yeomen and dragoons trotted out of + the town. + </p> + <p> + “It is a good job,” said General Clavering, “that the rebels succeeded in + getting away. If we had cut off their retreat we might have had some hard + fighting. There is nothing nastier than tackling a rat in a corner. It is + a much simpler business to cut up flying men. All beaten troops straggle + and desert. Irregulars, operating in their own country, simply melt away + after a defeat. They sneak off home, hide their arms in hay stacks, and + pretend they never left their ploughs. I know their ways, and, by God, + I’ll track them. I’ll ferret them out.” + </p> + <p> + General Clavering’s estimate of the conduct of irregular troops had + something in it. Even James Hope’s influence failed to keep his men from + straggling. They had fought well while there was any chance of victory, + but war was strange to them. The horrors of wounds and death, the bitter + disappointment of defeat, the hopeless outlook of the future, depressed + them. Their homes were near at hand. Within a few miles of them were the + familiar cottages, the waiting, anxious wives, the little children with + eager faces. There was always the chance for each man that he might escape + unknown, that his share in the rising might be forgotten. One and another + dropped out of the ranks, slipped across the fields, sought to get home + again along by-paths. It was not possible for Hope to delay his march in + order to reason with his men—to hearten and steady them. He knew + that the enemy would be swift in pursuit, that he must press on if he were + to meet M’Cracken at Donegore. He did what he could. He went to and fro + through the ranks, speaking quiet, brave words. Donald Ward, cool and + determined as ever, talked of the American war. + </p> + <p> + “You’re young at the work, yet,” he said to the disheartened men. “Wait + till you’ve been beaten half a dozen times. It was only by being beaten, + and standing up to our beatings, that we won in the end. I remember when I + was with General Greene in the Carolinas——” + </p> + <p> + The men listened to him and listened to Hope. Their spirit began to return + to them. The ranks closed up. The march grew more regular, but the + straggling did not altogether cease. The lure of home, the thought of rest + after struggle, was too strong for some of them. Neal marched near the + rear of the column. He had no thought of deserting a beaten side, of + trying to save himself, but he knew that he could not go on for very long, + and that he would not be able to reach Donegore. The boy whom he supported + leaned heavily on him, until he almost had to carry him. The strain became + more and more severe. He gave his musket to a comrade to carry for him. He + lifted the boy upon his back and staggered on. + </p> + <p> + After nearly an hour’s march Hope called a halt. Half a mile behind them + on the road was a body of dragoons advancing rapidly. Hope drew his men up + across the road, the few pikemen who were with him kneeling in front, the + musketeers behind them. The dragoons came on at a trot. Then a word of + command was given by their officer, and they galloped forward. Hope + waited, and only at the last moment gave the word to fire. Horses and men + fell. The charge was checked. A few staggered forward against the pikes. + Most turned and fled. A wild cheer burst from Hope’s men. Without waiting + for orders they rushed after the retreating dragoons. The misery of defeat + was forgotten for a moment. They tasted the joy of victory again. But the + horsemen rallied, turned on their pursuers, and rode through them, cutting + with their sabres. Neal, who had sat down on the roadside after firing his + musket, saw Hope trying to recall his men, saw Donald Ward far down the + road gather a few pikemen round him and stand at bay. The dragoons, who + had had enough of charging pikes, dismounted, unslung their carbines, and + fired. Neal saw his uncle fall. Hope reformed his men and bade them load + again, but the dragoons had no taste for another charge. Their officer was + wounded. They turned and rode back towards Antrim. + </p> + <p> + Hope gave the word to march again, but Neal could carry the boy no more. + </p> + <p> + “I can’t do it,” he said. “We must stay here and take our chance.” + </p> + <p> + “Go on,” said the boy, “go you on. I’ve been a sore trouble to you the + day, have done with me now.” + </p> + <p> + “I will not leave you,” said Neal, “we’ll take our chance together.” + </p> + <p> + He watched Hope’s little force disappear up the road. Then he dragged the + boy through the hedge into the meadow beyond it, and lay down in the deep + grass. + </p> + <p> + “Is your leg very bad?” said Neal. + </p> + <p> + “It’s no that bad, only I canna walk. It’s bled a power, my stocking’s + soaked with the blood. Maybe if we could tie it up better we might stop it + and I’d get strength to go again.” + </p> + <p> + Neal dragged the lining from his coat, and tore it into strips. He cut the + stocking from the boy’s leg with his pocket-knife, and bandaged a long + flesh wound as best he could. + </p> + <p> + “Rest now,” he said, “and after a while we’ll try and get on a bit.” + </p> + <p> + They lay in the deep, cool grass. There was pure air round them, and they + drew deep breaths of it into throats and lungs parched by the fumes of + sulphurous smoke. A delicious silence wrapped them, folded them as if in a + tender, kind embrace. A faint breeze stirred the grass, waved the white + plumes of the meadow sweet, shook the blue vetch flowers and the purple + spears of lusmor. In the hedge the reddening blooms of faded hawthorn + still lingered. The honeysuckle fragrance filled the air. Groups of + merry-faced dog-daisies nodded in the ditch, and round their stalks were + buttercups, and beyond them the rich yellow of marsh marigolds. Neal + fancied himself awaking from some hideous nightmare. It became impossible + to believe in the reality of the battle, the fierce passion of it, the + smoke, the sweat, the wounds, the cries. He was lulled into delicious + ease. Rest was for the time the supreme good of life. His eyes closed + drowsily. He was back in Dunseveric again, and in his ears the noise of a + gentle summer sea. + </p> + <p> + He was roused by a touch of his companion’s hand. + </p> + <p> + “I’m afraid there’s a wheen o’ sogers coming up the road.” + </p> + <p> + Neal rose to his hands and knees and peered cautiously through the hedge. + He saw mounted men riding slowly along the road from the direction of + Antrim. They were still about half a mile off. Every now and then they + halted and peered about them. They rode as if they feared an ambush, or as + if they sought something or some one in the fields at each side of the + road. + </p> + <p> + “They’re yeomen,” said Neal, “and they’re coming towards us. We must lie + as still as we can. Perhaps they may pass without seeing us.” + </p> + <p> + “They willna,” said the boy, “they’ll see us. We’ll be kilt at last.” + </p> + <p> + Neal peered again. The yeomen had reached the spot where Donald and his + pikemen had made their stand. They halted and dismounted to examine, + perhaps to plunder, the bodies. Neal could see their uniforms plainly. He + shivered. They were men of the Kilulta yeomenry, of Captain Twinely’s + company. + </p> + <p> + “Neal Ward, there’s something I want to say to you before they catch us.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what is it? Speak at once. They’ll be coming on soon, and then it + won’t do to be talking.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, but you mustn’t look at me while I tell you.” + </p> + <p> + Neal turned away and waited. He was impatient of this making of mysteries + in a moment of extreme peril. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “I would I were in Ballinderry, + I would I were in Aghalee, + I would I were in bonny Ram’s Island + Trysting under an ivy tree— + Ochone, Ochone!” + </pre> + <p> + The words were sung very softly, but Neal recognised the voice at once. He + turned at the second line and gazed in open-eyed astonishment at the + singer. + </p> + <p> + “Ay, it’s just me, just Peg MacIlrea.” She smiled up at him as she spoke. + </p> + <p> + “But, Peg, how could you do it? Peg, if I’d only known. Why did you come?” + </p> + <p> + “It wasna right. It wasna maidenly. If that’s what you want to be saying + to me, Neal Ward. The other lassie wouldna have done it. Maybe not. But a’ + the lads I knew well were turning out and going to the fight, and what was + to hinder a poor, wild lassie, that nobody cared about, from going, too? + Ay, and being there at the break, the sore, sore break, in Antrim town?” + </p> + <p> + Neal heard the tramp of the yeomen’s horses on the road. He heard their + voices, their laughter, their oaths. + </p> + <p> + “Neal,” said Peg, “you’re a brave lad and a kind. I aye said it of ye from + thon night when you throttled the dragoon. Do you mind it? D’you mind how + I bit him?” + </p> + <p> + The yeomen were almost opposite their hiding-place now. + </p> + <p> + “Neal,” whispered Peg, “will ye no gie me a kiss? The other lassie wouldna + begrudge it to me now, I’m thinking.” + </p> + <p> + He bent over her, put his arms round her neck, raised her head, and kissed + her lips. + </p> + <p> + “Hush, Peg, hush,” he whispered. + </p> + <p> + “There’s a musket on the road in front of you, sergeant.” Neal recognised + Captain Twinely’s voice. “There might be some damned croppy lurking in the + meadow there. Dismount and beat him up. Hey! but we’ll have some sport + hunting him across country if he runs. The earths are all stopped. We’ll + have a fine burst, and kill the vermin in the end.” + </p> + <p> + Neal stood upright. + </p> + <p> + “I surrender to you, Captain Twinely. I surrender as a prisoner of war.” + </p> + <p> + It seemed to him the only chance of saving Peg MacIlrea. It was just + possible that the yeomen would be satisfied with one prisoner. + </p> + <p> + “By God,” said the captain, “if it isn’t that damned young Ward again. + Come, croppy, come, croppy, I’ll give you a run for your life. I’ll give + you two minutes start by my watch, and I’ll hunt you like a fox. It’s a + better offer than you deserve.” + </p> + <p> + Neal stood still, and made no answer. + </p> + <p> + “To him, sergeant, prick him with your sword. Set him running.” + </p> + <p> + The sergeant came blundering through the hedge. Neal stepped forward to + meet him, in the hope of keeping Peg concealed, but the sergeant caught + sight of her. + </p> + <p> + “There’s another of them, Captain, lying in the grass.” + </p> + <p> + “Rout him out, rout him out,” said Captain Twinely, “we’ll run the two. + We’ll have sport.” + </p> + <p> + The sergeant stepped forward and kicked Peg. Neal flew at the man and + knocked him down. + </p> + <p> + “Ho, ho,” laughed Captain Twinely, “he’s a game cub. Get through the + hedge, men, and take a hold of him. We’ll hunt the other fellow first.” + </p> + <p> + “The other seems to be wounded, sir,” said one of the men. “He has his leg + bandaged.” + </p> + <p> + “Then slit his throat,” said the captain, “he can’t run, and I’ve no use + for wounded men.” + </p> + <p> + Neal, his arms tightly gripped by two troopers, made a last appeal. + </p> + <p> + “It’s a girl,” he said, “would you murder a girl?” + </p> + <p> + Captain Twinely rolled in his saddle with mirth. + </p> + <p> + “A vixen,” he cried. “Damn your soul, Neal Ward, but you’re a sly one. To + think of a true blue Presbyterian like you, a minister’s son, God rot you, + lying and cuddling a girl in a field. A vixen, by God. Strip her, + sergeant, till we see if he’s telling the truth.” + </p> + <p> + Neal, with the strength of a furious man, tore himself from the grasp of + his guards. He plunged through the hedge and leaped at Captain Twinely. He + gripped the horse’s mane with his left hand, and made a wild snatch at the + throat of the man above him in the saddle. A blow on the face from the + hilt of Twinely’s sword threw him to the ground. He fell half stunned. He + heard Peg shriek wildly, and then lost consciousness of what was + happening. + </p> + <p> + He was roused again by a prod of a sword, and bidden to stand up. His + hands were tied and the end of the rope made fast to the stirrup iron of + one of the trooper’s horses. + </p> + <p> + “We’re going to take you back into Antrim,” said Captain Twinely. “I don’t + deny that I’d rather deal with you here myself, but you’re a + fifty-pounder, my lad, and my men won’t hear of losing their share of the + reward. It’ll come to the same thing in the end, any way. Clavering isn’t + the man to be squeamish about hanging a rebel. Mount men and march.” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe the young cub would like to see his lass before he leaves her. Her + face is a bonny one for kissing now.” + </p> + <p> + Neal shuddered, and turned sick. Beyond the hedge in the trampled grass, + among the meadow sweet and the loose strife, lay unnamable horror. He shut + his eyes, dreading lest he should be forced to look, but the suggestion + was too brutal even for Captain Twinely. + </p> + <p> + “Shut your devil’s mouth,” he said to the sergeant, “isn’t what you’ve + done enough for you? If the croppy that came on you at Donegore had broken + your skull, instead of just cracking it, he would have rid the country of + the biggest blackguard in it.” + </p> + <p> + “Thon’s fine talk,” growled the sergeant, “but who bid us strip the wench? + Is bloody Twinely turning chicken-hearted at the last?” + </p> + <p> + Captain Twinely did not choose to hear the sergeant’s words, or the + grumbling of the men around him. He put his troop in motion, and trotted + off towards Antrim. Neal, running and stumbling, dazed, utterly weary and + dejected, was dragged with them. + </p> + <p> + General Clavering sat at dinner in a private room of the Massereene Arms. + He had with him Colonel Durham and several of the officers who had + commanded troops during the battle. The landlord, obsequious and + frightened, waited on the party himself. He had the best food he could get + on the table, and the best wine from the cellar was ready for his guests. + In the public room a larger party was gathered—yeomanry officers, + captains, and lieutenants of the royal troops, and a few of the country + squires who had ridden into the town after the fighting was over. Lord + Dunseveric and Maurice were in the room where they had slept the night + before. Lord O’Neill lay on one of two beds. Life was in him still, but he + was mortally wounded. Lord Dunseveric sat beside him, holding his hand, + and speaking to him occasionally. Maurice was at the window. The laughter + of the party in the room below reached them, and the noisy talk of the + troops who thronged the streets. Jests, curses, snatches of song, and + calls for wine mingled with the groans which his extreme pain wrung from + the wounded man and the solemn, quiet words about strength and courage + which Lord Dunseveric spoke. + </p> + <p> + A party of horsemen clattered up the street, and halted at the inn door. + They had a prisoner with them—a wretched-looking man, with torn + clothes, a bruised, bloody face, and hair matted with sweat and grime. But + Maurice recognised him. It was Neal Ward. He turned to his father. + </p> + <p> + “A company of yeomen has just marched in and they have Neal Ward with + them. Their officer, I think it was that blackguard Twinely, has asked for + General Clavering, and entered the inn.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, Maurice.” Lord Dunseveric turned to the wounded man. “I must + leave you for a few minutes, my friend; keep quiet and be brave. I shall + be back again. Maurice will stay with you, and get you anything you want.” + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going, Eustace?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m going to the general, to this Clavering man. He has a prisoner now + whom I want to help if I can—the young man I told you about, who + saved me from being piked in the street to-day. I would to God he could + have saved you, too.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s past praying for now,” said Lord O’Neill, “but you’re right, + Eustace, you’re right. Save him from the hangman if you can. There’s been + blood enough shed to-day—Irish blood, Irish blood. There should be + no more of it.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Dunseveric entered the room where General Clavering and his officers + sat at dinner. Captain Twinely stood at the end of the table, and Lord + Dunseveric heard the orders he received. + </p> + <p> + “Put him into the market-house to-night. I’ll hang that fellow in the + morning, whatever I do with the rest.” + </p> + <p> + “The market-house is full, sir,” said Captain Twinely, “the officer in + command says he can receive no more prisoners.” + </p> + <p> + “Damn it, man, shut him up somewhere else, then, but don’t stand there + talking to me and interrupting my dinner. Here, landlord, have you an + empty cellar?” + </p> + <p> + “Your worship, my lord general, there’s only the wine cellar; but it’s + very nigh on empty now.” + </p> + <p> + A shout of laughter greeted the remark. + </p> + <p> + “Fetch out the rest of the wine that’s in it,” said the general, “we’ll + make a clean sweep of it. Or, stay, leave the poor devil one bottle of + decent claret. He’s to be hanged tomorrow morning. He may have a sup of + comfort to-night.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Twinely saluted and withdrew. + </p> + <p> + “General Clavering,” said Lord Dunseveric, “I ask you to spare this young + man’s life. I will make myself personally responsible for his safe + keeping, and undertake to send him out of the country at the first + opportunity.” + </p> + <p> + “It can’t be done, Lord Dunseveric. I am sorry to disoblige in a small + matter, but it can’t be done.” + </p> + <p> + “I ask it as a matter of justice,” said Lord Dunseveric. “The man saved my + life and my son’s life to-day in the street at the risk of his own. He + deserves to be spared.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve given my answer.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Dunseveric hesitated. For a moment it seemed as if he were about to + turn and leave the room. Then, with an evident effort, he spoke again. + </p> + <p> + “I ask this man’s life as a personal favour. I am not one who begs often + from the Government, or who asks favours easily, but I ask this.” + </p> + <p> + “Anything else, my lord, anything in reason, but this I will not grant. + This young man has a bad record—a damned bad record. He was mixed up + with the hanging of a yeoman in the north———” + </p> + <p> + “He was not,” said Lord Dunseveric. “I hanged that man.” + </p> + <p> + “You hanged him,” said General Clavering, Angrily, “and yet you come here + asking favours of me. But there’s more, plenty more, against this Neal + Ward. He tried to choke a dragoon in the street of Belfast, he took part + in a daring capture of some ammunition for the rebels’ use, he helped to + murder a loyal man at Donegore last night, he was in arms to-day. There’s + not half a dozen deserve hanging more richly than he does, and hanged + he’ll be. Never you fret yourself about him, Lord Dunseveric; sit down + here and drink a glass with us. We’re going to make a night of it.” + </p> + <p> + “I beg leave to decline your invitation,” said Lord Dunseveric, stiffly. + “I have asked for mercy and been refused. I have asked for justice and + been refused. I have begged a personal favour and been refused. I bid you + good night. If I thought you and your companions were capable of any + feeling of common decency I should request you to restrain your mirth a + little out of respect to Lord O’Neill, who lies dying within two doors of + you. But I should probably only provide you with fresh food for your + laughter if I did.” + </p> + <p> + He bowed coldly, and left the room. The company sat silent for a minute or + two. No man cared to look at his neighbour. Lord Dunseveric’s last words + had been unpleasant ones to listen to. Besides, Lord Dunseveric was a man + of some importance. It is impossible to tell how far the influence of a + great territorial lord may stretch. Promotion is sometimes stopped + mysteriously by influences which are not very easily baffled. There were + colonels at the table who wanted to be generals, and generals who wanted + commands. There was a feeling that it might have been wiser to speak more + civilly to Lord Dunseveric. + </p> + <p> + General Clavering himself broke the silence. + </p> + <p> + “These damned Irishmen are all rebels at heart,” he said. “The gentry want + their combs cut as much as the croppies. I’m not going to be insulted at + my own table by a cursed Irishman even if he does put lord before his + name. I’ll write a report about this Lord Dunseveric. I’ll make him smart + with a sharp fine. You heard him boast, gentlemen, boast before a company + of men holding His Majesty’s commission, that he hanged a soldier in + discharge of his duty.” + </p> + <p> + “A yeoman,” said Colonel Durham, “and some of the yeomen deserve hanging.” + </p> + <p> + “God Almighty!” said Clavering, “are you turning rebel, too? I don’t care + whether a man deserves it or not, I’ll not have the king’s troops hanged + by filthy Irishmen.” + </p> + <p> + He looked round the table for applause. He got none. General Clavering had + boasted too loudly—had gone too far. It was well known that in the + existing state of Irish politics Pitt and the English ministers would + probably prefer cashiering General Clavering to offending a man like Lord + Dunseveric. There were plenty of generals to be got. A great Irish + landowner, a man of ability, a peer who commanded the respect of all + classes in the country, might be a serious hindrance to the carrying out + of certain carefully-matured schemes. General Clavering attempted to laugh + the matter off. + </p> + <p> + “But this,” he said, “is over wine. Men say more than they mean when they + are engaged in emptying mine host’s cellar. Come, gentlemen, another + bottle. We must hang the damned young rebel, but we’ll do him this much + grace—we’ll drink a happy despatch to him, a short wriggle at the + end of his rope, and a pleasant journey to a warmer climate.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Dunseveric returned to his room and sat down again beside Lord + O’Neill. He said nothing to Maurice. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Lord O’Neill, “will they spare him?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “More blood, more blood. God help us, Eustace, our lot is cast in evil + times. Would it be any use if I spoke, if I wrote! I think I could manage + to write.” + </p> + <p> + “None, my friend, none. Keep quiet, you have enough to bear without taking + my troubles and my friend’s troubles on your shoulders.” + </p> + <p> + For a long time there was silence in the room, broken only by an + occasional groan from the wounded man and a word or two murmured low by + Lord Dunseveric. Maurice took his place at the window again. He understood + that his father’s intercession for Neal had failed, but he was not + hopeless. He did not know what was to be said or done next, but he waited + confidently. It was not often that Lord Dunseveric was turned back from + anything he set his hand to do. It was likely that if he wanted Neal + Ward’s release the release would be accomplished whatever General + Clavering might think or say. + </p> + <p> + The evening darkened slowly. Lord O’Neill dropped into an uneasy dose. + Lord Dunseveric rose, and crossed the room to Maurice. + </p> + <p> + “You heard what I said, son? They are to hang Neal Ward to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + Maurice nodded. + </p> + <p> + “I can do no more. Besides, I am tired. I want to rest.” + </p> + <p> + Maurice looked at his father in surprise. He could not recollect ever + having heard before of his being tired or wanting rest. + </p> + <p> + “I shall sleep here in your bed, Maurice, so as to be at hand if Lord + O’Neill wants me. You must go down to the public room of the inn or to the + tap-room. You can get James, the groom, to keep you company if you like. + You cannot go to bed to-night, you understand. You must sit by the fire + till those roisterers have drunk themselves to sleep. James will keep you + company, There will be sound sleep for many in this inn to-night, but none + for poor Neal, who’s down in some cellar, nor the sentry they post over + him, nor for you, Maurice, nor for James. Maybe after all Neal won’t be + hanged in the morning. That’s all I have to say to you, my son. A man in + my position can’t say more or do more. You understand?” + </p> + <p> + “I understand,” said Maurice, “and, by God, they’ll not hang——” + </p> + <p> + “Hush! hush! I don’t want to listen to you. I’m tired. I want to go to + sleep. Good night to you, Maurice.” + </p> + <p> + With a curious half smile on his face Lord Dun-severic shook his son’s + hand. It appeared that he had the same kind of confidence in Maurice that + Maurice had in him. Like father, like son. When these St. Clairs of + Dunseveric wanted anything they generally got it in the end. And none of + the race of them had ever been over-scrupulous in dealing with such + obstacles as stood in their way, or particularly careful about what those + glorified conventions that men call law might have to say about the + methods by which they achieved their ends. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV + </h2> + <p> + Men who have eaten sufficiently and drunk heavily are not anxious to admit + into their company any one who has not dined, and whose last glass of wine + was drunk the day before. The gentlemen in the public room of the + Massereene Arms were not, most of them, drunk when Maurice St. Clair came + among them, but they were gay. Their hearts, to use a Scripture phrase, + were made glad with wine. They were in the mood in which men crack jokes + and laugh loud at jokes which would not pass muster before dinner. They + were ready to sing out of time and tune or to applaud the songs of others + without criticising them. But they were, with the exception of one or two, + men of feeble capacity, sober enough to be conscious of the fact that they + were liable to make fools of themselves, and to resent the intrusion of a + cool-headed stranger. + </p> + <p> + They stared angrily at Maurice St. Clair. They said in audible tones + things which showed him plainly that his presence was most unwelcome, but + Maurice remained unabashed. He crossed the room and sat down on the window + seat—the same seat from which Neal had watched the piper and the + dancers a week or two before. He beckoned to the harassed and wearied girl + who waited on the party. + </p> + <p> + “Get me,” he said, “something to eat—anything. I do not mind what it + is, and bring a cup of milk. Then send my groom to me.” + </p> + <p> + “The gentleman,” said a young squire, who had certainly crossed the + undefined line which separates sobriety from drunkenness, “is going to + drink milk. Now, what I want to know is this—has any gentleman a + right to drink milk on an evening like this, after the glorious victory + which we have won?” + </p> + <p> + “It’s damned little you had to do with winning it,” said an officer who + sat beside him. “You can drink, but——” + </p> + <p> + “The man that says I can’t drink lies,” said the other. “No offence to + you, Captain; no offence meant or taken. I give you a toast, and I propose + that the milky gentleman in the window—the milk-and-water gentleman—drinks + it along with us. Here’s success to the loyalists and a long rope and + short shrift to the rebelly croppies. Now, Mr. Milk-and-Water——” + </p> + <p> + Maurice rose to his feet. + </p> + <p> + “I understand, gentlemen, that this is a public room in which any + traveller may be supplied with what he calls for. I have no wish to push + myself into your company. I trust that you will allow me to enjoy my own + unmolested.” + </p> + <p> + The intoxicated proposer of the toast laid his hand on his sword, + blustered out an oath or two, and was pulled down again into his seat. + There was good feeling enough left among the better class of his + companions to understand that a stranger should be treated with civility. + There was sense enough among the rest to recognise that Maurice was not + the kind of man whom it would be safe to bully. The girl returned and + informed Maurice that his groom was in the kitchen, but refused to attend + him. + </p> + <p> + Maurice rose and sought the man himself. The reason of the refusal was + sufficiently obvious. The kitchen was full of troopers who had advanced + much further on the way to absolute drunkenness than their officers. + James, Lord Dunseveric’s groom, was decidedly the most drunken of the + party, but Maurice wanted the man, and was prepared to take some trouble + to reduce him to a condition of serviceableness again. He grasped him by + the collar of the coat, and pushed him through the back door into the + yard. A delighted stable boy worked the pump handle while Maurice held the + groom under the stream of cold water. The cure was ineffective. Maurice + walked him up and down the yard for half an hour, and then put him under + the pump again. The man remained obstinately drunk. Maurice flung him down + in a corner of a stable and left him. + </p> + <p> + He returned to the room where the feasters sat, and looked in. The company + had advanced rapidly since he had seen them last. The squire who had + proposed the toast was under the table. Several others were lying back + helplessly in their chairs. Those who could talk were talking loud and all + together. The amount of liquor still to be consumed was considerable. + Maurice smiled. These officers and gentlemen were little likely to + interfere with anything he chose to do at midnight. He went out of doors + and sat on the stone bench in front of the inn. + </p> + <p> + He had no plan in his head for the rescue of Neal Ward, only he was quite + determined to accomplish it somehow before morning. He did not even know + where his friend was imprisoned, or how he was guarded. His father had + spoken of a cellar somewhere in the inn. He supposed that foe would sooner + or later be able to find it, overpower the sentry, and set Neal free. In + the meanwhile, he had nothing to do but wait. + </p> + <p> + He felt a touch on his shoulder, and looked round to see the girl, the inn + servant, standing beside him. + </p> + <p> + “You’re the gentleman,” she whispered, “that was speaking till the young + man here the morn—the young man that I give the basket to, that is a + friend o’ Jemmy Hope’s?” + </p> + <p> + Maurice recollected the incident very well. + </p> + <p> + “He’s here the now,” whispered the girl again. “He’s down in the wine + cellar, and the door’s locked on him, and there’s a man with a gun + forninst the door, and, the Lord save us, it’s goin’ to hang him they + are.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you show me where the cellar is?” said Maurice. + </p> + <p> + “Ay, will I no? I’ll be checked sore by the master, but I’ll show you, I + will.” + </p> + <p> + The girl led him down a long passage, which was nearly dark, opened a + door, and showed him a flight of stone steps. + </p> + <p> + “There’s three doors,” she said. “It’s the one at the end forninst you + that’s the cellar door. Are ye going down? It’s venturesome ye are. + Whisht, then, and go canny, and dinna go ayont the bottom of the steps.” + </p> + <p> + Maurice went cautiously. When he reached the bottom of the steps he saw + before him a long passage, stone-flagged, low-roofed, narrow. From an iron + hook at the far end hung a lamp. Beyond it stood a sentry, one of Captain + Twinely’s yeomen. The man was awake and alert. There was no sign of + drunkenness about him. He was well armed. The light from the lamp was dim + and feeble at Maurice’s end of the passage, but it shone brightly enough + for a space in front of the sentry. Maurice saw that it would be + impossible to approach the man unseen, impossible to steal on him or rush + at him without having a shot fired which would startle every one in the + inn. He crept up the stairs again. The girl was waiting for him. + </p> + <p> + “Is the door of the cellar locked?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Ay, it is, I fetched the last bottles of wine out mysel’, and I saw them + put the man in—sore draggled he was, and looking like a body in a + dwam. The master locked the door himsef, and the captain took the keys off + with him. But there’s no harm in that. There’s another key that the + mistress used to have afore she died, the creature. It’s in a drawer in + the master’s room, but it’s easy got at.” + </p> + <p> + “Get it for me,” said Maurice. + </p> + <p> + He looked into the public room again. The revel was far advanced now. It + was nearly midnight, and only three or four of the most seasoned drinkers + survived. Even they, as Maurice saw, were in no position to assert + themselves, or to understand anything that was going on. A few minutes + later even these veterans felt that they had had enough. Supporting each + other, reeling against tables and chairs, they staggered upstairs to their + beds. The greater part of the merry company lay on the floor in attitudes + which were neither dignified nor comfortable, and snored. The rest of the + inn was silent. From outside came the steady tramp of the soldiers who + patrolled the town, and from far off their challenges to the sentries on + watch at the ends of the streets. + </p> + <p> + The girl came back to Maurice with the key in her hand. + </p> + <p> + “I got it,” she said. “The master’s cocked up sleepin’ by the kitchen + fire. There was a man in his bed, or maybe twa, but I didna wake them.” + </p> + <p> + “Come back to me in half an hour,” said Maurice, “I may want your help. + And listen, my lass, if you stand by me to-night I’ll see you safe + afterwards. You shan’t want for a handful of silver or a bran new gown.” + </p> + <p> + “I want none of your siller nor your gowns,” said the girl. “I’ll lend ye + a han’ because you’re a friend of the lad that’s the friend of Jemmy + Hope.” + </p> + <p> + At about half-past twelve the sentry who stood in front of Neal’s cellar + heard some one descend the stairs into the passage with shuffling steps. A + slatternly girl with shoes so down at the heel that they clattered on the + stone flags every time she lifted her feet, approached him. She rubbed her + eyes and yawned like one lately wakened out of sleep. She carried a + lantern in her hand. + </p> + <p> + “What do you want here?” said the man. + </p> + <p> + “The master sent me, sir, with another lamp. He was afeard the yin ye had + would be out again the morn. There isna that much oil in it.” + </p> + <p> + “Your master’s civil,” said the man. “I’ve no fancy for standing sentry + here in the dark. He’s a civil man, and I’ll speak a good word for him + to-morrow to the captain. I hope you’re a civil wench like the man you + serve.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, amn’t I after fetchin’ the lamp till ye?” + </p> + <p> + “And a kiss along with it,” said the soldier. “Come now, you needn’t be + coy, there’s none to see you.” + </p> + <p> + He put his arms round her waist and pulled her towards him. + </p> + <p> + “Mind now, mind, will ye, have you neither sense nor shame? Ye’ll have the + lamp spilt and the house in a blaze this minute.” + </p> + <p> + She escaped from him, and, standing on tip-toe, reached the lamp which + hung from the roof and put it on the ground. The soldier caught her again, + and this time succeeded in kissing her. + </p> + <p> + “Ye may hang the fresh lamp up yourself,” said the girl. “I willna lay a + finger on it for ye now.” + </p> + <p> + Rubbing her mouth with her hand, as if to wipe away the kiss forced on + her, she shambled down the passage, taking the first lamp with her. The + sentry heard her shuffle up the stairs again, making a great deal of noise + with her clattering shoes. Then he hung the fresh lamp on his hook and + stood back again against the door of the cellar. + </p> + <p> + It was very dull work standing all night in the passage, but he was + determined to keep awake. Neal Ward had slipped through the fingers of + Captain Twinely’s men twice. There was not much chance of his escaping + this time, but the sentry, for the honour of his corps, and for the sake + of the personal ill-will that every member of it bore to the prisoner, was + not going to run the smallest risk. Earlier in the night he had amused + himself by shouting insults of various kinds through the door of the + cellar. Later on he had given the prisoner a vivid and realistic + description of the way in which men are hanged, but Neal had made no sign + of hearing a word that was said to him, so the occupation grew + uninteresting. Now he whistled a few of his favourite airs, speculating on + the amount of the fifty pounds reward offered for Neal’s capture which + would fall to his share, and estimating his chances of taking some of the + other United Irishmen for whom the Government had offered substantial + sums. Then he began to count the flagstones on the floor of the passage. + He had done this once or twice before, and had been able to distinguish as + many as twenty-five, which brought him more than half way to the + staircase, before the light failed him. This time he could only count + twenty. Beyond that the floor lay dimly visible, but it was impossible to + distinguish one stone from another. + </p> + <p> + “Damn it,” He growled, “this isn’t near as good a lamp as the first.” + </p> + <p> + He counted again, and only reached a total of eighteen slabs of stone. He + glanced down the passage, and found that he could not see the end of it. + He looked at the lamp. It was burning very low. It occurred to him as an + unpleasant possibility that the girl had taken away the wrong lamp—had + taken the one with the oil in it and left him the empty one. He reassured + himself. This lamp was a different shape from that which hung in the + passage when he first took his post as sentry. He made up his mind that + its wick must require to be turned up. Perhaps it had been badly trimmed. + The girl who brought it was evidently sleepy; she would be very likely to + forget to trim it. He stepped forward to where the lamp hung. He paused, + startled by a slight noise at the far end of the passage. He listened, but + heard nothing more. It was necessary to lift the lamp off the hook before + he could trim the wick. He laid his musket on the ground and reached up to + it. As he did so he heard swift steps, steps of heavy feet, on the flagged + passage. They were quite close to him. He looked round and caught a + glimpse of Maurice St. Clair in the act of springing on him. He was + grappled by strong arms and flung to the ground before he could do + anything to defend himself. Maurice, kneeling on him, put the point of a + knife to his throat. + </p> + <p> + “If you speak one word or utter the slightest sound I cut your throat at + once.” + </p> + <p> + The unfortunate soldier lay still. Maurice, the knife still pricking the + man’s throat, crept slowly off him and knelt on the floor. With his left + hand he unclasped the soldier’s belt. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” he said, “turn over on your face, and put your hands behind you.” + </p> + <p> + The man obeyed, and felt the sharp point of the knife slip slowly round + his neck until it rested behind his ear. + </p> + <p> + “‘Remember,” said Maurice, “one good cut downwards now and you are a dead + man. Put your hands together.” + </p> + <p> + He pulled the leather belt clear with his left hand, then, dropping the + knife, he knelt on the man’s back and gripped his wrists. + </p> + <p> + In a moment he had them securely strapped together with the leather belt. + Then he stuffed a cloth into the soldier’s mouth and bound it there with a + stout cord tied tight round his head. Another cord—Maurice had come + well supplied with what he was likely to want—was made fast round + the man’s legs. Then Maurice stood up and surveyed his handiwork. He + laughed softly, well satisfied. The lamp flickered and went out. + </p> + <p> + “It’s a good job for you,” said Maurice, “that the light lasted as long as + it did. I couldn’t have gagged and tied you in the dark. I should have + been obliged to kill you.” + </p> + <p> + He felt along the wall until he came to the cellar door and found the + keyhole. After much fumbling he got the key in, turned it, and pushed open + the door. + </p> + <p> + “Neal,” he called. “Neal, are you there?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Who is that? Is it you, Maurice? It’s like your voice.” + </p> + <p> + Stumbling forward through the pitch dark, Neal gripped Maurice at last. + Hand in hand they went cautiously along the passage and up the stairs. + </p> + <p> + “Come in here,” said Maurice. “There’s a light here, and I want to see if + it’s really you. Oh! you needn’t be afraid. There are plenty of soldiers, + but they won’t hurt you. They’re all dead drunk. Now, Neal, there’s lots + to eat and drink. Sit down and make the best of your time. You’ll want a + square meal. I’ll just take a light and go down to that fellow in the + passage. I’ve got a few fathom of good, stout rope—I’m not sure that + it isn’t the bit that they meant to hang you with in the morning—and + I’ll fix him up so that he’ll neither stir nor speak till some one lets + him loose.” + </p> + <p> + In a quarter of an hour Maurice returned. + </p> + <p> + “The next thing, Neal, is to get you out of this town. It’s full of + soldiers, and there are sentries at every turn, but I’ve got the word for + the night, and I think we’ll be able to manage.” + </p> + <p> + He walked round the room peering carefully at the drunken men who lay on + the floor. + </p> + <p> + “‘Here’s a fellow that’s about your size, Neal. He seems to be a captain + of some sort, a yeomanry captain by the look of him. I’m hanged if it + isn’t our friend Twinely again. We’ll take the liberty of borrowing his + uniform for you. There’ll be a poetic justice about that, and he’ll sleep + all the better for having these tight things off him.” + </p> + <p> + He knelt down and stripped Captain Twinely. + </p> + <p> + “Now then, quick, Neal. Don’t waste time. Daylight will be on us before we + know where we are. Take your own things with you in a bundle. Change again + somewhere when you get out of the town, you’ll be safer travelling in your + own clothes. Take some food with you. Here, I’ll make up a parcel while + you dress. I’ll stick in a bottle of wine. Now you’re right. Walk boldly + past the sentries. If you’re challenged curse the man that challenges you. + The word for the night is ‘Clavering.’ Travel by night as much as you can. + Keep off the main roads. Strike straight for home. It’ll be a queer thing + if you can’t lie safe round Dunseveric for a few days till we get you out + of the country.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV + </h2> + <p> + Lord Dunseveric and Maurice breakfasted together at eight o’clock on the + morning of Neal’s escape. They sat in the room where Lord O’Neill lay, and + had a table spread for them beside the window. It was impossible to eat a + meal in any comfort elsewhere in the inn. Indeed, but for the special + exertions of the master and his maid it would have been difficult to get + food at all. Maurice was triumphant and excited. Since Neal had not been + brought back it was reasonable to suppose that he had made good his escape + out of the town, and there was every hope that he would get safe to the + coast. Once there he had friends enough to feed him, and hiding-places + known to few, and almost inaccessible to soldiers or yeomen. + </p> + <p> + Lord Dunseveric asked no questions about Maurice’s doings in the night. He + felt perfectly confident that Neal had got off somehow. The details of the + business he would hear later on. For the present he preferred to know + nothing about them. + </p> + <p> + An officer entered the room and handed a letter to Lord Dunseveric. It was + a request, in civil language enough, that he would meet General Clavering + in the public room of the inn at nine o’clock, and that Maurice would + accompany his father. + </p> + <p> + General Clavering sat at the head of the table when Lord Dunseveric and + Maurice entered. Three or four of the senior officers of the regular + troops sat with him. Captain Twinely, in a suit of clothes he had borrowed + from the master of the inn, and one of his men, stood near the fireplace. + The room had been cleared of the drunken sleepers, but a good deal of the + <i>débris</i> of their revel—empty bottles, broken glasses, and + little pools of spilt wine—were still visible on the floor. + </p> + <p> + “I have to announce to you, Lord Dunseveric,” said the general, “that the + prisoner who was confined in the inn cellar last night, Neal Ward, has + escaped.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Dunseveric bowed, and smiled slightly. His eye lighted on Captain + Twinely, and his smile broadened. The landlord’s suit fitted the captain + extremely ill. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed,” he said, “Captain Twinely seems to be unfortunate with regard to + this particular prisoner. This is, let me see, the third time that Neal + Ward has—ah!—evaded his vigilance.” + </p> + <p> + “The sentry who guarded the door of the cellar,” said General Clavering, + “was attacked, overpowered, bound, and gagged.” + </p> + <p> + “By the prisoner?” + </p> + <p> + “No, my lord, by some one who assisted the prisoner to escape, who, after + dealing with the sentry as I have described, unlocked the door of the + cellar with a key, the duplicate of that which Captain Twinely had in his + pocket. This man and the prisoner subsequently stripped Captain Twinely of + his uniform, and, as I learn from my sentries, Neal Ward passed through + our lines in the disguise of a captain of yeomanry.” + </p> + <p> + “You surprise me,” said Lord Dunseveric, “a daring stratagem; a laughable + scheme, too. I trust you took no cold, Captain. I confess that I should + have liked to have seen you in your shirt tails this morning. You were, I + presume,” he stirred a little heap of broken glass with his foot as he + spoke, “<i>vino gravatus</i> when they relieved you of your tunic. But + what has all this to do with me?” + </p> + <p> + “Merely this,” said General Clavering, “that your son is accused of having + effected the prisoner’s escape.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Dunseveric looked at Maurice, looked him quietly up and down, as if + he saw him then for the first time. + </p> + <p> + “I can believe,” he said, “that my son might overpower the sentry. He is, + as you see, a young man of considerable personal strength, but I should be + surprised to learn that he dressed the prisoner in the captain’s uniform. + I may be misjudging my son, but I have hitherto regarded him as somewhat + deficient in humour. You must admit, General Clavering, that only a man + with a feeling for the ridiculous would have thought of——” + </p> + <p> + “It will be better for you to hear what the sentry has to say, my lord, + and I beg of you to regard the matter seriously. I assure you it will not + bear joking on. The rescue of a prisoner is a grave offence. Captain + Twinely, kindly order your man to tell his story.” + </p> + <p> + “Since I am not a prisoner at the bar,” said Lord Dunseveric, “I shall, + with your permission, sit down. As to the seriousness of the business in + hand, I confess that for the moment the thought of the worthy Twinely + waking this morning not only with a splitting headache but without a pair + of breeches on him keeps the humorous side of the situation prominent in + my mind.” + </p> + <p> + The sentry told his story. To Maurice’s great relief, he omitted all + mention of the girl who had supplied the lamp which so conveniently burnt + low, but he had recognised Maurice and was prepared to swear to his + identity. + </p> + <p> + “No doubt,” said General Clavering, “you will wish to cross-question this + man, my lord.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Dunseveric yawned. + </p> + <p> + “I think that quite unnecessary,” he said, “a much simpler way of arriving + at the truth of the story will be to ask my son whether he rescued the + prisoner or not. Maurice, did you bind and gag this excellent trooper?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you subsequently release Neal Ward from the cellar?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, Maurice, be careful about your answer to my next question. Did you + take the clothes off Captain Twinely?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “And was that part of the scheme entirely your own? Did the idea originate + with you or with the prisoner whom you helped to escape?” + </p> + <p> + “It was my idea.” + </p> + <p> + “I apologise to you, Maurice. I did you an injustice. You have a certain + sense of humour. It is not perhaps of the most refined kind, still you + have, no doubt, provided a joke which will appeal to the officers’ mess in + Belfast, Dublin, and elsewhere; which will be told after dinner in most + houses in the county for many a year to come. And now, General Clavering, + I presume there is no more to be said. I wish you good morning.” + </p> + <p> + “Stop a minute,” said General Clavering, “you cannot seriously suppose + that your son, simply because he is your son, is to be allowed to + interfere with the course of justice?” + </p> + <p> + “Of justice?” asked Lord Dunseveric in a tone of mild surprise. + </p> + <p> + “With His Majesty’s officers in the execution of their duty—that is, + to release prisoners whom I have condemned—I, the general in command + charged with the suppression of an infamous rebellion. Your son, my lord, + will have to abide the consequences of his acts.” + </p> + <p> + “Maurice,” said Lord Dunseveric, “it is evident that you are going to be + hanged. General Clavering is going to hang you. It is really providential + that you didn’t steal his breeches. He would probably have flogged you + first and hanged you afterwards if you had.” + </p> + <p> + “Damn your infernal insolence,” broke out General Clavering furiously, + “You think that because you happen to be a lord and own a few dirty acres + of land that you can sit there grinning like an ape and insulting me. I’ll + teach you, my lord, I’ll teach you. By God, I’ll teach you and every other + cursed Irishman to speak civil to an English officer. You shall know your + masters, by the Almighty, before I’ve done with you.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Dunseveric rose to his feet. He fixed his eyes on General Clavering, + and spoke slowly and deliberately. + </p> + <p> + “I ride at once to Dublin,” he said. “I shall lay an account of your + doings and the doings of your troops before His Majesty’s representative + there. I shall then cross to England, approach my Sovereign and yours, + General Clavering. I shall see that justice is done between you and the + people you have outraged and harried. As to my son, I have work for him to + do. I shall make myself responsible for his appearance before a court of + justice when he is summoned. In the meanwhile, I neither recognise you as + my master nor your will as my law. I appeal to the constitutional + liberties of this kingdom of Ireland and to the right of every citizen to + a fair trial before a jury of his fellow-countrymen. You shall not arrest, + try, or condemn my son otherwise than as the law allows.” + </p> + <p> + General Clavering grew purple in the face. He stuttered, cursed, laid his + hand on his sword, and took a step forward. Lord Dunseveric, his hands + behind his back, a sneer of contempt on his face, looked straight at the + furious man in front of him. + </p> + <p> + “Do you propose,” he said, “to stab me and then hang my son?” + </p> + <p> + This was precisely what General Clavering would have liked to do, but he + dared not. He turned instead on Captain Twinely. + </p> + <p> + “Let me tell you, sir, that you’re a damned idiot, an incompetent officer, + a besotted fool, and your men are a lot of cowardly loons. You had this + infernal young rebel safe and you let him go. You not only allowed him to + walk off, but you actually provided him with a suit of clothes to go in. + You’re the cause of all the trouble. Get your troop to horse. Scour the + country for him. Don’t leave a house that you don’t search, nor a bed that + you don’t run your sword through. Don’t leave a dung-heap without raking + it, or a haystack that you don’t scatter. Get that man back for me, + wherever he hides himself, or, by God, I’ll have you shot for neglect of + duty in time of war, and your damned yeomen buried alive in the same grave + with you.” + </p> + <p> + The general was still bent on teaching the Irish to know their masters and + making good his boast of reducing them to the tameness of “gelt cats.” + With Captain Twinely, at least, he seemed likely to succeed. + </p> + <p> + “I can imagine, Maurice,” said Lord Dun-severic, when they were alone + together again, “that Captain Twinely and his men have at last got a job + to suit them. Sticking swords through old wives feather beds is safer work + than sticking them through rebels. Scattering haystacks will be pleasanter + than scattering pikemen. Raking dung heaps will, I suppose, be an entirely + congenial occupation.” + </p> + <p> + His tone changed, He spoke rapidly and seriously. + </p> + <p> + “You will ride with me as far as Belfast. From there you must find some + means of communicating with the captain of that Yankee brig of which you + told me. If necessary, go yourself to Glasgow and find the man. Pay him + what he asks and arrange that he lies off Dunseveric and picks up Neal. + You must then go home and see to it yourself that Neal gets safe on board. + It may not be easy, for the yeomen will be after him; but it has got to be + done. I go to Dublin as I said. I shall have some trouble in settling this + business of yours. It really was an audacious proceeding—your rescue + of the prisoner. It will take me all my time to get it hushed up. Besides, + I must use my influence to prevent bad becoming worse in this unfortunate + country of ours. By the way, did you make any arrangement for the return + of Captain Twinely’s uniform when Neal had finished with it?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I never thought of that.” + </p> + <p> + “You ought to have thought of it. Poor Captain Twinely looks very odd in + the inn-keeper’s clothes, which do not fit him in the least.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI + </h2> + <p> + It was obvious to Captain Twinely that Neal Ward’s instinct would be to + make for Dunseveric. He spread the men under his command, and the members + of a couple of corps similar to his own, in bands of five or six, across a + broad belt of country. He arranged what he called a “drive,” and pushed + slowly northward, searching every possible hiding-place as he went. It + seemed to him totally impossible that Neal could escape. Sooner or later + he was sure to come on him, and then—Captain Twinely chuckled grimly + at the thought that he would leave no chance of a fourth escape. + </p> + <p> + This excellently-planned search resulted in the discovery of Captain + Twinely’s clothes, damp and somewhat muddy, in a ditch about a mile out of + the town. It did not end in the capture of the fugitive, because it was + founded on a miscalculation. Neal did not make straight for Dunseveric. + When he got out of the town and changed his clothes he went to Donegore + Hill. M’Cracken and Hope were there with the remains of their army, and + Neal was most anxious to join them. The murder of Peg MacIlrea had made + him so furiously angry that he cared nothing about his own safety. His + escape from Antrim was a matter of satisfaction mainly because it seemed + to afford him another opportunity for fighting. He neither attempted to + weigh the chances of success nor considered the uselessness of continuing + the struggle. He wanted vengeance taken on men whom he hated, and he + wanted to have some share himself in taking it. + </p> + <p> + He found the roads round Donegore Hill guarded by sentries. The camp on + the top of the old rath had all the appearance of being held by + disciplined troops. There was little sign of the disorganisation and panic + which often follow defeat. The men were calm, self-possessed, and + reasonable, but they were hopeless. Neal realised that this army, at + least, would do no more serious fighting. The men were anxious to make + terms for themselves and for their leaders. They were perfectly well aware + that they were beaten, and could not expect to make any head against their + enemies. + </p> + <p> + Neal found James Hope, and was warmly greeted by him. + </p> + <p> + “When I discovered that we’d left you behind,” said Hope, “I made up my + mind that you must have been shot down along with your uncle and the fine + fellows who made a stand with him. Ah, Neal, we’ve lost many—your + uncle, Felix Marier, poor Moylin, and many another. One killed here, + another there, but all of them in doing their duty. But we mustn’t talk of + these things, lad. Tell me, what brings you here?” + </p> + <p> + “Need you ask?” said Neal. “I am come to fight it out to the last.” + </p> + <p> + “Take my advice and slip off home. There’s no good to be done by stopping + with us. Things are desperate. Most of our people are going home to-day. + M’Cracken and a handful—not more than a hundred—are going to + Slievemis in the hope of being able to join Monro in County Down, or + perhaps to get through to the Wexford men.” + </p> + <p> + “I will go with you.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, lad, you’ve done enough. You’ve done a man’s part. Go home now.” + </p> + <p> + “What are you going to do?” + </p> + <p> + “I? Oh, I’m only a poor weaver. It doesn’t matter what I do. I’m going on + with M’Cracken.” + </p> + <p> + “So am I. Listen to me, James Hope, till I tell you what is in my mind—till + I tell you what has happened to me since yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + They sat on the grassy slope of the old rath. The wide plain stretched + before them—green, well wooded, beautiful. There lay Adair’s + plantations, the Six Mile Water winding like a serpent among the fields, + the woods of Castle Upton, and the young trees on Lyle Hill, with the + distant water of Lough Neagh glistening in the sunlight. Nearer at hand + thatched farmhouses smoked, signs that the yeomen were enjoying the fruits + of victory. Hope pointed to Farranshane, where William Orr’s house was + burning—a witness to a malignity so bitter that it wreaked the + vengeance from which the dead man was safe on his widow and his orphans. + </p> + <p> + Neal told his story, and spoke of the passionate desire for revenge which + burned in him. Hope listened patiently to every word. Then he spoke. + </p> + <p> + “If I were to tell you now, Neal, as I told you once before, that + vengeance belongeth only unto the Lord, you would turn away and listen to + me no more. Therefore, I shall not speak to you in that way at all, or + appeal to those higher feelings which the great God has planted in the + breasts of even the humblest of His servants. I will, instead, appeal to + that which is lower and smaller than the religion of Christ, and which yet + may be in its way a noble thing. I will speak to you as to a man of + honour. I am not fond of the title of gentleman, but I think I know what + is meant by honour. Sometimes it is no more than a fantastic image bred of + prejudice and pride; but sometimes it is high and holy, next to God. I + think, Neal, that you would like to reckon yourself a man of honour.” + </p> + <p> + Already James Hope’s words were producing an effect on Neal’s mind. The + extreme bitterness of his passion was dying away from him. + </p> + <p> + “You are right,” he said, “I wish to act always as a man of honour, but my + honour is engaged——” + </p> + <p> + “That is not what you said before. Before, you spoke of revenge and not of + honour. But let that pass. I will try to show you, as a truly noble man + would, as your friend, Lord Dunseveric, would if he were here to advise + you, how your honour really binds you. You were rescued from your + imprisonment last night and from death this morning by your friend, + Maurice St. Clair, and he bid you go home. He set you free in order that + you might go home. I think he would not have done what he did unless he + had believed that you would go home. You are in honour bound to him. You + are in reality still a prisoner—a prisoner released on parole, + although no formal promise was required of you. Do you understand what I + mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I understand; but you are advising me to do a cowardly thing—to + desert you, whom I reckon my friend, in the time of your extremity.” + </p> + <p> + “Maurice St. Clair was your friend before I was, Neal. You are bound to + him by earlier ties. Besides, he has given you your life.” + </p> + <p> + “But he is in no danger.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not sure of that. If it is discovered that he let you go last night + he will surely suffer for it. They have hanged men for less, and + imprisoned or exiled others.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said Neal, “I could find it in my heart to wish they would hang + Maurice. Hope, you know many men and many things, but you don’t know Lord + Dunseveric. Why, man, if they hanged Maurice the old lord would hang them—he + would hang them in batches of a score at a time. If any escaped him he + would wait for them till the resurrection morning. He would meet them as + they stepped out of their graves and hang them then. He would hang them if + there wasn’t another tree in the whole universe to put the rope round + except the tree of life which stands by the river in the New Jerusalem.” + </p> + <p> + He laughed exultingly. Hope looked at him with pitying tenderness. He + understood the hysterical passion which had dragged such words from him. + </p> + <p> + “I am glad,” he said, “that your friend is in no great danger, but that + does not alter the truth of what I say. You are his prisoner, released on + your parole, and you must present yourself to him when he calls for you at + Dunseveric. Besides, Neal, you owe a duty to your father and to those at + home who love you. For their sakes you must not throw your life away.” + </p> + <p> + The anger died out of Neal’s heart. This last appeal left him with no + feeling but tenderness. He thought of his father, a lone man, waiting for + news of him, of Donald, of the battle, and the cause. He thought of Una + St. Clair and the ever-new marvel of the love that she had confessed to + him. Still he hesitated. Brought up in the stern faith of the Puritans, he + believed that because a thing offered a prospect of great delight it must + somehow be wrong. The longing to see Una again came on him, sweeping over + all other thought and emotion as the flowing spring-tide in late September + sweeps over the broad sands of the northern coast. To see her, to hear + her, to touch her, perhaps to kiss her again, was the one thing supremely + desirable in life. Therefore, he felt instinctively that it must be a + tempter’s voice which showed him the way to the fulfilment of such desire. + </p> + <p> + “Are you sure,” he asked, “that you are not, out of love for me, advising + me to do wrong?” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure,” said Hope. + </p> + <p> + Afterwards they talked of how Neal might best accomplish his journey to + Dunseveric. It was clear to Hope, as it had been to Maurice St. Clair, + that the main roads must be avoided, and that all travelling must be done + by night; but it was not very easy to go through an unknown country by + night, and until Neal got as far as Ballymoney he could not be sure of + being able to find his way. + </p> + <p> + “I might manage it,” he said, “if I could keep to the main road. I have + travelled it once and I think I should not miss it even at night, but how + am I to get along lanes and across fields which I have never seen without + losing myself?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said Hope, “that is a difficulty, and yet there is a way out of it. + Phelim, the blind piper, is with us here. God knows how he got safe from + the battle yesterday, and found his way to us. He will be no use to us any + more, only a hindrance. We shall not march to battle again with our pipes + playing and our colours flying. I think I shall be able to persuade him to + act as your guide. The blind leading the ignorant, eh, Neal? But Phelim + knows every lane and path in the country. How he does I don’t know. + Perhaps some new sense is developed in the blind. Anyway, night and day + are alike to him. If he takes you as far as the neighbourhood of + Ballymoney you’ll be able to find the rest of the way afterwards + yourself.” + </p> + <p> + That night, while M’Cracken marched the remnant of his army to Slievemis, + Neal and blind Phelim set off on their journey north. They travelled + safely in the rear of the yeomen who were searching the country side. Neal + lay hid all one day in a little wood while Phelim, who seemed to want + little rest and no sleep, wandered in the neighbourhood and brought back + tidings of the doings of the yeomen who had passed. Before daybreak the + next morning Neal left his guide behind him and made his way to the + sandhills near Port Ballin-trae. He lay in a hollow near the mouth of the + river Bush. He understood from what Phelim had told him that Captain + Twinely and his men had pushed northwards in pursuit of him, and that he + had followed in their tracks. He realised that there must be a large force + gathered in Bushmills and Ballintoy, and that the whole country would be + scoured to find him. Therefore, though he was within a few miles of his + home, he dare not stir in the daytime. He lay in his sandy hollow through + the long hot day, with the sound of the sea in his ears. He slept for an + hour or two now and then. Once he crept among the dunes to a place where a + little stream trickled down, in order to get a drink, but he did not + venture to stay beside the stream. For some time he amused himself by + plaiting the spiked grass into stiff green rods, and then, from a razor + shell which he found in his hollow, he fashioned pike heads for the ends + of the rods. Afterwards he picked all the yellow crow-toes within reach, + and the broad mauve flowers of the wild convolvulus. He set them out in + gay beds, like flowers growing in gardens, and edged them round with + borders of wild thyme. Then, with great labour, he collected forty or + fifty snail shells and laid them in rows, making each row consist only of + those like each other in colouring. He had lines of dark brown shells, of + pale yellow, and of striped shells. These again he subdivided according to + the width and number of their stripes. Once he ventured to creep to a + place from which he could watch the sea. He saw that the tide was flowing. + Below him on the strand were a number of seagulls, strutting, fluttering, + shrieking, splashing with wing-tips and feet in the oncoming waves. He + supposed that the young fry of some fish must have drifted shorewards, and + that the birds were feasting on them. Then’, at the far end of the bay, he + saw men’s figures moving, near the Black Rock, among the boats hauled up + on the shore in the creek from which he and Maurice and Una had set out to + fish on Rackle Roy. A dread seized him that these might be yeomen. Since + he had come within reach of home, since he had seen and heard the sea, + since he had breathed the familiar salt-laden air, his courage had left + him. He felt a very coward, desperately anxious not to be caught and + dragged back again to the horror of death. He wanted to live now that he + was back at home and almost within reach of Una. He eyed the distant + figures anxiously, and then crept back and lay trembling in his hollow + among his ordered snail-shells and the flowers, already withered, which he + had plucked and planted in the sand. + </p> + <p> + At last the sun set. Neal waited for an hour while the June twilight + slowly faded. He watched the sandhills round his lair turn from bright + yellow to grey, watched them while they seemed in the fading light to grow + loftier, and assume a weird majesty which was not their’s in the daytime. + The objects near at hand, the faded flowers, and the snail-shells, and the + rods of woven bent, lost their bright colours and became almost invisible. + The eternal roaring of the sea seemed to be subdued, as if even it felt + awed by the stillness of the June night. The sand on which he lay was + damped with dew. Only the sharp cry of the corncrake broke the solemnity + of the night. + </p> + <p> + He rose, and, peering anxiously before him as each fresh stretch of his + way became visible, crossed the sandhills. Avoiding the stepping-stones + and the regular crossing-place, he waded through the brook which ran + gurgling between the sandhills and the rough track beyond them. He crossed + it, and, skirting the rear of a cottage, reached the top of the Runkerry + cliffs. Far below him the sea rushed, white-lipped, against the rocks. The + tide was almost full. The scene was as it had been ten days ago, ten years + ago, a whole lifetime ago, when he walked this same way with Donald Ward. + Still keeping close to the sea, he avoided the high road near the + Causeway, plodded along the stony track past the Rocking Stone and the + Wishing Well, climbed the Shepherd’s Path, and once more walked along the + verge of the cliff above Port na Spaniard and the Horse Shoe Bay and + Pleaskin Head. He reached Port Moon, and saw far below him the glimmer of + a light in the rude shelter where fishermen lodge in summer time. Avoiding + the farmhouse near him on his right, and the lane which led past it to the + high road, he went on, clinging close to the sea as if for safety. He + rested a while in the shelter of the ruins of Dun-severic Castle, and then + went on till his feet were stumbling among the graves of Templeastra, + where the dust of his mother lay. It was dark now. He guessed that he must + have been an hour and a half on his way. He came close to the manse—his + home. Below him lay Ballintoy Strand, with its sentinel white rocks which + keep eternal watch against invading seas. Between him and his home there + was the road to cross and the meadow to wade through. It must, as he + guessed, be eleven o’clock. His father and Hannah Macaulay would be in + bed. He would have to rouse them with cautious tapping upon window panes. + </p> + <p> + He reached the back of the house at last, and saw, to his amazement, that + a light burned in the kitchen, and that the door stood wide open. A dread + seized him. Perhaps the house was occupied by soldiers. For a moment he + thought of turning back again to the sea and the cliffs. But he wanted + food, and it was absolutely necessary for him to communicate with some + one. His plan was to lie hid in the Pigeon Cave, but he must have food + brought to him day by day, and he must let his father or Hannah know where + he was going. + </p> + <p> + Very cautiously he crept forward and peered through the window. There was + a candle in its tall iron stand on the floor, and the peat fire burned + brightly on the hearth. A row of brass candlesticks were on the + mantel-board. Hannah Macaulay sat on a chair near the door knitting. The + room, he saw, was neat and orderly as ever. + </p> + <p> + The lids of the pots and the metal dish-covers gleamed from the nails on + which they hung round the walls. The pewter plates, bronze jugs, and + upturned noggins stood in shining rows on the dresser shelves. Neal + waited. Not a sound reached him from the house. He took courage and + slipped through the open door. + </p> + <p> + “Is that you yoursel’, Master Neal?” said Hannah, quietly, “I ha’ your + supper ready for ye. I was sitting up for you. You’re late the night.” + </p> + <p> + She rose from her seat and, without a sign of surprise or excitement, + closed the door and bolted it. + </p> + <p> + “Hannah, how is it that you are expecting me? You can’t have known that I + was coming. How did you know?” + </p> + <p> + Hannah took plates from the dresser and food from the cupboard while she + answered him. + </p> + <p> + “Master Maurice’s groom, the lad they call James, rode in from Antrim the + day afore yesterday with a note for Miss Una ower by. She tellt me that + you’d be coming and that it was more nor like you’d travel by night. I’ve + had your supper ready, and I’ve sat waiting for you these two nights, I + knew rightly that it was here you’d come first.” + </p> + <p> + “Where is my father?” + </p> + <p> + “He’s gone, Master Neal. The sojers came and took him, but he bid me tell + you not to be afeard or taking on about him. He was thinking they’d send + him across the sea, maybe to Scotland, he said, but they wouldna hurt him. + So eat your bit and take your sup, my bairn. You must be sore troubled + with the hunger. How ever did ye thole?” + </p> + <p> + “I have your bed ready for you,” she said as Neal ate, “and it’s in it you + ought to be by right. I’m thinking it’s more than yin night since ye hae + lain atween the sheets, judging by the looks of ye.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s five, Hannah, and it will be twice five more before I sleep in a bed + again. I dare not stay here.” + </p> + <p> + “Thon’s what Miss Una said. But, faith, if it’s the yeomen you’re afeard + of, I’ll no let them near you.” + </p> + <p> + “I daren’t, Hannah; I daren’t do it. I must away to-night and lie in the + Pigeon Cave. I’ll be safe there, and you must manage somehow to get food + to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it me that you look to be climbing down them sliddery rocks and + swimming intil the cold sea among your caves and hiding holes? I’m too old + for the like, but there’s a lassie with bonny brown eyes that’ll do that + and more for ye. Don’t you be afeard, Master Neal. She’d climb the Causey + chimney pots and take the silver sixpence off the top if she thought you + were wanting it. Ay, or swim intil them caves, that God Almighty never + meant for man nor maid to enter, and if were waiting for her at the hinder + end of one of them. She’s been here an odd time or twa since ever she got + the letter that the groom lad fetched. I’ve seen the glint in her eyes at + the sound o’ your name, and the red go out of her cheek at word of them + dratted yeos, bad scran to them! I’m no so old yet, but I mind weel how a + young lassie feels for the lad she’s after. Ay, my bairn, it’s all yin, + gentle or simple, lord’s daughter or beggar’s wench, when the love of a + lad has got the grip o’ them. And there was yin with her—the foreign + lady with the lang name. For all that she mocks and fleers as if there was + nothing in the wide world but play-actin’ and gagin’ about. Faith, she’s + an artist, but she might be more help than Miss Una herself if it came to + a pinch. She’s a cunning one, that. I’m thinking that she’s no unlike the + serpent that’s more subtle than any beast of the field. She has a way of + glowerin’ a body and giving a bit of a girn to her mouth. Man or woman or + red-coated sojer itself, they’d need to be up gey an’ early that would get + the better o’ her. A bird might be lang afore it could find time to build + a nest in her ear, so it might. Eh! but, my poor lad, it’s a sorry thing + to think of ye lyin’ the night through among the hard stones and me in my + warm bed. Eh! but it grieves me sore—— whisht, boy, what’s + thon?” + </p> + <p> + Hannah started to her feet. Hand to ear, lips parted, with eager eyes and + head bent forward she listened. + </p> + <p> + “It’s the tread of horses; they’re coming up the loany.” + </p> + <p> + “I must run for it,” said Neal, “let me out of the door, Hannah.” + </p> + <p> + “Bide now, bide a wee, they’d see you if you went through the door.” + </p> + <p> + She put out the lamp as she spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Do you slip through to the master’s room and open the window. Go canny + now, and make no noise. Get through and off with ye into your cave as hard + as ever you can lift a foot, I’ll cap them at the door, lad. I’m the woman + can do it. Faith and I’ll sort them, be they who it may, so as they’ll no + be in too great a hurry to come ridin’ to this house again, the + black-hearted villains. But I’ll learn them manners or I’m done wi’ them + else my name’s no Hannah Macaulay.” + </p> + <p> + Neal, as he slipped silently from the room, was aware that Hannah + meditated a vigorous attack upon her midnight visitors. She took the long + kitchen poker in her hand, shook it with a grim smile, and thrust the end + of it into the heart of the fire. + </p> + <p> + There was a knock at the door. Hannah, standing in a corner of the room, + and hidden from any one looking in through the window, neither spoke nor + stirred. The knocking was repeated, and again repeated. Hannah remained + silent. + </p> + <p> + “Open the door,” shouted a voice from without, “open the door at once.” + </p> + <p> + Still there was no reply. + </p> + <p> + “We know you’re within, Hannah Macaulay, we saw the light before you put + it out. Open to us, or we’ll batter in the door, and then it will be the + worse for you.” + </p> + <p> + “And who may be you that come knocking and banging the door of a dacent + house at this time o’ night, making a hullabaloo fit for to wake the dead; + and it the blessed Sabbath too?” + </p> + <p> + “Sabbath be damned; it’s Thursday night.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it, then, is it? There’s them that wouldn’t know if it was Monday nor + Tuesday, nor yet Wednesday, nor the blessed Sabbath day itself, and, + what’s more, wouldn’t care if they did know. That just shows what like + lads you are. Away home out o’ this to your beds, if so be that you have + any beds to go to.” + </p> + <p> + In fact the men outside were perfectly right. The day was Thursday, though + it neared Friday. The Sabbath was a long way off yet, as Hannah knew quite + well. + </p> + <p> + “You doited old hag, open the door.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m a lone widow woman,” said Hannah, plaintively, “I canna be letting + the likes of ye in and me in my bed. It wouldna be dacent if I did. + Where’d my good name be if I did the like and me not know ye?” + </p> + <p> + A savage kick at the door shook it on its hinges. + </p> + <p> + “Bide quiet, now,” said Hannah, “and tell me who ye are afore I open to + you. Would you have me let robbers intil the house, and the master awa’?” + </p> + <p> + “We’re men of the Killulta yeomanry, we’re here to search the house by + order of Captain Twinely. Open in the King’s name.” + </p> + <p> + “Why couldn’t ye have tellt me that afore? There isn’t a woman living has + as much respect for the King as mysel’. Wait now, wait till I slip on my + petticoat. You wouldna have a woman come to the door to you in her shift, + would ye?” + </p> + <p> + There was a long pause—too long for the yeomen outside. Another + kick, and then another, shook the door. Hannah went over to it and began + to fumble with the bolt. + </p> + <p> + “I’m afeard,” she said, “that the lock’s hampered.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll soon cure that; stand clear of the keyhole till I fire.” + </p> + <p> + “For the Lord’s sake, man, dinna be shootin’ aff your guns, I canna abide + the sound o’ the like. It dizzens me. Dinna be hasty, fair and easy goes + far in the day. Who is it you said you were?” + </p> + <p> + “The yeomen, you deaf old hag.” + </p> + <p> + “The yeomen, God bless us, the yeomen. That’s the kind of lads that + dresses themselves up braw in sojers’ coats and then, when there’s any + fighting going on, let’s the real sojers do it, and they stand and look + round to see the gommerels admiring them. Faith I’ll let you in. There’s + no call even for a hirplin ould woman with one foot in the grave and the + ither out of it to be afeard of the likes of you.” + </p> + <p> + Hannah Macaulay’s description of her bodily condition erred on the side of + self-depreciation. The one foot which remained out of the grave carried + her across the kitchen floor with remarkable speed. She took the poker now + red, almost white, hot at the end, darted back to the door, and flung it + open. With a wild whoop she rushed at the two yeomen who stood on the + threshold. There were other yells besides her’s, a smell of burning cloth + and singed flesh, a hurried treading of feet, and a clattering of the + hoofs of frightened horses. Hannah sent into the night a peal of derisive + laughter, and then turned into the house and shut the door. + </p> + <p> + “I said I’d sort them,” she chuckled, “and I’ve sorted them rightly. Yin + o’ them will carry a mark on his mug to the day of his death, and lucky if + he hasn’t lost the sight of an eye. There’ll be a hole in the breeks of + the other that’ll tak a quare width of cloth to make a patch for it. And, + what’s more, thon man’ll no sit easy on his horse for a bit. They’ll not + be for chasing Master Neal the night any way. But, faith, this house will + be no place for me the morrow. I’ll just tak my wee bit duds under my arm + and away with me up to Dunseveric House. Miss Una’ll take me in when she + hears the tale I ha’ to tell. I’d like to see the yeos or the sojers + either that would fetch me out of the ould lord’s kitchen. If they tak to + ravishing and rieving the master’s plenishins I canna help it. Better a + ravished house nor a murdered woman.” + </p> + <p> + Neal got out of the window, and once more crossed the meadow. He lay for a + minute in the ditch beside the road listening intently. He feared that he + might have been tracked home, that the house might be surrounded, and that + escape might be difficult or impossible. But there was no sound of any + sort on the road—neither voices of men, treading of horses, or + jangling of accoutrements. Evidently the men at the door of the manse were + no more than a patrol. They were entering the house out of wanton desire + to annoy Hannah Macaulay or on the chance of discovering there something + which might give them a clue—not because they actually suspected + that he was within. He heard the crash of the first kick on the door, rose + from the ditch, crossed the road, and took to the edge of the cliffs + again. He walked quickly, frightened and shaken. He started into a + breathless run when Hannah’s battle whoop reached him on the still air. He + heard distinctly the men’s shrieks, and even the noise of the runaway + horses galloping on the hard road. He went the faster—a mad terror + driving him. + </p> + <p> + He passed Port Moon again, crossed the majestic brow of Pleaskin Head, + skirted the Causeway, and reached the Runkerry cliffs. He went more + slowly, ceased running, sat down, drawing deep laboured breaths. The food + he ate in the manse had strengthened him. The assurance of the care and + watchfulness of his friends cheered him, but his mind was like that of a + hunted animal. He had no courage left, nothing but an overmastering desire + to hide himself. + </p> + <p> + He rose, and went on again, reached the cliff above the Rock Pigeons’ + Cave, and found the place where descent to the sea was possible. There was + no path, just a precipitous grass slope, and then steep rocks, and below + them the dark, moaning sea. A timid man might shrink from the climb in + daylight, a bold man would be rash to attempt it at night, but of this + short, slippery grass and these sharp rocks Neal had no fear at all. He + knew them all too well to fear them. He let himself slide down, sure of + the resting-place his feet would find. With firm hand-grips and confident + steps he descended from rock to rock until he stood at last on a flat + shelf, a foot or two above the sea. He saw the long channel, rock-bounded, + narrow, dark, along which he and Maurice had piloted their boat. He saw + beyond it the mouth of the cave—a space of actual blackness on the + gloomy face of the cliff. He heard the water drop from the roof into the + sea with heavy splashes. At his feet the long swell writhed between the + walls of rock, reached up black lips and drew them down again with hollow, + sobbing sound. From the extreme darkness of the cave came the dull moaning + of the ocean, as of some inarticulate monster bowed with everlasting woe. + A swim through this cold, lonely water, between the smooth walls which + rose higher and higher on either side, into the impenetrable gloom of the + echoing cavern and on to the extreme end of it, was horrible to + contemplate. But for Neal there were worse horrors behind. His cowardice + made him brave. He stripped and stood shivering, though the night air was + warm enough. He wrapped his clothes into a bundle and, with his neck + scarf, bound them firmly on his head. He slipped without a splash into the + water and struck out towards the mouth of the cave. + </p> + <p> + The dull swell lifted him on its breast and drew him down again as if to + wrap him with huge cold hands. An undertow of receding water pulled him to + the rocks and he touched them with his hands. He reached the mouth of the + cave, and felt the splash of the drops which fell from it. He moved very + cautiously, fearing to strike suddenly on the sunken rocks. He felt for + them with his feet, reached them, stood upright waist-deep. Then, with + cold limbs and a numb terror in his heart, he plunged forward again into + the deep water within the cave. He swam on, with set teeth, close-pressed + lips, and eyes strained to see a foot in front of him into the blackness. + Once he turned and looked back. Through the mouth of the cave he saw the + dim grey of the June night—a framed space of sky which was not + actually black. He felt as if he were looking his last at the familiar + world of living things—as if he were on his way to some gloomy other + world of moaning, forlorn spirits, of desolate, disappointed loves, of + weary, spent souls floating aimlessly on chill, unfathomable sorrow. He + swam on, and heard at last the splash of the waves on the shore. His feet + touched bottom. He slipped and slid among large slimy stones, worn + incredibly smooth by their age-long washing in this sunless place. He + struggled forward breast-deep, waist-deep, knee-deep, in the black water. + He reached dry ground, crawled upwards till he felt the boulders no longer + damp, and knew that he lay above the reach of the tide. He unbound the + bundle from his head, clothed himself, and felt the blood steal warm + through his limbs again. He staggered further up, groped his way to the + side of the cave, as if the touch of solid rock would give him some sense + of companionship. Then, like a benediction from the God who watched over + him, sleep came. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII + </h2> + <p> + The next morning broke cloudless. As the day advanced the sun grew hot. + The land at noon seemed to gasp for breath. The sea lay glowing in the + light; the waves broke in slow rhythm on the sand and rocks, as if the + warmth had imposed even on the Atlantic a mood of luxurious laziness. + </p> + <p> + Una St. Clair and the Comtesse de Tourneville, attended by Hannah + Macaulay, walked shorewards from Dunseveric House. It appeared that they + were going to bathe, for they carried bundles of white sheets and coloured + garments, large bundles well wrapped together and strapped. Hannah + Macaulay had, besides, a little raft made of the flat corks which + fishermen use to mark the places where their lobster pots are sunk and to + float the tops of salmon nets. It seemed as if one of the party were no + great swimmer, and did not mean to venture into deep water without + something to which to cling. + </p> + <p> + A hundred yards from the gate were two yeomen on horseback. The Comtesse + greeted them cheerfully as she passed. The men followed the ladies along + the road. + </p> + <p> + “What are we to do?” said Una, “they mean to watch us.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps not,” said the Comtesse, “let us make sure.” + </p> + <p> + She motioned Una to stop, and sat down on the bank on the roadside. The + men halted and waited also. It became obvious that they intended to keep + the ladies in view. + </p> + <p> + “This is abominable,” said Una. “How dare they follow us when we are going + to bathe?” + </p> + <p> + “My dear,” said the Comtesse, laughing, “they very likely think that we + are not going to bathe. So far as I am concerned, their suspicions are + quite just. I am certainly not going to undress on a nasty rock which + would cut my feet, and then go into cold salt water to have my toes nipped + by crabs and lobsters. The worthy Hannah is not going to bathe either. She + has too much good sense. Even these stupid yeomen must guess that we are + carrying something else besides towels.” + </p> + <p> + “But I am going to bathe,” said Una, “and it is intolerable that I should + be spied upon and watched.” + </p> + <p> + The Comtesse rose and approached the men. + </p> + <p> + “Where is Captain Twinely this morning?” she asked, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “Here he is, coming along the road forninst you, Miss.” + </p> + <p> + The man spoke civilly enough. It was natural to be civil to the Comtesse + when she smiled. She had fine eyes, and was not too proud to use them in a + very delightful manner even when the man before her was no more than a + trooper in a company of yeomen. + </p> + <p> + “So he is!” she said. “And my good gentleman trooper, how nice your + manners are. I am, alas! no longer ‘Miss,’ though it pleases you to + flatter me. I am ‘Madam,’ a widow, quite an old woman.” + </p> + <p> + She left him and hurried forward to greet Captain Twinely. + </p> + <p> + “I am charmed to meet you, Captain Twinely. But why have you never been up + to call on us? We hear that you have been two whole days in our + neighbourhood and not even once have you come to see us. How rude and + unkind you are. I would not have believed it of you. But perhaps you have + been very busy chasing the odious rebels and had no time to visit us poor + ladies.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t think I was wanted at Dunseveric House, my lady,” said the + captain. + </p> + <p> + Like his trooper, he was aware that the Comtesse smiled at him, and that + she had beautiful eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I will not take that as an excuse,” she said. “Surely you must know, + Captain Twinely, that we are two lonely women, that my lord and my nephew + are away. You must have guessed that we should suffer, ah, so terribly, + from ‘ennui’. Is it not the first duty of an officer to pay his respects + to the ladies and to amuse them, especially in this terrible country where + it is only the military men who have any manners at all?” + </p> + <p> + Captain Twinely was delighted and embarrassed. He wished that he had + brushed his uniform more carefully in the morning, and that he had not + been too lazy to shave. He would gladly have been looking his best now + that the eyes of this elegant lady of title and fashion were on him. + </p> + <p> + “I am at your ladyship’s service,” he murmured. + </p> + <p> + “Now that is really kind of you. Please get down from your horse. How can + I talk to you when you are so high above me?” + </p> + <p> + The captain dismounted and gave his horse to one of the troopers. The + Comtesse laid her hand on his arm and smiled at him. + </p> + <p> + “We have a little <i>fête</i> planned for to-day,” she said. “We are going + to have a pic-nic by the sea. Will you not join us. It will be so kind of + you. My niece wishes also to bathe. But I—I am not very anxious to + go into the sea. Perhaps you and I might wait for her in some pleasant + spot and prepare the pic-nic while she and her maid go to the + bathing-place. What do you say, captain?” + </p> + <p> + “I shall be delighted,” he said, “quite delighted.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Twinely had never before been so smiled on by a pretty woman. + Never before had such fine eyes looked into his with such an unmistakable + challenge to flirtation. He was almost certain that he felt the Comtesse’s + hand press his arm slightly. He grew pink in the face with pleasure. + </p> + <p> + “We must tell my niece.” + </p> + <p> + She leaned towards Captain Twinely and whispered in his ear. Her breath + touched his cheek. The delicate, faint scent of her clothes reached him. + </p> + <p> + A confidence, entailing the close proximity of this desirable lady, was an + unlooked-for delight. + </p> + <p> + “My dear niece is very young—a mere child, you understand me, + unformed, gauche, what you call shy. You will make excuse for her want of + manner.” + </p> + <p> + The apology was necessary. In Una’s face, if he had eyes for it at all, + Captain Twinely might have seen something more than shyness. There was an + expression of loathing on the girl’s lips and in her eyes when he stepped + up to her, hat in hand. + </p> + <p> + “Una,” said the Comtesse, “the dear captain will take pity on us. He will + send one of his men back to the house to fetch a cold chicken and some + wine—and all the delightful things we are to eat and drink. Give him + a note to the butler, Una, we will go on with Captain Twinely.” + </p> + <p> + Una, puzzled, but obedient to a quick glance from her aunt, wrote the + note. The troopers, leading Captain Twinely’s horse, rode back to + Dunseveric House. The Comtesse, still leaning on the captain’s arm, picked + up her bundle of bathing clothes. + </p> + <p> + “Allow me to carry that for you,” said the captain, “allow me to carry all + the bundles.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but no. Have we got a cavalier with such trouble and shall we turn + him into a beast of burden, a—how do you say it?—a baggage + ass? The good Hannah will carry my bundle.’” + </p> + <p> + The good Hannah became a baggage animal, but she was not an ass. She was, + indeed, struggling with suppressed mirth. She was confirmed in her opinion + that the Comtesse possessed a subtlety not unlike that of the serpent in + Eden. + </p> + <p> + The Comtesse led the way, chatting to Captain Twinely, saying things more + charmingly provocative than any which poor Twinely had ever heard from a + woman’s lips. Her eyes flashed on him, drooped before his gaze, sought his + again with shy suggestiveness. She even succeeded, when his glance grew + very bold, in blushing. They reached the little cove where Maurice’s boat + lay. + </p> + <p> + The Comtesse sat down, and then lolled back on the short grass. Her + motions and her attitudes were the most easy and natural possible, yet her + pose was charming. There was not a fold of her skirt but fell round her + gracefully. From the challenging smile on her lips to the point of the + little shoe which peeped out beneath her petticoat, there came an + invitation to Captain Twinely—a suggestion that he, too, should sit + gracefully on the grass. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Una,” she said, “go and have your bathe, if you must do anything so + foolish. We will wait for you here, the captain will amuse me till you + return. Kiss me, child, before you go.” + </p> + <p> + Una bent over her. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll keep him,” whispered the Comtesse, “I’ll keep him, even if I have to + allow the animal to embrace me. But, dear Una, do not be very long.” + </p> + <p> + Una sped away. Hannah, heavily laden, and laughing now outright, followed + her. + </p> + <p> + “I never seen the like,” she said. “Didn’t I say to Master Neal last night + that she was an early one? Eh, Miss Una, did you no take notice of the + eyes of her? She’d wile the fishes out of the sea, or a bird off a bush, + so she would, just by looking sweet at them. It’s queer manners they have + where she comes from. I’m thinking that silly gowk of a captain’s no the + first man she’s beguiled. I was counted a braw lass myself in me day, and + one that could twine a lad round my thumb as fine as any, but I couldna + have done thon, Miss Una.” + </p> + <p> + Una gave a little shudder of disgust. + </p> + <p> + “How could she bear to? How could she touch such a man?” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, I was wondering that myself, her that’s so high falutin’ in her ways, + and no like a common lassie. Not but what thon captain’s a clever enough + cut of a man for them as thinks of nothing but a clean figure and a good + leg. He’s no that ill-looking; but, eh, there’s a glint in his eye I + wouldna trust. I pity the lassie that loves him. But there’s no fear of + thon lady falling into sic a snare. She can mine herself well, I’m + thinkin’.” + </p> + <p> + They reached the cliff above the Pigeon Cave, and Una began her downward + climb. Hannah stared at her in horror. + </p> + <p> + “Mind yourself, Miss Una. You’re never going down there, are ye? And you + expect me to break my old bones going after you, do ye? Faith and I willna + avaw, I’d rather be back rolling my eyes at the captain and letting on to + him that I wanted a kiss than go down yon cliff.” + </p> + <p> + “Come,” said Una, “it looks worse than it is. Come, Hannah, you must come. + Would you have the poor boy starve in the cave?” + </p> + <p> + The appeal was too strong to be resisted. Hannah, with much grumbling, + climbed down. Una carried the bundles one by one to the shelf of rock from + which Neal had slipped into the dark water the night before. She took the + straps from them, and unwound the sheets and bathing clothes. Within was + store of food—parcels of oatcake, baps, cold meat, butter, cheese, a + bottle of wine, a flask of whisky and water, a package of candles. She had + determined that Neal should feast royally in his hiding-place, and that he + should not sit in the dark, though he had to sit alone. She floated the + raft of corks, and very carefully loaded it with her good things. Then, + with a piece of cord, she moored it to the rock. + </p> + <p> + “Are ye no afeard, Miss Una?” said Hannah. “Eh, but it’s well to be young + and strong, I wouldna go in there, not for all the gold and silver and the + spices that King Solomon gave to the Queen of Sheba. I wouldna go in a + boat, let alone swimming. Miss Una, could you no shout, and let him come + for the food himself?” + </p> + <p> + Una looked at her with a wondering reproach in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Am I the only one that’s to do nothing for him? Didn’t Maurice get him + free in the town of Antrim? Didn’t you chase the yeomen from him last + night? Isn’t Aunt Estelle sitting with that Captain Twinely now? And may I + not do something, too? I think mine’s the easiest thing of the four.” + </p> + <p> + “You’re a venturesome lassie, so you are. I dinna like the looks of thon + water. It’s over green for me, so it is. I can see right down to the + bottom of it, and that’s no natural in the sea, and it so deep, too. And + thon cave, Miss Una, with the smooth, red, clampy sides to it. What call + has the rocks to be red? I’m thinking when God made the rocks black, and + maybe white, it’s black and white he meant them to be and no red. I + wouldna say but what there’s something no just canny about a cave with red + sides to it higher than a man can stretch. Eh, but you’ve the chiney white + feet, Miss Una. Mind now you dinna scrab them on the wee shells. Bide now, + bide like a good lassie, till I spread the sheet for you to tread on. You + will no be for going right intil the cave? Would it no do you to shout + when you got to the mouth of it? I dinna like that cave with the red sides + till it. I’m thinking maybe there was red sides to the cave where the + witch of Endor dweft. Are you no sure that there isna something of that + kind, something no right in the gloom beyond there?” + </p> + <p> + “Neal’s in it,” said Una, “what’s to frighten me?” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, sure enough, he’s there, the poor bairn. Lord save us, and keep us! + The lassie’s intil the water, and it up ower her head, and she’s drownded. + No, but she’s up again, and she’s swimmin’ along like as if she was a sea + maiden with hair all wet. Eh, but she swims fine, and she’s gotten hold of + the wee boatie wi’ the laddie’s dinner on it. Look at the white arms of + her moving through the water, they’re like the salmon fish slithering + along when the net is pulled in. She’s bonny, so she is. See till her now! + See till her if she hasna lighted on some kind of a rock. She’s standing + up on it, and the sea no more than up to the knees of her. The water is + running off her, and she’s shaking herself like a wee dog. She doesna mind + it. She’s waving her hand to me and her in the very mouth of thon awful + cave. Mine yourself, Miss Una, take heed now, like a good lass. Dinna go + further, you’re far enough. Bide where you are, and shout till him. Lord + save us, she’s off again, and the wee boatie in front of her. I’ve known a + wheen o’ lassies in my time that would do queer things for the lads they + had their hearts set on, but ne’er a one as venturesome as her. I’m + thinking Master Neal himself would look twice e’er he swam into thon dark + hole. Eh, poor laddie, but there’ll be light in his eyes when he sees the + white glint of her coming till him where he’s no expecting her or the like + of her.” + </p> + <p> + Indeed, Una was not so brave as she seemed. Her heart beat quicker as she + struck out into the gloom of the cave. The water was colder, or seemed + colder, than it had been outside. The splashing of drops from the roof, + and the echoing noise of the sea’s wash awed her. She felt a tightening in + her throat. She swam with faster and faster strokes. The sides of the cave + loomed huge about her. The roof seemed immensely, remotely, high. The + water was dark now. It was a solemn thing to swim through it. She began to + wonder how far it was to the end of the cave. A sudden terror seized her. + Suppose, after all, that Neal was not in the cave, suppose that she was + swimming in this awful place alone. She shouted aloud— + </p> + <p> + “Neal, Neal, Neal Ward, are you there?” + </p> + <p> + The cave echoed her cries. A thousand repetitions of the name she had + shouted came to her from above, from behind, from right, from left. The + rocks flung her words to each other, bandied them to and fro, turned them + into ridicule, turned them into thundering sounds of terror, turned them + into shrill shrieks. The frightened pigeons flew from their rocky perches; + their wings set new echoes going. Una swam forward, and, reckless with + fright now, shouted again. She heard some one rushing down to meet her + from the remote depths of the cave. The great stones rolled and crashed + under his feet with a noise like the firing of guns. Then, amid a babel of + echoes, came a shout answering her’s. + </p> + <p> + “I’m coming to you, Una.” + </p> + <p> + She felt the bottom with her feet. She stood upright. At the sound of + Neal’s voice all her fears vanished. She could see him now. He was + stumbling down over the slippery stones which the ebb tide left bare. He + reached the water and splashed in. + </p> + <p> + “Stay where you are, you must not come any further.” + </p> + <p> + “Una,” he said, “dear Una, you have come to me.” + </p> + <p> + She laughed merrily. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t think I’ve come to live with you here, Neal, like a seal or a + mermaid. No, no. I’ve brought you something to eat. Here, now, don’t upset + my little boat.” She pushed the raft towards him. “Isn’t it just like the + boats we used to make long ago when we were little? Oh! do you remember + how angry the salmon men were when you and Maurice stole all the corks off + their net? But I can’t stay talking here, I’m getting cold, and you, Neal, + go back to dry land. What’s the use of standing there up to your knees in + water? There’s no sun in here to dry your clothes afterwards. No, you must + not come to me, I won’t have it. You’d get wet up to your neck. Keep + quiet, now. I’ve something to say to you. Maurice has gone to Glasgow to + see that funny Captain Getty, who made you both so angry the day we took + your uncle from the brig. He is arranging for the brig to lie off here and + pick you up. Maurice and I will take you out in the boat. We will come in + to the mouth of the cave and shout to you unless it’s rough. If it’s + rough, Neal, you must swim out and hide somewhere among the rocks. But I + hope it will stay calm. Maurice may be back to-morrow or next day. I’ve + given you enough to eat for two days. I may not be able to come + to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Do come again, Una, it’s very lonely here.” + </p> + <p> + “I will if I can, Neal. Good-bye. Keep a good heart. Good-bye. Oh, but + it’s hard to be leaving you in this dark place, but I think it’s safe, and + the country is full of yeomen. Good-bye, Neal. God bless you.” + </p> + <p> + When Una and Hannah reached the little cove again, they found luncheon + spread out on the grass ready for them. The troopers who had brought the + baskets from Dunseveric House sat on their horses at the end of the rough + track which led to the strand. The Comtesse reclined on a cloak spread for + her on the grass. Captain Twinely, a worshipper with bold eyes and stupid + tongue, sat at her feet and gazed at her. He had ceased even to wonder at + his own good fortune in captivating so fair a lady. He had forgotten all + about the angular daughter of a neighbouring squire, who was waiting for + him to marry her. He was hopelessly, helplessly, fascinated by the woman + in front of him. Estelle de Tourneville had never made an easier conquest. + And she was already exceedingly weary of the flirtation. The man bored her + because he was dull. He disgusted her because he was amorous. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Una,” she cried, “how quick you’ve been! It hardly seems a moment + since you left. Captain Twinely and I have had such a delightful talk. I + was telling him about the Jacobins in Paris, and how they wanted to cut my + head off in the Terror. My dear, your hair is all wet. You look just like + a seal with your sleek head and your brown eyes. Just fancy, Una, Captain + Twinely thought that we were in sympathy with the rebels here. He had + actually told his men to watch us in case we should try to help some + horrid <i>sans-culotte</i> who is hiding somewhere. Just think of his + suspecting me—me, of all people.” + </p> + <p> + She cast a glance at Captain Twinely. Her eyes were full of half serious + reproach, of laughter and enticement. + </p> + <p> + “I’m very hungry after my swim,” said Una, “let us have our lunch.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Twinely, awkward but anxious to please, was on his feet in an + instant. He waited on the ladies, waited even on Hannah, whom he supposed + to be Una’s maid. He did not notice that Una shrank from him. He probably + would not have cared even if he had seen that she avoided touching his + hand as she might have avoided some loathsome reptile. His thoughts and + his eyes were all for the Comtesse. She did not shrink from him. Her + wonderful eyes thrilled him again and again. He touched her hand, her + hair, her clothes, as he handed her this or that to eat or drink. He grew + hot and cold in turns with the excitement of her nearness. He was + ecstatically, ridiculously happy. + </p> + <p> + He walked back to Dunseveric House with her. He promised to call on her + the next day. He promised to leave troopers on guard round the house all + night in case a fugitive rebel, wandering in the demesne, might frighten + the Comtesse. He suggested another pic-nic. At last, reluctantly, + lingeringly, he bade her farewell. + </p> + <p> + “Adieu, Monsieur le Capitaine,” said the Comtesse, “we shall expect you + to-morrow then.” + </p> + <p> + She stretched out her hand to him. He stooped and kissed it. Then she + turned from him and ran up the avenue after Una and Hannah. The captain + watched her. He pulled himself together, reassumed his habitual swagger, + tried to persuade himself that he looked on the Comtesse as he had long + been accustomed to look on other women. + </p> + <p> + “A damned fine woman,” he said, “and a bit smitten with me. Begad, these + French women have a great deal to recommend them. Thy catch fire at once. + A man does not have to spend a month dilly-dallying with them, dancing + attendance and looking like a fool while they are as cold as ice all the + time. Give me a good full-blooded filly like this one.” + </p> + <p> + “Una,” said the Comtesse, when she overtook her niece. “Una, I positively + can’t stand another day of that man. He’s odious. You’ll have to do him + yourself to-morrow, and let me go to the young man in the cave.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Aunt Estelle, I thought you—you liked it. You looked as if you + liked it.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mon dieu!</i>” said the Comtesse, laughing, “of course I looked as if + I liked it. If I had looked as if I disliked it I could not have kept him + for ten minutes, and then what would have happened to you, mademoiselle?” + </p> + <p> + “It was very, very good of you,” said Una, penitently. “I can never thank + you enough.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it wasn’t so very good of me, and I don’t want to be thanked at all. + I’ll tell you a secret, Una, and Hannah shall hear it too. I did like it. + Now, what do you think?” + </p> + <p> + “You would, my lady,” said Hannah. “I know that finely, I’d have liked it + myself when I was young and frisky like you.” + </p> + <p> + “What would you have liked, Hannah?” asked the Comtesse. + </p> + <p> + “Eh! just what you liked yourself, my lady; just seeing a man making + himself a bigger fool nor the Lord meant him to be for the sake of my + bonny face. I’m thinking you’re the same as another for a’ you’re a + countess and have a braw foreign name. You just like what I’d have liked, + and what all women ever I heard tell on liked in their hearts, though + maybe they wouldna own up till it, from thon wench, that might have been a + gran’ lady, too, for a’ I ken, who made the great silly gaby of a Samson + lie still while she clipped the seven locks off of his head. She liked + fine to see him sleeping there like the tap he was for all the strongness + of him.” + </p> + <p> + “You are right, Hannah, you are right. Oh, Una dear, if you could have + seen him—but you wouldn’t understand. What’s the good of telling + you? Hannah, if you’d seen him sitting there like a great woolly sheep, + with the silliest expression in his eyes; if you’d seen him putting out + his hand to touch me, pretending he did it by accident, and then pulling + it away again like one of those snails that crawl about in the sandhills + when you touch his horns with the end of a blade of grass. If you’d seen + him. Oh, I wish you’d seen him!” + </p> + <p> + “Faith, I seen plenty.” + </p> + <p> + “You did not, Hannah; you didn’t see half. He was far, far better before + you came back.” + </p> + <p> + She burst into a peal of half hysterical laughter. She may have enjoyed + the captain’s company, but he had evidently tried her nerves. + </p> + <p> + “But, Una dear,” she said, when she grew calm again, “I hope Maurice will + come soon, or that American ship, or something. I won’t be able to go on + very long.” + </p> + <p> + “There’s been an easterly breeze since noon,” said Una, “and there’s a + haze out at sea.” + </p> + <p> + “Do talk sense, Una. Here I’ve been sacrificing myself for you all day, + and when I ask you for a little sympathy you talk to me about an east + wind.” + </p> + <p> + “But the east wind will bring the brig, aunt. How could she get here from + Glasgow without the wind?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVIII + </h2> + <p> + The Comtesse underrated her powers of endurance. For two more whole days + she encouraged Captain Twinely to make love to her. She sat with him in + the sandhills, she walked with him along the strand, she flattered him, + ogled him, enticed him, till the man was beside himself with the desire of + her. But in private it was not safe to speak to her about the captain. Her + temper, when the hours of her love-making were over for the day, was + extremely bad. Even Hannah, who was a match for most women in the use of + her tongue, shrank from the sharp gibes of the Comtesse. Una tried in vain + to soothe the ruffled lady, and had to bear much from her, but Una could + have borne anything patiently. The east wind blew gently day and night, + bringing—surely bringing—the white sails of the brig. The sea + remained calm and she was able to go twice more to the cave. She saw the + yeomen spread over the country, searching everywhere, through fields and + hills and along the river banks, by the shore, among the rocks, over the + Causeway cliffs, through the sandhills, the ruins of Dunluce, among the + white cliffs of Port-rush Strand, at high tide and low tide, everywhere + except the one place—the nook where Una bathed. Estelle de + Tourneville secured that spot from the searchers’ gaze. No man dared go + there. Una could forgive the worst of tempers to the woman who purchased + such security. And the Comtesse was excusable. Doubtless, she paid a heavy + price for a delicately-nurtured and fastidious lady. No one ever knew what + she endured. Neither to Una nor any one else did she tell at the time or + afterwards the details of the captain’s courtship. + </p> + <p> + At last, one evening after dusk, Maurice rode in from Ballycastle. He + brought glorious news. Captain Getty was on his way. He might be expected + off the coast the next day. Maurice had left the brig at the quay at + Greenock ready to sail. Next morning he was up early. He took bread and + meat and went alone to Pleaskin Head, carrying his father’s long telescope + with him. All morning he lay on the edge of the cliff peering eastward + across the sea. He was strangely nervous now that the critical moment had + arrived. He understood that the coast was being carefully watched, that + the sight of a ship lying-to a mile or two from the shore, would certainly + excite suspicion; that it might be very difficult for him to take his boat + round to the cave where Neal lay hidden without being followed. It was + absolutely necessary for him to catch sight of the brig before any one + else did, to get off from the shore before the brig lay to, to be well on + his way to her before any other boat put out to chase him. He knew that + his own movements were watched. He was followed from the house to Pleaskin + Head by two yeomen. As he lay on the cliffs he saw them a few hundred + yards inland keeping guard on him. + </p> + <p> + At ten o’clock he caught sight of the topsails of a ship far east, beyond + the blue outline of the Rathlin hills. The wind, very feeble at dawn, was + freshening slightly. The lower sails of the vessel rose slowly into view. + Maurice guessed her to be a brig—to be the brig he looked for. He + lay still, watching her intently, till he was sure. Then he went home. He + found Una and the Comtesse in the breakfast room. Captain Twinely, on the + lawn outside, leaned on the window sill and talked to them. Maurice, + uncontrollably excited, whispered to Una— + </p> + <p> + “Now.” + </p> + <p> + She rose, and followed him from the room. Captain Twinely eyed them + sharply. He had ceased to distrust the Comtesse, but he was keenly + suspicious of Maurice. Since he had been robbed of his clothes in Antrim + he hated Maurice nearly as bitterly as he did Neal, and was determined to + have him strictly watched. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me, dear lady,” he said, “I must give some orders to the patrol.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be long, then,” she said, “I want you to-day, Captain Twinely. Come + back to me.” + </p> + <p> + Their eyes met, and the Comtesse felt certain that her victim would return + to her. She leaped from her chair the moment he left her and ran from the + room. + </p> + <p> + “Una,” she cried. “Una, Maurice, where are you?” + </p> + <p> + She found them; they were packing clothes in a hand-bag—clothes, she + supposed, for Neal. + </p> + <p> + “He’s gone to give orders to his men about you, Maurice. I know he has. I + haven’t a moment to explain. Leave everything to me. I’ll manage him, only + trust me and do what I say. Una, are you a born idiot? Take those things + out of the bag. How can you go about with that travelling-bag in your hand + and not excite suspicion? If you must have clothes wrap them in a + bathing-sheet. Oh, what a fool you are!” + </p> + <p> + She left them no time to answer her, but fled back to the breakfast-room. + A moment later Captain Twinely found her, lounging—a figure of + luxurious laziness—among the cushions of Lord Dunseveric’s easy + chair. + </p> + <p> + “We are going on the sea to-day,” she said, “my nephew, Maurice, has + promised to take us in a boat to the Skerries. I have never been there, + but I hear they are delightful. I hope you will come with us. Please say + yes. I should feel so much safer in a boat if you were there. My nephew is + very rash. He frightens me. I do not trust him. I shall not feel secure or + easy in my mind unless you come, too. Besides”—her voice sank to a + delicious whisper—“I shall not really enjoy myself unless you are + there.” + </p> + <p> + She stretched her hand out and laid it with the tenderest motion of caress + on his hand. Captain Twinely could not hesitate, he promised to go with + her. In the back of his mind was a feeling that if he were of the party + Maurice St. Clair could not attempt to communicate with the fugitive. + </p> + <p> + “Maurice,” said the Comtesse, “Maurice, are you ready? Captain Twinely is + coming with us to the Skerries for a pic-nic. Won’t that be nice? Come + along quickly, we are starting.” + </p> + <p> + She took the captain with her, and walked down to the cove where the boat + lay. Una and Maurice, with their bundles of clothes, followed. + </p> + <p> + “Una,” said Maurice, “what does she mean? I can’t take this man in the + boat, and I won’t. What does she mean by inviting him?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know, but we must trust her. We can trust her. She’s been + wonderful all these last three days. Only for her I could never have got + food to Neal.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Maurice, “I suppose if the worst comes to the worst it will + only be a matter of knocking him on the head with an oar. I don’t want to + do that if I can help it. My lord will be angry if he has to get me out of + a fresh scrape. It will be a serious matter to assault this captain in + cold blood. I’ll do it, of course, if necessary, but I would rather not.” + </p> + <p> + The boat was dragged down the beach. The Comtesse looked at it, and + protested. + </p> + <p> + “Maurice, surely you are not going in that little boat. It’s far too + small. It’s not safe.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it’s safe enough,” said Maurice, “and anyway there’s no other.” + </p> + <p> + “There is,” said the Comtesse. “There, look at that nice broad, flat boat. + I’ll go in that.” + </p> + <p> + “The cobble for lifting the salmon net!” said Maurice, with a laugh. “My + dear aunt, you couldn’t go to sea in that. She can’t sail, and it takes + four men to pull her as fast as a snail would crawl. Who ever heard of + going off to the Skerries in a salmon cobble?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the Comtesse, angrily, “I won’t go in the other. I know that + one is too small. Isn’t she too small, Captain Twinely? Look at the size + of the sea. Look how far off the island is! No, I won’t go. If you persist + in being disobliging, Maurice, you and Una can go by yourselves. Captain + Twinely and I will stay on shore.” + </p> + <p> + The boat was already in the water and Una sat in the stern. Maurice, ankle + deep in water, held her bow. Maurice laughed aloud. He began to understand + his aunt’s plan. + </p> + <p> + “Come, Captain Twinely, we will go for a walk along the cliffs.” + </p> + <p> + Her hand was on his arm. She held him. He looked at the boat. A swift + doubt shot through his mind. Something in the way Maurice laughed aroused + his suspicion. He took a step forward. The Comtesse clung tightly to his + arm. Maurice gave a vigorous shove and leapt forward over the bow. The + boat shot out and floated clear of the land. + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t he a disagreeable boy?” said the Comtesse. “You wouldn’t have + refused to do what I asked you, would you, Captain Twinely?” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes sought his, but he was watching the boat uneasily. Maurice had + the oars out, and was pulling round the Black Rock. + </p> + <p> + “He’s not going to the Skerries,” he said, “he’s going in the other + direction.” + </p> + <p> + “What does it matter where he goes? Besides, you know what stupid things + boats are. They always turn away from the place they want to go to. It’s + what they call tacking. Maurice must be tacking now. Let him manage his + horrid boat himself. We needn’t trouble ourselves about him. We will go + for a walk on the tops of the cliffs.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought you did not like walking on the cliffs, you never would walk + there with me before.” + </p> + <p> + “Please don’t be cross with me. May I not change my mind?” + </p> + <p> + She stroked his hand and looked up into his face with eyes which actually + had tears in them. “I shall be so miserable if you are cross. I shall feel + that I have spoiled your day. I wish now that I had gone in the little + boat. I wish I had been upset and drowned. Then perhaps you would have + been sorry for me.” + </p> + <p> + She was crying in earnest now. Captain Twinely yielded, yielded to her + tears, to the fascination of her presence, to the passion of his love for + her. Very tenderly and gently he led her up the steep path to the top of + the cliffs. Holding her hands in his he walked silently beside her. He was + a bad man, revengeful, cruel, cowardly, but he really loved the woman + beside him. His was no heroic, spiritual love, but it was the best, the + strongest, of which his nature was capable. He could never for her sake + have lived purely and nobly, or learned self-denial, but, cowardly as he + was, he would have died for her. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly she stood still, snatched her hand from his grasp, and stepped + away from him. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” she cried, “at last! at last! There, Captain Twinely, there is the + boat with the sail spread, shooting out to sea. Look at her; look + carefully; look well. How many people are there in her? Can you see? I can + see very well. There are three, and who is the third?” + </p> + <p> + The tears were gone out of her eyes now. They blazed with triumph and + satisfaction. She laughed aloud, exultingly, bitterly. + </p> + <p> + “Who is the third? Can you see? He is Neal Ward, the man you’ve chased, + the man you’ve been seeking day and night. There”—she pointed + further eastwards—“there is the American brig which will bear him + away from you. Do you understand?” + </p> + <p> + Captain Twinely followed her gaze and her pointing finger. He began to + understand. + </p> + <p> + “And I did it. I fooled you. I blinded your eyes while my niece fed him in + his hiding-place. I encouraged you to seek everywhere, and kept you back + from the place where he was. I—I made pretence of tolerating your + hateful presence. I made you think that I cared for you, loved you, you, + you—I would rather love a toad.” + </p> + <p> + “You have deceived me, then, all the time, played with me.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she laughed wildly, “deceived you, played with you, fooled you, + cheated you, and hated you—yes, hated, hated the very sight of you, + the abominable sound of your voice, the sickening touch of your hand.” + </p> + <p> + “And I loved you,” he said, simply. “I loved you so well that I think I + would have done anything for you. There was no need for you to fool me. I + would have let the man go if you had asked me. I would have let him go, + though I hate him, and I could not have asked leave even to kiss your hand + for my reward. I would have been content just to have pleased you. Why did + you cheat me?” + </p> + <p> + The Comtesse had no pity for him. The memory of the words he had spoken to + her, of his foolish face, of his amorous ways, of the touchings of his + hands which she had endured, thronged on her. Her lips curled back over + her teeth. Her eyes were hard like shining steel. + </p> + <p> + “I hate you,” she hissed at him. “I have always hated you since the night + when you seized me and dragged me into the meeting-house. I would have + revenged myself for that even if there had been no prisoner to save from + you.” + </p> + <p> + “I did not do that,” said Captain Twinely, “and I did not know who you + were at the time. Be just to me even if you hate me. God knows that I + would have died to save you from the smallest hurt.” + </p> + <p> + He fell on the ground before her. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” he cried, “have some pity for me. I love you with all my soul. Let + me serve you, let me wait on you. Let me see you sometimes and hear your + voice. Have you no pity for me? I do not ask for love, or friendship, or + the meanest gift. Only do not hate me. I have led an evil life, I know it, + but for your sake, for your sake, if you will pity me, I will do anything. + I will be anything you bid me. But do not hate me. For the love of God, by + the mercy of Christ the Saviour, do not cast me utterly away from you. Do + not hate me.” + </p> + <p> + He crawled forward, and clutched the bottom of her skirt with his hand. + With a swift movement she snatched it from his grasp. + </p> + <p> + “I do hate you,” she cried, “and I shall always hate you. From this out I + shall always hope and pray and strive to get to heaven when I die, not for + the love of the saints or because I think that I shall be happy there, but + just because I shall be safe from the sight of you, for you will surely be + in hell.” + </p> + <p> + She turned and walked down the path they had ascended together. She left + him grovelling on the ground, his face slobbered with tears and grimy with + the clay his hands rubbed over it. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIX + </h2> + <p> + The boat sped seawards. The wind had freshened since the morning, and + worked round after the sun, as the wind does in settled weather. It blew + now from the south-east, and the boat reached out with a free sheet. Una + sat in the stern and held the tiller. Her eyes glistened with excitement + and delight. At her feet, on the floor boards of the boat, sat Neal, + dripping after his swim out of the cave. The sun shone warm on him, and he + had Una close to him. He was safe at last, freed from the terrible anxiety + and fears. He had life before him—a glad, good thing, yet there was + more sorrow than joy in his face. In an hour, or less than an hour, he + must say farewell to Una. He felt that he would gladly have gone back to + the gloom of the cave for the sake of a brief visit from her every day. He + would have accepted the life of a hunted animal rather than part, for + years perhaps, from Una. He was sure that he had never known the fulness + of his love for her until this hour of parting. His eyes never left her + face. Now and then, when she could spare attention from her steering, she + answered his glances. In her face there was no sorrow at all, only merry + delight and the anticipation of more joy. “I have brought you a suit of my + clothes, and some change of linen,” said Maurice. “I have them in a bundle + here, done up in a great sheet. Hullo! there are two bundles. I didn’t + notice that you had brought a second one, Brown-Eye. You’ll not leave me a + rag to my back if you give Neal two suits.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s all right, Maurice,” said Una, “the second bundle has my clothes in + it.” + </p> + <p> + “Your clothes, Brown-Eyes! Why have you brought clothes?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m going with Neal, of course.” + </p> + <p> + Neal sat upright suddenly and stared at her with a new expression in his + eyes. He was the prey of sheer astonishment, then of a rapture which set + his heart beating tumultuously. + </p> + <p> + “You are going with Neal! Nonsense, Brown-Eyes. How can you?” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve money to pay my passage,” she said, “and if I hadn’t I’d go just the + same. I shall climb up into the brig, and I won’t be turned out of her.” + </p> + <p> + “You can’t,” said Maurice. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but I can, and I will. Do you think you and father are the only two + in the family that have wills of your own. You’ll take me, Neal, won’t + you? We’ll be married as soon as ever we get to America. I’m like the girl + in the song— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘I’ll dye my petticoat, I’ll dye it red, + And through the world I’ll beg my bread,’ + but I won’t leave you now, Neal.” + </pre> + <p> + She began to sing merrily, exultingly— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Though father and brother and a’ should go mad, + Just whistle and I’ll come to you, my lad.” + </pre> + <p> + “Well,” said Maurice, “if you go I may as well take my passage, too. I + daren’t go home and face my lord with the news that you’ve run off from + him. But steady, Brown-Eyes, watch what you’re doing. We’re close on the + brig now. We’ll neither go to America nor back home if you upset us now.” + </p> + <p> + He took in the sprit of the sail as Una rounded the boat under the brig’s + stern. A rope was flung to them and made fast. Another rope, a stouter + one, was lowered to Neal. Una seized it and climbed up. Willing hands + caught her, lifted her over the bulwarks, and set her on the deck. + </p> + <p> + “Am I to ferry you across, too, young lady?” asked Captain Getty. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Una, “I am going with you.” + </p> + <p> + Neal leaned across the thwarts of the boat to Maurice. + </p> + <p> + “Stay you here,” he said, “leave this to me.” + </p> + <p> + He gained the deck of the brig. Una met him with outstretched hands and + sparkling eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t this glorious?” she said. “You never guessed, Neal. Confess that + you never guessed.” + </p> + <p> + Then she shrank back from him, frightened by what she saw. His face was + ashy grey, save for two flaming spots on his cheek bones. His lips were + trembling. His eyes told her of some desperate resolution, of some counsel + adopted with intense pain. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter, Neal! Do you not want me after all? Will you not take + me?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I will not take you.” + </p> + <p> + It was all he succeeded in saying before a sob choked him. Una stared at + him in terrified surprise; but even then, even with his own words in her + ears, she did not doubt his love for her. She waited. + </p> + <p> + “Una,” he said at last, “I cannot take you with me.” + </p> + <p> + She gazed at him with wide, pitiful eyes, like the eyes of a little child + struck suddenly and inexplicably by the hand of some trusted friend. Neal + trembled and turned away from her. He could not look at her while he + spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Una, dearest, it is not that I do not love you. I love you. Oh, heart of + my heart, I love you. I would give——” + </p> + <p> + He sobbed again. Then, with an effort, he mastered himself, and spoke + slowly in low, tender tones. + </p> + <p> + “Una, your father has trusted me. He has helped me, saved me. He has been + my friend. I am bound in honour to him. I cannot take you from him like + this.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” she said. “Honour! Is your honour more than love?” + </p> + <p> + “Una, Una, can’t you understand? It’s because I love you so well that I + cannot do this. Wait, dearest, wait a little while. I shall come back to + you. The world is not so wide that it can keep me from you. The time will + not be long.” + </p> + <p> + He turned to her, and saw again the intolerable stricken sadness of her + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “My darling,” he said, “I cannot bear it. I will take you with me. Come. + What does it matter about honour or disgrace? What have we to do with + right or wrong? Will you come, Una?” + </p> + <p> + “Her eyes dropped before his gaze. Her hands clasped and unclasped, the + fingers of them sliding close-pressed against each other. She trembled. + </p> + <p> + “If it is wrong——,” she whispered. “Oh, Neal, I do not + understand, but what you think wrong is wrong for me, too. I will not do + what you say is wrong. But, oh! come back to me, come back to me soon. I + cannot bear to wait long for you.” + </p> + <p> + All the joy was gone from her. Forgetful of the strangers who stood round + her, she covered her face with her hands and wept bitterly. + </p> + <p> + Maurice’s voice reached them from the boat. + </p> + <p> + “Be quick, Neal. I must cast off and let you get under way. They’ve got + the old salmon cobble out, and they’re coming after us. Captain Twinely + must have managed to tear himself away from the Comtesse. They are pulling + six oars, and the cobble is full of men. Be quick.” + </p> + <p> + Una stopped crying on the instant. She cast a terrified glance at the + approaching boat. Then she ran across the deck to Captain Getty. She + seized his hand, and fell on her knees before him. + </p> + <p> + “Keep him safe, Captain Getty. Keep him safe. The soldiers, the yeomen, + are after him. Do not give him up to them. They will hang him if they get + him. Keep him safe. Do not let them take him.” + </p> + <p> + “Young lady, Miss,” said Captain Getty, “stand up and dry your eyes. Your + sweetheart’s safe while he stands on my deck. Safe from them. For tempests + and fire and the perils of the deep, and the act of God”—he lifted + his cap from his head—“I can’t swear, but as for darned British + soldiers of any kind—such scum set no foot on the deck of Captain + Hercules Getty’s brig—the <i>Saratoga</i>. You see that rag there, + young lady, that rag flying from the gaff of the spanker, it’s not much to + look at, maybe, not up to the high-toned level of the crosses and the + lions that spread themselves and ramp about on other flags, but I guess a + man’s free when that flies over him. You take my word for it, Miss—the + word of Captain Hercules Getty—the Britisher will knuckle under to + that rag. He’s seen the stars and stripes before now, and he knows he’s + just got to slip his tail in between his hind legs and scoot, scoot + tarnation quick from the place where that rag flutters on the breeze.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XX + </h2> + <p> + In the summer of 1800 the Act of Union was passed. The Irish Constitution + ceased to exist. The country lay torpid and apathetic under the blow. + Blood had been let in Antrim and Down, in Wexford and Wicklow. The society + of United Irishmen was broken. The Protestant gentry were frightened or + bribed. They, or the greater part of them, surrendered their birthright + without even Esau’s hunger for excuse. Roman Catholic ecclesiastics, + deluded by the promise of emancipation, which was not kept for many a long + year afterwards, offered a dubious welcome to the English power. The + people, cowed, helpless, expectant of little any way, waited in numb + indifference for what the new order was to bring. There was little joy and + little cause for joy in Ireland then. + </p> + <p> + From the gate of Dunseveric House, in the twilight of the short October + afternoon, came a young man who seemed to feel no sense of depression or + sadness. He strode briskly along the muddy road, swinging his stick in his + hand, whistling a merry tune. After a while, for very exuberance of + spirits, he broke into song. His voice rang clear through the damp, misty + air— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Oh, my love’s like a red, red rose, + That’s newly sprung in June: + Oh, my love’s like the melody + That’s sweetly played in tune.” + </pre> + <p> + A hundred yards or so further along the road walked another traveller. He + carried a knapsack on his shoulders and a stout staff in his hand. When + the song reached his ears he stopped, listened carefully, and then waited + for the singer to overtake him. It seemed as if the young man was too glad + at heart to sing through one song. He began again, and his voice was full + of passion, as if he had abandoned himself to the inspiration of his words— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Oh, wert thou in the cauld blast, + On yonder lea, on yonder lea, + My plaidie to the angry airt, + I’d shelter thee, I’d shelter thee.” + </pre> + <p> + “Neal Ward,” said the man who waited. + </p> + <p> + The singer paused. + </p> + <p> + “I’m Neal Ward, my friend, who ever are you? And I know your voice. I know + it. Let me see your face, man. You’re Jemmy Hope. As I’m a living man, + you’re Jemmy Hope. I couldn’t have asked a better meeting.” + </p> + <p> + He seized Hope’s hand and wrung it heartily. He held it firm. + </p> + <p> + “There’s no man in the world I’d rather have met to-night. But I might + have guessed I’d meet you. When a man’s happy every wish of his heart + comes to him. It’s only the poor devils who are sad that have to wait and + sigh for what they want and never get it.” + </p> + <p> + “So you are happy, Neal. I am right glad of it. It makes me happy, too, + for all that’s come and gone, to listen to your singing. Give me a share + of your good news, Neal. We want good news in Ireland now-a-days. What + makes you happy?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m to be married to-morrow, Jemmy Hope. To-morrow, to-morrow, man. Isn’t + that enough to make me happy?” + </p> + <p> + He put his arm round Hope, and led him along the road. He walked as if + there were music in his ears which made him want to dance. + </p> + <p> + “She’s the best girl in all the world,” he said, “the bravest and the + truest and the sweetest— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘Or were I a monarch o’ the globe, + With thee to reign, with thee to reign, + The brightest jewel in my crown + Wad be my queen, wad be my queen.’ +</pre> + <p> + Haven’t I the right to be happy, James Hope? Tell me that.” + </p> + <p> + “You have the best gift that God has got to give to man,” said Hope, “and + I that speak to you know. I have my own dear Rose. I have found that the + love of a good woman made all my trouble easy, turned sorrow of heart into + a kind of gladness, brought joy out of disappointment, made poverty sweet + to bear.” + </p> + <p> + “But I’m not poor,” said Neal, “I have a home to offer her, a home not + unworthy of her. I have money to give her what she wants. I shall take her + across the sea in a fine ship that I own myself, in a cabin I have fitted + out for her, fine enough for a crowned queen, but not fine enough for her— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘Blair in Athol’s mine lassie, + Fair Dunkeld is mine lassie, + St. Johnston’s bower and Hunting Tower, + And a’ that’s mine is thine, lassie.’ +</pre> + <p> + Oh, man, but I have cause for my happiness. I have the world before me, + good work to do, good money to earn, and her love like a “perpetual + sun-shine to make life fair to me.” + </p> + <p> + Then suddenly his voice changed. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, but my happiness is not complete. There are two things I want yet. I + want my father to come out with me, and I want you, too, my friend.” + </p> + <p> + “And will your father not go? I heard that they had released him at last + from the prison in Scotland, whew they kept him since the year of the + break at Antrim. He’s home again.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, he’s home, and it’s little cause he has to stay here. They have put a + new minister in his place. The Synod, the conscienceless villains, + declared it vacant. Castlereagh, through his satellite Black, has + corrupted them, too. He’ll preach no more in the old meeting-house, nor + sit over his bodes in the old manse. He’s at the Widow Maclure’s now, the + woman whose husband was hanged. He’ll not want his bit while I’ve money in + my pocket. But I’d like to bring him with me, to give him a better home.” + </p> + <p> + “And will he not go?” + </p> + <p> + “He will not. He says he’s too old to go to a new land now; but you’ll + help me to persuade him. I think, maybe, if you’d come with me that he’d + come, too. And you will come, won’t you?” + </p> + <p> + Hope shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t shake your head at me that way, James Hope. You don’t know what + you’re refusing. I can give you work to do out there, and money to earn, + and a fine house to live in. It’s a good land, so it is; it’s a land of + liberty. We’ve done with the tyrannies of this worn-out old world. A man + may speak his mind out there, and think his own thoughts and go his own + way. We doff our hats and make our bows to no man living, only to him who + shows himself by fine deeds to be our better. It’s the land for you and + the land for me, and the land for every man that loves freedom. Will you + not come?” + </p> + <p> + They reached the door of the Maclures’ house and entered. A bright fine + burned on the hearth. The Widow Maclure was busy spreading a white cloth + on the table. Her eldest girl, a child of twelve years old, stood near at + hand with a pile of wooden porridge bowls in her arms. The two other + children, holding by their mother’s skirts, followed, smiled on and + chidden as they impeded her work, and babbled questions about this or + that. Beside the fire, in the chair that had once belonged to the master + of the house, sat Micah Ward. He looked very old now and infirm. The + months in a prison hulk in Belfast Lough and the long weariness of his + confinement in bleak Fort George had set their mark upon him. On his knees + lay a Greek lexicon, but he was pursuing no word through its pages. It was + open at the fly-leaf inside the cover. He was reading lovingly for the + hundredth time an inscription written there— + </p> + <p> + “This book was given to Rev. Micah Ward by his fellow-prisoners in Fort + George, in witness of their gratitude to him for his ministrations during + their captivity, and as a token of their admiration for his fortitude, his + patience, and his unfailing charity.” + </p> + <p> + There followed a list of twenty names. Four of them belonged to men of the + Roman Catholic faith, six of them were the names of Presbyterians, ten + were of those who accepted the teaching of that other Church which, + trammelled for centuries by connection with the State, hampered with + riches secured to her by the bayonets of a foreign power, dragged down + very often by officials placed over her by Englishmen, has yet in spite of + all won glory. Out of her womb have come the men whose names shine + brightest on the melancholy roll of the Irish patriots of the last two + centuries. She has not cared to boast of them. She has hidden their names + from her children as if they were a shame to her, but they are hers. + </p> + <p> + Thus far off in a desolate Scottish fortress, after the total failure of + every plan, in the hour of Ireland’s most hopeless degradation, the great + dream which had fired the imagination of Tone and Neilson and the others, + the dream of all Irishmen uniting in a common love of their country, a + love which should transcend the differences of rival creeds, found a + realisation. The witness, written in crabbed characters on the fly-leaf of + a lexicon, lay on the knees of a broken old man in the cottage of a widow + within earshot of the perpetual clamour of the bleak northern sea. + </p> + <p> + “Well, father,” said Neal, “here I am back again. And here’s Jemmy Hope, + whom I picked up on the road. He’s come to see you. He’s going to persuade + you to cross the sea with me. You and I and he together, and Hannah + Macaulay, who’s coming, too. Una will make you all welcome on her sturdy + ship. It’s her ship now. All that I have is her’s.” + </p> + <p> + Micah Ward looked at his son with a gentle, sad smile on his face. Then he + turned to welcome his visitor. + </p> + <p> + “So you have come to see me, James Hope. It was good of you. Ah, man, + there’s not so many of us left now. Orr, they hanged him; M’Cracken, they + hanged him; Monro, they hanged him; Porter, they hanged him. And many + another, many another. And the rest are gone across the sea. You and I are + left, with one here and there besides—a very small remnant, a + cottage in a vineyard, a lodge in a garden of cucumbers, a besieged city.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s hard to tell,” said Hope, “why they did not hang me, too. There were + times when, only for my wife, who would have grieved after me, I could + have found it in my heart to wish they would.” + </p> + <p> + “Father,” said Neal, “Hope is coming to America with me.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, lad, nay. I was born in Ireland, I’ve lived my life in Ireland, I’ll + die in Ireland when my time comes. Maybe before the end I’ll find a chance + to strike another blow for her.” + </p> + <p> + “Doubtless,” said Micah Ward, “such a blow will be stricken, but not in + our time, James Hope. The fighting spirit is gone from us. The men are + laid low or scattered or broken. The people speak about the ‘break.’ They + call it well. ‘Shall iron break the northern iron and the steel?’ Yea, but + iron hath broken us. It hath entered into our souls. And if one look unto + the land, behold darkness and sorrow and the light is darkened in the + heavens thereof.” + </p> + <p> + “But there is another land,” said Neal, “where the sun shines, where + neither palaces of kings, nor haughty churches, nor the banners and cannon + smoke of England’s soldiers, nor yet the gallows, casting shadows over the + green fields, and overtopping every village, can come between the people + and the good light which the Lord God made for them. That’s the land for + you and me.” + </p> + <p> + “For you, Neal,” said Micah Ward, “and for the girl you love. But there is + no other land except only this lost land for me and him.” + </p> + <p> + He took Hope’s hand and held it. Then, with his other hand, he drew his + son down beside him. Neal knelt on the earthen floor of the cottage. He + felt hands laid upon his head—his father’s hands and James Hope’s. + The benediction came from both of them, though it was Micah Ward’s voice + which spoke the words— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “The Lord hear thee in the day of trouble, Neal; + The name of the God of Jacob defend thee; + Send thee help from the sanctuary, + And strengthen thee out of Zion; + Remember all thy offerings, + And accept thy burnt sacrifice; + Grant thee according to thine own heart, + And fulfil all thy counsel.” + </pre> + <p> + THE END <br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg’s The Northern Iron, by George A. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Northern Iron + 1907 + +Author: George A. Birmingham + +Release Date: January 23, 2008 [EBook #24140] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE NORTHERN IRON *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +THE NORTHERN IRON + +By George A. Birmingham + +Dublin: Maunsel & Co., Limited + +1907 + + +TO FRANCIS JOSEPH BIGGER, + +ARDRIGH, BELFAST. + +_My Dear Bigger,_ + +_This story, as you have already guessed, is the fruit of a recent +holiday spent in County Antrim. The writing of it has been a great +pleasure, for almost every place mentioned in it recalls the goodness of +the friends who received me and made my holiday a happy one. I think of +kind people when I write of Dunseveric and Ballintoy--of hours spent in +their company among the Runkerry cliffs, the sandhills, the Skerries, +and of the morning on which I swam, like Neal and Una, into the Rock +Pigeons' Cave, I remember a time--full of interest and delight--spent +with you when I mention Donegore, Antrim, and Temple-Patrick. My mind +dwells on an older, a very dear friend and relative, when I tell of +Neal's visit to Belfast. And the book is more than the recollection of a +summer holiday. I go back in it to my own country--to places familiar +to me in boyhood as the mountains and bays of Mayo are now; to days very +long ago, when I caught cuddings and lithe off the Black Rock or Rackle +Roy and learned to swim in the Blue Pool at Port Ballintrae. Yet I know +that I could not, for all that I remembered of my boyhood or learned +during my holiday, have written this story without your help. You told +me what I wanted to know, you corrected, patiently, my manuscript, and +you have helped me to enter into the spirit of the time. For all this +I owe you many thanks, and if I have succeeded in writing a story which +interests my readers they, too, will owe you thanks._ + +_I have tried to be faithful to the facts of history and to represent +the thoughts and feelings of the men who took part in the_ + + "Out, unhappy far off things + And battles long ago," + +_of which I chose to write. Most of my characters are purely imaginary. +Of the men who really lived and acted in 1798 only one--James +Hope--appears prominently in my story. In his case I have taken pains +to understand what manner of man he was before I wrote of him, and I +believe that, feeble though my presentation of his character may be, you +will not find it actually untruthful._ + +_I am your friend,_ + +_GEORGE A. BIRMINGHAM._ + + + + +THE NORTHERN IRON + + + + +CHAPTER I + +The road which connects Portrush with Ballycastle skirts, so far as any +road can and dare, the sea coast. Sometimes it is driven inland a mile +or so by the impossibility of crossing tracts of sandhills. The mounds +and hollows of these dunes are for ever shifting and changing. The +loose sand is blown into new fantastic heights and valleys by the winter +gales. No road could be built on such insecure foundation. Elsewhere the +road shrinks back among the shelterless fields for fear of mighty cliffs +by which this northern Antrim coast is defended from the Atlantic. No +engineer in the eighteenth century, when the road was made, dared +lay his metal close to the Causeway cliffs or the awful precipice +of Pleaskin Head. Still, now and then, in places where there are no +sandhills and the cliffs are not appalling, the road ventures, for a +mile or two, to run within a few hundred yards of the sea, before it is +swept, like a cord bent by the wind, further inland. Thus, after passing +the ruins of Dunseveric Castle, the traveller sees close beneath him +the white limestone rocks and broad yellow stretch of Ballintoy Strand. +Here, when northerly gales are blowing, he may, if he is not swept off +his feet, cling desperately to his garments and watch the great waves +curl their feathered crests as they rush shorewards. He may listen, +awestruck, to the ocean's roar of amazement when it batters in vain the +hard north coast, the rocks and sand which defy even the strength of the +Atlantic. + +A quarter of a mile back from this piece of road there stood, in 1798, +the meeting-house of the Presbyterians and their minister's manse. +The house stands on the site of a bare, shelterless hill. It is three +storeys high--a narrow, gaunt building, grey walled, black-slated. Its +only entrance is at the back, and on the shoreward side. This house +has disdained the shelter which might have been found further inland or +among its fellow-houses in the street of Ballintoy. It faces due north, +preferring an outlook upon the sea to the warmth and light of a southern +aspect. It is bare of all architectural ornament. Its windows are +few and small. The rooms within are gloomy, even in early summer. Its +architect seems to have feared this gloominess, for he planned great bay +windows for three rooms, one above the other. He built the bay. It juts +out for the whole height of the house, breaking the flatness of the +northern wall. But his heart failed him in the end. He dared not put +such a window in the house. He walled up the whole flat front of the +bay. Only in its sides did he place windows. Through these there is a +side view of the sea and a side view of the main wall of the house. They +are comparatively safe. The full force of the tempest does not strike +them fair. + +In one of the gloomy rooms on a bright morning in the middle of May +sat the Reverend Micah Ward, the minister. The sun shone outside on the +yellow sand, the green water, and the white rocks; but neither sun nor +sea had tempted Micah Ward from his books. Great leather-covered folios +lay at his elbow on the table. Before him were an open Hebrew Bible, a +Septuagint with queer, contracted lettering, and an old yellow-leaved +Vulgate. The subject of his studies was the Book of Amos, who was the +ruggedest, the fiercest, and the most democratic of the Hebrew prophets. +Micah Ward's face was clean-shaved and marked with heavy lines. Thick, +bushy brows hung over eyes which were keen and bright in spite of all +his studying. Looking at his face, a man might judge him to be hard, +narrow, strong--perhaps fanatical. Near the window:--one of the slanting +windows through which it is tantalising to look--sat a young man, tall +beyond the common, well knit, strong--Neal Ward, the minister's son. He +had grown hardy in the keen sea air and firm of will under his father's +rigid discipline. He had never known a mother's care, for Margaret Ward, +a bright-faced woman, ill-mated, so they said, with the minister, never +recovered strength after her son's birth. She lingered for a year, and +then died. They laid her body in Templeastra Graveyard, near the +sea. Over her grave her husband set a stone with an austerely-worded +inscription to keep her name in memory:--"The burying-ground of Micah +Ward. Margaret Neal, his wife, 1778." Such inscriptions are to be found +in scores in the graveyards of Antrim. The hard, brave men who chose +to mark thus the resting-places of their dead disdained parade of their +affliction and their heart-break, and held their creed so firmly that +they felt no need of any text to remind them of the resurrection of the +dead. + +Neal Ward, like his father, had books and papers before him, but his +attention was not fixed on them. Now and then, with spasmodic energy, +he copied a passage from the page before him. Then, with a sigh, he laid +his pen down and gazed out of the window. His father took no notice of +the young man's want of application. No words passed between the two. +Then suddenly the silence was broken by a cry from the field below the +house-- + +"Hello! Neal! Neal Ward! Hello! Are you there?" + +The young man started to his feet and made a step to the window. +Then turning, he looked at his father. The frown on Micah Ward's brow +deepened slightly. Otherwise he made no sign of having heard the cry. +He went on writing in his careful, deliberate manner. The voice from +outside reached the room again. + +"Neal! Neal Ward! Come out. What right has a man to shut himself indoors +on a day like this?" + +Neal stood irresolute, looking at his father. At last he spoke. + +"Can I go out, father? I have almost finished the transcription of the +passage which you set me." + +Micah Ward laid down his pen, sprinkled sand on his paper, and looked +up. He gazed steadily at his son. The young man's eyes dropped. He +repeated his question in a voice that was nearly trembling. + +"Can I go out, father?" + +"Who is it calls you, Neal?" + +"It is Maurice St. Clair." + +"Maurice St. Clair," repeated Micah Ward. Then, with a note of deep +scorn in his voice, "The Hon. Maurice St. Clair, the son of Lord +Dun-severic. Are you to do his bidding, to run like a dog when he calls +you?" + +"He is my friend, father." + +"Is he a fit friend for you? Have I not told you that his people and our +people are enemies the one to the other? That the oppression wherewith +they oppress us--but there. Go, since you want to go. You do not +understand as yet. Some day you will understand." + +Neal left the room without haste, closing the door quietly. Once free of +his father's presence he seized a cap and ran from the house. Half-way +between him and the high road, knee deep in meadow grass, stood Maurice +St. Clair. + +"Come along, come along quick," he shouted. "I had nearly given up hope +of getting you out. We're off for a day's fishing to Rackle Roy. We'll +bag a pigeon or two at the mouth of the cave before we land. Brown-Eyes +is down on the road waiting for us with rods and guns. We've all +day before us. My lord is off to Ballymoney, and can't be back till +supper-time." + +"What takes Lord Dunseveric to Ballymoney to-day?" asked Neal. "There's +no magistrates' meeting, is there?" + +"No. He's gone to meet our aunt, Madame de Tourneville. She's been +coming these five years, ever since she ran away from Paris at the time +of the Terror; but it's only now she has succeeded in arriving." + +Together the two young men crossed the field and vaulted the wall which +separated the manse land from the road. The girl whom her brother called +Brown-Eyes waited for them. The name suited her well, and came naturally +from Maurice. He was tall and fair, yellow-haired, blue-eyed, large +limbed, a fine type of Antrim Irishman, the heir of the form and face +of generations of St. Clairs of Dunseveric. The girl, Una St. Clair, +belonged to a different race--came of her mother's people. She was +small, brown-skinned, brown-eyed, dark-haired. She grew as the years +went on more and more like what her mother had been. Lord Dunseveric, +watching his daughter pass from childhood to womanhood, saw in her the +very image of Marie Dillon, the French-Irish girl who had won his heart +a quarter of a century before in Paris. + +"Take the guns, Neal. Here, Brown-Eyes, give me the rods and the basket. +There's no need for you to break your little back carrying them." + +"Why should I when I've two big men to carry them for me? Indeed, I'm +not sure but one of you ought to carry me, too. You're big enough and +strong enough." + +She smiled gaily at Neal as he shouldered the guns. They had built sand +castles together when they were little children, and tempted the waves +to chase them up the sand, flying barefoot from the pursuing lip of +foam. They had climbed and fallen, explored rocky bays, penetrated to +the depths of caves as they grew older. Always Una St. Clair had queened +it over the boys, teased them, petted them, scolded them. Now, grown to +womanhood, she discovered new powers in herself which made Neal at least +more than ever her slave. + +They reached the little bay where the boat lay pulled up among the +rocks. Maurice and Neal lifted her stern on to a roller and dragged her +towards the sea. Una, running before them, laid other rollers on the +pathway of slippery rock till the boat floated. Then she climbed the +gunwale and settled herself on the stern seat among the rods and guns. +The two young men shoved off into deep water, springing into the boat +with dripping feet as she slid out clear of the shore. They placed the +heavy oars between the wooden thole pins and steadied the boat while +Una shipped the rudder. The wind was off shore and the sea, save for the +long heave of the Atlantic, was still. The brown sail was hoisted and +stretched with the sprit. Then, sailing and rowing, they swept past +Carrighdubh, the Black Rock, which guarded the entrance of the little +bay, and passed into the shadow of the mighty cliffs. + +A silence fell on them. The laughter and gay talk ceased. The sense +of holiday joyfulness was overwhelmed by a vague awe of the ocean's +greatness, the oppression of its strength, and the black towering rocks +which hung over the boat, casting a gloom across the sea. The feeling of +this solemnity abides through life with the men and women who have been +bred as children on this north Antrim coast. If they live their lives +out among its rugged harbours and stern ways they become, as the +fishermen are, people of slow thoughts, long memories, and simple +outlook upon life. The fear of the Lord is over their lives. If they +wander elsewhere, making homes for themselves among the southern or +western Irish, or, further still, to England or America, they may +learn to be in appearance as other men are--may lose the harsh northern +intonation from their talk, but down in the bottom of their hearts will +be an awful affection for their sea, which is like no other sea, and the +dark overwhelming cliffs whose shadow never wholly leaves their souls. +In times of stress and hours of bitterness they will fall back upon the +stark, rigid strength of those who, seeing the mightiest of His works, +have learned to fear the Lord. + +The boat lay off the entrance of the Pigeon Cave. The sportsman's sense +awoke in Maurice. He gave a brief order to Neal, laid his oar across +the boat, stood up and took in the sprit, letting the sail hang in loose +folds. He unstepped the mast and sat down again. + +"You may unship the rudder, Brown-Eyes, You had better leave the boat to +Neal and me to bring up to the cave. Pass the gun forward to me and the +powder horn." + +He loaded, ramming the charge down and pressing down the wad. Neal and +the girl sat silent. The solemn enchantment of the scene was on them +still. Then the two men took the oars again. Very cautiously they rowed +along the narrow channel which led to the opening of the cave. The rocks +lay low at first on each side of them; brown tangles of weed swayed +slowly to and fro with the onward sweep and eddy of the ocean swell. +Then, as the boat advanced, the rocks rose higher on each side, sheer +shining walls, whose reflection made the clear water almost black. +The huge arch of the cave's entrance faced them. Behind was the +dark channel, and beyond it the sunlight on the sea, before them the +impenetrable gloom of the cave. The noise of the water dropping from its +roof into the sea beneath struck their ears sharply. The hollow roar +of the sea far off in the utmost recesses of the cave came to them. The +girl leaned forward from her seat and laid her hand on Neal's arm. He +looked at her. Her eyes, the homes of laughter and quick inconsequences, +were wide with dread. Neal knew what she felt. It was not fear of any +definite danger or any evil actually threatening. + +It was awe, the feeling of mariners of other days who penetrated to +unknown seas, of men in primitive times who knew that fairy powers dwelt +in dark lakes and precipitous mountain sides. + +The bow of the boat touched the huge boulders which formed a bar across +the mouth of the cave. Maurice leaped out, gun in hand, and stood knee +deep in the water, feeling with his feet for a secure resting-place. + +"Keep the boat off, Neal, and take your shot if you get a chance." + +He shouted--"Hello-lo-oh." + +The rocky sides and roof of the cave echoed back his cry a hundred +times. Again he shouted, and again, until shouts and echoes meeting +clashed with each other, and it seemed as if the tremendous laughter of +gleeful giants mocked the solemn booming of the sea. There was a rush +of many wings, and a flock of terrified rock pigeons flew from the cave. +Maurice fired one barrel after another in quick succession, and two +birds dropped dead into the water. Neal, shaking the girl's hand from +his arm, fired, too. From his seat in the swaying boat it was difficult +to aim well. He missed once, but killed with his second shot. The boat +was borne forward and bumped sharply on the boulders at the cave's +mouth. The laughter of the echo died away. Instead of it came, like +angry threats, the repetition of their four shots, multiplied to a +fusilade of loud explosions. + +"Come back, Maurice," cried Una. "Come back and let us get out of this. +I'm frightened. I cannot bear it any longer." + +"You shall have all the four wings of my birds to trim your hats with, +Brown-Eyes," said Maurice, as he clambered dripping into the boat. "Neal +will stuff his bird for you and perch him on a stone. You shall have him +to set on the top of your new bureau, the one Aunt Estelle sent you when +she escaped from Paris without having her head chopped off." + +They pushed the boat cautiously back along the channel, travelling stern +first, for there was little room to turn, and even in calm weather men +do not willingly lay a boat across the sea in such a place. + +"Now for Rackle Roy and a basketful of glashins and lithe," said +Maurice. + +East a little and out seawards from the mouth of the cave lies a long, +flat rock, dry at low water, and even at flood tide in calm weather, +swept with desolating surf when the Atlantic swell rolls in or the wind +lashes the nearer sea to fury. Right out of the centre of the rock the +waves have fashioned a deep bay, curved like a horse-shoe. This is a +famous fishing-place. As the tide rises, lithe and glashin, brazers, +gurnet, rock codling, and crowds of cuddings come here to feed, and the +fisherman, on those rare days, when he can land at all, may count on +bringing home with him great bunches of fish strung through the gills. + +The rock lay far enough from the cliff to be clear of the shadow. The +sun shone on its brown weed-clad sides, glistened on black clusters of +mussels, glowed on the red seams of the rock where the iron cropped +out, and baked the black basalt of the upper surface. The spirits of the +party revived when they landed. Una's gaiety returned to her. + +"Have you forgotten the bait, Maurice? I'm sure you have. It would be +like you to come for a day's fishing without bait." + +"No, then, I haven't. There are three large crabs in the boat, and even +if there wasn't one at all we could do nicely with limpets. There's +worse bait than a good limpet." + +"Well, and if you have the crabs I expect you've forgotten the sheep's +wool. What do you think, Neal? Yesterday we were fishing cuddings off +the Black Rock and Maurice ran out of wool. The fish simply sucked the +bait off our hooks and laughed at us. What did Maurice do but take my +hairs. He pulled them out one by one as he wanted them, and wrapped the +bait on with them." + +"Your wool, Brown-Eyes, doesn't come up to that of the sheep. It's not +soft enough. But I shan't want it to-day. I've got my pockets half full +of the proper sort." + +Neal laughed, but he felt that to use Una's hair as a wrap for the red +pulp of a crab's back or the soft, black belly of a limpet was a kind +of profanation. He was a keen fisherman, but he would rather have missed +the chance of catching the largest lithe that ever swam than lure it +with a bait fastened with Una's glossy hair. + +They fished till noon, and the tide rose slowly round their rock. Then +Una's luncheon basket was fetched from the boat, the mooring rope +was made secure above high water mark, and the three sat down on the +sun-baked rock and ate with keen appetites. Maurice stared seawards. + +"That brig," he said, "is lying very close inshore. Look at her, Neal." + +"I saw her pass the point of the Skerries an hour ago." said Neal. "She +must have hauled her wind since then to fetch in so close with the tide +running against her." + +"I wonder why she's doing it," said Maurice. "She'll have to run off +again to clear Benmore." + +"She looks a big ship," said Una. + +"Maybe she's 250 tons," said Neal. "She's about the size of the brig +that sailed from Portrush for Boston last summer year with two hundred +emigrants in her." + +"She's fetching closer in yet," said Maurice. "See, she's hoisted some +flag or other, two flags, no, three, from the peak of her spanker. It's +a signal. I wonder what they want. Now they've laid her to. She must +want a boat out from the shore. Come on, Neal, come on, Brown-Eyes. +We'll go out to her. We'll be first. There's no other boat nearer than +those at the Port, and we've got a long start of them. Never mind the +fish. Or wait. Fling them in. I dare say the men on the brig will be +glad of them. She must be an American." + +In a few minutes the boat was pulled clear of the little bay and out of +the shelter of Rackle Roy. The mast was stepped and the sail set. +The sheet was slacked out and the boat sped seawards before the wind. +Maurice was all impatience. He got out his oar. + +"It's no use," said Neal, "the breeze has freshened since morning. +She'll sail quicker than we could row." + +The brig lay little more than a mile from the shore. The boat soon +reached her. + +"Boat, ahoy," yelled a voice from the deck. "Lower your sail, and come +up under my lee." + +Maurice and Neal obeyed. The sea was rougher than it had been near +the shore. The boat, when Maurice had made fast the rope flung to him, +plunged up and down beside the brig, and needed careful handling to +prevent her being damaged. + +The crew looked over the side with eager curiosity. + +"Say, boys," said the captain, "what will you take for your fish? I'll +trade with you." + +"I don't want to sell them," said Maurice. "I'll give them to you." + +His voice and accent, his refusal to barter, betrayed the fact that he +was a gentleman. + +"I guess," said the captain, "that you're an aristocrat, a British +aristocrat, too proud to take the money of the men who whipped you in +the States. That's so." + +"I'm an Irish gentleman," said Maurice. + +"Well, Mr. Irish Gentleman, if you're too darned aristocratic to trade, +I'll give you a present of a case of good Virginia, and you may give +me a present of your fish. I'd call it a swap, but if that turns +your stomach I'll let you call it a mutual present, an expression of +international goodwill." + +"Fling him up the fish, Neal," said Maurice. + +Then another man appeared beside the captain on the quarter-deck. He was +not a seafaring man. He was lean and yellow, and had keen grey eyes. His +face seemed in some way familiar to Neal, though he could not recollect +having ever seen the man before. + +"Yon are the Causeway cliffs," he said, "and yon's Pleaskin Head, and +the islands we passed are the Skerries?" + +"You know this coast," said Neal. + +"I knew this coast, young man, before your mother had the dandling of +you. I know it now, though it's five and twenty years since I set foot +on it. But that's not the question. What I want to know is this. Can you +put me ashore? I could do well if you land me at the Causeway. I'd make +shift with my bag if you put me out at Port Ballin-trae. I don't want to +be going on to Glasgow just for the pleasure of coming back again." + +"I'll land you at the Black Rock under Run-kerry," said Maurice, "if +you can pull an oar. The wind's rising, and I've no mind to carry idle +passengers." + +"I can pull an oar," said the stranger. + +"I guess he can pull enough to break your back, young man," said the +captain. "He's an American citizen, and he's been engaged in whipping +your British army. I guess an American citizen can lick a darned +aristocrat at pulling an oar same as he did at shooting off guns." + +"Shut your damned mouth," said Maurice, suddenly angry, "or I'll leave +you to land your passenger yourself and see how you like beating the +bottom out of your brig against our rocks. You'll find an Irish rock +harder than your Yankee wood." + +The passenger fetched a small hand-bag and lowered it into the boat. +Under a shower of jibes from the captain, Maurice and Neal pushed off +and started for the row home against the wind. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +The passenger took his seat in the bow of the boat and stripped off his +coat in readiness to pull an oar. But no oar was offered to him. Maurice +St. Clair seemed to have entirely forgotten the stranger's presence. The +remarks of the American captain had angered him, and his mind worked on +the insults hurled at him in parting. Neal was angry, too. They pulled +viciously at the oars. From time to time Maurice broke out fiercely-- + +"An unmannerly brute! I wish I had him somewhere off the deck of his +brig. I'd teach him how to speak to a gentleman. + +"Is that his filthy tobacco at your feet, Brown-Eyes? Pitch it +overboard. + +"I suppose he's a specimen of the Republican breed. That's what comes of +liberty and equality and French Jacobinism and Tom Paine and the Rights +of Man. Damned insolence I call it." + +"I'd like to remind you, young man------." The words came with a quiet +drawl from the passenger in the bow. + +Maurice stopped rowing, and turned round. + +"Well, what do you want to say? More insolence? Better be careful unless +you want to try what it feels like to swim ashore." + +"I'd like to remind you, young man, that Captain Hercules Getty, of the +State of Pennsylvania, who commands the brig 'Saratoga,' belongs to a +nation which has fought for liberty and won it." + +"What's that got to do with his insolence?" + +"I reckon that an Irishman who hasn't fought and hasn't won ought to +sing small when he's dealing with a citizen of the United States of +America." + +Neal turned in his seat. The stranger's reproach struck him as being +unjust as well as being in bad taste. Maurice St. Clair was the son of a +man who had done something for Ireland. + +"You don't know who you're talking to," he said, "or what you're talking +about. Lord Dunseveric, the father of the man in front of you, +commanded the North Antrim Volunteers, and did his part in winning the +independence of our Parliament." + +The stranger looked steadily at Neal for sometime. Then he said-- + +"Is your name Neal Ward?" + +"Yes. How do you know me?" + +"You're the son of Micah Ward, the Presbyterian minister?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, I just guessed as much when I took a good look at your face. Will +you ask your father when you go home whether the Volunteers won liberty +for Irishmen, and what he thinks of the independence of an Irish +Parliament filled with placemen and the nominees of a corrupt +aristocracy?" + +"Who are you?" asked Neal. + +"My name's Donald Ward. I'm your father's youngest brother. I'm on my +way to your father's house now, or I would be if you two young men would +take to your oars again. If you don't I guess the first land we'll touch +will be Greenland. We'd fetch Runkerry quicker if you'd pass forward the +two thole pins I see at your feet and let me get an oar out in the bow. +The young lady in the stern can keep us straight with the helm." + +"Give him the thole pins, Neal," said Maurice, "and then pull away." + +"Just let me speak a word with you, Mr. St. Clair," said Donald Ward, as +he hammered the thole pins into their holes. "You're angry with Captain +Hercules Getty, and I don't altogether blame you. The captain's too fond +of brag, and that's a fact. He can't hold himself in when he meets a +Britisher. He's so almighty proud of the whipping his people gave the +scum. But there's no need for you to be angry with me. I'm an Irishman +myself, and not a Yankee. I fought in North Carolina, under General +Nathaniel Greene, but I fought with Irishmen beside me, men from County +Antrim and County Down, and they weren't the worst men in the army +either. When I fight again it'll be in Ireland, and not in America. If I +riled you I'm sorry for it, for you're an Irishman as well as myself." + +Maurice's anger was shortlived. + +"That's all right," he said. "Here, I say, you needn't pull that oar. +Neal and I will put you ashore. We'll show that much hospitality to a +County Antrim man from over the sea." + +"Thank you," said Donald Ward. "Thank you. You mean well, and I take +your words in the spirit you speak them; but when I sit in a boat I like +to pull my own weight in her." + +He shoved out his oar as he spoke, and fell into time with the long, +steady stroke which Neal set. + +Una leaned forward and spoke in a low voice to Neal, timing her words +so that they reached him as he bent forward at the beginning of each +stroke. + +"Is'nt it curious, Neal, that Maurice and I are going back to welcome an +aunt whom we have never seen, and that you are taking an unknown uncle +home with you?" + +Then, after a pause, she spoke again. + +"It's like a kind of fate, Neal, one of the things which happen to +people, and alter all their lives, and they can't do anything to help +themselves. I wonder will we ever have good times together again, now +that this aunt of mine and this uncle of yours have come?" + +"Why shouldn't we?" said Neal. + +"Oh, I don't know. But your uncle seems to be one of the people who make +a great clatter about liberty and equality and the rights of man. And +you know Aunt Estelle belonged to the old aristocracy in France. They +wanted to guillotine her in the Terror. I don't think she will love +Republicans." + +"I suppose not," said Neal, gravely. + +"But that won't prevent our being friends, Neal?" + +"Una, my father is always talking about the struggle that's coming in +Ireland. I don't know much about politics. I think I hate the whole +thing. But if there is trouble I suppose that I shall be on one side and +you on the other." + +"Don't look so sad, Neal." + +Then, as his spirits grew depressed, her's seemed to rise buoyantly. She +raised her voice so that she could be heard in the bow of the boat. + +"Mr. Donald Ward! Mr. Donald Ward! Your nephew, Neal, is telling me that +when we have a reign of terror in Ireland you will make him cut off my +head. Please promise me you won't." + +Donald rested on his oar and gazed at the girl as she sat smiling at him +in the stern of the boat. + +"Young lady," he said, "don't trouble yourself. We didn't hurt woman or +girl in America. No woman shall die a violent death in Ireland at the +hands of the people." + +"And no man, either?" cried Una. "Say it again, Mr. Donald Ward. Say +'And no man, either.' Can't we settle everything without killing men?" + +"Men are different," said Donald. "It's right for men to die fighting, +or die on the scaffold if need be." + +A silence followed Donald Ward's words. In 1798 talk of death in battle +or death on a scaffold moved even the youngest and most careless to +serious thought. The world was full then of the kind of ideas for which +men are well content to die, for the sake of which also they did not +hesitate to shed blood. The Americans had set mankind a headline to copy +in their Declaration of Independence. The French wrote Liberty with huge +red flourishes which set the heart of Europe beating high. Italians +were proclaiming a foreign army the liberators of their country, while +Jacobins growled fiercely against the Pope. Kosciusko, in Poland, +organised a futile revolution, and fell in the cause of national +freedom. Even phlegmatic Englishmen caught the spirit of the times, +hated intensely or worshipped enthusiastically that liberty which some +saw as an imperial goddess for the sake of whose bare limbs and pale, +noble face death might be gladly met; while others beheld in her +a blood-spattered strumpet whirling in abandoned dance round +gallows-altars which reeked with human sacrifice. + +Ireland in those days was intellectually and spiritually alive. Men were +quick to feel the influence of world-wide ideas, and in Ireland the love +of liberty glowed brightly; nowhere more brightly than among the farmers +and lower middle classes of the north-eastern counties. The position was +a strange one. The landed gentry, who themselves, a few years before, +claimed and won from England the independence of their Parliament, grew +frightened and drew back from the path of reform on which alone +lay security for what they had got. The wealthier merchants and +manufacturers, satisfied with the trade freedom which brought them +prosperity, were averse to further change. The Presbyterians and the +lower classes generally were eager to press forward. They had conceived +the idea of a real Irish nation, of Gael and Gall united, of Churchman, +Roman Catholic and Dissenter working together for their country's good +under a free constitution. But it soon became apparent that the reforms +they demanded would not be won by peaceful means. The natural terror of +the classes whose ascendancy or prosperity seemed to be threatened, the +bribes and cajoleries of British statesmen, turned the hearts of those +who ought to have been leaders from Ireland to England. The relentless +logic, the clear-sighted grasp of the inevitable trend of events, +and the restless energy of men like Wolfe Tone, changed a party of +constitutional reformers into a society of determined revolutionaries. +Threats of repression were answered by the formation of secret +societies. Acts of tyranny, condoned or approved by terror-stricken +magistrates, were silently endured by men filled with a grim hope that +the day of reckoning was near at hand. Far-seeing English statesmen +hoped to fish out of the troubled waters an act of national surrender +from the Irish Parliament, and were not ill-pleased to see the sky +grow darker. Everyone else, every Irishman, looked with dread at the +gathering storm. One thing only was clear to them. There was coming a +period of horror, of outrage and burning, of fighting and hanging, the +sowing of an evil crop of fratricidal hatred whose gathering would last +for many years. + +The boat reached the little bay under the Black Rock. There was no need +to drag her far up the beach now, for the tide was full. Working in +silence, the three men laid her beside the broad-bottomed cobble used +for working the salmon-net, and pushed her bow up against the coarse +grass which fringed the edge of the rocks. They carried the oars and +sails into a fisherman's shelter perched on a rock beside the bay. Then +Donald Ward turned to Maurice and said-- + +"I am going to my brother's house. I shall walk by the path along the +cliffs, and my nephew will go with me. Your way home, unless I have +entirely forgotten the roads, is not our way. We part here, therefore. I +bid you good night, and thank you heartily." + +"We had intended," said Maurice, "to walk home with Neal. We have time +enough." + +His sister, quicker than he to take a hint, pulled him by the arm, and +whispered to him. Then she spoke aloud. + +"Good night, Mr. Donald Ward. Good night, Neal. Perhaps we shall see you +to-morrow." + +The uncle and nephew climbed the hill which led to the top of the cliffs +together. For a time neither of them spoke. The elder man seemed to be +absorbed in picking out the landmarks which had once been very familiar +to him. At last he spoke to Neal. + +"Does your father wish you to have Lord Dun-severic's son and daughter +for your friends?" + +Neal hesitated for a moment, and then answered. + +"He knows that they are my friends." + +"It would be better if they were not your friends. I have heard of +Lord Dunseveric, a strong man and an able man, a good friend of his own +class, not a good friend of the people." + +He paused. Neal wished to speak, to say some good of Lord Dunseveric; to +declare the strength of his friendship for Maurice. He could not speak +as he wished to speak. An unfamiliar feeling of oppression tied his +tongue. His uncle's will dominated his. + +"What is the girl's name?" asked Donald. + +"Una." + +"Yes, and what did her brother call her?" + +"Brown-Eyes." Neal felt as if the words were dragged from him. + +"Are you the lover of this Una Brown-Eyes?" + +Neal flushed. "You have no right to ask any such question," he said, +"and I shall not answer it. I will just say this to you. Do you suppose +that Lord Dunseveric would accept me, a penniless man, the son of a +Presbyterian minister, a member of a Church he despises, and connected +with a party he hates--do you suppose he would accept me as a suitor for +his daughter's hand?" + +"You have answered my question, though you said you would not answer +it. You have told me that you love the girl. I have watched her smile +at you, and seen her eyes while she talked to you, and I can tell you +something more, something that perhaps you do not know--the girl loves +you." + +Again Neal flushed. His uncle had put into words what he had never yet +dared to think. He loved Una. His uncle had assured him of something +else, something so glorious as to be incredible. Una loved him. Then he +became conscious that Donald Ward's eyes were on him--cold, impassive, +unpitying; that Donald Ward was waiting till the throbs of joy and +excitement calmed in him, waiting to speak again. + +"Put the thought of the girl from you. She is not for you, nor you for +her. Forget her. It will be better for you and for her. You shall have +work to do soon. Work is for men. Seeing babies in brown eyes is only +for boys." + +They left the path which skirted the tops of the cliffs, crossed a field +or two, and joined the road which led to Micah Ward's manse. The sound +of the sea died away, though the smell of it and the feeling of its +neighbourhood were still with them. The savage grandeur of ocean and +cliff no longer oppressed their spirits. It seemed natural to talk of +common things and to leave high themes behind them in the lonely places +they had left. Donald Ward gazed with interest at the white-walled +thatched cottages on the roadside. He commented on the disappearance of +some homestead he remembered, or the building of a new one where none +had been before. It was evident that, in spite of his twenty-five years' +absence, he cherished a clear and accurate recollection of the district +he was passing through. He inquired after the families who had lived +in the different houses, naming them. He learned how one or another had +disappeared, how old men were gone, and sons reigned in their stead. He +even supplied Neal with information now and then about some young man or +girl who had gone to America. + +They arrived at the manse. Neal led his uncle through the yard, meaning +to enter as usual by the kitchen door. On the threshold the housekeeper +met him. + +"Is that you, Master Neal? You're queer and late. You've had a brave +time gadding with your fine friends and never thinking how you were +leaving your old father to eat his dinner his lone. And who's this +you have with you? What sort of behaviour is this, to be coming here +bringing a stranger with you to a decent, quiet house, and he maybe----" + +"Whisht, now, Hannah. Will you hold your whisht (tongue?)?" said Neal. +"It's my uncle I have with me. You ought to be able to remember him." + +The old woman came forward to the place where Donald Ward stood, and +peered at his face. + +"Aye, I mind you well, Donald Ward. I mind you well. You hadna' just too +much of the grace of God about you when you went across the sea, and +I'm doubting by the looks of you now that you've done more fighting than +praying where you were." + +"Hannah Keady," said Donald Ward. + +"Hannah Macaulay," said the housekeeper, "and forbye the old minister +and Master Neal here, they call me Mistress Macaulay that have any talk +with me. I'm married and widowed since you crossed the sea." + +"Mistress Hannah Macaulay," said Donald, "you were a slip of a girl with +a sharp tongue when I mind you first, and a woman with a sharp tongue +when I said good-bye to you. You have lost your bonny looks and your +shining red hair; you've lost a husband, so you tell me, but you haven't +lost your tongue." + +The old woman smiled. The compliment pleased her. + +"Come in," she said, "come in. The minister'll be queer and glad to see +you. You know that fine. But have done with your old work. We've no more +call for Hearts of Oak boys, nor Hearts of Steel boys, nor for burning +ricks, nor firing guns." + +She led the way through the kitchen, up a narrow flight of stone stairs, +and opened the door of the room where the minister sat over his bodes. + +"Here's Master Neal home again," she said, "and he's brought your +brother Donald Ward along with him." + +Micah Ward rose to his feet and met his brother with outstretched hands. + +"Is it you, Donald? Is it you, indeed? I've been thinking long for you +this many a time, my brother, and wearying for you. We want you, Donald, +we need you sore, sore indeed." + +"Why, Micah," said Donald, "you've grown into an old man." + +The contrast between the two brothers was striking, more striking than +the likeness of their faces, though that was obvious. Micah was stooped +and pallid. He walked feebly. His limbs were shrunken. His hair was thin +and white. Donald stood upright, a well-knit, vigorous man. The point of +his beard and the hair over his ears were touched with iron grey, but +no one looking at him would have doubted his energy and capacity for +physical endurance. + +"Grey hairs are here and there upon us, and we know it not--Hosea, +7th and 9th," said the minister. "But there's fifteen years atween us, +Donald. It makes a difference. Fifteen years age a man, but I'm supple +and hearty yet." + +"Will I cook the salmon for your supper?" said the housekeeper. "You'll +not be contenting yourselves with the stirabout now that you have your +brother back again with you." + +"Cook the salmon, Hannah; plenty of it, and some of the ham and the +eggs. And, Neal, do you take the key of the cellar and get us a bottle +of wine and the whisky that old Maconchy brought in from Rathlin last +summer. It's not often I take the like, Donald, but it is meet that we +should make merry and be glad." + +Mistress Hannah Macaulay was a competent cook and housekeeper. It is +noticeable that women with sharp tongues are generally more efficient +than their gentler sisters. Solomon, who knew a good many things, seems +also to have known this. He was of opinion that a peaceful dinner of +herbs is better than a stalled ox and contention therewith. He knew that +he could not have both. It is the shrew who succeeds in giving the males +dependent on her stalled oxen and such like dainties to eat. + +The caressing wife and the sweet-tempered cook accomplish no more +than dinners of herbs, and generally even they are not particularly +appetising. The fact is, that the management of domestic affairs is +the most trying of all occupations. Cooking, washing, cleaning, and +generally doing for men in a house means continuous irritation and +worry. A woman, however sweet-natured originally, who is condemned to +such work must either lose her temper over it, in which case she +may cook stalled oxen, but will certainly serve them with sauce of +contention, or she may give up the struggle and preserve her gentleness. +Then she will accomplish no more than dinners of herbs, boiled cabbages, +from which tepid water exudes, and dishes of pallid turnips, supposed +to be mashed but full of lumps. Solomon preferred, or said he preferred, +kisses and cauliflowers. On questions of taste there is no use +disputing. + +Mistress Hannah Macaulay's salmon steaks came to the table with an +appetising steam rising from their dish. Her slices of fried ham formed +an attractive nest for the white-skinned poached eggs. She had plates of +curly oatcake and powdery farles. She had yellow butter in saucers. She +brought the porridge to table in well-scoured wooden bowls with horn +spoons in them. + +"The stirabout is good," she said. "I thought you'd like to sup them +before you ate the meat." + +Neal poured the wine into an old cut-glass decanter, and set Maconchy's +bottle of whisky, distilled, no doubt, by Maconchy himself among the +Rathlin Hills, beside his father's plate. + +Micah Ward said a long grace, in which he thanked the Almighty for the +fish, the ham, the eggs, the porridge, and his brother's return from +America. As a kind of supplement, he added a prayer for the peace of +his household, in which Hannah Macaulay, appropriately enough under the +circumstances, was especially named. + +After supper the two brothers drew their chairs to the fire. It was late +in May, but the air was still chilly in the evenings. Hannah took down +from the mantel-piece two well-polished brass candlesticks, fitted them +with tall dipt candles, and set them on the table she had cleared of +plates and dishes. Donald took a tobacco-box from his pocket, and filled +a pipe. + +"Neal," said his father, "you may go to your own room and complete the +transcription of the passages of Josephus which you left unfinished this +morning." + +"Let the lad stay," said Donald. + +"Neal knows nothing of the matters about which we must talk, brother, +nor do I think it well that he should know; not yet, at least." + +"Let the lad stay," repeated Donald. "I've seen younger men than he is +doing good work. Neal ought to be working, too. We cannot do anything +without the young men." + +Micah Ward yielded to his brother. + +"Draw your chair to the fire, Neal," he said. "You may stay and listen +to us." + +At first the talk was of old days. An hour went by. Donald filled his +pipe more than once, and finished his tumbler of punch. Story followed +story of the doings of the Hearts of Steel and Hearts of Oak. Donald, +as a boy, had taken his part--and that a daring part--in the fierce +struggle by which the northern tenant-farmers gained fuller security +and a chance of prospering a whole century before their brethren in the +south and west, with the aid of the English Parliament, won the same +privileges. Then Donald, speaking oftener and smoking less, told of +his own share in the American War of Independence. Neal, listening, was +thrilled with the stories of unequal battles between citizen soldiers +and trained troops. He glowed with excitement as he came to understand +the indomitable courage which faced reverse after reverse and snatched +complete victory in the end. Donald dwelt much on the part which +Irishmen had taken in the struggle, especially on the work of Ulster +men, Antrim men, men of the hard northern breed, of the Presbyterian +faith. + +"There's no breaking our people, Micah; men of iron, men of steel." + +"Shall iron break the northern iron, and the steel?" quoted Micah Ward, +and then, with that wonderful Puritan accuracy of reference to the +Bible, gave chapter and verse for the words--Jeremiah the 15th and 12th. + +"And the spirit's not dead in you at home, is it, Micah? The breed is +pure still." + +It was Micah's turn to speak. Neal sat in astonishment while his father +told of the wrongs which the northern Presbyterians and the southern +Roman Catholics suffered. Never before had he heard his father speak +with such passion and fierceness. There was a pause at last, and Donald +rose to his feet. He re-filled his glass from the punch-bowl, raised it +aloft, and said:-- + +"I give you a toast. Fill your glass, brother. No, that will not do. +Fill it full, and fill a glass for Neal. Stand now. I will have this +toast drunk standing. 'Here's to America and here's to France, the +pioneers of human liberty, and may Ireland soon be as they are now!'" + +"Amen," said Mica h Ward solemnly. + +"Drink, Neal, drink. Drain your glass, boy. I will have it," said +Donald. + +"The northern iron, the northern iron, and the steel," muttered Micah. + +Then the brothers drew their chairs closer together, and Micah, speaking +low, as if he dreaded the presence of some unseen listener, began to +tell of the plans of the United Irishmen. He mentioned the names of one +leader and another; told how the Government, vigilant and alert, had +already struck at the organisation; of the general dread of spies and +informers. He entered into details; told how the cannon, once given by +the Government to the Volunteers, were hidden in one place, how muskets +were stored in another, how the smiths in every village were fashioning +pike heads, how many men in each locality were sworn, how every male +inhabitant of Rathlin Island had taken the oath. Donald interrupted him +now and then with sharp questions. The talk went on and on. The tones +of the speakers grew lower still. Neal lost much of what was said. His +interest slackened. His eyes closed at last, and he fell fast asleep. + +It was late, close on midnight, when his uncle shook him into +consciousness again. The candles were burned down. The fire was out. The +atmosphere of the room was heavy with tobacco smoke. The punch-bowl was +empty, and the two bottles, empty also, stood beside it. It seemed to +Neal that his uncle spoke thickly in bidding him good night, and walked +unsteadily across the room. But Micah Ward's voice was clear and his +steps were firm. Only, as Neal thought, his eyes shone more brightly +than usual, and he held himself upright. The stoop was gone from his +shoulders, and the peering, peaked look from his eyes. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +The Lords of Dunseveric once lived in a castle perched on the edge of a +cliff, a place inferior to the neighbouring Dunluce as a stronghold, but +equally uncomfortable as a residence. The walls were thick, the rooms +little larger than prison cells, and the windows very small and narrow, +but they were wide enough to let the wind whistle through them and the +rain trickle over their sills to the stone floors inside. The doctor +of a modern sanatorium for consumptive people would have been well +satisfied with the ventilation of Dunseveric Castle. On stormy days in +winter it must have been most unsafe to venture out of doors. The worst +winds, fortunately, always blow inwards from the sea, but there are +eddies round buildings, and with precipices on three sides of him, +the ancient lord of Dunseveric had need to walk cautiously and provide +himself, when possible, with something to hold on to. Some time at the +end of the seventeenth century the reigning lord, giving up in despair +the attempt to render habitable a home more suited to a seagull than a +nobleman, being also less in dread than his ancestors of sea pirates and +land marauders, determined to build himself a house in which he could +live comfortably. He selected a site about a mile inland from the +original castle, and laid the foundations of Dunseveric House. Then, +despairing perhaps of living to complete his architect's grandiose +plans, he gave up the idea of building and hired a house near Dublin. +During the early part of the eighteenth century he interested himself in +Irish politics, and succeeded, as influential politicians did in those +days, in providing comfortably for outlying members of his family from +the public purse. His son, when it came to his turn to reign, ignored +the foundations which his father had laid, and erected a mansion such as +Irish gentlemen delighted in at the time--a Square block of grey masonry +with small windows to light large rooms, a huge basement storey, and an +impressive flight of stone steps leading up to the front door. He also +enclosed several acres of land with a stone wall, called the space a +garden and planted it with some fruit trees which did not flourish. + +His son, the Lord Dunseveric of 1798, having little left him to do in +the way of building, devoted his early years to planting and laying out +pleasure grounds round the new house. His wife, a French woman of Irish +extraction, brought a cultivated taste to his aid. No doubt her ideas +and her husband's energy would in the end have created a beautiful and +satisfying demesne round Dunseveric House if it had not been for the +north wind and the sea spray. These were hard enemies for a landscape +gardener to fight, and when Lady Dunseveric died her husband gave up the +struggle, having nothing better to show for his time and money than some +fringes of dejected-looking alders and a few groves of stunted Scotch +firs. He even neglected the glass houses which his wife had built. Irish +politics became extremely interesting just after Lady Dunseveric died, +and an Irish gentleman might well be forgiven for neglecting the culture +of his demesne when his time was occupied with drilling Volunteers, +passing Grand Jury resolutions in support of the use of Irish +manufactured goods, and subsequently preparing schemes for the internal +development of Ireland. + +Thus Dunseveric House was by no means an attractive place to Estelle, +Comtesse de Tour-neville, when she first visited it. Accustomed to the +scenery round her dead husband's chateau in the valley of the Loire, and +attached to the life of the French Court, the appearance of Dunseveric +House struck her as utterly dismal. She had every reason beforehand to +suppose that it would be dismal, and was quite convinced that it would +not suit her as a place of residence. Forced to flee from France in +1793, she put off taking refuge in her brother-in-law's house as long +as possible, and only arrived there after spending three years among +hospitable friends in England. + +"The poor Marie, my poor sister," she said, when Lord Dunseveric, at +the end of the long drive from Ballymoney, turned the horses up the bare +avenue. + +To her maid, in the privacy of her bedroom, she opened her grief more +fully. + +"I remember very well when my sister married, though I was but a little +girl at the time, eight or perhaps nine years old. I remember that all +the world talked of her handsome Irish husband. He was a fine man then. +He is a fine man still, and has the grand manner. Oh, yes, he is very +well. And my nephew. He is well made, big and strong like all the men +of his race and blood. But he has no manner--none. If only my sister had +lived she might have formed him. But--poor Marie!" + +She sighed. The maid hazarded a suggestion that Lady Dunseveric had +found life _triste_, too _triste_ to be endurable. + +"You are right," said the Comtesse, "she must have died of sheer +dulness. She had two children. That was occupation for a while, no +doubt. But, _mon dieu_, a lady cannot go on having children every year +like a woman of the _bourgeoisie_. It would be too tedious. She died. +She was right. And now I am here in her place. I am here with my lord, +who has good manners but does not care about me, wishes me anywhere but +in his house; a nephew who has no manners and a great deal of stupidity, +and a niece who is much too old to be my niece, and who is too like me +in face and figure for us to get on well together. Otherwise, truly, +she is not like me. She is content to spend all day in a boat on the sea +catching fish. Conceive it yourself, Susanne, she was catching fish, +and her companion was the son of the _cure_, a man of some altogether +impossible Protestant sect." + +But the Comtesse had the good manners or the good sense not to grumble +about her surroundings to anyone except her maid. She so far understood +the philosophy of a happy life as to know that pleasure awaits those +only who succeed in making themselves pleasant. + +She came down the morning after she arrived in time for breakfast, +although the English breakfast was a meal she had learned to detest, and +the North of Ireland families have made an even more serious business of +it. She expressed a delight which she cannot be supposed to have felt at +the sight of salmon, fried, cold, kippered; ham, eggs, fowl, farles of +home-made bread, oat-cake, honey, jam, butter. To the secret amusement +of Lord Dun-severic she even accepted a bowl of porridge which her +nephew offered her, and then, to the astonishment of Maurice, asked if +she might eat honey with it. She was delightfully optimistic about the +prospects of amusement for the day. + +"Where are you going to take me, Una? There are so many things that +I want to see. I recall the letters which Marie, your mother, used to +write to me about wonderful cliffs and gloomy caves and white rocks and +long strands. Of course you have all the business of the house to attend +to. I quite understand. I will wait. But afterwards, where will you take +me?" + +Una glanced out of the window. The south wind of the day before had +brought, as south winds usually do in County Antrim, abundant rain. +Maurice, appealed to, gave it as his opinion that there was no chance +of the weather improving until three o'clock, and that there wasn't much +chance of sunshine even then. + +"But, at least," said the Comtesse, "I shall be able to see your old +castle? I have heard so much about the castle. Could we not even go +there?" + +"We might," said Una dubiously, "but you will have to walk across two +fields, and the grass is long at this time of year. I don't mind getting +wet, of course, but you----" + +"I think, Estelle," said Lord Dunseveric, "that you had better give +up the idea of any expedition out of doors. Una will have a good fire +lighted for you in the morning-room, and you must make yourself as +comfortable as you can." + +When breakfast was over, Lord Dunseveric himself conducted his sister to +the morning-room. He selected a chair for her. He placed a small table +beside her. He stirred the fire into a fair blaze. He even fetched some +books for her from the library. But the Comtesse was not content. + +"Please sit down," she said, "and talk with me." + +The prospect of a long morning spent sitting on a chair talking to a +woman was not one which pleased Lord Dunseveric very greatly, but his +manners were, as his sister-in-law had observed, excellent. He had +letters to write and an important communication from the general in +command of the troops in Belfast to consider. But he sat down beside +his sister-in-law as if he were really pleased at having the chance of +a long chat with her, as if she did him a favour in granting him the +privilege of keeping her company. + +"What shall we talk about?" she said. "About dear Marie? About old +times? That would be too sad. About Maurice and Una? What is Maurice to +do? Have you obtained for him--how do you say it?--a commission in the +army? There is nothing better for a young man than to spend a short +time in the army. He sees the world. He learns manners and how to bear +himself and speak to a woman. And Una? We must have Una presented at +Court. Will you take her to Dublin this year? I think that you ought to. +It is not good for a girl to grow up all alone here." + +"I fear it will hardly be possible for me to go to Dublin either this +year or next." + +"But why? Surely you would be well received? Or is it not so? I suppose +that you are one of the _grands seigneurs_ of Ireland, one of the +leaders of your aristocracy. Besides, _mon frere_, your appearance, your +manner----. There cannot be many of your Irish gentry----." + +She paused and smiled on him most pleasantly. Lord Dunseveric was +sufficiently a man of the world to understand that this pretty lady was +flattering him. He even thought that she was not doing it very well, +that her methods were too obvious to be really artistic. Nevertheless, +he liked it. We most of us enjoy being flattered very much, especially +by pretty women, though we take a great deal of trouble to persuade +ourselves that we despise the flatterer and her ways. The Comtesse would +have said similar things to any man whom she wanted to please, and Lord +Dunseveric was quite aware of the fact. Still he was pleased. It was +a long time since a woman in a pretty dress, a woman who knew how to +assume a graceful attitude, had taken the trouble to flatter him. He +smiled response to her smile. + +"I've no doubt that I should be, as you put it, well received. I'm not +afraid that His Excellency would show me the cold shoulder, but the +present condition of the country is critical. I think it my duty to +stay at home. I am afraid that we are on the brink of an attempt at +revolution." + +"_Mon dieu!_ And have you Jacobins, too? I thought there were no such +things in Ireland. Tell me about your Jacobins." + +Again Lord Dunseveric was conscious that the Comtesse was trying to +please him, was displaying an interest, which did not seem wholly +natural, in a subject on which he would like to talk. + +"I'm afraid, Estelle, that an account of our Irish politics would +weary you. Politics are dull. You would send me away if I talked about +politics." + +"I assure you, no," she said. "In France we found politics most +exciting. The poor Comte, my husband, found them altogether too +exciting. Do tell me about your Irish Jacobins. Are they also +_sans-culottes?_" + +"They are mostly Presbyterians, dour, pigheaded, fanatical Republicans, +who want to get an army of your French friends over to help them." + +"Presbyterians! How droll! I thought Presbyterians were----But is not +Maurice's friend, the young man who goes out fishing in the sea with +Una, is not he a Presbyterian? I think they said last night that he was +the son of a _cure_." + +"Yes, he is. His father has the reputation of being one of the most +fanatical of the whole lot. But the young fellow is all right, so far as +I know." + +The Comtesse was silent for a minute or two. She appeared to be +considering Lord Dunseveric's last remark. When she spoke again it was +evident that her thoughts had wandered from Neal Ward's politics to +another subject. + +"Is it right, do you think, that this young man should be so intimate +with Una? She is a very attractive girl, and at a very dangerous age." + +"Oh, they've played together since they were children. Young Ward is a +nice boy and a good sportsman." + +"Still, he would not be suitable. Am I right?" + +"If you mean that he wouldn't do as a husband for Una, you are right, +but I don't think for a moment that any such nonsensical idea ever +crossed their minds. I like Neal. He's a fine, straightforward boy, and +a good sportsman." + +"I should like to see this model young man. Perhaps you English--pardon +me, my dear brother, you Irish--are differently made; but with us the +nicer a young man is the more dangerous we reckon him." + +"There's no difficulty about your meeting him. I'll ask him to dinner +to-day if you like. I'm sure Maurice will be pleased to ride over with +the invitation." + +"Charming," said the Comtesse. "Then I shall judge for myself." + +Neal Ward accepted the invitation when he received it. Perhaps he would +not have been able to do so had he been obliged to submit it to his +father and his uncle; but they had gone out together early in the day. +Neal understood that his uncle was to be introduced to several people +of importance, members of his father's congregation, men who were deeply +involved in the plans of the United Irishmen. He was left alone with a +task to perform. He was not now transcribing passages from Josephus. +His uncle had decided that he was to be trusted, and, as a proof of +confidence, he was set to compile from various papers a list of those in +the neighbourhood who could be relied on to take up arms when the day of +the contemplated outbreak arrived. The work interested Neal greatly. +He knew most of the men whose names he copied. Some of them he knew +intimately. Now and then he was surprised to find that some well-to-do +and apparently well contented farmer was a member of the society. Once +he paused and hesitated about going on with his work. He came to a +statement of the fact that one, James Finlay, had been enrolled as a +United Irishman and admitted to the councils of the local committee. +Neal knew James Finlay, and disliked him. Once he had caught him at +night in the act of netting salmon in the river. Neal had threatened to +hand him over to Lord Dunseveric. The poacher blustered, threatened, and +even attempted an attack upon Neal. He got the worst of the encounter, +and after vague threats of future vengeance, relapsed into whining +supplication. Neal spared him, considering that the man had been +well thrashed, and having the dislike, common to all generous-minded +Irishmen, of bringing to justice a delinquent of any kind. But he +disliked and distrusted James Finlay, and he did not understand how +his father and the others came to trust such a man. He wrote the name, +reflecting that Finlay had left the neighbourhood some weeks before in +order to seek employment in Belfast. Shortly afterwards he completed his +task. Maurice St. Clair arrived with Lord Dunseveric's invitation. Neal +locked up his papers, changed his clothes, and went through the rain to +Dunseveric House. He was not comfortable or easy in his mind. Yesterday +it was natural and pleasant to spend the day with Maurice and Una. +To-day he knew things of which he had been entirely ignorant before. He +knew that he himself was committed to a share in a desperate struggle, +in what might well become a civil war, and that he would be fighting +against Lord Dunseveric and against his friend Maurice. It did not +seem to him to be a fair and honourable thing to eat the bread +of unsuspecting enemies. Twice, as he tramped through the rain to +Dunseveric House, he stopped and almost decided to turn back. Twice he +succeeded in silencing his scruples and quieting the complaints of his +conscience. Each time it was the thought of Una which decided him. There +was in him a hunger to see the girl, to be near her, to touch her hand, +to hear her voice. Since his uncle had spoken to him about her on the +evening of his arrival Neal had become acutely and painfully conscious +of his love for her. Long ago he had loved her. Looking back he thought +that he had always loved her. Now he knew that he loved her. That made a +great difference. + +He was welcomed when he arrived by Lord Dun-severic with friendly +courtesy--by Una shyly. Her manner was not as it had been the day +before. The frank friendliness was gone. There was something else in +its place, something which thrilled Neal with hope and fear. Perhaps the +girl felt instinctively the change in Neal. Perhaps she was conscious +of her aunt's keen laughing eyes. Who can tell how a girl first becomes +conscious of the fact that a young man loves her? The Comtesse also +welcomed Neal. She set herself to please and flatter him. At dinner +she talked brightly and amusingly. It seemed to Neal that she talked +brilliantly. She told stories of the old French life. She related her +recent experiences of English society. She rallied Lord Dunseveric on +his grave dignity of manner. She drew laughter again and again from Una +and Maurice. But she addressed herself most to Neal. He was intoxicated +with her vivacity, the swift gleams of her wit, her delicate beauty, her +exquisite dress. He had never seen, never even imagined, the existence +of such a woman. Lord Dunseveric watched her and listened to her with +quiet amusement. It seemed to him that his sister-in-law meant not +only to rescue Una from an undesirable lover, but to attach a handsome, +gauche youth to herself. He understood that a woman like Estelle de +Tourneville might find the attentions of Neal Ward vastly diverting in +a place like Dunseveric, where nothing better in the way of a flirtation +was to be looked for. + +The wine and fruit were placed on the table and the servants withdrew. +The Comtesse, with her wine-glass in her hand, stood up. + +"It is not at all the fashion," she said, "for a lady to make a speech. +I shall shock you, my lord, but you will forgive me, for you know the +world. I shall shock my sweet Una, but she will forgive me because her +heart has no room in it for unkind thoughts of anyone. I shall shock +my nephew and the solemn Mr. Neal Ward, and they will not forgive me +because they are young and, therefore, have very strict ideas of how a +woman ought to behave herself. Nevertheless, I am going to make a speech +and propose a toast. I am Irish. Long ago my fathers lived in Ireland +and were _grands seigneurs_ as my good brother, Lord Dunseveric, is +to-day. They left Ireland for the sake of their faith and their king. +They went to France; but I am not, therefore, French. I am Irish. Now +that the French people have turned against us, have even wished to cut +off my head, which I think is much more ornamental on my shoulders than +it would be anywhere else--now I have returned to Ireland, I ask you all +to drink my toast with me. I propose--'Ireland.' I, who am loyal to the +old faith and the memory of the legitimate king, I will drink it. My +lord, who is of another faith and loyal to another king, will drink it +also. Mr. Neal, who has a third kind of faith, and is, I understand, not +loyal to any king, will, no doubt, drink it. My friends--'Ireland.'!" + +She raised her glass to her lips and sipped the wine. All the four +listeners stood and raised their glasses. + +"'Ireland,'" said Lord Dunseveric gravely. "I drink to Ireland." + +Then, with the glass at his lips, he paused. There was a noise of horse +hoofs on the gravel outside. A horseman, in military uniform, cantered +by. He was followed by another, a trooper. The little company in the +diningroom stood still and silent. The bell at the door of the house +was rung violently. Its sound reached them. A vague uneasiness came +upon them. One by one they sat down and laid their glasses--the wine +untasted--on the table before them. A servant entered the room. + +"Captain Twinely, my lord, of the Killulta Company of Yeomanry, wishes +to see your lordship on important business." + +"Ask him to come in here," said Lord Dunseveric. + +Una rose as if to leave the room. + +"No," said Lord Dunseveric, "stay where you are, and do you stay, too, +Estelle. This Captain Twinely must drink a glass of wine with us. He +passes for a gentleman. Then if he has business with me I shall take him +away. I must not break up our little party. It is not every day that +we have the pleasure of listening to such charming speeches as your's, +Estelle." + +Captain Twinely entered the room with a swagger. He made a great noise +with his heavy boots and with his spurs as he crossed the polished +floor. + +"I ask your pardon, my lord. I ask the ladies' pardon. I am not fit for +your company. I have ridden far today, and the roads are bad, damned +bad. I rode on the king's business." + +"The ladies," said Lord Dunseveric, "will be pleased if you will drink a +glass of wine with them. Are you alone?" + +"I left my troop in Ballintoy. The sergeant will see that they obtain +refreshment. My servant holds my horse outside." + +"I shall send him some refreshment," said Lord Dunseveric. "And your +horses must be stabled here till you have told me how I can serve you." + +Captain Twinely drank his wine, bowed to the ladies, and then said-- + +"I come at an inconvenient hour, my lord. You have just dined and you +have pleasant company, but I must crave your attention for a letter +which I bring you. The king's business, my lord." + +Lord Dunseveric rose, and led the way to the library. + +"I don't doubt," said Captain Twinely, "no one could be such a fool as +to doubt the loyalty of every member of your lordship's household and of +every guest in your lordship's house; but in deliver-ing my letter and +my message I prefer to be where there is no chance of eavesdropping. +Will you allow me to make sure that we are not overheard?" + +Lord Dunseveric himself shut the door of the room and drew a bolt +across it. Captain Twinely took a sealed packet from his breast. Lord +Dunseveric looked carefully at the address, broke the seal, and read the +contents of the paper within. + +"Do you know the contents of this paper, Captain Twinely?" + +"My orders are to solicit your lordship's assistance, as a Justice +of the Peace for the county, in arresting certain persons and taking +possession of some arms concealed in the neighbourhood. I do not know +the names of the persons or the place where the arms are concealed. I +have not been treated with confidence. I'm a loyal man, but I'm only +a plain gentleman. I may say that I feel aggrieved. I deserved more +confidence." + +Lord Dunseveric read the letter again before he answered. + +"I am directed here to arrest, with your assistance, five persons. All +of them are men who are well known and respected in this neighbourhood. +I know nothing of the evidence against them, beyond the mere fact, +stated here, that from information received they are believed to be +engaged in a plot for an armed rebellion. Captain Twinely, I have not +a very high opinion of the men from whom the Government receives +information, and I have reason to believe that the information is not +always trustworthy. There have been recently---- but I need not go into +that. I am a loyal man. I am willing to assist the Government in any way +in my power, but my loyalty has limits. Two of the persons named in this +letter I shall not arrest. One of them I believe to be innocent of all +designs against the Government; the other is a very feeble old man, who +will not in any case be dangerous as a rebel, and whom I have private +reasons for not wishing to arrest. I am willing to go with you to +the houses of the other three and arrest them. As for the concealed +arms--cannon it is stated here--I do not believe they exist, but I shall +take you to the place named, and let you see for yourself. Will this +satisfy you?" + +"Your lordship has to consider whether it will satisfy my commanding +officer. I should have thought it better, more advisable, more prudent, +for your lordship to obey the orders you have received exactly." + +The man's words were perfectly civil, but his manner and tone suggested +a threat. Lord Dun-severic stiffened suddenly. + +"I shall consider your commanding officer," he said, "when I am shown +that he has any right to command me." + +"Your loyalty----," began Captain Twinely. + +"My loyalty to the king and the Irish constitution is not to be +suspected or impugned by Mr. Twinely, of Killulta." + +"My lord, I consider that an unhandsome speech. I am only a plain +gentleman, but I am loyal. We county gentlemen ought to stand together. +I expected more consideration from you, my lord. I do not like your +sneering tone. By God, if it were not that I am on the king's busi--" + +"Yes, if you were not on the king's business----" + +But Captain Twinely did not finish his speech. + +"I shall have some refreshment brought in here to you, Captain Twinely," +said Lord Dunseveric. "I shall, with your permission, order a servant to +ride to Ballintoy and bring your troop here. When they arrive I shall be +ready to go with you. In the meanwhile, I beg you to excuse my leaving +you. I have some private matters to arrange before we start." + +He walked to the door, drew back the bolt, bowed, and left the room. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +Lord Dunseveric returned to the dining-room. He found the Comtesse +seated on a chair which had been placed on the table to give dignity to +her position. On the floor, beneath this lofty throne, knelt Neal +Ward, his hands tied behind him with a dinner napkin. Maurice, with a +carving-knife in his hand, stood on guard over the prisoner. Una, her +eyes shining with laughter, was making a speech. + +"Please, don't interrupt," said the Comtesse, "we are holding a +courtmartial on Mr. Neal. Una is acting as prosecutor; I am the judge. +In a few minutes, when I have delivered my sentence, Maurice will flog +the prisoner, and afterwards hang him with one of the bell ropes." + +"I want to speak to you, Neal," said Lord Dunseveric, gravely. + +Neal pulled his hands from their bandage, and rose, blinking and +uncomfortable, to his feet. + +"How solemn you are!" said the Comtesse. "What has that very boorish +Captain Twinely been telling you? Has a rebellion broken out? Is there +going to be a battle? Have they come to arrest Mr. Neal in real earnest? +I believe they have. Never mind, Mr. Neal, we will organise a rescue +party. They are not real soldiers, you know--only---only--what do you +call them?--ah, yes, yeomen. We will fall upon these yeomen after dark +and carry you off to safety." + +"Maurice," said Lord Dunseveric, "have two horses saddled, and get on +your boots. I shall want you to ride along with me. Come, Neal." + +The three men left the room. + +"Una," said the Comtesse, "come quick and change your dress. We will go +and see what is happening. Oh, this is most exciting, and the day has +been so dull and long. Come, Una, come; we will not let anyone see +us. We will take the most delightful short cuts. We will lie hidden in +ditches while they pass. We must see everything. Come, come, come." + +"But--my father----" + +"Oh, you dear dutiful child! Just for once don't mind about your father. +I am sure something thrilling is going to happen. Haven't you a duty +of obedience towards your aunt? I cannot go without you, for I should +certainly lose my way." + +The arrival of Captain Twinely, Lord Dun-severic's grave face, and his +summons to Neal had filled Una's mind with an undefined dread of some +threatening evil. She was nearly as anxious as her aunt to know what +was to happen. The prospect of a scamper across country through the +rain daunted her very little. She had no doubt of her ability to keep in +touch with the horsemen without being discovered. They would keep to the +high road. To her every short cut was known, every hill for observation, +and every possible hiding-place were as familiar to her as the lawn of +Dunseveric House. + +Lord Dunseveric led the way to his own dressing-room, beckoning Neal to +follow him. + +"Sit down, Neal," he said, "and listen. I must talk while I boot and +change my coat. This Twinely, who takes rank as a captain of yeomen, and +has, as I suppose, a following of blackguards, brings me orders which I +cannot disobey--at least which I mean to disobey in only one particular. +I am bidden to search your father's meeting-house for cannon supposed +to be concealed there. I am going to search, and search thoroughly. Your +answer will make no difference to my action; but I should like you to +tell me, are the cannon there?" + +"I do not believe there are any cannon," said Neal; "I never heard of +them, or had any reason to suspect their existence." + +Lord Dunseveric watched him keenly as he replied. Then he said-- + +"I believe what you say, of course. If there are cannon there you know +nothing of it. Now, another question. I am to arrest several persons +whose names have been sent to me; your name stands second on the list. +Are you a United Irishman? Have you sworn the oath?" + +"No," said Neal, without hesitation. "I have not sworn. I have not been +enrolled as one of the society." + +"I may take it that the Government has acted on false information in +ordering your arrest?" + +"Yes. The man who gave that information certainly lied. I knew nothing +of the plans of the United Irishmen yesterday, but it is right that I +should tell you----" + +"It is not right that you should tell me anything more. You have +answered my two questions. I have your word for it that you are not a +United Irishman, and I have your word that the information received by +the Government is false. I want to hear no more on that subject. I shall +take the responsibility of refusing to arrest you. I am also bidden to +arrest your father. I ask you no questions about him. I simply inform +you that I am not going to arrest him either. I do not believe in his +innocence. I think it likely that he is implicated in the conspiracy, +but I am not going to arrest him. He is too old to fight, and when +the other three men on my list are in prison he will have ceased to be +dangerous. Further, your father, in his writings, has attacked, and, in +my opinion, slandered me personally." + +"You mean in the _Northern Star?_" + +"Yes. In the series of articles called '_Letters of a Democrat,_' which +are attributed, I think rightly, to your father." + +Lord Dunseveric paused. Neal remained silent. He had not read the +articles, but he believed his father had attacked the landlord +aristocracy with great bitterness, and he thought it likely that Lord +Dunseveric had cause for complaint. + +"I do not choose," said Lord Dunseveric, "to take part in the arrest of +a man who may be regarded as my personal enemy. You may tell your father +this, and you may tell him further that if he is a wise man he will +leave the country at once. The next magistrate charged with his arrest +may not have my scruples or my reasons for hesitating. Now, listen to +me, Neal, before I leave you, and mark what I say. I admit, and I always +have admitted, the justice of the claims which your people make. There +ought to be equality, full and complete, for you and the Catholics. +There ought to be an end to the tyranny under which you suffer, but +you are going the wrong way about getting your wrongs righted. Your +rebellion, if there is to be a rebellion, can't succeed. You will be +crushed. And Neal, lad, that crushing will be an evil business. It will +be evil for you and your friends, but that's not all. It will be made an +excuse for taking away the hard won liberty of Ireland. Keep out of +it, Neal. Take my advice, and keep out of it, for your own sake and for +Ireland's." + +He took the young man's hand, wrung it, and then turned and left the +room. Neal stood for a while dazed and bewildered. He had known before +that his father was a supporter of the United Irishmen. He had guessed, +though until that morning he had not actually known, how deeply he was +versed in the secrets of the society. He had never imagined that the +doings and sayings of an obscure Presbyterian minister were being +watched and noted by Government spies. He found it hard to realise that +the eyes of remote authorities, of secretaries of state, of generals of +armies, were fixed on the wind-swept, desolate, northern parish, on +the gaunt, grey manse he called his home. Yet the evidence of this +incredible surveillance was plain and unmistakable. Men of his father's +congregation, men whom he supposed he knew personally, were to be +seized and marched off, to be flogged perhaps as others had been, to be +imprisoned certainly, to be hanged very likely, in the end. His father +was a marked man, with the choice before him of exile or imprisonment, +perhaps death. He himself was suspected, had been informed against, lied +about, by someone. His mind flew back to the list of names he had copied +out that morning, to the one name which had arrested his attention +especially. He remembered that James Finlay owed him a grudge, desired +revenge; he felt sure that James Finlay was the informer. Others might +have betrayed the secrets of the society. James Finlay alone, so far as +he could recollect, had any motive for incriminating him, an entirely +innocent man. + +He was roused from his thoughts by the sound of horses trampling on the +gravel sweep outside. The yeomen, summoned from Ballintoy, had arrived +at Dunseveric House. They were laughing, talking, and singing as they +rode, a disorderly mob of horsemen rather than a troop of soldiers. +After a few minutes they rode past the window again. Captain Twinely was +at their head. Ten or twelve yards in front of him, as if disdainful of +his company, rode Lord Dunseveric and Maurice. + +They were wrapped in long horsemen's cloaks, for the rain beat down on +them. The wind was rising, and blew in strong gusts. The sun had set and +the evening was beginning to darken. Neal ran down to the hall, seized +his coat and stick, and went out. The horsemen moved along the avenue +at a steady trot. Neal saw them turn to the right and go along the road +which led to the manse and the meeting-house. He started to run across +the fields. He hoped to reach the manse and warn his father before +the soldiers arrived at the meeting-house. He ran fast, choosing the +shortest and easiest way, avoiding boggy patches of ground which would +have checked his progress. After a while, from a point of vantage, he +was able to catch a glimpse of the road. He noted that he was level with +the yeomen, and he knew that from the point where he saw them the road +took a wide curve inland. He calculated that by running fast he would be +able to cross it in front of the troop, and by keeping along the cliffs +would be able to reach the manse before the soldiers did. He sped +forward. Suddenly, as he descended the hill to the road, he became aware +of two figures crouching behind the bank which divided the road from +the field. He was dimly aware that they were women. He did not look +carefully at them. His eyes were fixed on the horsemen against whom he +was racing. He gained the edge of the field and sprang upon the bank. He +heard his name called softly. + +"Neal, Neal, Neal Ward." + +Then somewhat louder by another voice. + +"Mr. Neal, come and help us." + +He recognised Una's voice and then that of the Comtesse. He had no time +to think what they wanted or how they came to be crouching in a damp +ditch in the rain while the evening darkened over them. He leaped from +the bank, crossed the road, and raced off again towards his father's +house. + +He arrived at the door, breathless, but sure that he was in good time. +He burst into the sitting-room and found his father and uncle, their +lamp already lighted, bending over a pile of papers which lay before +them on the table. + +"The soldiers, the yeomen, are on their way here," he gasped. + +Micah Ward started to his feet. + +"What do you say?" + +"The yeomen are on their way to the meetinghouse. They are going to +search for arms, for cannon, which they say are concealed there." + +Micah Ward stood stock still. His body seemed to have become suddenly +rigid. His face grew quite white. Donald, leaning back in his chair, +smiled slightly. + +"So," he said, "they have begun. Are there cannon there, brother?" + +"Yes, there are," said Micah, slowly. "Four six-pounders. They belonged +to the Volunteers. We kept them. We thought they might be useful some +day." + +"Ah," said Donald, "it's a pity. We shall have the trouble of +re-capturing them. Come, let us go down to the meeting-house. I should +like to see these terrible yeomen." + +"Some one has given them information," said Micah. He was silent for a +minute. Then he muttered as if to himself-- + +"Some one has informed against us. Some one has brought this evil upon +us. Who has done this thing? Who is our secret enemy?" + +"Come," said Donald, "don't stand muttering there." + +But Micah did not heed him. Raising both hands above his head, and +looking upward, he spoke slowly, clearly-- + +"May the curse of the Lord God of Israel light on the man who has +informed against us. May he be smitten with madness and blindness and +astonishment of heart. May he grope at the noonday as the blind gropeth +in the darkness. May his life hang in doubt before him. May he fear +day and night, and have none assurance of his life. May he say in +the morning--'Would God it were even! And at even--'Would God it were +morning!' for the fear of his heart wherewith he shall fear and the +sight of his eyes which he shall see." + +"That," said Donald, "is a mighty fine curse. I'm darned if I ever heard +a more comprehensive kind of curse. We had a God-forsaken half-breed in +our company, under General Greene, who could curse quite a bit, and he +never came near that curse. But I reckon that a good deal of it will +have to be wasted. There isn't a man living who could stand it for long. +Still, if you name the man for us, I'll do the best I can with him. +I may not be able to work the blindness and the groping just as you'd +wish, but I'll undertake that his life hangs in doubt before him for a +bit." + +Micah Ward, without seeming to hear his brother's speech, stalked +bare-headed from the room and led the way to the meeting-house. + +The yeomen were marching up the hill from the main road. They sang a +song with a ribald chorus, such as men sing in a tavern when they have +drunk deep. Lord Dunseveric and Maurice had already reached the door of +the meeting-house, and sat silent on their horses. + +"Mr. Ward," said Lord Dunseveric, "will you give me the keys and save +me from the necessity of breaking open the door? I see Neal with you. I +suppose he has told you what we have come to do?" + +"I shall never render the keys to you," said Micah Ward. "Do the work of +scorn and oppression that you intend, but do not ask me to aid you." + +The yeomen, still singing, straggled up while Lord Dunseveric and Micah +Ward spoke. Suddenly their song ceased, and they listened in a silence +of sheer amazement while Donald Ward addressed their captain. + +"Say"--his voice was cold, clear, and contemptuous--"do you call +yourself a captain? And is this your notion of discipline? I guess, +young fellow, if we'd had you with General Greene in Carolina we'd have +combed you out and flogged the drunken ragamuffins you're supposed to be +commanding. But I reckon you're just the meanest kind of Britisher there +is, that kind that swaggers and runs away." + +"Seize that man," said Captain Twinely. "Tie him up. Flog him. Cut the +life out of him." + +Lord Dunseveric touched his horse with the spur and rode forward. +"Captain Twinely, I told you I should have no flogging here. I mean to +be obeyed. And you, sir, you are a stranger here. Who are you?" + +"This," said Micah Ward, laying his hand on his brother's arm, "is my +brother." + +"Captain Twinely, dismount two of your men. Let them conduct Mr. Ward +and his brother back to the manse and mount guard at the door. Maurice, +tie your horse to the tree yonder, and go with them. See that no +incivility is used. When they are safe in the manse you can return +here." + +Neal walked to the rear of the troop, and stood at the side of the road +near the wall, while his father and uncle were marched away under charge +of two troopers and Maurice St. Clair. + +"Sergeant," said Captain Twinely, "take four men and force this door." + +Neal heard his name called in a low voice by some one near him. + +"Neal, Neal, Neal Ward." + +It was Una's voice. His father and uncle had passed down the road. The +yeomen were eagerly watching their comrades' attempts to force the door. + +Neal stepped over the low stone wall. He felt a hand grasp his and heard +Una speak again. + +"Neal, stay with us. I'm frightened." + +A low musical laugh followed, and then the voice of the Comtesse-- + +"You are a most ungallant cavalier, Mr. Neal. You left us alone in one +ditch this evening already. You really must not leave us in another." + +The effort to force the door of the meeting-house was unsuccessful. + +"Put a musket to the key-hole," said Captain Twinely, "and blow off the +lock." + +There was an explosion. The woodwork was splintered and shattered. A +single push opened the door. + +"Now," said Captain Twinely, "come in and search." + +The little meeting-house was scantily furnished. A high, octangular +wooden pulpit with a precentor's pew in front of it stood at the far +end. The place was bare of hanging or cupboard which could have been +used as a hiding-place. The men tramped about, upsetting the benches and +cursing as they tripped upon them. + +"It's as dark as hell," said Captain Twinely. "Send a man down to the +minister's house and let him fetch up a bundle of bogwood to serve us +for torches. I must have light." + +One of the men departed on the errand. The sergeant, mounted on the +pulpit, rapped on the desk in front of him to secure silence, and said +in a high-pitched, drawling voice-- + +"Beloved! Brands snatched from the burning! Sanctified vessels! Let +us, in this hour of trial and tribulation, when the ungodly triumph and +prosper in their way, let us sing the Ould Hunderd to the comfort of our +souls." + +At the sound of his voice the troopers who remained outside crowded into +the building, leaving two or three of their number to take care of the +horses. Well satisfied with his congregation, the sergeant sang to the +tune sanctified by two centuries of Puritan worship:-- + + "There was a Presbyterian cat + Who loved her neighbour's cream to sup; + She sanctified her theft with prayer + Before she dared to lap it up." + +A burst of applause greeted the performance of this ribald parody. There +were calls for more such psalmody. "Give us another verse, Sergeant." +"Tune up again, Dick." "Goon, goon." Lord Dunseveric, who had remained +outside, dismounted and stalked through the door. He had caught the +tune, though not the words of the sergeant's song. He guessed at some +ribald irreverence within. His face was white with anger. + +"Silence," he cried. + +The sergeant, half drunk, looked at him with an insolent grin. + +"Your lordship will like the second verse better-- + + "There was a Presbyterian wife--" + +Lord Dunseveric forced his way through the soldiers who stood between +him and the singer, and approached the pulpit with clenched fists and +lips pressed close together. + + "Who found her husband growing old; + She sanctified-----" + +sang the sergeant, leering at Lord Dunseveric, but before he got any +further a woman's shriek rang through the building. The sergeant +stopped abruptly. The men crowded through the door, eager for some new +excitement. Lord Dunseveric and Captain Twinely followed as quickly as +they could. There was another shriek, a sound of blows and cursing. +Then men's voices rose above the tumult. "Down with the damned croppy." +"Throttle him." "Knife him." "Hold him now you've got him." "Take a belt +for his arms." "Ah, here's Tarn with the torches." "Strike a light, one +of you." "There's two of them, two wenches, by God, and young ones." +"Fetch them into the meeting-house and make them dance." "Ay, by God, +we'll tie their petticoats round their necks and then make them dance." + +There was a rush of men to the door of the meeting-house. Lord +Dunseveric and Captain Twinely were borne back before they could see +what was going on. Some one struck a light and illuminated a branch of +bogwood which he held above his head as a torch. + +"Drag in the prisoner," yelled a voice. "We'll give him a place in the +front and let him see his wenches dance." + +Lord Dunseveric, unable to make his voice heard above the tumult, saw +Neal Ward, his arms bound to his sides by a belt strapped round him, +dragged into the meeting-house. His face was cut and bleeding slightly. +His coat was rent from collar to skirt. + +"Make way, make way, for the ladies." + +A trooper entered with two women. He had an arm clasped round each. +Lord Dunseveric recognised with amazement and horror his daughter and +sister-in-law. Una made no resistance. She was terrified into a state of +helplessness. The Comtesse struggled desperately, tearing with her hands +at the trooper's face. Captain Twinely recognised the ladies almost +immediately, and strove to reach them. Before he could make his way Lord +Dun-severic's voice rang out above the tumult. + +"Maurice, are you there? Come in here at once." + +There was something in his voice, a tone of authority, a note of grim +determination, which cowed the rabble of men for an instant. Maurice St. +Clair pushed his way through the door in silence. + +"Maurice," said Lord Dunseveric, this time in quiet, even tones, "take +that scoundrel by the throat, and if he offers any resistance choke +him." + +The man loosed his hold of the two women, and his hand flew to his sword +hilt, but before he could draw it, Maurice bounded upon him and flung +him to the ground. Once, twice, thrice, as the trooper strove to raise +himself, his head was dashed down on the hard earthen floor of the +meeting-house. + +After the third time he lay still. Maurice rose and stood over him. + +"Captain Twinely," said Lord Dunseveric, "loose the belt from your +prisoner's arms at once." + +The order was obeyed, and Neal stood free. "Bid your men leave the +meeting-house, all but the man who holds the torch and the one who lies +there on the floor." + +The men, cowed and sullen, went out. + +"Now," said Lord Dunseveric, "I will have this matter cleared up and I +will have justice done." He turned to Neal. + +"How came you here with my daughter and the Comtesse de Tourneville?" + +Neal stood silent. + +"It was my fault," said the Comtesse. "I brought Una. I wanted to see +what was going on. Mr. Neal had nothing to do with it. He tried to save +us when, when that man"--she pointed to the soldier on the +floor--"found us." + +"Is that so?" asked Lord Dunseveric of Neal. + +"It is." + +"Maurice," said Lord Dunseveric, "take your sister and your aunt home, +and when you get them there see that they do not leave the house again. +Stay. Take Neal with you. Those ruffians outside will scarcely venture +to molest you, but, in case any of them are drunk enough to try, you +will be the better of having Neal beside you. Captain Twinely, you +will kindly give orders to your men that my son and his party are to be +allowed to pass." + +Lord Dunseveric was left alone in the meeting-house save for the man who +held the torch and the trooper who lay unconscious on the floor. + +"Give me the light," he said, "and go you over to your comrade. Loose +his tunic and feel if his heart still beats." + +The man did as he was bidden, and reported that the trooper whom Maurice +had stunned was still alive. Lord Dunseveric walked to the door of the +meeting-house and said-- + +"Captain Twinely, you will now be so good as to take the man who lies +here on the floor and hang him at once. We are not well off for trees in +this country, but there is at least one at the back of the meeting-house +tall enough for the purpose." + +There was a threatening growl from the men outside. They drew together. +Their hands were on their swords. Captain Twinely stood a little apart +from them. His eyes were fixed on the ground. He made no motion, and +showed no sign of obeying the orders he was given. Lord Dunseveric +looked first at him and then at the group of angry troopers. He stepped +out of the meeting-house and faced them. He took out his watch and +looked at it. + +"I give you ten minutes," he said, "in which to obey my order. If that +man is not hanged in ten minutes I shall march you back to Dunseveric +House, where there are trees enough, and hang every one of you there." + +They could have killed him easily as he stood there. They probably would +have killed him if he had shown the smallest sign of fear. They knew +perfectly well that he could not have marched them to Dunseveric House +or anywhere else if they had chosen to resist. Nevertheless, they obeyed +him. A rope was fetched from the saddle of one of the troopers. In those +days the yeomen carried ropes fit for hanging men as they went through +the country. The unconscious man was carried from the meeting-house +and hung up on the only tree large enough to bear his weight. Lord +Dunseveric, with his watch in his hand, saw the thing done with a quiet +smile. Then he spoke again to Captain Twinely. + +"You had better proceed with your search for the cannon. It is getting +late, and you have already wasted a great deal of time." + +More torches were lit. The men, now thoroughly cowed, dragged down the +pulpit and the precentor's pew. The earth under them was not beaten hard +as was the earth of the rest of the floor. Captain Twinely took a torch +and peered at it. + +"Fetch a spade," he said. + +They shovelled the earth into a heap against the wall and uncovered four +cannons. They were wrapped in oily rags, and well preserved, in spite of +their damp hiding-place. Lord Dunseveric looked at them carefully. + +"Ah," he said. "Four of the six-pounders which I bought for my company +of volunteer artillery in 1778. I often wondered what had become of +them. Now, Captain Twinely, you have got the cannon, you had better go +on to arrest your prisoners. I shall go with you, and remember I shall +permit no violence unless resistance is offered. I have given your men +one lesson to-night already. I am quite prepared to give them another if +necessary." + +The rain had ceased when Maurice and Neal, with their charge, left the +meeting-house. The direction of the wind had changed since sunset. It +blew in from the north and was sweeping the clouds away. The moon, then +in its first quarter, seemed to be racing across the sky among the torn +fragments of black cloud. Now and then it reached an open space and shed +a pale, white light over the landscape. Again, it was hidden and the +night was very dark. Already the wind had aroused the sea to its old +warfare against the rocks and strands. Its hollow roaring was borne far +inland. For a time the little party walked in silence. The Comtesse was +the first to speak. + +"If that is the way your loyal troops behave, Maurice, I think that I +prefer the _sans culottes_. Ugh! my clothes are half torn off my back. I +shall never be able to wear this dress again. It will smell, positively +smell, of the grimy hands of that drunken wretch." + +"What brought you out?" asked Maurice. "If you had stayed at home +nothing would have happened to you." + +"Now," said the Comtesse, "if you begin to lecture me, to preach sermons +to me, I shall sit down and cry. I could scream and kick at this moment +with the greatest ease and pleasure. Then what would you do, my nephew?" + +"Maurice," said Una, "let us go home across the fields. Don't let us go +by the road. I'm afraid of meeting those men again. They will be coming +after us." + +"Nonsense, Una," said the Comtesse, "we have climbed walls enough +to-night; we have lain in ditches enough. For my part, if there is a +road I shall go along it. Come, Maurice." + +She walked quickly on, and Maurice, puzzled and uncomfortable, followed +her. Then Neal laid his hand on Una's arm. + +"This way," he said. "I will take you home by the fields." + +He sprang across the ditch and stretched out his hand to the girl. +Without a word she took it and followed him. They walked in silence over +the rough ground. They crossed a wall, and then another, and each time +Neal thrilled at the touch of her hand as he turned to help her. + +"You were very brave, Neal," she said. + +"It's not much to be brave for you, Una. Oh, I wish I could have saved +you." + +He had her hand in his again, and this time it seemed as if it lingered +in his clasp. + +"Una," he said. "Una." + +But her face was turned away from him, and she made no answer. The tone +of his voice set her pulses beating with a strong excitement, so that +she could not look at him or speak. He was silent again. They reached +the high wall which bounded the demesne of Dunseveric House. Once more, +as they climbed, her hand was in his. + +This time he held it fast. It seemed to him that he was doing something +that would call down on him swift rebuke and angry reproach. He expected +to have the hand snatched from him. Then, with wonder and a glow of +rapturous delight, he felt it lie passive in his. He realised that he +was being swept beyond his self-control; that his desire for the girl +beside him was stronger than his reason. He yielded to an impulse of +sheer passion, clasped Una in his arms, and kissed her face. Again and +again he kissed her. He felt her arms tighten round him, knew that she +was clinging to him. Then suddenly he let her go and stood back from +her, terror-stricken. + +"Oh, Una, what have I done? I am mad." + +She stood before him, her face covered with her hands. + +"Una, speak to me. Can you ever forgive me? My love made me mad." + +She raised her face and looked at him. In the dim moonlight he saw in +her eyes a look of wonderful tenderness. He realised without a word from +her that she loved him, too. + +"Una--I ought never--I was wrong. But I love you more than my life. +Una, you are too far above me. You are a great man's daughter. How did I +dare?" + +She came close to him and spoke. + +"There is no above or below, Neal, when we love each other. How can I be +far above the man who loves me?" + +"But there is no hope for us, none at all anywhere. Even to-morrow I may +have to go--Una, I may have to fight----" + +"Whatever comes, Neal, I know that you will be brave and good. Be brave +and good, dear Neal, and then God will give us our hearts' desire. I am +not afraid of the future. Why should you be afraid? If you do what is +right and honourable what is there to fear? God is good." + +They walked together to the house. Then Neal turned and went home. The +future, so far as he could see into it, was dark enough. His love seemed +utterly hopeless, yet his heart was full of unspeakable joy. He knew, +beyond all possibility of doubt, that Una loved him and would love him +whatever happened. Her strangely simple faith seemed to make all things +plain before him. Una loved him and God was good. It was enough. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +When Neal arrived at the Manse he found that the sentries who had stood +on guard at the door were gone. The yeomen had disappeared from before +the meeting-house. The broken door, the fragments of the wrecked pulpit, +and the figure of the dead trooper swinging from the branch on which he +had been hanged were left as witnesses of the Government's methods of +keeping the peace in Ireland. + +Inside the house Micah Ward paced restlessly up and down the floor of +his study. Donald, his pipe in his mouth, sat on a chair tilted back +till its front legs were six inches off the floor, and watched his +brother. His attitude was precarious, but he seemed comfortable. Micah +paused in his rapid walking as Neal entered the room. + +"What have you been doing, Neal?" he said. "Your face is cut, your +clothes are torn; you look strangely excited." + +"I have been fighting," said Neal. He did not think it necessary to add +that he had also been love-making, though it was the interview with Una, +far more than the struggle with the yeoman, which was accountable for +the gleaming eyes and exalted expression which his father noticed. + +"I trust you were victorious," said his father, "that your foot has been +dipped in the blood of your enemies, that you have broken their bonds +asunder, and cast away their cords from you." + +"I was beaten," said Neal, smiling. It did not just then seem to matter +in the least whether he got the better or the worse in any fight. + +"You take it easily," said Donald. "That's right. You're blooded now, +my boy. You'll fight all the better in the future for tasting your own +blood to-night. I'm glad you are back with us. Your father has been +giving out the most terrific curses against Lord Dunseveric for having +brought the yeomen down on us and taken away his little cannons. I tell +him he ought to be thankful they went into the meeting-house instead of +coming here. They'd have made a fine haul if they'd walked in and taken +the papers he and I had before us when you came here. They'd have had +the name of every United Irishman in the district, and could have picked +them out and hanged them one by one just as they wanted them." + +"They've got as much information, pretty near, as they want," said Neal. +"They are going to arrest three men to-night." + +"God's curse on Eustace St. Clair, him whom men call the Lord of +Dunseveric," said Micah Ward. + +"Spare your curse," said Neal. "It wasn't Lord Dunseveric who brought +the yeomen on us, and what's more, only for Lord Dunseveric you'd be +arrested yourself along with the others." + +"What's that you are saying, Neal?" + +"I'm saying that the yeomen brought orders from Belfast to arrest you, +and me, too, and that Lord Dunseveric refused to execute them." + +"And so I owe my liberty to him! I must thank him for sparing me. I must +fawn on him as my benefactor, I suppose. But I will not. I refuse his +mercy. I scorn it. I cast it from me. I shall go out and offer myself to +the yeomen. They are to take my friends, my people, and spare me. I will +not be spared. Am I the hireling who fleeth when the wolf cometh? I go +to deliver myself into their hands." + +"You'll be a bigger fool than I take you for if you do," said Donald. +"Listen to me now. From what Neal has told us it's evident that you're +wrong about Lord Dunseveric. It wasn't he who brought the yeomen on us. +There is someone else giving information, and it's someone who knows +a good deal. Come now, brother Micah, cudgel your brains; think, man, +think, who is it?" + +Micah sat down at his writing-table and passed his hand over his +forehead. + +"I cannot think," he said. "I cannot, I will not believe that any of our +people are traitors." + +"These orders which Neal speaks of came from Belfast," said Donald. "Who +has lately left this place and gone to Belfast?" + +"I can tell you," said Neal. "James Finlay. And James Finlay had a +grudge against me. The others whom he denounced were United Irishmen, +perhaps, I was not. Why was I marked down, unless it was out of private +revenge? And there is nobody, nobody in the world, I believe, who has +cause to wish for vengeance on me but only James Finlay." + +"I cannot believe it of him," said Micah. "He came to me himself and +asked to be sworn. He was a member of the committee." + +"If you ask me," said Donald, "I think the case looks pretty black +against James Finlay. I think, if things are to go on as they ought to, +it will be better to cut the throat of James Finlay. I don't know him +myself. Perhaps you do, Neal." + +"Yes," said Neal, "I know him." + +"And he is in Belfast," said Donald. "Now, what was his reason for going +to Belfast?" + +"He went to obtain employment there," said Micah. "He took letters from +me to some of our leaders. He went as my agent, properly accredited. My +God! If he is a traitor!" + +"I think, Neal," said Donald, slowly, "that you and I will take a little +trip to Belfast. I should like to see Belfast. They tell me it's a +rising town. I should also very much like to see our friend, James +Finlay. I suppose we shall be able to get horses to-morrow. Oh, yes, +I've money to pay for them. I didn't come over here with an empty purse. +Anyway, I think Belfast would suit me better than this place. Your +people, Micah, don't seem very fond of fighting." + +"You are wrong, brother. They will lay down their lives right willingly +when the hour comes." + +Donald shrugged his shoulders. "Their meeting-house has been sacked, +their minister has been insulted, three of their members are to be +arrested, and they haven't offered to strike a blow. If they had the +courage of doe rabbits they'd have chopped up those yeomen into little +bits and then scattered them for dung over the fields. I reckon that +unless the Belfast people are better than these men of yours I'd be +better back in the States. We knew how to fight for our liberty there." + +"You don't understand, Donald. Believe me, you do not understand. We +must wait for orders before we strike." + +"Oh, orders. Waiting for orders. I know the meaning of that. It means +waiting till the English have picked off your leaders one by one. I +know, I know." + +Donald knocked the ashes out of his pipe, filled it, and lit it again, +and puffed slowly. Micah sat at the table, his head resting in his +hands. Neal sat down and waited. There was silence in the room for a +long time. Donald's pipe was smoked out and lit again before he spoke. +Then he said-- + +"I'm sorry, brother, that I spoke as I did. I don't doubt but that your +men are brave enough. They would have fought if they had known what was +going on." + +"No, no," said Micah. "You were right. I ought to have fought if there +were no one else. I ought to have died. I would to God that I had died +before our meeting-house was pillaged, before my people, the men who +trusted me, were taken captive. I was a coward. I am a coward." + +"Then I am a coward, too," said Donald, "and no man ever called me that +before. But I'm not, and you're not. We were two unarmed men against +fifty. I'm fond enough of fighting, and I take on a job with long odds +against me, but not such long odds as that. Rouse yourself, brother. +Neal and I are going to Belfast. We shall want letters from you. We must +be accredited like Mr. James Finlay, whom we hope to meet. Stir yourself +now and write for us." + +"I will, I will. Neal, there is no ink here. I remember that I used all +my ink yesterday. Neal, fetch me ink from the shelf beside the window." + +In a few minutes Micah's pen was travelling slowly over the paper. Neal +could hear its spluttering and scratching. Suddenly, there was a noise +of loud knocking at the door of the house. Donald started and laid down +his pipe. Neal rose to his feet, and stood waiting for some order from +his father. Micah stopped writing, and turned in his chair. All trace of +nervousness and agitation had vanished from his face. His expression was +gentle and joyous. He smiled. + +"They have come to take me also," he said. "I am right glad. I shall not +be indebted to the oppressor for my liberty. I shall be where a shepherd +ought to be--with the sheep whom the wolf attacks." + +Again came the noise of knocking, heavy, authoritative, threatening. + +"Be quick, my son, and open the door. Bid those who enter welcome." + +Neal went to the door, and opened it. Lord Dunseveric stood outside, the +reins of his horse's bridle thrown over his arm, his riding whip in his +hand. + +"I suppose your father is within, Neal. I want to speak to him. Will you +ask him if I may enter?" + +"He bid me say that you were welcome," said Neal. + +Lord Dunseveric stared at him in surprise. "How did he know who was at +the door? But it does not matter. Show me where to tie my horse, Neal, +and I will enter." + +Neal led the way into the room where his father and his uncle sat. +Lord Dunseveric bowed to Micah Ward, and then, with a glance at Donald, +said-- + +"The matter on which I wish to speak to you, sir, is somewhat private. +Is it your wish that this gentleman be present?" + +"It is my brother, Donald Ward," said Micah. "He knows my mind. I have +no secrets from him." + +Lord Dunseveric bowed again, and said, with a slight smile-- + +"It is possible that Mr. Donald Ward may find some of your secrets +rather embarrassing to keep." + +"I can take care of myself, master," said Donald, "or, maybe, I ought +to say, my lord. But your lordships and dukeships, and countships and +kingships stick somewhat in my throat. I come from America, where we +hold one man the equal of another." + +"You are a young nation," said Lord Dunseveric. "In time you will +perhaps learn courtesy. But I did not come here to-night to teach +manners to vagrant Yankees. I came to tell Mr. Ward that he has been +denounced to the Government as a seditious person, and that I received +orders to-night to arrest him." + +"And why did you not execute them?" said Micah Ward. "Did I ask you to +spare me? Have you come here to be thanked for your mercy? I wish to God +you had arrested me." + +"I assure you," said Lord Dunseveric, "that I expect no thanks, nor do +I claim any credit for being merciful. You owe your escape solely to the +fact that I happen to be a gentleman. It did not consist with my honour +to arrest a man who was my personal enemy." + +"Then," said Micah Ward, "what have you come here for now?" + +"I have come, Mr. Ward, to warn you, if you will accept my warning, that +you are in great danger, that the ramifications of your conspiracy +are known to the Government, that your society is honeycombed with +treachery, that your roll of membership contains the names of many +spies." + +"Is that all?" said Micah. + +"No, sir, that is not all. I have a regard for your son. He has been the +companion of my children. He has grown up at my feet. He has eaten at my +table. I like him and I respect him. I beg of you to consider what +the consequences will be for him if you drag him into this insane +conspiracy. His name was along with yours on the list of seditious +persons placed in my hands to-night. He has an hour or two ago incurred +the anger--the dangerous anger--of a body of yeomen and their commander. +I beg that you will consider his safety, and not take him with you on +the way on which you are going." + +"Neal," said Micah Ward, "is no more than a boy. He knows nothing about +politics. What has my action to do with Neal?" + +"His name," said Lord Dunseveric, "stood next to yours on the list of +suspected persons which was put into my hands to-night." + +"So be it," said Micah, solemnly! "if my son is to suffer, if he is to +die, he can die no better than fighting for liberty against oppression." + +"And I'm thinking," said Donald, "that you are going a bit too fast with +your talk about dying. I've fought just such a fight as my brother is +thinking of. I'm through with it now, and I'm not dead. By God, we saw +to it that it was the other men who died. We won, sir. Mark my words, we +won. It was the people that carried the day in America. They carried +the day in France. What's to hinder us from carrying the day in Ireland, +too?" + +Lord Dunseveric looked at Donald during this speech and kept his eyes +fixed upon him for some minutes afterwards. He was considering whether +it was worth while replying to this boastful American Irishman. At last +he turned again to Micah Ward. + +"I have still one more appeal to make to you, Mr. Ward. You care +for Ireland. Is it not so? I believe you do. Believe, me, I care for +Ireland, too." + +"Yes," said Micah, "you care for Ireland, but what do you mean by +Ireland? You mean a bloodthirsty, supercilious, unprincipled ascendancy, +for whom the public exists only as a prey to be destroyed, who keep +themselves close and mark men's steps that they may lay in wait for +them; who forge chains for their country, who distrust and belie the +people, who scoff at the complaints of the poor and needy, and who +impudently call themselves Ireland. You have made the sick and the lame +to go out of their way. You have eaten the good pastures and trodden +down the residue with your feet. You care for Ireland, and you mean by +Ireland the powers and privileges of a class. I care for Ireland, but +I mean Ireland, not for certain noblemen and gentlemen, but Ireland for +the Irish people, for the poor as well as the rich, for the Protestant, +Dissenter, and Roman Catholic alike." + +"I have never denied, nor do I wish to deny, the need of reform," said +Lord Dunseveric, "but I see before all the necessity of loyalty to the +constitution." + +"Ay, to the constitution which gives the whole power of the country to +a few proud aristocrats, which excludes three-fourths of the people +from its benefits, which allows eight hundred thousand Northerns to be +insulted and trampled on because they speak of emancipation, which uses +forced oaths, overflowing Bastilles and foreign troops for extorting the +loyalty of the Irish people." + +"I will not argue these things with you now," said Lord Dunseveric, "my +time is short. I would rather pray you to consider what the end of +your conspiracy must be. If you succeed, and I do not believe you can +succeed, you will deluge the country in blood. If your best hopes are +realised, and you receive the help you hope for from abroad, you +will make Ireland the cockpit of a European war. Our commerce and +manufactures, reviving under the fostering care of our own Irish +Parliament, will be destroyed. Our fields, which none will dare to till, +will be fouled with the dead bodies of our sons and daughters. But why +should I complete the picture? If you fail--and you must fail--you +will fling the country into the arms of England. Our gentry will be +terrified, our commons will be cowed. Designing Englishmen will make an +easy prey of us. They will take from us even the hard-earned measure of +independence we already possess. We shall become, and we shall remain, +a contemptible province of their Empire instead of a sovereign and +independent nation. The English are wise enough to see this, though you +cannot see it. Man, _they want you to rebel_." + +"Is that all you have to say?" said Micah. + +"That is all." + +"Then I bid you farewell, Eustace St. Clair, Lord of Dunseveric. You +have spoken well and pleaded speciously for yourself and your class. I +might listen to you if I had not seen your armed ruffians break into +our meeting-houses; if I had not in memory stories of burnt homesteads, +outraged women, tortured men; you might persuade me if I did not know +that to-night you have taken my friends, that you will drag them before +unjust judges, and condemn them on the evidence of perjured informers, +as you condemned William Orr. Human endurance can bear no more. Patience +is a virtue of the Gospel, but it becomes cowardice in the face of +certain wrongs. Go, I have done with you. Go, torture, burn, shed +innocent blood, and then, like the adulterous woman, eat and wipe your +mouth, and say 'I have done no wickedness.'" + +"I came into your house on a mission of friendliness and mercy," said +Lord Dunseveric. "I have been met with insults and lies, lies known to +be lies to you who speak them. I go, and I pray that we shall meet no +more until the day when, in the light of God's judgment, you will be +able to see what is in my heart and understand what is in your own." + +"Amen," said Micah Ward, "I bide the test." + +Lord Dunseveric bowed and walked to the door of the room. Then he +paused, turned, and held out his hand to Neal. + +"You will stay with your father, Neal," he said. "I do not deny that you +are right, but I will not part from you in unfriendliness. God keep you, +boy, and remember, for old time's sake, for the sake of the days when +you stood by my knee with my own children, you have always--whatever +happens--always a friend in me." + +Neal's eyes filled with tears. He could not speak. He carried Lord +Dunseveric's hand to his lips, and then let it go reluctantly. He heard +the door shut, the trampling of the horse's hoofs on the gravel outside. +Then, with a sudden sob, which he could not repress, went across the +room and sat down beside his father. + +Donald alone remained cheerful and unimpressed. + +"I know that kind of man," he said. "A fine kind it is. We had some of +the same sort in America. They crossed the border afterwards to Canada. +I suppose you mean to ship your aristocracy to England, Micah? From all +I hear they like lords over there. But now to work. We can't afford to +sit still while Master James Finlay is loose about the country with your +letters in his pocket. We must get on his trail, Neal, you and I. We +must hinder him from doing more mischief. The first thing we want is +horses. Micah, where are we to get horses--two strong nags, fit for the +road?" + +Micah Ward sat silent and absorbed. His eyes were fixed on the wall +in front of him. His lips moved, as if he were speaking, but no sound +passed them. His hands on the table in front of him twitched. He was a +prey to some violent emotion. Donald called him again, and again failed +to arouse his attention. Then he turned to Neal. + +"There's no use in trying to rouse your father, Neal. He will not hear +us. Do you know anyone who will sell or hire us horses?" + +"Rab MacClure has horses," said Neal. "He has two, I know. He lives not +far from this, about a mile along the road towards Ballintoy." + +"Come, then," said Donald, "I suppose the family will be all abed +by this time. We must rouse them. There's Scripture warrant for it. +'Friend, lend me three loaves.' We must imitate the man in the Gospel. +If he won't give us the horses for the asking we must weary him with +importunity." + +It was ten o'clock when Donald and his nephew set out. The clouds were +blown away, and the sky clear. The moon rode high, and by its light they +caught glimpses from the road of the white foam of the sea breaking on +the dark strand below them. The roar of the waves came loud to them as +they walked. A quarter of an hour's quick walking brought them to their +destination. + +"There's the house," said Neal. + +"They are not in bed," said Donald, "I can see lights in the windows." + +Neal led the way across a stile and over a field. Lights moved from +one window to another in the house. A sound of wailing rose! and fell, +mingling with the monotonous roar of the waves. The door stood wide +open. Within, a woman rocked herself to and fro on a low stool. Three +children clung to her petticoats and cried piteously. A farm labourer +stood, stupidly motionless, beside the dresser. A maid servant, with +a light in her hand, flitted restlessly in and out of the kitchen. Her +hair hung loose about her shoulders. She was but half dressed, like one +aroused suddenly from bed. A rush-light burned in an iron stand on +the floor, shedding a feeble light. Donald and Neal stood at the door +astonished. + +"Our friends the yeomen have been here," said Donald. "I guess they +have taken the man of the house away with them. We've another account to +settle with James Finlay when we get him." + +"Mistress MacClure," said Neal, "I've come to know if you will hire or +sell us two horses. We must be travelling to-morrow morn." + +"Horses," cried the woman. "Who speaks o' horses? I wouldna care if ye +were to rive horse and beast and a' from me now. My man's gone. Oh, my +weans, my weans, who'll care for you now when they've kilt your da? Oh, +the bonny man, and the kind!" + +"Is it you, Master Neal?" said the farm servant. "Will you no fetch the +minister till her?" + +"I will, I will," said Neal, conscience-stricken at having mentioned his +own need in a home so sorely stricken with grief. He ran from the house +back to the manse. + +Donald took the labourer outside the door and spoke to him. He explained +that he was the minister's brother. He said that he had pressing need of +the horses. He offered money. The man shook his head. + +"They are no mine, and the mistress is in no way to bargain with you the +night." + +"I want the horses," said Donald, "to ride after the villain who +betrayed your master." + +The man's face brightened suddenly. + +"Aye, and is that so? Why couldn't ye have tell't me that afore? Keep +your money in your pouch. You'll have the horses in the morn. I'll take +it on myself to give them to you. I'd like fine to be going along. But +there's the mistress and the weans. I darena leave them, and I willna. +There's na yin only me and the God that's above us all for her to look +to now." + +Micah Ward, followed by his son, hastened to the MacClure's house. He +stood for a moment on the threshold, lifted his hat solemnly from his +head, and invoked a blessing on the building and all in it. Then he +went to the woman, took one of her hands in his, and spoke to her with +wonderful tenderness. + +"Bessie, my poor bairn. Hearken to me, Bessie. Quit crying now, quit +crying. Do you mind, Bessie, the day I was in with you and Rab away at +Ballymoney? Do you mind how you said to me that every day you thanked +God for the good husband he had given you? Do you mind that? Ah, woman, +you mind it well. And you know rightly what the blessed book says to +you--' The Lord gave and the Lord hath taken away. Blessed be the name +of the Lord.' Are you to receive good at the Lord's hand, my bairn, and +not evil, too?" + +He laid his hand upon her head and prayed aloud. The terrified maid +stood still, her light in her hand, her hair in tangled strings, half +covering her face. The labourer, Donald, and Neal stood together near +the door. The children buried their heads in their mother's lap. Micah +Ward poured out his very soul in supplication. Very literally it might +be said that he wrestled with his God in prayer. It was in some such +terms that he himself would have described the spiritual effort which +he made. More than once, after a pause in his outpouring he repeated, +in tones which were almost fierce in their determination, the words of +Jacob to the angel--"I will not let you go until you bless me." For +a long time he continued to pray, interrupted by no sound except an +occasional bitter cry from Bessie MacClune. One after another the feeble +lights flickered, guttered and went out. The room was in darkness. +Through the open door came the long roaring of the sea. Within, Micah +Ward's voice rose to passionate cries or sank to a tender whisper. +Bessie MacClure's grief found utterance now only in half-choked sobs. At +last even these ceased. Her hands ceased wandering over the curly heads +of the children, asleep now with her lap for their pillow. She felt +upwards along Micah Ward's coat. Her fingers crept along his sleeve, +found his hand, pulled it down to her, and laid her cheek against it. He +ceased to pray. The victory was won. He had, by sheer violence, dragged +peace for a stricken soul from the closely-guarded treasury of the Lord +of Sabaoth. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +Early next morning Donald Ward and Neal set forth on their journey. +Rab MacClure's horses served them well. By breakfast time they reached +Ballymoney. They sat in the inn kitchen while the woman of the house +broiled salmon for them. She was full of excitement, and very ready to +talk. The yeomen had ridden through the town the day before. They had +stopped at her house to drink. The officer and some of the men had paid +their score and ridden on. Ten of them remained behind, and demanded +more drink. Tumblers were brought to them as they sat in their saddles. +One of them had proposed a toast--"To hell with all Papists and +Presbyterians." + +"And that was no civil talk to use to me, when all the town knows that +my man is an elder in the kirk." + +But there was more to follow. The troopers had flung down the +tumblers--"the bonny cut glasses that were fetched from Wexford"--and +shattered them on the pavement of the courtyard. Then they rode off +without paying a penny, and when the mistress cried after them one man +came back with his sword drawn in his hand, and she was fain to flee and +hide herself. But the story of her own wrongs did not quench the good +dame's curiosity. She recognised Neal as the son of the minister in +Dunseveric. It was towards Dunseveric that the yeomen had ridden. What +did they do there? Had there been hanging work or burning--the like of +what went on in other parts? Had they visited the minister's house? Did +Neal see them? + +Donald Ward was a talkative man, and somewhat given to boasting; but, +apart from the fact that the business of the night before gave him +little excuse for glorying, he had plenty of sound sense--too much sense +to gossip with the mistresses of inns about serious business. He signed +to Neal to keep silent, and himself parried the shower of questions +so adroitly that his hostess got no information from him. She tired +at last, and with a show of disappointed temper, put the salmon on the +table. + +"There's your fish for you," she said, "and fadge and oaten farles, and +if you want more you'd better show some civility to the woman that does +for you." + +She left the room, and stood, her hands on her hips, staring into the +street. + +"We're well rid of her tongue," said Donald. + +Before the travellers' appetites were half satisfied she was with them +again. She ran into the kitchen with every sign of terror in her face. + +"They're coming," she said. "I seen them coming round MacCance's corner, +and they have men with them and led horses. I seen them plain, and one +of them is Rab MacClure, of Ballintoy. Away with you, Neal Ward, away +with you. I'm thinking that them that has Rab MacClure and his feet tied +under the horse's belly will be no friends of your father's or yours." + +Donald Ward rose to his feet and stretched himself. + +"The woman's right, Neal." He showed no signs of hurry in his speech. +"I'm thinking it will be safer for us to be out of this. Here, mistress, +what's the reckoning?" + +"Not a penny, not a penny, will I take. Are them murdering devils to +drink without paying and me taking money from the son of Micah Ward +or any friend of his? But for God's sake get you gone. I'll keep them +dandering about the door for a while, and do you get your horses and +out by the back way into the field. You can strike the road again lower +down." + +It was late in the evening when Donald and Neal, with weary horses and +wearier limbs, came close to Antrim. Neal was unused to riding long +distances, and Donald complained that a voyage across the Atlantic left +a man unfit for land travelling. They accosted a stranger on the road +and asked his guidance to the best inn. The man answered them in a civil +way. He spoke with a northern accent, but his voice was singularly sweet +and gentle, and his words were those of a cultured man. + +"I am on my way to the Massereene Arms," he said. "I think you will find +the accommodation good both for yourselves and your horses." + +He walked with them, chatting about the weather and the condition of the +roads. He said that he himself had that day walked from Ballymena, and +intended to spend the night in Antrim. He asked no questions and seemed +in no way concerned with the affairs of his chance acquaintances. + +Donald and Neal took their horses to the inn yard and saw them rubbed +down, stabled, and fed. Then they entered the public room of the inn, +sat down, and ordered their supper. The man who had guided them to the +door sat at a corner of the table eating a frugal meal of bread and +cheese. Beside his tumbler stood a large jug of buttermilk. In a few +minutes he rose from the table and took his seat on a bench near the +fire, where the light from a lamp, which hung on the wall, fell on +him. He drew a notebook from his pocket, and proceeded to write in it, +referring from time to time to scraps of paper, of which he seemed to +have a large number. He was a man of middle height, of a spare frame, +which showed no sign of great personal strength, but was well knit, and +might easily have been capable of great endurance. His face was thin +and narrow. He had very dark hair, and dark, gentle eyes. There was a +suggestion about the mouth of the kind of strength which often goes with +gentleness. + +To Neal the appearance of the man was not very interesting. He watched +him in mere idleness while waiting for the girl to bring the supper +Donald had ordered. If there had been anyone else in the room Neal would +not have wasted a second glance on the unobtrusive stranger. Yet, as +he watched the man he became aware of something about him which was +attractive. There was a dignity in his movements quite different from +Donald Ward's habitual self-assertion, different, too, from the stately +confidence of Lord Dunseveric. There was a quiet seriousness in the +way he set to work at his writing, and a methodical carefulness in his +sorting of the scraps of paper which he drew one by one from his pocket. +The maid entered with the wine and food which Donald had ordered. + +"You'll be for beds, the night," she said. + +"Ay," said Donald, "and do you see that the feathers are well shaken +and the beds soft. If you'd ridden all the miles I've ridden to-day, +my girl, after not being on the back of a horse for three months, you'd +want a soft bed to lie on." + +The stranger looked up from his notebook. There was laughter in his +dark eyes, but it went no further than his eyes. His lips showed no +inclination to smile. + +Another man entered the room--a burly, strong man. He wore top boots, +as if he had been riding. He looked like a well-to-do farmer. He gave no +order to the girl, but walked straight to where the dark-eyed stranger +sat. Greetings passed between them, and then talk in a low voice. Both +of them looked at Donald and Neal. Then, beckoning to the girl, the +stranger asked if he could be accommodated with a private room. The girl +nodded, and went to prepare one. Donald Ward finished his supper, rose, +stretched himself, yawned, and then drawing a stool near the fire, sat +down and filled his pipe. Neal, interested to watch the evening street +traffic in a strange town, climbed on to the deep sill of the window and +pushed the lattice open. A blind piper sat on a stone bench outside the +inn and played a reel for some boys and girls who danced on the road. A +horseman--a handsomely-dressed man and well mounted--rode slowly up the +street towards Lord Massereene's demesne. One of the dancers crossed +his way and caused the horse to shy. The rider cut at the girl with his +whip. An angry growl followed the retreating figure. The piper stopped +playing for a minute and listened. His face wore that eager look of +strained attention which is seen often on the faces of the blind. He +began to play again, and this time his tune was the "Ca Ira." It was +well-known to his audience and its significance was understood. Several +voices began to hum it in unison with the pipes. More voices joined, +and in a minute or two the little crowd was shouting the tune. A grave, +elderly man, in the dark dress and white bands of a clergyman, stepped +out of a house opposite the inn and approached the piper. The dancers +and the onlookers stopped singing and saluted him respectfully. He spoke +to the piper. + +"Don't be playing that tune, Phelim. Play your reel again. There's +trouble where those French tunes are played. It was so in Belfast a +while ago. We want no riot in Antrim nor dragoons in our streets." + +"I'm thinking," said the blind man, "that it's the voice of Mr. +Macartney, the Rector of Antrim, that I'm listening to. Well, reverend +sir, I'll stop my tune at your bidding. Not because you're a magistrate, +nor yet because you're a great man, but just for the sake of the letter +you wrote to save William Orr from being hanged." + +The pipes gave a long wail and were silent. Then another man came up the +street. Neal could not see his face, for his hat was slouched over it, +but the sound of his voice reached the open window. + +"What's this, boys? What's this? Which of you is it bids the piper stop +his tune? It's only cowards and Orangemen that don't like that tune." + +The voice struck Neal as one that he had heard before, but he could not +recollect where he had heard it. He leaned out of the window to hear +better. + +The clergyman stepped out into the road and confronted the newcomer. + +"It was I who bid the piper stop that tune. What have you to say to me?" + +The other approached him swaggering, then hesitated, stood still, took +off his hat, and held it in his hand. + +"Oh, nothing to you, nothing at all, Mr. Macartney. I did not know you +were here. Indeed, you were quite right to stop the man. As for what I +said, I beg you to forget it. It was nothing but a joke, a little joke +of mine." + +He bowed and cringed. He spoke in a deprecating whine, very different +from the blustering tone he had used before. Neal's interest in the +scene before him became suddenly very acute. He was almost certain now +that he recognised the voice. The whining tone brought back to him the +night when he had interfered with James Finlay's salmon poaching. The +voice was, he felt sure of it, Finlay's voice. He drew back quickly, +and from within the window watched Finlay pass through the inn door. He +heard his steps in the passage, heard him open the door of the room in +which the travellers were gathered. Neal shrank back into the shadow of +the window seat and watched. + +Finlay swaggered across the floor and then paused and looked at Donald +Ward, who smoked his pipe in the chimney corner. Then he turned to the +other two. + +"I don't know this gentleman," he said. "Is he----?" + +He paused, his eyebrows elevated, his face expressing significant +interrogation. Neal saw him plainly in the lamp light. He had not been +mistaken in the voice. It was James Finlay. The man who had guided them +to the inn rose without speaking and led the way to the private room +which the maid had prepared for his reception. Neal jumped down from his +seat and approached his uncle. + +"Uncle Donald," he said, "that was James Finlay, the man we are looking +for." + +Donald took his pipe out of his mouth and looked hard at Neal. + +"Are you quite sure?" he said. "It won't do to be making a mistake in a +job of this sort." + +"I'm quite sure." + +Donald replaced his pipe in his mouth and puffed hard at it for some +minutes. Then he said-- + +"You don't know either of the other two, I suppose? No. Well it can't +be helped. It would have been convenient if we had known. They may be +honest men or they may be another pair of spies. I think I'll try and +find out something about them. Do you stay here, Neal, and watch. Let +me know if any of the three of them leave the house. I'll go down the +passage to the tap-room. I'll drink a glass or two, and I'll see what +information I can pick up. You see, my boy, if the other two are honest +men we ought to warn them of our suspicions about Finlay. If they are +spies we ought to know their names and warn somebody else. Any way, keep +your eye on Finlay, and let me know if he stirs." + +A sensation of horror crept over Neal when his uncle left him. He +realised that he was hunting a fellow-creature, that the hunt might end +at any moment in the taking of human life. In Dunseveric Manse, while +the anger which the yeomen's blows and bonds had raised in him was +awake, while the enormity of Finlay's treachery was still fresh in his +mind, it seemed natural and right that the spy should be killed. Now, +when he had seen the man swagger down the street, when he had just +watched him cringe and apologize, when he had sat within a few feet of +him, it seemed a ghastly and horrible thing to track and pursue him for +his life. A cold sweat bathed his limbs. His hands trembled. He sat +on the stool near the fire shivering with cold and fear. He listened +intently. It was growing late, and the piper had stopped playing in the +street. The boys and girls who danced had gone home. There were +voices of passers by, but these grew rarer. Now and then there was the +trampling of a horse's hoofs on the road as some belated traveller from +Belfast pushed fast for home. A murmur of voices came to him from the +interior of the inn, he supposed from the tap-room to which his uncle +had gone, but he could hear nothing of what was said. Once the girl who +had served his supper came in and told him that his bed was ready if he +cared to go to it. Neal shook his head. Gradually he became drowsy. His +eyes closed. He nodded. Then the very act of nodding awoke him with a +start. He blamed himself for having gone near to sleeping at his post, +for being neglectful of the very first duty imposed on him. The horror +of the watch he was keeping returned on him. He felt that he was like +a murderer lurking in the dark for some unsuspecting victim. For Finlay +had no thought that he was distrusted, discovered, tracked. Then, to +steel himself against pity, he let his mind go back over the events of +the previous night. He thought of the scene in the MacClures' cottage, +of the heart-broken woman, of her husband riding with the brutal +troopers to a trial without justice and a death without pity. He felt +with his hand the blood caked on his own cheek, the scab on the cut +where the yeoman had struck him. He remembered Una's shriek and the +Comtesse's frantic struggles as the soldiers dragged them from their +hiding-place. Of his own rush to their rescue he remembered little save +the momentary delight of feeling his fists get home on the men's faces. + +He had nerved himself now with memories and conquered his qualms. He +felt that it would be easy work and pleasant to drag James Finlay to +earth and trample the life out of him. The thought of the insults of +the brutal men who held Una and his own impotent struggles with the belt +which bound him made him fierce enough. But the mood passed. His mind +reverted to the subject which had never, all day, been far from his +thoughts. He recalled each detail of his walk back to Dun-severic with +Una, her words of praise for his bravery, the resting of her hand in his +as they crossed stiles and ditches, the times when it rested in his hand +longer than it need have rested, the great moment when he had ventured +to clasp and keep it fast. He thrilled as he recollected holding her +in his arms, the telling of his love, and Una's wonderful reply to +him. Emotion flooded him. Una loved him as he loved her. The future was +impossible, unthinkable. At the best of times he could not hope that +proud Lord Dunseveric would consent to let him marry Una; and now, of +all times, now, when he was engaged in a dangerous conspiracy, pledged +to a fight which he felt already to be hopeless; when he had the +hangman's ladder to look forward to, or, at best, the life of a hunted +outlaw and exile to some foreign land; what could he expect now to come +of his love for Una? His mind refused to dwell on such thoughts for +long. It went back to the simple fact, the glorious, incredible thing +which he had learned. Una loved him. That was sufficient for him then. +He was happy. + +The door of a room somewhere within the house closed noisily. There +were footsteps on the stairs and then in the passage. Neal was alert. +He quenched the light which hung on the wall and stood in the darkness +looking out of the door. He saw three men pass him--James Finlay and +the other two. They stood at the street door speaking last words in low +voices. Neal sped down the passage to the tap-room. His uncle sat in +a cloud of tobacco smoke, with a tumbler in his hand. Round him was +gathered a knot of admirers, most of them somewhat tipsy. Donald was +telling them stories of the American war. At the sight of Neal he rose +quickly and laid down his tumbler. It was evident that he, at least, had +drunk no more than he could stand. + +"Well, has he moved?" he whispered. + +"Yes," said Neal. "He and the second man are going. They had their hats +on and were bidding good night to the first, the man who brought us +here." + +Donald left the tap-room quickly. The street door closed, and in the +passage he found himself face to face with the gentle-mannered traveller +whom he had accosted in the street. + +"I think," said Donald, "that I have the honour of addressing Mr. Hope." + +"James Hope," said the other, "or Jemmy Hope. I am but a weaver, a +simple man. I take no pride in the titles men give each other." + +"James Hope," said Donald, "I've heard of you, and I've heard of you as +an honest man. I reckon there's no title higher than that one. I think, +sir, that you have a room at your disposal in this house. May I speak +with you there? I have matters of some importance." + +James Hope turned without a word and led the way upstairs to a small +room. Three candles stood on the table. There were also tumblers and +an empty whisky bottle. It was noticeable that there were only two +tumblers. James Hope had not been drinking. Donald walked over to the +table and blew out one of the candles. + +"I'm not more superstitious than other men," he said, "but I won't sit +in the room with three candles burning. It's damned unlucky." + +Again, as earlier in the public room, Neal thought that James Hope was +going to laugh. But again the laughter got no further than his eyes. + +"Now," said Donald, "if you've no objection, I'll have a fresh bottle on +the table and some clean glasses. You know this inn, James Hope, what's +their best drink?" + +"I have but a poor head," said Hope. "I drink nothing but water. But I +believe that the whisky is good enough." + +"Neal, my boy," said Donald, "the wench that bought us our supper is +gone to bed, and the landlord's too drunk to carry anything upstairs. +You go and fill the jug there with hot water in the kitchen, and I'll +get some whisky from the taproom." + +Donald filled himself a glass with a generous proportion of spirit, and +lit his pipe again. + +"I've a letter here, addressed to you," he said. + +He fumbled in his breast pocket, drew forth a leather case, and took +from it one of the letters which Micah Ward had written. James Hope read +it carefully. + +"You are," he said, "the Donald Ward mentioned in this letter, and you +are Neal Ward, the son of a man whom we all respect and admire. I bid +you welcome." + +He held out his hand, first to Donald, who shook it heartily, and then +to Neal. He fixed his dark eyes on the young man's face, and looked long +and steadily at him. Neal's eyes wavered and dropped before this earnest +scrutiny, which seemed to read his very thoughts. + +"God bless you and keep you, my boy," said James Hope. "You are the son +of a brave man. I doubt not that you will be a brave man, too, brave in +a good cause." + +Donald Ward seemed a little impatient at this long scrutiny of Neal and +the speech which followed. He took several gulps of whisky and water and +blew clouds of tobacco smoke. He cleared his throat noisily and said. + +"You'll be satisfied, James Hope, by the letter I've given you that we +are men to be trusted?" + +"God forbid else," said Hope. "Whom should we trust if not the brother +and son of Micah Ward?" + +"Then I'll come straight to the point," said Donald. "Who were the two +men that were with you just now?" + +"The one of them," said Hope, "was Aeneas Moylin, a Catholic, and a +friend of Charlie Teeling. He's a man that has done much to bring the +Defender boys from County Down and Armagh into the society. He has a +good farm of land near by Donegore." + +"And the other?" + +"The other you ought to know, Neal Ward. He's from Dunseveric. His +name's James Finlay." + +"I do know him," said Neal, "but I don't trust him." + +"He came to me," said Hope, "with a letter from your father, like the +letter you bring yourself. I have trusted him a great deal." + +"Trust him no more, then," said Donald, "the man's a spy. My brother was +deceived in him." + +"These are grave words you speak," said Hope. "Can you make them good?" + +Donald told the story of the raid on the Dunseveric meeting-house. +He dwelt on the fact that only five or six people knew of the buried +cannon, that of these, only one, James Finlay, had left Dunseveric, that +Neal Ward's name had appeared on the list of suspected persons, though +Neal had hitherto taken no part and had no knowledge of the doings +of the United Irishmen; that his name must have been given to the +authorities by some one who had a private spite against him; that James +Finlay, and he alone of the people of Dunseveric, had any cause to seek +revenge on Neal. + +"It's a case of suspicion," said James Hope, "of heavy suspicion, but +you've not proven that the man's a traitor." + +"No," said Donald, "it's not proven. I know that well, but the man ought +to be trusted no more until his character is cleared. He ought to be +tried and given a chance of defending himself." + +James Hope sat silent. His fingers pushed back the lock of dark hair +which hung over his forehead. His face grew stern, and there was a look +of determination in his dark eyes. A frown gathered in deep wrinkles on +his forehead. At last he spoke. + +"You are on your way to Belfast. I shall give you a letter to Felix +Matier, who keeps the inn with the sign of Dumouriez in North Street. +You will find him easily. His house is a common meeting-place for +members of the society. I shall tell him to have a careful watch kept on +Finlay, and to communicate with you." + +"I'll deal with the man," said Donald, "as soon as I have anything more +than suspicion to go on." + +"Deal uprightly, deal justly," said Hope. "Ours is a sacred cause. It +may be God's will that we are to be victorious, or it may be written in +His book that we shall fail. He alone knows the issue. But, either way, +our hands must not be stained with crime. We must do justly, aye, and +love mercy when mercy can be shown without imperilling the lives of +innocent men." + +"Traitors must be dealt with as traitors are in all civilised States," +said Donald. + +"Ay, truly, when we are sure that they are traitors." + +"I shall make sure," said Donald, "and then----" + +"Then------," Hope sighed deeply. "Then---- you are right. There is no +help for it. But remember, Donald Ward, that you and I must answer for +our actions before the judgment seat of God. Remember, also, that our +names and our deeds will be judged by posterity. We must not shrink from +stern necessities laid upon us. But let us not give the enemy an excuse +to brand us as assassins in the time to come." + +"God damn it, man, you speak to me as if you thought me a hired +murderer. I take such language from no man living, and from you no +more than another, James Hope. You shall answer for your words and your +insinuations." + +Donald stood up as he spoke. His face was deeply flushed. He had drunk +heavily during the evening. Even the best men, the leaders of every +class and section of society drank heavily in those days. He was an +exceptional man who always went to bed in full possession of his +senses. Donald Ward was no worse than his fellows. But the man whom +he challenged was one of the few for whom the wine bottle had no +attractions. He was also one of those--rare in any age--who had learnt +the mastery of self, whom no words, even insulting words, can drive +beyond the limits of their patience. + +"If I have spoken anything which hurts or vexes you, Donald Ward, I am +sorry for it. I had no wish to do so. Comrades in a great enterprise +must not quarrel with each other. I offer you my hand in token that I do +not think of you as anything but an honourable man." + +"Spoken like a gentleman," said Donald, grasping the outstretched +hand. "Enough said, you have satisfied me that you meant no insult. A +gentleman can do no more." + +"I am not what they call a gentleman," said James Hope, "I am only a +poor weaver with no claim to any such title." + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +At breakfast the next morning James Hope spoke again about Finlay. + +"The man went home last night with Aeneas Moylin. I think that I ought +to go to Donegore to-day and tell Aeneas of our suspicions. I had +intended to go straight to Templepatrick, and I might have had your +company so far, but it will certainly be better for me to go round by +Donegore." + +Donald Ward nodded. + +"I shall not see Finlay himself," said Hope. "He was to leave early this +morning for Belfast. You must ride fast to be there before him." + +He paused. Then, after a moment's thought, he said: + +"I should like to have Neal with me, if you can spare him, Donald Ward, +if you do not object to riding alone." + +"I am sure," said Donald, "that Neal will benefit much more by your +company than mine. He can join me in Belfast this evening." + +This was Donald's apology, his confession of contrition for the rough +language of the night before; his confession that in James Hope he had +met a man who was his superior. + +"So be it," said Hope. "I shall not propose to you, Neal, that we ride +and tie as the custom of the country is for travellers who have only one +horse between them. You shall lead the horse, and so we shall be able to +talk to each other." + +Neal agreed to the plan gladly. He was greatly attracted by James Hope, +and glad to spend some hours with him. + +The girl came running into the room, her face flushed with excitement. + +"Come, come," she cried, "the soldiers are riding down the street in +their braw red coats. Oh, the bonny men and the bonny horses!" + +The three travellers went to the door of the inn. Four companies of +dragoons were passing through the town at a trot. It was Neal's first +view of any considerable body of troops. He stared at them, fascinated +by the jingling and clattering of their accoutrements. These were very +different from the yeomen he had seen at Dunseveric. Everything about +them, the uniformity of their appearance, the condition of their arms +and horses, the regularity of their march, expressed the fact that they +were highly disciplined men. Donald Ward smiled grimly as he watched +them. + +"There are the men we've got to beat," he said. "Fine fellows, eh, Neal? +They look as if they could sweep you and me and Jemmy Hope here, and a +crowd like us, out of their way; but I've seen men in those same pretty +clothes glad enough to turn their backs on troops no better organised +nor drilled than ours will be." + +"Poor fellows!" said Hope "poor fellows! Paid to fight and die in +quarrels which are not their own. To fight for their masters, that their +masters may grow rich and great. And yet they are of the people, too. It +is just starvation, or the fear of it, that led them to enlist." + +"Where are they going now?" asked Neal. + +"To Belfast," said Hope. "I heard that the garrison there was deemed +insufficient and that a fresh regiment of dragoons had been ordered in +from Derry." + +"Look at them well, Neal," said Donald. "Look at them so that you'll +know them when you next see them. You'll meet them again before long." + +James Hope and Neal started on their walk soon after the dragoons had +passed. Just outside the town they turned aside to view the round tower, +the most famous of the buildings of its kind in the north. + +"None knows," said Hope, "who built these towers, or why, but it seems +certain to me that they were built by men with lofty thoughts, by men +who looked upward rather than to the earth. Some say that it was to +other gods they looked up and not to the true God. What does it matter? +Their hearts, like their towers, rose clear of earthly hamperings and +reached towards heaven." + +He asked Neal many questions about his way of life and education, about +the books he had read, and the periods of history he found specially +interesting. + +"I had no such opportunities when a boy," said Hope, "as you have had. +I am a self-educated man. I never had but fifteen months of schooling in +my life. What little knowledge I have I gained with great difficulty." + +This surprised Neal, for it seemed to him that he had never talked to +anyone who possessed more of that sweetness and wide reasonableness of +outlook upon life which ought to be the end of education. He tried to +express something of what he felt, but Hope stopped him and turned the +talk into other channels. + +At Farranshane Hope bade him stand still and look at a farmhouse which +stood a little back from the road. + +"It was there," he said, "that William Orr lived. His widow and weans +are there now. You know the story, Neal?" + +"I know it; yes, I know the outlines of it. Do you tell it to me again." + +Hope repeated the story, which in those days hardly needed telling among +the Antrim peasants, of the man whose name had become a watchword; so +that men, seeking to revive failing enthusiasms, said to each +other--"Remember Orr." It was a pitiful tale; a man marked down as +odious by a powerful faction, spied upon, informed against, tried by +prejudiced judges, condemned on the word of false witnesses, hanged. The +same tale might have been told of many another then, but William Orr +came first on the list of such martyrs, and even now his name is not +wholly forgotten. + +They reached Donegore. Moylin's house--a comfortable, two-storeyed +building, built of large blocks of stone--stood on the side of the steep +hill, near the old church and the graveyard. Hope, bidding Neal wait for +him on the roadside, entered the house. In about a quarter of an hour he +returned. + +"It is as I thought," he said. "Finlay left early this morning after +arranging for a meeting of the United Irishmen here next week. Well, +there is no more to be done for the present. I have warned Moylin to be +careful. Come and let me show you the ancient fort from which the parish +takes its name and the view from it." + +"This," said Hope, when they stood at last on the top of the great rath, +"is my Pisgah. From this I have looked many a time over the land. See, +west, south, east of you, how it spreads, rich, beautiful, from the +shores of Lough Neagh to the shores of Belfast Lough and the sea of +Moyle. Here great men, warriors of the past, had their hill-top burial, +and it may be fixed their fortress home. From this they looked over the +country which they took and held by strength of arm and courage of soul. +Are we a meaner race, men of a poorer spirit? Shall we not enter in and +possess the land in our turn? All over the world the voice of liberty +is heard now, clear and strong, bidding the people assert themselves and +claim right and justice. Are our ears alone deaf to the high call? Has +the pursuit of riches dulled our souls? Is the clink of gold and silver +so loud in our ears that we can hear nothing else?" + +They descended the grassy sides of the old fort, walked down the steep +lane from Moylin's house, and joined the road again. Turning to the +right, they went under the shade of fine trees which reached their +branches over the road from the demesne in which they grew. + +"The big house in there," said Hope, "belongs to one of the landlord +families of this county. It has been their's for generations. On the +lawn in front of that house a company of Volunteers used to meet for +drill. The owner of the house, the lord of the soil, was their captain. +In those days we had all Ireland united--the landlords, the merchants, +and the farming people. Now it is not so. Our landlords won then what +they wanted--freedom and power. They have ruled Ireland since 1782. +The merchants and manufacturers also won what they chiefly wanted--the +opportunity of fair and free trade. They have grown rich, and are every +year growing richer. They bid fair to make Ireland a great commercial +nation--what she ought to be, the link between the Old World and the +New. But both the landlords and the traders have been selfish. Having +gained the object of their desires, they are unwilling to share +either power or riches with the people. They have refused to consider +reasonable measures of reform. They have goaded and harried us +until----" + +He ceased speaking and sighed. + +"But," he went on, "they will not be able to keep either their power or +their riches. In refusing to trust the people they are ensuring their +own doom. They forget that there is a power greater than theirs--that +England is continually on the watch to win back again her sovereignty +over Ireland. Our upper class and our middle class are too jealous of +their privileges to share them with us. They will give England the +opportunity she wants. Then Ireland will be brought into the old +subjection, and her advance towards prosperity will be checked again as +it was checked before. She will become a country of haughty +squireens--the most contemptible class of all, men of blackened honour +and broken faith, men proud, but with nothing to be proud of--and of +ruined traders; a land of ill-cultivated fields and ruined mills; a +nation crushed by her conqueror." + +Neal listened attentively. It was curious that the fear to which James +Hope gave expression was the very same which he had heard from Lord +Dun-severic. Each dreaded England. Each saw that out of the turmoil of +contemporary politics would come the restoration of the English power +over Ireland. But Lord Dunseveric blamed the schemes of the United +Irishmen. James Hope blamed the selfishness of the upper classes. +Neal tried to explain to his companion what he understood of Lord +Dunseveric's opinions. + +James Hope broke in on him, interrupting him. + +"But the people are slaves, actually slaves, not a whit better. Are +nine-tenths of the people to be slaves to one-tenth? The thing +is unendurable. Look at the Catholics in the south, men without +representation, without power, without direct influence; men marked with +a brand of inferiority because of their religion. Look at the men of our +own faith here in the north. Our case is not wholly so bad, but it is +bad enough. We have asked, petitioned, begged, implored, for the removal +of our grievances. If we are men we must do more--we must strike for +them. Else we confess ourselves unworthy of the freedom which we claim. +They alone are fit for liberty who dare to fight for liberty. Think +of it, Neal Ward, think. It is we, the people, digging in the fields, +toiling at the looms, it is we who make the riches, who win the good +fruit from the hard ground, who weave the thread into the precious +fabric. And we are denied a share in what we create. It is from us in +the last resort that the power of the governing classes comes. If we +had not taken arms in our hands at their bidding, if we had not stood by +them, no English Minister would ever have yielded to their demands, and +given them the power which they enjoy. And they will not give us the +smallest part of what we won for them. 'What inheritance have we in +Judah? Now see to thine own house, David. To your tents, O Israel!'" + +James Hope's voice rose. His eyes flashed. His whole face was +enlightened with enthusiasm as he spoke. Neal listened, awed. Here was +the devotion to the cause of suffering and oppressed men, the spirit +which had produced revolution, which had begotten from the womb +of humanity pure and noble men, which had, in the violence of its +self-assertion, deluged cities with blood and defiled a great cause +with dreadful deeds. He had no answer to make, and for a long while they +walked in silence. + +Reaching Templepatrick, Hope took Neal to the house of John Birnie, a +hand-loom weaver, a cousin of his own. They were welcomed by the woman +of the house and given a share of a meal which even to Neal, brought +up as he had been without luxury in his father's manse, seemed poor and +meagre. But no thought of the hardness of their fare seemed to trouble +the mind of the weaver and his wife. Theirs was the kind of hospitality +which disdains apology or pretence. They gave of their best. There was +no more that they could do. Also, it was evident that the tickling of +the palate with food, or the filling of the belly with delicate things +was not a matter of much importance to these people. Living hard and +toilsome lives, they had the constant companionship of lofty thoughts. +They felt as James Hope did, and spoke like him. + +Neal lingered so long in the company of these new friends that it was +far on in the afternoon when he started on his ride, and late in the +evening when he arrived in the outskirts of Belfast. It was his first +visit to the town, and he approached it with feelings of interest +and curiosity. Riding down the long hill by which the road from +Templepatrick approaches Greencastle on the way to the town, he was able +to gaze over the waters of the lough which lay stretched beneath him on +his left. In the Carrickfergus roads several ships lay at anchor, among +them a frigate of the English navy. Pinnaces and small craft plied +between them and the shore, or headed for the entrance of Belfast +Harbour by the tortuous channel worn through mud and sand by the Lagan. +Below him, by the sea, were the handsome houses which the richer class +of merchants were already beginning to build for themselves on the +shores of the lough. Between Carnmoney and Belfast he passed the bleach +greens of the linen weavers, where the long webs of the cloth, for which +Belfast was afterwards to become famous, lay white or yellow on the +grass. On his right rose the rugged sides of the Cave Hill. High above +its rocks towered MacArt's fort, where Wolfe Tone, M'Cracken, Samuel +Neilson, and his new friend, James Hope, with others, had sworn the oath +of the United Irishmen. They had separated far from each other since the +day of their swearing, but each in his own way--Tone among the intrigues +of Continental politics, M'Cracken in Belfast, Neilson and Hope among +the Antrim peasantry--had kept the oath and would keep it until the end. + +Entering the town, he passed the recently-erected poorhouse and +infirmary, a building designed with a curious spacious generosity, as +were the buildings in Dublin and elsewhere which Irishmen erected during +the short day of their national independence. In Donegall Street he saw +the new church--Ann's Church, as the people called it---thinking rather +of the lady of Lord Donegall, who interested herself in its building, +than the Mother of the Virgin in whose honour good Protestants were +little likely to build a church. But the classic portico and tall tower +did not hold his attention long. He could not but notice that there was +an air of anxious excitement in the demeanour of the citizens who passed +him in the street. They were all hurrying one way, making from one +direction or another for the side street whose entrance faced the +church. Neal accosted one or two, but received either no answer or words +uttered so hurriedly that he could not catch their import. Determined +at length to get some intelligible reply to his questions, he pulled his +horse across the path of an elderly gentleman of respectable appearance. + +"Will you tell me," he said, "the way to North Street? I am a stranger +in your town." + +"And if you are a stranger you will do well to keep out of North Street +the night." + +"But I seek a house of entertainment to which I have been +directed--Felix Matier's inn at the sign of Dumouriez." + +"Who are you, young man, who seek that house? They say----. But let me +pass, let me pass. I am the secretary of William Bristow, the sovereign +of Belfast, and I must see for myself, I must see for myself what these +incarnate devils of dragoons are doing in our streets." + +"I will not let you pass," said Neal, "till you give me a civil answer +to my question. I think you citizens of Belfast are as uncivil as men +say you are, and are all gone mad to-night that you will not direct a +stranger on his way." + +"A wilful man, a wilful man. Follow me. Or, let me lay my hand on your +bridle. The crowd gathers fast. It may be that your horse, if I keep by +it, will enable me to push my way through. But blame me not if you come +by a broken head through your wilfulness." + +Neal's guide, the sovereign's pursy and excited secretary, led the horse +down the side street, along which the people were hurrying. Suddenly the +crowd hesitated, stopped, began to surge back again. Neal, standing up +in his stirrups, saw that the end of the narrow street along which he +rode was blocked by another crowd, which fled into it from a larger +thoroughfare beyond. There was much trampling and pushing and shouting. +Neal's guide, clinging desperately to the horse's bridle, was borne +back. The horse began to plunge. This was too much for the old +gentleman. He loosed his grip. + +"Go on," he said, "go on if you can, young man. That's the North Street +in front of you." + +The reason for the crowd's flight became obvious. A number of dragoons, +dismounted, half-clothed, and apparently free from all discipline, came +rushing down North Street. As they swept past the entrance of the side +street Neal had a clear view of them over the heads of the crowd. In a +moment they had passed out of sight again, but the moment was enough. +Running with the soldiers, his arm gripped by a dragoon, but running +with his own free will, was James Finlay. Neal was stung to fury by the +sight of this man. He had no doubt at all now that he had to do with +a traitor. He drove his heels against his horse's side, lashed at the +creature's flanks with his rod, and fairly forced his way through the +cursing, shouting crowd into North Street. + +At the far end of the street he saw the dragoons raging and rioting +round a house which stood a storey higher than any other near it. The +whole length of the street lay almost empty before him. The soldiers had +effectually cleared a way for themselves. He rode towards the scene +of the riot. He saw that two civilians were defending the front of the +house against the soldiers. They fought with sticks, and Neal recognised +one of them as his uncle, Donald Ward. Before he could reach them +they were forced into the house, and followed indoors by some of the +dragoons. James Finlay had disappeared. Neal hesitated and stopped, +uncertain what to do. Some of the soldiers placed a ladder against +the wall. One of them mounted, with a sledge hammer in his hand, and +battered at the iron supports which held a signboard to the wall. The +iron bars bent under his blows, the holdfasts were torn from the wall, +and the painted board fell into the street. A yell of triumph greeted +the fall. The soldiers stamped on the board with their heavy boots and +hacked at it with their swords. Then another man mounted the ladder with +a splintered fragment in his hand. He whirled it round his head, and +flung it far down the street. + +"There's for the rebelly sign," he shouted. "There's for Dumouriez! +There's the way we treat damned French and Irish croppies." + +The crowd, which had gathered courage and followed Neal down the street, +answered him with a groan and a volley of stones. The man sprang from +the ladder, called to his comrades, and in a moment the dragoons drew +together and, their swords in their hands, charged the crowd. Neal's +horse, terrified by the shouting, became unmanageable. Neal flung +himself to the ground, staggered, was knocked down and trampled on, +first by the flying people, then by the soldiers who pursued them. He +rose when the rush was over. The street around him was empty again. The +fragments of the shattered signboard lay around. The windows of the +house that had been attacked were all broken, either by the stones of +the people or the blows of the soldiers. There was a sound of fighting +within the house. Neal ran towards the door. A woman's shriek reached +him, and a moment later a soldier came out of the door dragging a girl +with him. He had a wisp of her hair gathered in his hand, and he pulled +at it savagely. The girl stumbled on the doorstep, fell, was dragged a +pace or two, staggered to her feet, clutched at the soldier's hand and +fastened her teeth in his wrist. Neal sprang forward at the man's +throat, grasped it, and, by the sheer impetus of his spring, bore the +dragoon to the ground. He was conscious of being uppermost in the fall, +of the fierce struggling of the man he held, of the girl tearing with +her hands and writhing in the effort to free her hair, of shouting near +at hand, of a rush of men from the house. Then he received a blow on the +head which stunned him. He awoke to consciousness a few minutes later, +and heard his uncle's voice. + +"Is the girl inside and the man? Have you got him? Then for the door. +They'll hardly venture into the house again after the reception we gave +them. It was a mighty nice fight while it lasted. Now a light, a light. +Let us see if anyone's hurt." + +Someone brought a light. Neal tried to rise, but was too giddy. The +girl whom the soldier had dragged into the street stood beside him. +Her hair--bright red hair--hung about her shoulders. Her dress was in +tatters, she was spitting blood, and wiping it off her mouth with the +back of her hand. + +"Hullo, Meg, Peg, whatever your name is," said Donald Ward, "you're +bleeding. Where are you cut? Let me see to it?" + +"Thon's no my blood," said the girl. "It's his. I got my teeth intil +him. Ay, faith, it's his blood that I'm spitting out of my mouth. I did +hear tell that it was black blood was in the likes of him, but I see now +it's red enough. I'm glad of it, for I've swallowed a gill of it since I +gripped his wrist, and I wouldna' like to swallow poison." + +"Well, then, Peg, my wench, since you're not hurt, let's take a look +at the man that helped you. He's lying there mighty quiet. I'm afraid +there's some harm done to him." + +Donald Ward took the light and bent over Neal. + +"By God," he said, "it's Neal, and he's hurt or killed." + +"It's all right," said Neal, feebly, "I'm only dizzy. I got a bang on +the head. I'll be all right in a minute." + +"Matier," said Donald, "come and help me with the boy. I must get him to +bed. Where can I put him?" + +"There's not a room in the house with a whole pane of glass in the +window," said Felix Matier, "except my own. It looks out on the back, +and the villains never came at it. We'll take him there. I'll lift his +shoulders, and go first." + +He approached Neal and was about to lift him when the girl pushed him +aside and stooped over Neal herself. + +"Come now, what's the meaning of this, Peg Macllrea? Are you so daft +with your fighting that you hustle your master aside?" + +"Master or no master," said Peg, "you'll not carry him. It was for me +that he got hurted, and it's me that'll carry him." + +She put her arms under Neal and lifted him. He was a big man, but she +carried him up a flight of stairs and laid him on her master's bed. +The long matted tresses of her red hair hung over his face, and an +occasional drop of the blood which still dripped from her fell on him. +Donald Ward and Matier followed her. + +"Let's have a look at him," said Donald. "Ah! here's a scalp wound and a +cut on the head the length of my finger. This must be seen to. Run, Peg, +get me linen and a basin of cold water. It must have been a boot did +this. A kick from one of the rascally dragoons as they passed over him +when we chased them. Now, Neal, are you hurt anywhere else?" + +"I'm bruises from head to foot. Half the people in Belfast have trampled +over me this night, and when they wear boots they wear mighty heavy +ones." + +Donald, with wonderful gentleness, took Neal' clothes off him, put on +him a night shirt of Felix Matier's, and laid him between cool sheets. + +"Sit you here, Peg," he said, when he had bandaged the cut head, "with +the jug of water beside you, and keep the bandage wet. The other bruises +are nothing, but a broken head needs to be minded. Now, Neal, don't you +talk." + +Matier fetched a bottle of wine and set it with the light on the table +which stood near the window. + +"We'll have to sit here," he said, "if we don't disturb your nephew. +Every other room in the house is in a state of scatteration. I have set +the girls to clean up a bit, and after a while they'll have beds for us +to sleep in. It's a devil of a business, but as poor Tone used to say +when things went wrong with him-- + + 'Tis but in vain + For soldiers to complain.'" + +"What started the riot?" asked Donald. "The Lord knows. Those dragoons +only marched into the town this afternoon. I suppose the devil entered +into them, if the devil's ever out of them at all." + +"I guess," said Donald, "those were the lads that marched through Antrim +this morning." + +"The very same." + +"They're strangers to the town, then?" + +"Ay; I don't suppose one of them ever saw Belfast before." + +"Tell me this, then. How did they know what house to attack? They came +straight here." + +"It was my sign angered them. They couldn't abide the sight of +Dumouriez' honest face in a Belfast street. + + "Then let us fight about, Dumouriez; + Then let us fight about, Dumouriez; + Then let us fight about, + Till freedom's spark is out, + Then we'll be damned no doubt--Dumouriez." + +"You miss the point, man; you miss my point. How did they know about +your sign or you either, unless someone told them?" + +There was a knocking, gentle at first, and then more confident, at the +street door. Donald looked inquiringly at his host. + +"It's all right," said Matlier, "I know that knock. It's James Bigger, a +safe man." + +He left the room and returned with a young man whom he introduced to +Donald Ward. + +"We were just talking about the riot," said Donald. "What's your opinion +about it, Mr. Bigger?" + +"There are five houses wrecked," said Bigger, "and every one of them the +house of a man in sympathy with reform and liberty and the Union." + +Donald and Matier exchanged glances. + +"They were well informed," said Donald. "They knew what they were at, +and where to go." + +"They say," said Bigger, "that the leaders of the different parties had +papers in their hands with directions on them. They were seen looking at +them in the streets." + +"I'd like to put my hand on one of those papers," said Donald. + + "Zipperty, zipperty, zand," + +quoted Matier, + + "I wish I'd a bit of that in my hand." + +"You know the old rhyme." + +Neal lay quiet, but wide awake. The conversation interested him too +much to allow him to sleep. Twice he tried to speak, but each time Peg +Macllrea, determined now that he was under her care to keep him quiet, +put her hand over his mouth. At last he succeeded in asserting himself +in spite of her. + +"I saw James Finlay," he said, "along with a party of the soldiers going +up this street." + +The three men at the table turned to him. Donald seemed about to +cross-question him when Peg Macllrea spoke. + +"Is it a bit of the soger's paper you're wantin'? Here's for you." + +She fumbled in the pocket of her skirt and drew out a crumpled scrap of +paper. + +"I snapped it out of his hand in the kitchen. It was for grabbing it +that he catched me by the hair o' the head. I saw him glowerin' at it as +soon as ever he came intil the light." + +Donald Ward took it from her hand and read-- + +"The house of Felix Matier, an inn at the far end of North Street, to be +known easily by the sign of Dumouriez which hangs before the door. Felix +Matier is + + +." + +He passed it without comment to Matier, who read it and laughed. + +"They have me marked with three crosses," he said. "I'm dangerous. But +what do they mean by it. How do they come to know so much about me? + + "'Ken ye aught of Captain Grose Igo and ago. + Is he amang friends or foes? Iram, coram, dago.' + +"Who set the dragoons on you?" said Donald. "That's the question." + +"By God, then, it's easily answered," said Matier. "I'll give it to you +in the words of the poet-- + + "'Letters four do form his name. + He let them loose and cried Halloo! + To him alone the praise is due.' + +"P.I.T.T. Does that content you?" + +"Pitt," said Donald. "Oh, I see. That's true, no doubt. But I want +some one nearer hand than Pitt. Who gave them this paper? Whose is the +writing on it?" + +"I can tell you that," said James Bigger. "I have a note in my pocket +this minute from the man who wrote that. It's a summons to a meeting +for important business at the house of Aeneas Moylin, on the hill of +Donegore, next week." + +"Have you?" said Donald. + +"Ay, and the man's name is James Finlay." + +A dead silence followed the statement. It was Donald who broke it. + +"I reckon, friend Bigger, that I'll go with you to that meeting. We'll +take Neal here along, too. He knows the man. There'll be some important +business done that night, though maybe not quite the same as what James +Finlay has planned." + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +Neal Ward was awakened next morning by the noise which Peg Macllrea made +sweeping and tidying the room where he slept. He lay for a few minutes +watching the girl. Her red hair was coiled up now in a neat roll at +the back of her head. Her freckled face was clean, and had apparently +escaped bruising in her conflict with the dragoon. She wore a short grey +skirt of woollen homespun. The sleeves of her bodice were rolled up, and +displayed a pair of muscular red arms. The girl was more than commonly +tall, and anyone listening to her heavy footfall, and noting her thick +figure and broad shoulders, would have understood that she was well able +to carry a young man, even of Neal's height, up a flight of stairs. The +dragoon might easily have come to the worst in single combat with such +a maiden if he had not obtained an advantage over her at the start by +twisting her hair round his hand. + +It was not very long before she noticed that Neal was awake. She came +over to him smiling. + +"You've had a brave sleep," she said. "It's nigh on eleven o'clock. The +master and Mr. Ward are out this twa hours. They bid me not stir you. +I was just readying up the room a bit, and I went about it as mim as a +mouse." + +"I'm thinking," said Neal, "that I'll be getting up now." + +"'Deed, then, and you'll no. The last word the master said was just that +you were to lie in the day. I'm to give you tea and toasted bread, and +an egg if you fancy it." + +"But," said Neal, "I can't lie here in bed all day." + +"Whisht, now, whisht. Be good and I'll get you them twa graven images +the master's so set on and let you glower at them. Maybe you never seen +the like." + +She spoke precisely as if she had a sick child to humour; as if she were +the nurse in charge, determined at any sacrifice to keep the peevish +little one from crying. She crossed the room to a book-case and took +down two bronze busts. With the utmost care she carried them over and +laid them on the bed in front of Neal. + +"The master's one of them that goes neither to church nor mass nor +meeting," she said. "If ever he says his prayers at all, at all, it's +to them twa graven images he says them, and the dear knows they're no so +eye-sweet." + +She left the room, well satisfied apparently that she had provided her +patient with playthings which would keep him good till she returned with +his breakfast. Neal took up the busts and examined them. He would not +have known whose faces were represented had not an inscription on the +pedestal of each informed him. "Voltaire," he read on one, "Rousseau" on +the other. These were strange household gods for a Belfast innkeeper to +revere. Neal, gazing at them, slowly grasped their significance. He had +heard talk of French ideas, had seen his father shake his head over the +works of certain philosophers. He knew that there was an intellectual +freedom claimed by many of those who were most enthusiastic in the cause +of political reform. He had not previously met anyone who was likely to +accept the teaching of either Voltaire or Rousseau. His eyes wandered +from the busts to the book-case on which they had stood. It was well +filled, crammed with books. Neal could see them standing in close rows, +books of all sizes and thicknesses, but he could not read the names on +their backs. Peg Macllrea returned with his breakfast on a wooden tray. +She put it down in front of him and then set herself to entertain him +while he ate. + +"Thon was a brave coup you gave the soger in the street," she said. "You +gripped him fine, the ugly devil. But you did na hurt him much. He was +up and off when they got us dragged from him, as hard as ever he could +lift a foot. You'll be fond of fighting?" + +"So far," said Neal, "I have generally got the worst of it when I have +fought." + +"Ay, you would. Your way of fighting is no just the canniest, but I +like you no the worse for it. You might have got off without thon bloody +clout on the top of your head if ye'd just clodded stones and then run +like the rest of them. But that's no your way of fightin'. Did ye ever +fight afore?" + +"Just two nights ago," said Neal, "and I got the scrape on the side of +my face then." + +"And was it for a lassie you were fightin' thon time? I see well by the +face of you that it was. And she liked you for it. Did she no? She'd +be a quare one that didna. Did she give you a kiss to make the scrab on +your face better? I wouldna think twice about giving you one myself only +you wouldn't have kisses from the likes of me. Be quiet now, and sup up +your tea. I willna have you offering to slabber ower my hand if that's +what you're after." + +Neal, who had felt himself goaded to some act of gallantry, returned +sheepishly to his tea and toast. + +"You're no a Belfast boy?" said Peg. + +"No," said Neal, "I'm from Dunseveric, right away in the north of the +county." + +"Ay, are you? Do you mind the old rhyme-- + + 'County Antrim, men and horses, + County Down for bonny lasses.' + +Maybe your lassie, the one that kissed you, was out of the County Down?" + +"She was not," said Neal, unguardedly. + +Peg Macllrea laughed with delight and clapped her hands. + +"I knew rightly there was a lassie, and that she kissed you. Now you've +tellt me yourself. But I willna split on you, nor I willna let on that +you tellt on her. But I hope she's bonny, though she does not come from +the County Down." + +Neal grew angry. It did not seem fitting that this red-haired, freckled +servant, with her bold tongue and red arms, should make game of Una St. +Clair's kisses. They were sacred things in his memory. + +"Now you're getting vexed," she said. "You're as cross as twa sticks. I +can see it in your eyes. Well, I've more to do than to be coaxing you." + +She turned her back on him and began to sing-- + + "I would I were in Ballinderry, + I would I were in Aghalee, + I would I were on bonny Ram's Island, + Sitting under an ivy tree. + Ochone! Ochone!" + +"Peg," said Neal, "Peg Macllrea, don't you be cross with me." + + "I would I were in Ballinderry," + +she began again. + +"Peg," said Neal, "I've finished my tea, and I wish you'd turn round. +Please do, please." + +She turned to him at last with a broad smile on her face. + +"Is that the way you wheedled the poor lassie out of the kiss? But there +now, I'll no say a word more about her if it makes you sore. But I +can't sit here crackin' all day. I've the dinner to get ready, and the +master'll be quare and angry if it's no ready against he's home." + +She picked up the tray as she spoke. + +"Would you like me to leave you them twa graven images?" she said. + +"I'd like you to take them away," said Neal, "and then get me a book out +of the case." + +"I will, surely. What sort of a book would you like? A big one or a wee +one. There's one here in a braw red cover with pictures of ships in it. +Maybe it might content you." + +"Read me a few of their names," said Neal, "and I'll tell you which to +bring." + +"Faith, if you wait for me to read you the names you'll wait till the +crack of doom. Nobody ever learned me readin', writin', or 'rithmetic." + +"Bring me three or four," said Neal, "and I'll choose the one I like +best." + +She deposited half a dozen volumes on the chair beside him and left the +room. Neal took them up one by one. There was a volume of "Voltaire," +Tom Paine's "Rights of Man," "The Vindiciae Gallicae," by Mackintosh, +Godwin's "Political Justice," Montesquieu's "Esprit des Lois," and +a volume of Burns' poetry, not long out from a Belfast printer. Neal +already knew Godwin's works and the "Esprit des Lois." They stood on his +father's bookshelves. He glanced at the pages of the others, and finally +settled down to read Burns' poetry. The Scottish dialect presents little +difficulty to a man bred among County Antrim people. The love songs, +with their extraordinary freshness and vivid emotion, delighted Neal. +Like many lovers of poetry, he tasted the full pleasure of verse best +when he read it aloud. One after another he declaimed the marvellous +songs, returning again and again to one which seemed peculiarly suited +to his circumstances-- + + "It's not the roar o' sea or shore + Wad make me longer wish to tarry; + Nor shouts o' war that's heard afar-- + It's leaving thee, my bonny Mary." + +He read the song aloud for the fourth time. As he uttered the last words +he heard a laugh, and, looking up, saw his host, Felix Matier, standing +at the door of the room. + +"Well, Neal, good morrow to you. You're well enough in body, to judge +by your voice. But if that poem's a measure of the state of your mind +you're sick at heart. Never mind Mary, man. There's better stuff in +Burns than that. He's no bad poet, is Rabbie Burns. Listen to this now. +Here's one I'm fond of." + +He took the book out of Neal's hand, and read him "Holy Willie's +Prayer." His dry intonation', his perfect rendering of the dialect of +the poem, the sly twinkle of his eyes as he read, added exquisite malice +to the satire. + +"But maybe," he said, "I oughtn't to be reading the like of that to you +that's the son of the Manse, though nobody would think of Holy Willie +and your father together. I'm not very fond of the clergy myself, Neal, +either of your Church or another. I'm much of John Milton's opinion that +new presbyter is just old priest writ large, but if there's one kind +of minister that's not so bad as the rest it's the New Light men of +the Ulster Synod, and your father's one of the best of them. But here's +something now that Micah Ward would approve of. Just let me read you +this. I'll have time enough before your uncle comes in. He's not a +man of books, that uncle of yours, and I'd be ashamed if he caught me +reading at this hour of the day. But listen to me now." + +He took up the volume of "Voltaire" and read-- + + L'ame des grands travaux, l'objet des nobles voeux, + Que tout mortel embrasse, ou desire, ou rapelle, + Qui vit dans tous les coeurs, et dont le nom sacre + Dans les cours des tyrans est tout bas adore, La Liberte! + J'ai vu cette deesse altiere + Avec egalite repandant tous les biens, + Descendre de Morat en habit de guerriere, + Les mains teintes du sang des fiers Autrichiens + Et de Charles le Temeraire." + +Felix Matier's manner of pronouncing French was somewhat painful to +listen to. Voltaire would probably have failed to recognise his solitary +lyric if he had heard it read by Mr. Matier. But if the poet had +discovered that the verses were his own and had got over his shudder at +a mangling of French sounds worse than the worst he can have heard at +Potsdam from the courtiers of Frederick William, he would probably have +been well enough satisfied with the spirit of the rendering. Mr. Matier, +of the North Street, Belfast, was obviously a sincere worshipper of +the _deesse altiere_, and would have been delighted to see her hands +_teintes du sang_ of the men who had torn down his sign the night +before. Neal, though he could read French easily, did not understand +a single word he heard. He took the book from his host to see what the +poem was about. Mr. Matier did not seem the least vexed, although he +understood what Neal was doing. + +"The French are a great people," he said. "Europe owes them all the +ideas that are worth having. I'd be the last man to breathe a word +against them, but I must say that it requires some sort of a twisted +jaw to pronounce their language properly. I understand it all right when +it's printed, but as for Speaking it or following it when a Frenchman +speaks it----" + +He shrugged his shoulders. + +"But it's time I stopped moidering you with poetry. I hope you're really +feeling better. I hope Peg took good care of you, and brought you your +breakfast." + +"Indeed she did. She took rather too good care of me. I thought one time +she was going to kiss me. + +"Did she make to do that? Well, now, just think of it! Isn't she the +brazen hussy? And I'm sure her breath reeked of onions or some such +like." + +"Oh," said Neal, "we didn't get as far as that. Her breath may be roses +for all I know." + +"You kept her at arm's length. Serve her well right. I never heard of +such impudence. But these red-haired ones are the devil. It's the same +with horses. I had a chestnut filly one time--a neat little tit in her +way--but she'd kick the weathercock off the top of the church steeple +whenever she was a bit fresh. Never trust anything red. A red dog will +bite you, a red horse will kick you, a red wench will kiss you, besides +being a damned unlucky thing to meet first thing in the morning, a red +soldier will hang you. There's only one good thing in the world that's +red, and that's a red cap--the red cap of Liberty, Neal, and may we soon +have all the red coats in the country cut up into such head-gear." + +It was fortunate for Neal that he found Felix Matier's conversation +amusing and Felix Matier's books interesting. He had ample opportunity +of enjoying them during the week which followed the dragoons' riot. +Donald Ward refused, as long as possible to allow him to get out of bed, +and even when Neal was up and dressed, peremptorily forbade him to leave +the house. He spoke weighty words about his experience of wounds, of +frightful consequences which followed cuts on the head when the cold of +the outer air got at them, of men who had died of lockjaw because they +would not take care of scalp wounds, of burning eruptions which broke +out on the unwary, of desperate fevers threatening life and reason. + +Neal was puzzled. He had tumbled about among the rocks at Ballintoy a +good deal during his boyhood, cutting and bruising most parts of his +body. Even his head had not escaped. There was a deep scar under his +hair which he had come by in the course of an attempt to enter a long +fissure among the rocks of the Skerries, off Port-rush. But such wounds +had troubled him very little. He had never made a fuss about them or +taken any special precautions on account of them, neither knowing nor +caring anything about the evils which may follow wounds, which do follow +wounds, in pampered bodies. He could not understand why his uncle, who +was certainly not otherwise given to morbid coddling, should insist upon +such excessive care of a cut which was healing rapidly. + +The fact was that Donald Ward was nervous about Neal, not at all on +account of his cut head, which was nothing, but because Captain Twinely +and his yeomen had returned to Belfast. It leaked out that the military +authorities were not pleased with Captain Twinely. He had brought back +three prisoners and the cannon, but he had not brought back Micah +Ward, who was particularly wanted. Captain Twinely, angry at his cold +reception, and furious at the hanging of his trooper, was anxious to +revenge himself upon some one. Lord Dun-severic was too great a man +to be attacked. The Government could not afford to interfere with his +methods of executing justice in North Antrim. Captain Twinely was given +a broad hint that he must hawk at lower game, and keep his mouth shut +about the hanging of his trooper. There was no objection to the yeomen +outraging women so long as they confined themselves to farmers' wives, +but an insult offered to Lord Dunseveric's sister and daughter, under +Lord Dunseveric's own eyes, was a different matter. The less said the +better about the hanging of the man who had distinguished himself by +that exploit. Captain Twinely, growing savage at this second snub, +and afraid lest perhaps he himself might be sacrificed when Lord +Dunseveric's story of his raid came to be told, sought to ingratiate +himself with the authorities by offering them a fresh victim. He gave +an exaggerated version of Neal Ward's attack on the troopers outside the +meeting-house, and drew an imaginary picture of the young man as a deep +and dangerous conspirator. He even managed to shift the responsibility +for the hanging of the trooper from Lord Dunseveric's shoulders to +Neal's. He knew that Neal had left Dunseveric, and he assured Major Fox, +the town major, that Neal was at that moment in Belfast arranging for +the outbreak of the rebellion. Major Fox was worried by the complaints +which respectable citizens were making about the dragoons' riot. He +was anxious to prove, if possible, that the soldiers' conduct had been +provoked by the violence of the United Irishmen. He produced the man +whom Peg Macllrea and Neal had mangled and set him before the public as +an object of pity, his wrist tied up and his head elaborately bandaged. +A great idea flashed on him. He allowed it to be understood that he was +on the track of a most dangerous rebel--a young man who had hanged +a yeoman in Dunseveric and nearly murdered a dragoon in Belfast. In +reality he was too busy just then with more important matters to make +any real search for Neal Ward. But a week later he offered a reward of +fifty pounds for such information as would lead to his apprehension. + +But the rumours of Captain Twinely's sayings were sufficient to frighten +Donald Ward. He did not shrink from danger himself, and, had his own +life been threatened, would have taken measures to protect himself +without any feeling of panic, but his apprehension of peril for Neal +was a different matter. He felt responsible for his nephew, and did not +intend to allow him to be captured if caution could save him. Therefore, +he insisted on Neal's remaining indoors, and plied him with the most +alarming accounts of the danger of his wound. He hoped in a few days to +get Neal out of Belfast to the comparative safety of some farmhouse. He +was particularly anxious that Finlay, who would certainly recognise the +young man, should not see him. + +News reached Belfast that the United Irishmen in Wexford were in arms +and had taken the field against the English forces. The northern leaders +became eager to move at once and to strike vigorously. Everything seemed +to depend on their obtaining the command of Antrim and Down, and opening +communications with the south. James Hope arrived in Belfast. Henry Joy +M'Cracken was there. Henry Monro rode in every day from Lisburn. +Meeting after meeting was held in M'Cracken's house in Rosemary Lane, in +Bigger's house in the High Street, in Felix Matier's shattered inn, or +in Peggy Barclay's. Robert Simms, the general of the northern United +Irishmen, resigned his position. His heart failed him at the critical +moment, and when pressed by braver men to take the field at once he hung +back and gave up his command. He forgot his oath on MacArt's Fort, where +he stood side by side with Wolfe Tone. Henry Joy M'Cracken, a man of +another spirit, was appointed in his place. With extreme rapidity and an +insight into the conditions of the struggle, marvellous in a man with +no military training, he laid his plans for simultaneous attacks upon a +number of places in Down and Antrim. + +The Government was not idle. The northern United Irishmen were the best +organised and most formidable body to be dealt with. During the pause +before the outbreak of hostilities spies went busily to and fro. Reports +were carried to the authorities of every movement made, of almost every +meeting held. Men were arrested, imprisoned, flogged in the streets of +Belfast. Information was forced from prisoners under the lash. Parties +of yeomen rode through the country burning, ravishing, and hanging as +they went. + +James Finlay earned his pay with the best of his kind, denouncing men +whom he knew to be United Irishmen, and giving information about their +whereabouts. He was settled in Bridge Street, and, strangely blind to +the fact that he was no longer trusted, invited the leaders to confer +with him, and allowed his house to be used as a store for ammunition. +Donald Ward, grimly determined that this man should get his deserts, +insisted that nothing should be said or done to alarm him. + +"We can't deal with him here," he said. "Wait, wait till we get him down +to Donegore next week. If we frighten him now he won't go." + +Of all these doings Neal heard only vague rumours. Sometimes Peg +Macllrea, crimson with horror and rage, came to him and told him of a +flogging, sparing him no details of the brutality. Sometimes his uncle +sat an hour with him and talked of the fight that was coming. He seemed +neither impatient nor excited. He looked forward with calm satisfaction +to the day when he would have a gun in his hand and an opportunity of +shooting at the men who were harrying the country. + +"We have a couple of brass cannons, Neal. They're not much to boast of, +but if they are properly served they will do some mischief. I have a +little experience of artillery, though it wasn't in my regular line of +fighting. I think I'll perhaps get charge of one of them." + +Felix Matier came often to see Neal. As things grew darker outside +he became more and more extravagantly cheerful. His talk was all of +liberty, of the dawn of the new era, of the breaking of old chains, and +the rising of the peoples of the world in unconquerable might. + +"We're to do our share in the grand work, Neal Ward, you and me; we'll +have our hands in it in a day or two now. + + "'May liberty meet with success! + May prudence protect her from evil! + May tyrants and tyranny tine in the midst + And wander their way to the devil.' + +"Ora, but fighting's the work for a man after all. Here am I that have +spent my life making up reckonings and seeing to drink and men's dinners +and the beds they were to sleep in. But I never was contented with such +things, and the money I made didn't content me a bit more. _They_ taught +me better, boy." He put his hand on the pile of books which lay on the +table in front of Neal. "They taught me that there was something better +than making money and eating full and living soft, something in the +world a man might fight for. Eh, but I wasn't meant for an innkeeper--I +was meant for a fighter. + + "'I'd fight at land, I'd fight at sea; + At hame I'd fight my auntie, O! + I'd meet the devil and Dundee + On the braes o' Killiecrankie, O!'" + +James Hope also came to see Neal. His talk was very different from the +flamboyant exultation of Felix Matier; very different also from Donald +Ward's cool delight in the prospect of battle. James Hope seemed +to realise the awful gravity of taking up arms against established +government. He alone understood the very small chance there was of +victory for the United Irishmen. Yet Neal never for an instant doubted +Hope's courage. He felt that this man had argued out the whole matter +with himself and thought deeply and prayed earnestly and had made up his +mind. + +"I do not think that we are sure to win, Neal, but I hope that our +fighting will enable those coming after us to obtain by other means the +liberty and security which will surely be withheld from them unless we +fight. I do not say these things to every one, but I feel safe in saying +them to you. You will not fear to die, if death is to be the end of it +for us." + +Neal felt convinced that Hope himself would go calmly, steadfastly on if +he were quite sure that the gallows waited for him. It was to Hope, more +than to either of the others, that he complained about his confinement +in Matier's house. + +"I cannot bear," he said, "to be shut up here. I am not ill. The cut +on my head is cured now. There must be some other reason for keeping +me here. Am I not to be trusted? You say that you believe I will not +shrink. Why keep me here as if you were all afraid of my turning coward +or traitor?" + +Hope parried these complaints as well as he could, telling Neal that a +soldier's first duty was obedience, that in good time he would be given +something to do; that in the meanwhile he must show himself brave by +being patient! + +"It is harder," he said, "to conquer yourself than to conquer your +enemy." + +One day, when Neal had been a week in captivity, he broke out +passionately to Hope-- + +"I cannot bear this any longer. I hear of you and my uncle and the +others risking your lives. I hear of the brutality of the soldiers. +I hear of great plans on foot. I claim my share of the danger that +surrounds us. I understand now why you all combine to keep me here. You +are afraid of my running risks. I claim, I claim as a right, that I be +allowed to take the same risks as the rest." + +James Hope sat silent. His fingers played with the dark lock of hair +which hung over his forehead. Neal knew the gesture well. It was common +with Hope when he thought deeply and painfully. His fine dark eyes were +fixed on Neal's, and there was the same curiously gentle expression in +them which had attracted Neal the first time he noticed it. + +"I admit your claim," said Hope, slowly, at last. "I shall speak to your +uncle. To-morrow, I think I may promise this; to-morrow you shall come +with me, and we shall do something which will be difficult, and I think +a little dangerous too." + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +James Hope kept his promise. About noon the next day he came to the inn +and found Neal waiting for him impatiently. + +"We are going," he said, "to James Finlay's house. Before we start I +think I ought to tell you that in any case you could not stay here any +longer. I saw this morning a proclamation offering a reward of fifty +pounds for your capture, and I have no doubt that Finlay will earn it if +he can, even if the soldier you mauled does not trace you here." + +"I am ready," said Neal. + +"You are not afraid? I see you are not, and we are not going to run into +any unnecessary danger. Finlay will not betray you at once. He will not +run out and call soldiers to take you the moment he sees you. He has a +deeper plan. He has arranged that a meeting of our leaders will be held +in Aeneas Moylin's house to-morrow night. He is to be there himself, and +he has received assurance that most of our chief men will be there. We +have little doubt that he has given information about the meeting, and +made his arrangements for capturing us all. We shall tell him that you +are to be there, too. Then he will not want to risk exposing himself +by betraying you at once. He will wait for you till to-morrow. But when +to-morrow comes he will not find our leaders at Donegore. I have not +asked, and I do not wish to know, what he will find when he gets there." + +"I understand," said Neal. "When we meet I am to pretend that I trust +him thoroughly." + +Hope smiled. + +"You are a good soldier. You are prepared to obey, and you do not ask +too many questions. But I am going to trust you fully, and tell you +why we are going to Finlay's house to-day. Some time ago we stored some +cases of ball cartridges there. They are in a cellar, and I have no +doubt that Major Fox knows all about them, and thinks them as safe as +if they were in the munition room of the barrack. You and I are going to +carry off those cases. We want the cartridges badly, and we cannot wait +for them. We shall be using them, I hope, the day after to-morrow, and +if we leave them there till Finlay goes to Donegore to-morrow evening I +fear they may be seized by the soldiers. We must take them at once, and +it seems to me that our best chance will be to walk off with them in +broad daylight without an attempt at concealment. We shall bring them +here." + +"How many cases are there?" asked Neal. + +"Eight," said Hope. "We must manage to carry four each, but the distance +is not very great." + +Neal drew a deep breath of relief when he reached the street. Any +service, however dangerous, any form of activity in the open air, was a +joy to him after his long confinement in the house. + +The streets, as he and Hope passed through them, were full of soldiers. +Companies of yeomen marched and countermarched in indifferent order +through every thoroughfare. Pickets of regulars, their bayonets fixed, +stood at the street corners and in front of the principal buildings. +Troops of dragoons, rattling and jingling, trotted briskly in one +direction or another. Orderlies cantered their horses from place to +place. Business in the town was almost suspended. Many of the shops +were shut. Grave citizens, engaged in pressing affairs, hurried, with +downcast eyes, along the causeways, seldom stopping to speak to each +other, greeting acquaintances with hasty nods. Women of the better sort, +if they ventured out at all, walked quickly, heavily cloaked and veiled. +The trollops and street walkers of a garrison town emerged from +their lairs even at midday, and stood in little groups at the corners +exchanging jests with the soldiers on picket duty, or shouted ribaldries +to the yeomen and dragoons who passed them. Idle maid servants, sluttish +and dishevelled, leaned far out of the upper windows of the houses +to gaze at the pageant beneath them. In the High Street a crowd of +loafers--coarse women and soldiers off duty--was gathered in front of +an iron triangle where, it was understood, some prisoners were to be +flogged. Town, Major Fox, Major Barber, and some other officers in +uniform, strolled up and down in front of the Exchange, rudely jostling +such merchants as ventured to enter or leave the building. + +James Hope walked slowly through the streets, chatting cheerfully +to Neal as he went. Now and then he even stopped to watch a troop of +dragoons go by or to gaze at the uniforms of the soldiers who stood on +guard. In crowded places he waited quietly until he saw a way of passing +on without pushing or attracting attention to his movements. The trial +was a severe one for Neal's nerves. It was hard to pose as a curious +sightseer within a few feet of men who could have earned fifty pounds by +arresting him. + +At last, after many pauses, and what seemed an interminable walk, Hope +stopped at the door of a respectable looking house and knocked. A woman +half opened the door and eyed them suspiciously. Then, recognising +a whispered pass-word of some sort from Hope, she admitted them and +ushered them into a room on the ground floor. James Finlay sat at a +table with writing materials spread before him. He started slightly when +he saw Neal, but recovered himself instantly. He came forward, shook +hands with Hope, and then said to Neal-- + +"You and I know each other, Mr. Ward. I trust your father is in good +health, and that all is well at Dunseveric?" + +Neal, though he had schooled himself beforehand to greet Finlay +cordially, shrank back. He felt a violent loathing for the man. It +became physically impossible for him to take Finlay's hand in his, to +speak smooth words to this hypocrite who inquired of the good health of +the very people he had betrayed. Hope saw the hesitation and tried to +cover it with a casual remark. Finlay also saw it and misinterpreted it. + +"I hope," he said, "that you do not bear me any malice on account of the +little trouble there was between us long ago in the north. You ought to +forgive and forget, Mr. Ward. We are both workers in the same cause now. +At least, I suppose you are a United Irishman like your father or you +wouldn't come here with James Hope to-day." + +"Neal Ward," said Hope, "is going to the meeting at Donegore to-morrow +evening." + +Neal recovered himself and held out his hand to Finlay. + +There was another knock at the door of the house. Finlay started +violently and ran to the window. + +"It's all right," he said, "it's only a lad I keep employed. I sent +him out an hour ago to find out what was going on in the streets and to +bring me word." + +He returned to Hope with a smile on his face, but he had grown very +white, and his hands were trembling slightly. A boy burst into the room, +followed by the woman who had opened the door for Hope and Neal. + +"Master," he cried, "they've brought out Kelso into the High Street. The +soldiers are dragging him along. They are going to flog him." + +The boy's eyes were wide with excitement. Having delivered his message, +he turned and fled. A flogging was too great a treat for Finlay's boy +to miss. The woman, without staying to don hat or shawl, went after him. +Finlay called to her to stay. She shouted her answer from the threshold. + +"Do you think I'm daft to be sitting my lone in your kitchen and them +flogging a clever young man in the next street?" + +Then the hall-door slammed. Finlay turned to Hope. He was whiter than +ever, and his whole body shook as if with an ague. + +"Kelso will tell," he said. "Kelso knows, and they'll flog the secret +out of him. He'll tell, I know he will. He must tell; no man could help +it." + +If Finlay was pretending to be terrified he acted marvellously well. It +seemed to Neal that he really was afraid of something, perhaps of some +sudden betrayal of his treachery, of vengeance taken speedily by Hope. + +"What ails you?" said Hope. "You needn't be frightened." + +"The cartridges, the cartridges," wailed Finlay. "Kelso knows they are +here." + +"If that's all," said Hope, "Neal Ward and I will ease you of them. We +came here to take them away." + +"You can't, you can't, you mustn't. They'd hang you on the nearest lamp +iron if they saw you with the cartridges." + +There was a bang on the door and a moment later a knocking on the window +of the room, and then a woman's fate was pressed against the glass. Hope +sprang across the room and flung open the window. The servant woman who +had gone to see the flogging pushed her head into the room and said-- + +"They're taking down Kelso, and he's telling all he knows. Major Barber +and the soldiers are getting ready to march. It's down here they'll be +coming." + +"It's time for us to be off, then," said Hope. + +"Come along, Neal, down to the cellar, and let us get the cartridges." + +James Finlay followed them downstairs, begging them not to attempt to +carry off the cartridges. He held Hope by the arm as he spoke. + +"Don't do it," he said, "for God's sake don't do it. The soldiers are +coming. They will be here in a minute. They will meet you. They will +hang you. I know they will hang you. Oh! for God's sake go away at once +while you have time. Leave the cartridges." + +Hope shook off the grip on his arm with a gesture of impatience. He +pushed open the cellar door. + +"Now, Neal," he said, "pick up as many of the cases as you think you can +carry." + +James Finlay turned from Hope and seized Neal by the hands. The man was +trembling from head to foot; his face was deadly white; the sweat was +trickling down his cheeks in little streams. + +"Don't let him. Oh! don't let him. He won't listen to me. Stop him. Make +him fly." + +He fell on his knees on the floor and clasped Neal's legs. He grovelled. +There was no possibility of doubting the reality of his emotion. This +was not acting. The terror was genuine. James Finlay was desperately +frightened. + +"Get out of my way. No one is going to hurt you in any case." + +"It's not that," he said. "Believe me if you can. Believe me as you hope +to be saved. I can't, I won't see _him_ hanged. I can't bear it." + +He was speaking the literal truth. He believed that James Hope would be +caught and would then and there be hanged. Finlay had betrayed many men, +had earned the basest wages a man can earn--the wages of a spy. He knew +that his victims went to flogging and death, but he never watched them +flogged, he never saw them die. He even bargained never to stand in a +witness box. The results, the inevitable issues of his betrayals, were +never immediately before his eyes. Between him and the punishment of +his victims there was always some space of time spent in prison, some +appearance of a legal trial, some pretence of a just judgment. He was +able, with that strange power of self-deception which most men possess, +to conceal from himself that it was his information which led to the +brutalities which followed it. If James Finlay had been obliged himself +to execute the men whose execution his testimony secured; if he had been +forced to lay the lash on quivering flesh or fit the noose round the +necks of living men; it is likely that no bribe would have bought him, +that sheer cowardice and an instinctive horror of death and pain would +have saved him, as no consideration of honour and truth did, from the +extreme baseness of an informer's trade. Here lay part of the meaning +of his terrified desire for Hope's escape. He could not bear to see men +hanged before the door of his own house, or hear with his ears their +shrieks under the lash. + +But there was more behind this feeling than utter cowardice. He knew +James Hope, knew him intimately, though he had known him only for a +short time. Like Neal Ward he had walked with Hope along the roads and +lanes of County Antrim, had heard him talking, had seen--as no man, even +the basest, could fail to see--the wonderful purity and unselfishness +of Hope's character. James Finlay had sold his own honour, but there +remained this much good in him, he refused to sell Hope's life. God, +reckoning all the evil and baseness of James Finlay's treachery and +greed, will no doubt set on the other side of the account the fact that +even Finlay recognised high goodness when he saw it, that he did not +betray Hope, that he grovelled on the floor before a man whom he hated +for the chance of saving Hope from what seemed certain death. + +Neal pushed Finlay aside and stepped forward. He took five of the cases +of cartridges--three under his right arm two under his left. Hope raised +the other three. Then, picking up a bundle from a corner, he said-- + +"There is more gear here, which we may as well take with us. There is +a green jacket which some of our young fellows may like to wear, and a +flag; we ought to have a flag to fight under." + +They turned to leave the house. Neal cast one glance behind him and saw +Finlay lying curled up on the ground, his face covered with his hands, +as if he were already trying to shut away from his eyes the sight of +Hope's body dangling from a lamp iron. + +Reaching the street, Hope stood for a moment and glanced up and down +it. A party of soldiers was marching towards them. Hope looked at them +carefully. + +"These are not the men whom the woman warned us of. Major Barber, if he +were coming here from High Street, would be marching the opposite way. +This is some company of yeomen." + +A band played at the head of the approaching company, and the men +stepped out briskly to the tune of "Croppies Lie Down." Their uniforms +were gay, their arms and accoutrements in good order, the officer in +command was well mounted; a crowd of idle young men and some women were +walking beside and behind the soldiers, attracted by the music and the +unusually smart appearance of the men. + +"I know these," said Hope, "they are the County Down Yeomanry. They +have just marched in, and are no doubt going to report themselves. Come, +Neal, this is our chance." + +He joined the crowd which walked with the soldiers. Neal followed him +closely. Hope, as if feeling the weight of the boxes he carried, walked +slowly until he found himself in that part of the crowd which followed +the regiment. Then, pushing forward briskly, he and Neal came close +behind the last soldiers. The ranks were not well kept, nor the march +orderly. Hope made his way forward until he and Neal were walking +amongst the yeomen. As they swung out of the street they were met by +another body of troops. + +"These are regulars," whispered Hope, "and Major Barber is in command of +them. That is he." + +The two bodies of troops halted. There was a brief conversation between +their commanding officers. Then an order was given. The yeomen, their +band playing briskly again, marched on. Hope and Neal, now in the very +middle of the ranks, marched with them. The royal troops presented arms +as they passed. Major Barber watched them critically. + +"It's a pity these volunteers won't learn their drill," he said to a +young officer beside him. "Look at that for marching. The ranks are as +ragged as the shirt of the fellow we've just been flogging; but they're +fine men and well armed. By Jove, they have two country fellows with +them carrying spare ammunition. I'll bet you a bottle of claret there +are cartridges in those cases." + +He pointed to Hope and Neal. + +"Ought to have a baggage waggon," said the officer, "or ought to put the +fellows into uniform. They might be damned rebels for all any one could +tell by looking at them." + +"I'd expect to meet a rebel pretty near anywhere," said Major Barber, +"but, by God, I would not expect to find one marching in the middle of a +company of yeomen." + +The yeomen passed and the infantry marched again towards Finlay's house. +Hope turned to Neal. Laughter was dancing in his eyes, but, except for +his eyes, his face was grave. + +"Now," he whispered, "we've got to slip out of the ranks and make our +way into North Street." + +As he spoke he lurched against the yeoman next to him and allowed the +bundle he carried to slip from his arm. The soldier cursed him for a +clumsy drunkard. Hope, in return, abused the soldier for knocking the +parcel out of his arms, and then called to Neal-- + +"Wait for me, mate, wait till I gather up my goods again." + +He deposited his cartridge cases on the ground, went after the bundle +which had rolled into the gutter, and then, arranging his load slowly, +allowed the yeomen to march past. + +"Did you hear Major Barber say that he'd be ready to bet that these +cases held cartridges? A sharp man, Major Barber! But there are more men +than him about with eyes in their heads. The next officer we meet will +be wanting to know where we are taking the cartridges. We won't have +another company of yeomen to vouch for our characters. I think, Neal, +we'd better get something to cover these up. There's a man here in +charge of a carman's yard who is sure to have a couple of sacks which +will suit us very well." + +He passed under an archway, followed by Neal, and entered a small yard. + +"Charlie," he cried, "are you there, Charlie?" + +A young man emerged from one of the stables. He started at the sight of +Hope. + +"Are you mad, Jemmy Hope?" he said. "Are you mad, that you come here, +and every stable full of dragoons' horses? They have them billeted on +us, curse them, and the villains are in the coachhouse polishing their +bits and stirrup irons. Hark to them." + +"I hear them," said Hope. "Get me two of your oat sacks, Charlie, good +strong ones. I have goods here that want protecting from the sunlight." + +The man cast a swift glance round, ran to one of the stables, and +fetched the sacks. + +"Now, Neal, pack up, pack up." + +He pushed his own cases into one of the sacks. Neal followed his +example. + +"It won't do," said Hope, "the sacks don't look natural. There are too +many sharp corners bulging out. Charlie, lad, fetch us some straw--a +good armful." + +While they were stuffing the sacks with the straw one of the dragoons +swaggered across the yard. He stood watching Hope and Neal for a minute +or two, and then said. + +"What have you there that you're so mighty careful of?" + +"Whisht, man, whisht," said Hope, "it's not safe to be talking of what's +here." + +He winked at the soldier as he spoke--a sly, humorous wink--a wink which +hinted at a good joke to come. The dragoon, a fat, good-natured man', +grinned in reply. + +"I won't split on you, you young thieves. I've taken my share of loot +before this, and I expect some pickings out of the croppies' houses +before I've done. I won't cry halvers on you. What's yours is yours. But +tell us what it is." + +"It's cases of cartridges," said Hope, winking again. "We're taking them +to the general in command of the rebel army, so don't be interfering +with us or maybe they'll hold a courtmartial on you." + +The fat dragoon laughed. The idea of packing up ammunition for the +croppies in the temporary barrack of a squadron of dragoons, and using +His Majesty's straw to stuff the sacks, appealed to him as extremely +comic. Hope and Neal shouldered their bundles and left the yard. + +"I'm afraid," said Hope, "that we can't store these in Matier's house. +When Barber learns that the cases are gone he'll search high and low for +them, and Matier's will be just one of the places he'll look sooner or +later. Are you good for a tramp, Neal, with that load on your back?" + +"Yes," said Neal, "I'll carry mine for miles if you like." + +"Then," said Hope-, "we'll just look in at Matier's as we pass, and if +the coast's clear I'll leave word where we're going. I know a snug place +on the side of the Cave Hill where we can lie for the night. To-morrow +you can join your uncle at Donegore." + +There were no soldiers round the inn when they reached it. Felix Matier +and Donald Ward were both out. Hope left his message with Peg Macllrea, +who was sanding the parlour. + +"So you're going to sleep out the night on the Cave Hill?" she said to +Neal. "That'll be queer and good for your clouted head I'm thinkin'." + +"It'll do my head no harm," said Neal. "You know well enough, Peg, that +there never was much the matter with it." + +They shouldered their loads again, walked up the street, and then, +quickening their pace, tramped along the Shore Road for about three +miles. + +"Now," said Hope, "turn to the left up that loaning, and we'll strike +for the hill." + +They crossed the fields round the homesteads which lay between the hill +and the road, reached uncultivated and stony ground, and then commenced +their climb. Neal was strong, active, and accustomed to fatigue, but he +began to feel the weight of his sack of cartridge cases before he had +climbed five hundred feet. When Hope bade him halt he was glad enough to +lie panting on the springy heather. + +"We're safe now," said Hope, "but we've got further to go before night. +We must make the place I named so that the men will be able to find me +and the cartridges to-morrow morn." + +Neal, ashamed of his weariness, bade Hope lead on. + +"I might have trysted with them for Mac Art's Fort," said Hope. "It was +there that Neilson and Tone and M'Cracken swore the oath. That would +have been a brave romantic spot for you and me to spend the night. We +might have thought of great things there with the stars over us and +nothing else between us and God's heaven. But it's a draughty place, +lad." The laughter came into his eyes as he spoke. "A draughty place and +a stony, like Luz, where Jacob lay, and maybe the angels wouldn't come +near the likes of us. The place I have in my mind is warmer." + +They reached it at last--a little heathery hollow, lying under the +shelter of great rocks. + +"You might sleep in a worse place, Neal. It was here that Wolfe Tone and +the men I told you of dined three years ago--and a merry day they had +of it. I could wish we had a few of the scraps they left. It's cold work +sleeping in the open on an empty stomach, but we must just cheer each +other with Tone's byword-- + + "''Tis but in vain + For soldiers to complain.'" + +Neal, lying full length on the heather in the warmth of the afternoon +sun, dropped off to sleep. He had undergone severe physical exertion, +which told on him. He had been through an hour and more of great +excitement, which exhausted him far more than the exertion. When he woke +the sun had sunk behind the hill, and the air was pleasantly cool. Hope +sat beside him, gazing out across the Lough and the town which lay below +them. + +"I've been thinking, Neal, of that man Finlay. He was frightened to-day +when we were in his house. Now what had he to be frightened about?" + +"I don't know," said Neal, "but I agree with you. The man certainly +wasn't play-acting. He was in real fear." + +"I think," said Hope, "that he was afraid the soldiers would take us and +hang us." + +"But," said Neal, "why should he fear that when he has betrayed us?" + +"The human heart," said Hope, after a pause, "is a strange thing. The +Book tells us that no man is altogether good; no, not one, and that's +true. Never was a truer word. We try, lad, we try, and the grace of God +works in us, but there remains the old leaven of evil; ay, it's there, +even in the heart of a saint. Now, it isn't written, but I think it's +just as true that there's no man altogether bad. There's a spark of good +somewhere in the worst of us, if we could but get at it. There's a spark +of good in Finlay." + +"How can there be?" said Neal, angrily. "The man's a spy, an informer, a +paid liar, a villain that takes gold and perjures himself." + +"That's true, over true. And yet he wanted to save our lives to-day. I +tell you the man's not all bad. There's something of the grace of God +left in him after all." + +Neal was not inclined to argue about the matter. He sat silent, watching +star after star shine out of the moonless sky. After a long silence Hope +spoke again. + +"There are men among us who mean to take Finlay's life. I can't +altogether blame them. He deserves to die. But Neal, lad, don't you have +act or part in that. Remember the word,--'Vengeance is mine and I will +repay, saith the Lord.' If there's a spark of good in him at all, who +are we that we should cut him off from the chance of repentance? 'The +bruised reed shall he not break; the smoking flax shall he not quench.' +Remember that, Neal." + +From far down the side of the hill the sound of a woman's voice reached +them faintly. It drew nearer. + +"That's some slip of a lassie from off the farms below us," said Hope. +"She's looking out for some cow that's strayed." + +"She's singing," said Neal. "I catch the fall of the tune now and then." + +"She's coming nearer. It can't be a cow she's seeking. No beast would +stray that far up amongst the heather and the stones." + +The voice came more and more clearly. The words of the song reached +them-- + + "I would I were in Ballinderry, + I would I were in Aghalee, + I would I were in bonny Ram's Island + Sitting under an ivy tree. + Ochone, ochone!" + +"I know that song," said Neal. + +"Everybody knows that song. There isn't a lass in Antrim or Down but +sings it." + +"But I know the singer too. I heard Peg Macllrea sing it once, Matier's +Peg, and I'm not likely to forget her voice." + +"If you're sure of that, Neal, I'll let her know we're here. Anyway +it can do no harm. There isn't a farm lass in the whole country would +betray us to the soldiers. Wait now till she sings it again." + +By the firesides of Irish cottages when songs are sung during the long +winter evenings the listeners often "croon" an accompaniment, droning in +low voices over and over again a few simple notes which harmonise with +the singer's voice. When the girl began her tune again Hope sang with +her, repeating "Ochone, ochone" down four notes from the octave of the +keynote through the mediate to the keynote again. When she reached the +end of the last line his voice rose suddenly to an unexpected seventh, +which struck sharply on the ear. Prolonging the note after the girl's +voice died away, he rose to his feet and waved his arms. Soon Peg +Macllrea was beside them. + +"I tell't the master where ye were," she said, "and I tell't Mr. Donald. +They couldn't come theirsells, and they were afeard to let me out my +lone. But I knew finely I could find you. I knew Neal here would mind my +song. I brought you a bite and a sup so as you wouldn't be famished out +here on the hillside." + +She took a basket from her arm and laid it at Neal's feet. + +"Sit down, Peg," said Hope, "sit down and eat with us. You're a good +girl to think of bringing us the food, and you'll be wanting some +yourself after your walk." + +"I canna bide with you, and I ate my supper before I made out. I must be +gettin' back now. But I've a word to give you from your uncle, Neal. He +bid me tell you that you're trysted with him for Aeneas Moylin's house +the morrow night at eight o'clock." + + + + +CHAPTER X + +Early next morning Neal bade farewell to Hope and started on his walk +to Donegore. For a while he kept along the side of the hill above the +homesteads that clustered on the lower slopes. Nearing Carnmoney he +descended and entered a small inn in order to obtain some breakfast. He +found the master and his wife in a state of great excitement at the news +which had just reached them that their son had been arrested in Belfast. +It was some time before Neal could persuade the poor people to attend to +his wants, and it was a wretched breakfast which he obtained in the end. +Leaving the inn, he walked along the high road through Molusk. He felt +tolerably safe, though bodies of troops and yeomen occasionally passed +him. His appearance was known to very few, and the people of the +district through which he was going were either United Irishmen or in +strong sympathy with the society. It was unlikely that any small body of +troops would venture to make an arrest unless the officer in command +was perfectly certain of the identity of his prisoner. So bold and +determined were the people that Neal, stopping opposite a forge, saw the +smith fashioning pike heads openly, and apparently fearlessly. A number +of men stood round the forge door talking earnestly together. Among them +was Phelim, the blind piper, whom Neal had seen in the street of Antrim. +They did not care to be silent or to lower their tones when Neal came +within earshot. + +"The place of the muster," said the piper, "is the Roughfort. Mind you +that now, and let them that has guns or pikes bring them." + +"And will M'Cracken be there?" + +"Ay, he will. Did you no see the proclamation?" + +"Will Kelso," said some one to the smith, "are you working hard, man? +We'll be needing a hundred more of them pike heads by the morrow's +morn." + +The smith let his hammer fall with a clang on the anvil, and wiped his +brow. + +"If you do as good a day's work the morrow with what I'm working on the +day there'll be no cause to complain of you." + +For the first time since he left Dunseveric Neal felt a glow of hope for +the success of the movement. He knew what kind of men these farmers +and weavers of Carnmoney and Templepatrick were--austere, cold men, +difficult to stir to violent action; much more difficult to cow into +submission when once roused. And it appeared to him that they were +effectually roused now. He recalled his father's fanciful application of +the verse from the prophet Jeremiah. He felt, as he listened to the men +round the forge, the hardness of "the northern iron and the steel." Was +there among the blustering yeomen and the disciplined troops of the King +iron strong enough to break this iron? + +He left the forge and passed on. His thoughts wandered from the +enterprise to which he had pledged himself, and went back, as time after +time during the last week they had gone back, to Una. He walked slowly, +wrapped in a delicious day dream. Neglecting all fact, driving from his +mind the pressing realities which separated him hopelessly from the girl +he loved, he imagined himself walking with her hand-in-hand in some +fair place far from strife and the oppression which engendered strife. +A feeling of fierce anger succeeded his day dream. The sun shone around +him, the fields were fair to see. Life ought to be like the sun and +the fields--simple and good and beautiful. Instead it was difficult and +cruel. He was being dragged into a vortex of hate and battle. He loathed +the very thought of it. He wanted peace and love. And yet, what escape +was there for him? Did he even want to escape if he could? The wrong +and tyranny he was to resist were real, insistent, horrible. He would +be less than a man, unworthy of the love and peace he longed for, if he +failed to do his part in the struggle for freedom and right. + +At midday he reached Templepatrick village, and found the inn occupied +by a company of yeomen. He sought the house of the weaver with whom he +had dined, in company with James Hope, on his way to Belfast. The +door was closed, which struck Neal as strange, for the day was hot and +bright. Coming near, he was surprised not to hear the rattle of the +loom. Birnie was a diligent man; it was not like him to leave his loom +idle. And the house was not empty; he could hear a woman's voice within. +He tapped at the door, intending to ask for a meal and for leave to rest +awhile in the kitchen. There was no answer, and yet he heard the woman +still speaking in low, even tones. He tapped again, and then, despairing +of attracting attention, raised the latch, half opened the door, and +looked in. + +In the centre of the room, before the table, a young woman knelt +motionless, her hands stretched out before her. Neal heard her words +distinctly. She was praying aloud, steadily, quietly, but with intense +earnestness, repeating petition after petition for her husband's safety. +Very softly Neal withdrew, and closed the door. He might go dinner-less, +but he would not interrupt the woman's prayer. He turned, to find a +little girl gazing at him. He recognised her as the Birnies' child. + +"Were you wanting my da?" + +"Yes, little girl, but I see he's gone away." + +"Ay, but if any stranger come for him I was to tell my mammy." + +"Never mind," said Neal, "you mustn't disturb her now." + +"Will I no, then, when I was bid? Mammy I Mammy!" + +In answer to the child's cry, the mother opened the door. + +"What ails you, Jinny? I beg pardon, sir, were you waiting long on me?" + +"You don't know me, Mrs. Birnie. You don't remember me, but I came here +one day before with James Hope." + +"I mind you rightly, now," she said. "Come in and welcome, but if it's +my Johnny you're wanting to see, he's abroad the day." + +"I won't disturb you," said Neal. + +"You'll come in. You'll no be disturbing me. There's time enough for me +to do what I was doing when the wean called me." + +Neal entered the house and sat down. + +"You'll be wanting a bite to eat," said Mrs. Birnie. "It's little I have +to set for you. The wee bit of meat we had I cooked for him to take with +him. It's no much Jinny and I will be wanting while he's awa from us. +Ay, and it's no much Jinny and I will get if he doesna come back to us." + +"Where has he gone?" said Neal. + +"He's gone to the turn-out," she said, "to the turn-out that's to be the +morrow. It's more goes to the like, I'm thinking, than comes back again. +He's taken the pike with him that lay in the thatch over our bed this +year and more. But the will of the Lord be done." + +"May God bring him safe home to you," said Neal. + +"Ay, for God can do it, God can do it. I take no shame to tell you, +young as you are, that I was just beseeching the Lord to do that very +thing the now while you were standing at the door with Jinny. But the +Lord's ways are not our ways." + +She set a plate of oatcake and a jug of buttermilk on the table before +Neal, and bade him eat. When he had finished, he sat and talked with her +awhile, trying to cheer her. But she was not a woman to whom it was easy +to speak comfortable platitudes. She knew the risks her husband ran--the +risk of battle, and the worse risks which would follow defeat. Neal rose +at last and bid her farewell. + +"When you are saying a prayer for your husband," he said, "say one for +me; I'll be along with him. I'm going to fight, too." + +"And will you be for the turn-out, then, with the rest of them? Ay, +I'll say a prayer for you, And--and, young man, will you mind this? When +you're killing with your pike and your gun, even if it's a yeo that's +forninst you, gie a thought to the woman that's waiting at home for him, +and, maybe, praying. What would hinder her to pray for her husband even +if he's a yeoman itself?" + +It was seven o'clock when Neal reached Aeneas Moylin's house, after +climbing the steep lane that led to Donegore Hill. He found six men +seated in the kitchen--Donald Ward, Felix Matier, James Bigger, Moylin, +and two others whom he did not know. + +"It's Neal Ward," said Donald. "It's my nephew. Sit you down, Neal." + +No one else spoke, though all nodded a welcome to Neal, and room was +made for him at the table round which they sat. Aeneas Moylin rose and +fetched another chair from the next room. Neal noticed that all six men +were armed with swords and pistols. Donald Ward sat at the head of the +table, and had the air of presiding over the assembly. There was dead +silence in the room, save for the ticking of a clock which stood in a +dark corner out of reach of the rays of the lamp. No man looked at any +of his fellows. They stared fixedly at the ceil-ing, the table, or the +walls of the room. After about ten minutes, Felix Marier rose, crossed +the room, and peered at the face of the clock. He went to the door and +looked down the lane. Then, with a sharp in drawing of the breath, he +took his seat again. The movement roused Donald Ward. He fumbled in +his pocket and took out his tobacco box and pipe. He held up the box--a +round metal one--between his finger and thumb. Neal, watching, noticed +with surprise that his uncle's hand trembled. Donald held the box +without opening it for perhaps two minutes. Then, when he was satisfied +that his hand had become quite steady, he filled his pipe. He rose, took +a red peat from the hearth, and pressed it into the bowl of the pipe. +He did not sit down again, but stood with his back to the fire, smoking +slowly. + +Aeneas Moylin spoke in a harsh, constrained voice. + +"Would you like to drink while you wait? I have whisky in the house." + +"No," said Donald. + +No one else spoke. Several of the men passed their tongues over their +dry lips. They would have liked to drink. Their mouths craved for +moisture, their nerves for stimulant, but they did not dispute Donald +Ward's emphatic refusal of the offer. + +THE NORTHERN IRON. 175 + +Felix Matier rose again. Again he peered at the clock, again he +opened the door and looked down the lane. This time he turned almost +immediately, and said in a whisper-- + +"There's a man coming up the lane, a single rider. I hear the tramp of +his horse." + +He hurried back to his seat, as if he were afraid of being found apart +from his comrades, as if he expected to discover safety in being just as +they were. Donald Ward took his seat at the head of the table. His pipe +was still between his teeth, but he ceased to puff at it. It went out. +The noise of the approaching horse was plainly audible in the room. +Felix Matier suddenly laughed aloud, and then, half chanting the words +in a cracked falsetto, quoted-- + + "What is right and what is wrang by the law? + What is right and what is wrang? + A short sword and a lang, + A stout arm and a Strang, + For to draw." + +"Silence," said Donald. + +"It is the man," said Aeneas Moylin, "I hear him putting his horse into +the shed. It must be he, for no stranger would know the ways of the +place." + +James Bigger drew a pistol from his pocket, looked carefully at the +priming, cocked it, and laid it on the table before him. He sat at the +end of the table opposite Donald Ward, and was nearest to the door. + +The latch was lifted from without, and James Finlay entered the room. + +"You are welcome," said Donald, and every man at the table repeated the +words. + +Something in the tone of the greeting, some sense of the feeling of +those who sat in the room, startled Finlay. He glanced quickly at the +faces before him, became deadly white, took a step forward, and then +turned to the door. It was shut, and James Bigger, pistol in hand, stood +with his back against it. Finlay stood stock still. Neal, looking at +him, saw in his eyes an expression of wild terror--an agonised appeal +against the horror of death. In a single instant the man had understood +that he was to die. Neal felt suddenly sick. Then a faintness overcame +him. He leaned back in his chair unable to move or speak. He heard, as +if from a great distance, as if out of some other world, his uncle's +voice-- + +"The men you expected are not here, friend Finlay. M'Cracken is busy +elsewhere, Munro has an engagement this evening, Hope, whom you let slip +through your fingers yesterday, is not here to meet you." + +"I wear to you," said Finlay, "that I tried to save Hope yesterday." + +Donald took no notice of the words. He went on in a cool, not unfriendly +voice-- + +"We are here instead, and I think we are quite competent to conduct the +business for which we have met; but you will agree with us that this +house will not be a suitable place for our meeting. We think it possible +that Aeneas Moylin's house may be honoured to-night by a visit from some +dragoons or yeomen. They will probably be here in half an hour or so. +In the meanwhile, we shall adjourn. There is near at hand a building +in which we may do our business with perfect safety. You have heard, no +doubt, of the custom of body-snatching. Certain men--resurrectioners, I +think, they are called--have of late been robbing the graves of the dead +and selling the bodies to the medical schools for the use of students. +The good people of Donegore have built in their churchyard a very strong +vault with an iron door, of which Aeneas Moylin keeps the key. Here +they lock up the bodies of their dead for some time before burying +them--until, in fact, the natural process of decay renders them +unsuitable for dissection. This is their plan for defeating the +resurrectioners. There is no corpse in the vault to-night. We shall +adjourn to it for our meeting. The walls are so thick, I am told, that +remarks made even in a loud tone inside will be perfectly inaudible to +eavesdroppers. The door is very small, and we can hang a cloak over it, +so that our light will not be visible. It will be quite safe, I think; +besides, it will be very comforting to think that if one of us should +die suddenly his body will not become a prey to the ghoulish people of +whom we have been speaking." + +He paused. Then, changing his tone, gave a series of orders sharply-- + +"Bind his hands; gag him; bring a lantern and means of lighting it; +bring the key of the vault; leave the light burning in this room. Come." + +The orders were quickly obeyed. It was evident that every man had his +part assigned to him beforehand, and was ready to perform it. There was +no confusion, and no talking. + +Aeneas Moylin led the way. Two others followed, holding Finlay, gagged +and bound, by the arms. Donald Ward, his sword drawn, brought up the +rear. They moved like shadows, silent as the prowling body-snatchers +of whom Donald had spoken. In front of them, a dark mass in the June +twilight, stood the church, and round it rows and rows of gravestones. +Moylin crossed the stile. Finlay sank helplessly in a heap in front of +it. He could not, or would not, put his feet on the stone steps. Without +a word his two guards lifted him over and set him down among the graves. +Donald crossed last. Moylin, skirting the north side and east end of the +church, led the way to a corner of the cemetery where as yet there were +no graves. Here, barely visible among the tangle of brambles, nettles, +and high grass which surrounded it, was the vault. Kneeling down, Moylin +fumbled with the lock, turned the key with a harsh, grating sound, and +swung open the iron door. It was so low that he had to crawl through. +Once inside, he lit the lantern which he carried, and set it on a +projecting ledge of the rough masonry. Finlay was dragged in. The others +followed, until only Neal and his uncle stood outside. + +"Go next, Neal." + +"I cannot, uncle, I cannot. I am not able to bear this. Let me go away." + +"No. Go in, Neal. I want you. I shall let you go before the end." + +The vault was very small inside. It was hardly possible to stand +upright, and there was little room for moving. James Finlay, still bound +and gagged, lay at full length on the floor. Round him, their backs +against the walls, crouched the other men. Moylin's lantern cast a +feeble, smoky light. The air was heavy and close. It was the air of a +charnel house. + +"Take from the prisoner the arms he has about him," said Donald. "Search +his pockets, and hand me any papers you find. Now unbind his hands and +free his mouth. + +"James Finlay, we are here to do strict justice. You shall have every +opportunity of making any defence you can when you hear the charges +against you. If you clear yourself you shall go free. If you fail to +clear yourself you must abide the sentence we shall pronounce on you." + +"You mean to murder me," said Finlay. + +"We do not mean to murder you. We mean to try you fairly, to acquit or +condemn you in strict justice. The first charge against you is +this. Having been sworn a member of the United Irishmen's society in +Dunseveric, having been elected a member of the committee, you did in +Belfast betray the fact that there were cannons hidden in Dunseveric +meeting-house, and gave the names of your fellow-members to the military +authorities." + +"I deny it," said James Finlay. "You have no proof of what you assert. +Will you murder a man on suspicion?" + +"Neal Ward," said Donald, "is this the James Finlay who was sworn into +the society by your father?" + +"Yes," said Neal. + +"Tell us what you know about the visit of the yeomen to Dunseveric." + +Neal repeated the story, telling how he knew that his own name was on +the list of persons to be arrested. There was a short silence when he +had finished. Then James Bigger said-- + +"You have not proved that charge. The circumstances are suspicious, but +you have proved nothing." + +Donald Ward bowed. Finlay raised his eyes for the first time since he +had been dragged into the vault, and looked round him. There had risen +in him a faint gleam of hope. + +"You are charged," said Donald again, "with having provided the dragoons +who rioted in Belfast last week with information which led them to +attack and wreck the houses of those who are in sympathy with the +society." + +"I deny it. I was not in Belfast that day. I was here in Donegore with +Aeneas Moylin." + +"You were here the day before," said Moylin. "You left me that day +early. You might have been in Belfast." + +"I was not," said Finlay. + +Donald Ward produced the scrap of paper which Peg Macllrea had taken +from the dragoon. + +"Is that your handwriting?" he asked. + +James Finlay looked at it. + +"No," he said. + +"James Bigger, give me the last letter you had from Finlay. Now put the +lantern down on the floor." + +He looked steadily at the two papers, and then said-- + +"In my opinion these two are written in the same hand." + +He passed them to the man next him. They went from one to another, and +the lantern followed them on their round. Each man examined them, and +each nodded assent to Donald's judgment. + +"Let me see them," said Finlay. + +They were handed to him. + +"I wrote neither of them," he said. + +"Your name is signed to one," said Donald. + +"I did not write it. I had hurt my hand on the day that note was +written. I employed another man to write for me. The writing is his, not +mine." + +"Name the man you employed." + +"Kelso, James Kelso." + +"Kelso was flogged yesterday," said Donald, "and is in prison now. Do +you expect us to believe that he is an informer? Is flogging the wages +the Government pays to spies?" + +"I tried to save Hope yesterday," said Finlay. "Neal Ward, you have +borne witness against me, tell the truth in my favour now." + +"I believe," said Neal, "that he did his best to save Hope and me +yesterday. I believe that he wanted to save us." + +He told his story, and he told of the conversation on the Cave Hill +afterwards. Again the flicker of hope crossed Finlay's face. + +"You hear," he said. "Would I have done that if I had been a spy? Could +I not have handed them over to Major Barber if I had wished?" + +"I shall give you credit for wishing to save Hope," said Donald. "Now I +shall pass on to examine the papers found on your person to-night." + +Finlay protested eagerly. + +"I beg that you do not examine the papers you have taken from me. They +are of a very private nature." + +"I can believe," said Donald, "that they are of such a kind that you +would willingly keep them private." + +"I protest against your reading them. You have no right to read them. +They concern others besides myself. I give you my word." Donald smiled +slightly. "I swear to you, I will take any oath you like that there is +no paper there concerned with politics. You will be sorry if you read +them. I assure you that you will repent it afterwards. You will be +doing a base action. You will pry into a woman's secrets. You will bring +dishonour on the name of a lady, a noble lady." + +"Do you expect us to believe," said Donald, "that any lady, noble or +other--that any woman, that any soldier's drab even--has written love +letters to you?" + +He opened the first which came to hand of the pile of papers which lay +at his feet on the ground. Finlay suddenly collapsed. His impudence, +his ready tongue, deserted him. He had fought hard for his life, had +lied--though he lied clumsily in his terror--had twisted, doubled, +fought point after point. Whatever the papers were that had been found +on him, he recognised that they condemned him utterly and hopelessly. +The game was up for him. He saw death near at hand, as he had seen it +earlier when he first realised that he was trapped in Moylin's kitchen. +Donald read paper after paper silently. Some he laid aside, some he +passed to the man next him to read. Finlay rallied again. He made +another effort to save himself. + +"Listen," he said, "I have influence with the Government. I don't deny +it. Call me an informer, a spy, any name you like, but admit that I have +served my masters well. I can claim my reward from them. Let me go, and +I swear to obtain pardons for you. I can save you, and I will. I offer +you your lives as a ransom for mine." + +"Would you make us what you are?" said Donald, sternly. "Would you buy +our honour, you that have sold your own?" + +Finlay, who had knelt during his last appeal, fell forward. He grasped +Neal with his hands. It was impossible in the dim light to see the faces +of the men around him, but some instinct told him that Neal alone felt +any pity for him, that from Neal alone he could look for mercy. + +"Save me, Neal Ward," he cried. "For God's sake, save me. Plead for me. +They will listen to you. I am not fit to die. Grant me one day, only one +day. I will do anything you wish. I will---- Oh God, Oh Christ, Oh save +me, save me now." + +Neal felt drops fall on his hands, sweat from Finlay's brow or tears +from his eyes. He spoke-- + +"Spare him," he said. "Who are we to judge and to slay? James Hope said +to me last night that we should refrain from taking vengeance. I ask +you to respect what he said. Think of it. This man's case to-day may +be your's to-morrow. Remember you may take life, but you cannot give it +back again. Oh, this is too horrible--to kill him now, like this." + +He felt, while he spoke, Finlay's clasp tighten on him. He felt the +wretched man cover his hands with kisses, mumble, and slobber over them. +There was silence for a while when Neal ceased speaking. Then Donald +Ward said-- + +"Neal, you had better go outside. This is no work for a boy. It is, as +you say, horrible. To inflict death is horrible, but it is sometimes +just. If ever it is just for man to shed the blood of his brother man it +is just to shed James Finlay's. He has broken oaths, has brought death +on men, has made women widows and children fatherless; has wrecked the +happiness of homes. He has done these things for the sake of gain, for +money counted out to him as the priests counted money out to Judas." + +It was impossible to plead his cause any more. Moylin pushed open the +iron door of the vault. Neal dragged his hands from Finlay's grasp, and +crawled out. He heard the door clang behind him, shut fast again upon +the broken, terrified wretch and his judges--relentless men of iron, the +northern iron. + +No sound reached him from the vault. Save for the occasional belated +cawing of some rooks in the trees which shadowed the graveyard, no sound +reached him at all. He sat down among the nettles, the brambles, and the +rank grass and burst into tears. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +The paroxysm of tears swept Neal as the Atlantic waves sweep foaming and +furious over Rackle Roy. Then it passed and left him panting, shaking +with recurrent sobs, and a prey to an hysterical dread of hearing some +sound from the vault beside him. He sat absolutely motionless. He +hardly dared to breathe. He waited in horrible expectation of hearing +something. He listened intent, agonised, feeling that if a sound reached +him he would cry aloud and on the instant become a raving madman. The +scene inside the vault rose to his imagination. Far more really than he +saw the dim church and the trees, he saw Finlay grovelling on the +ground and the stern men crouching over him. He saw a knife gleam in the +lantern's light. He shut his eyes, as if by shutting them he could +blot out the pictures of his imagination. He waited to hear a shriek, +a smothered cry, a groan, the laboured breath of struggling men, the +splash of blood. The suspense became an agony. He rose to his feet and +fled. + +He stumbled over a grave, and fell headlong, bruising his outstretched +hands against a tombstone. He rose instantly and fled again. Stumbling +again, he struck his head against the wall of the church. Dizzy and +bewildered, he hastened on, driven forward by the terror of hearing some +death noise from the vault. Tripping, staggering, rushing blindly, he +reached the stile at last, and stood beyond it on the road. Before him +was Moylin's house. The window was lighted up, the door was open. He saw +men seated within, and heard them laugh aloud. They seemed to him not +men, but fiends making merry over murder, and the winning for their hell +of a new damned soul. He fled from them as he had fled from the sound +he dreaded. He rushed down the steep lane. Loose stones rolled under his +feet. Sparks started into sudden brightness where the nails in his boot +soles struck flints. The hedges rose high on each side of him, making +the lane, even in the pale June night, intolerably dark. He fled on, +blind, reckless, for the moment mad. + +Suddenly he was stopped short. Strong arms were round him. He was flung +to the ground. A man knelt on his chest. Rough hands grasped his throat. + +"Who have you there, Tarn?" + +"A damned fool for certain, whoever he is. What brings him down a hill +like this in the dark, as if the devil was after him?" + +"Loose his throat; do you want to choke him. Let him speak. Now, then, +man, tell us who you are, and what you're doing here." + +Neal's powers of reasoning and thought returned to him. With the +presence of real danger his fear vanished. He saw the forms of the men +above him, discerned against the dull grey of the sky that they were +armed and in uniform. He understood at once that he had fallen into the +hands of soldiers, perhaps of yeomen. + +"Who are you?" said the voice again. + +Then the man who knelt on him added a word of warning-- + +"If you won't speak, we're the boys who know how to loose your tongue. +We've made many a damned croppy glad to speak when we'd dealt with him." + +Neal remained silent. + +"Get him on his feet, Tam, and we'll take him to the Captain. If he's +not a rebel himself he'll know where the rebels are hid." + +Neal was pulled up by the arms and marched along the lane again to +Moylin's house. He was led into the kitchen. Two men sat at the table +drinking. They were in uniform. Neal recognised it as that of the +Kilulta yeomen, the men who had raided his father's meeting-house. He +recognised one of the officers--Captain Twinely. The sergeant made his +report. He and his men had been patrolling the lane as they had been +ordered. They had heard a man running fast towards them, had stopped +him, and arrested him. + +"Who are you, and what are you doing here?" asked Captain Twinely. + +Neal made no answer. The sergeant peered closely at his face. + +"I think I know the man, sir. He's the young fellow that was with the +women at the meetinghouse in the north. The man the old lord made us +loose when we had him. What do you say, Tarn?" + +"You're right as hell," said the trooper who stood by Neal. "I'd know +the young cub in a thousand." + +Captain Twinely rose, tools the lamp from the hook where it hung, held +it close to Neat's face, and looked at him. + +"I believe you're right," he said. "Now, young man, we know who you are; +You're Neal Ward." He drew a paper from his pocket and looked it over. +"Yes, that's the name, 'Neal Ward, son of the Reverend Micah Ward, +Presbyterian minister of Dunseveric. A young man, about six foot high, +well built, fair hair, grey eyes, active, strong.' Yes, the description +fits all right. Now, Mr. Neal Ward, since I've answered my first +question myself, perhaps you'll be so good as to answer my second for +me. Where are your fellow-rebels?" + +Neal was silent. + +"Come now, that won't do. We know there's a meeting of United Irishmen +here to-night. We know that the leaders, M'Cracken, Monro, Hope, and the +rest are somewhere about. Where are they?" + +"I don't know," said Neal, "and if I did I wouldn't tell you." + +The sergeant struck him sharply across the mouth with the back of his +hand. + +"Take that for your insolence. I'll learn ye to say 'sir' when ye +speak to a gentleman." + +"Answer my question," said Captain Twinely, "or, by God, I'll make you." + +"Try him with half hanging," said the other officer, speaking for the +first time. "I've known a tongue wag freely enough after it's been +sticking black out of a man's mouth for a couple of minutes." + +"Too risky, Jack. The last fellow you half hanged wouldn't come to life +again; turned out to be whole hanged, by gad." He laughed. "There's +fifty pounds on the head of this young cock, and it's ten to one but the +rascally Government would back out of their promise if we brought +them nothing but a damned corpse. Besides, I want the information. The +vermin's nest must be somewhere round. I want to get the lot of them. +No, no; there's more ways of making a croppy speak than half hanging +him. We'll try the strap first, any way. Now, Mr. Neal Ward, will you +speak or will you not?" + +"I will not." + +"Hell to your soul! but I'm glad to hear it. I owe you something, young +man, and I like to pay my debts. If you'd spoken without flogging I +might have had to bring you into Belfast with a whole skin. Now I'll +have you flogged, and you'll speak afterwards. Tam, give the sergeant +your belt. Sergeant, there's a tree outside. Tie the prisoner up and +flog him till he speaks, but don't kill him. Leave enough life in him to +last till we get him to Belfast, unless he speaks at once." + +"Yes, sir, but if your orders are so particular I'd rather you'd be +present yourself to see how much he can stand." + +"I'm not going to leave my bottle," said Captain Twinely, "to stand +sentry over croppy carrion. Flog him till you lay his liver bare, +sergeant, but don't cut it out of him." + +The sergeant saluted, and marched Neal out of the house. His coat was +dragged off him, his shirt stripped from his back, his hands tied to the +tree which stood before Moylin's house. He set his teeth and waited. +The predominating feeling in his mind at first was not fear but furious +anger. He had shrunk in terror from the near prospect of seeing Finlay +die. He felt nothing now except a passionate desire for revenge. + +The sergeant swung the trooper's belt round his head, making it whistle +through the air. Neal shivered and shrank, but the blow did not fall. +The sergeant was in no hurry. + +"You hear that," he said, swinging the belt again. "Will you speak +before I lay it on you? You shall have time to consider. Nobody shall +say I hurried a prisoner. We'll sing you a psalm, my dearly beloved, a +sweet psalm to a most comfortable tune. At the end of the first verse +I'll give you another chance. If you don't speak then----. Now Tarn, +now lads all, tune up to the Ould Hunderd, + + "'There was a Presbyterian cat + Who loved her neighbour's cream to sup; + She sanctified her theft with prayer + Before she went to drink it up.'" + +The troopers, who appeared to have learned both tune and words since the +night when the sergeant sang them in Dunseveric meeting-house, shouted +lustily. Following their sergeant, they drawled the last line until it +seemed to Neal as if they would never reach the end of it. + +"Now, Mr. Neal Ward," said the sergeant, "you've had a most comfortable +and cheering psalm for the hour of your affliction. Will you speak, +or----. Damn your soul, Tam, what are you at?" + +The man next him lurched suddenly forward, clutching at the sergeant. +In another instant there was a dull thud, and Donald Ward stood over +the sergeant with a pistol, grasped by its barrel, in his hand. He had +brought the butt of it down on the man's skull. Two more of the yeomen +fell almost at the same instant. The rest, three of them with wounds, +fled, yelling, down the lane. + +"The croppies are on us! Hell and murder! We're dead men!" + +There were about twenty of them, all well armed, but a night surprise +has a tendency to shake the firmest nerves. Captain Twinely and his +fellow-officer played no very heroic part. At the first sound of the +shouting and the footsteps of the flying troopers they rushed into the +inner room and crawled under the bed, fighting desperately with each +other for the place nearest the wall, but Donald Ward had no time to go +after them. + +"Cut the boy down," he said. + +It was Felix Matier who set Neal free. + +"Oh, whistle and I will come to you, my lad," he quoted, as he hustled +the shirt over Neal's shoulders. "Why didn't you whistle, Neal, or +shout, or something? Only for that devil's song we'd never have found +you. I guessed he was at some mischief when I heard him begin it." + +"Silence," said Donald, "and let us get out of this. The place must +be swarming with troops, and those yelling cowards will arouse every +soldier within a mite of us. It may not be so easy to chase the next +lot. Over into the churchyard again, and then, Moylin, we must trust to +you. You know the country, or you ought to, and I don't." + +Aeneas Moylin led the way into the churchyard again, and across the wall +at the lower end of it. The noise of many horsemen riding fast reached +them from the lane they had left. The frightened yeomen had gathered +troops to aid them, dragoons who had been posted on the main road down +below. From the top of the rath, which rose dark above even the tower of +the church, there came shouts. Men had been placed there, too, and were +gathering to their comrades opposite Moylin's house. The hunt would +begin in earnest soon. Donald called a halt and, cowering under +the shadow of a thick hedge, the little party of fugitives held a +consultation. + +"We might go back to the vault," said James Bigger. "They would find it +hard to get at us there, even if they discovered us. They couldn't burn +us out, for the walls are solid stone and four foot thick at least." + +"I'm not going to spend the night with---- with what's there," said +Felix Matier. "I'm not a coward, but I won't sit in the dark all night +with my knees up against--ugh!" + +"James Finlay?" said Bigger. "He won't hurt you now." + +"I'm for getting away if possible," said Donald. "I'm not frightened of +dead men, but I want to be at the fight tomorrow. If we stay here all +night we'll miss it." + +"Hark!" said Moylin, "they're in the churchyard. I hear them stumbling +about among the graves. We can't get back now, even if we want to. +Follow me." + +Creeping along the side of the hedge, they crossed the field they were +in, another, and another after that. They came upon a by-road. + +"We must cross this," said Moylin, "and I think there are soldiers nigh +at hand." + +Suddenly the sky behind them grew strangely bright. A flame, which cast +black shadows from hedge and tree and wall, which lit up every open +space of ground, shot up. + +"Down," said Donald, "down for your lives, lie flat. Where the devil +have they got the fire?" + +"It's my house," said Moylin, quietly, "the roof is thatched. It burns +well, but it won't burn for long." + +The shouts of the soldiers round the burning homestead reached them +plainly. A body of horsemen cantered along the lane in front of them. + +"Now," said Donald, "now, while their backs are turned, get across." + +They crossed unseen, and gained the shelter of the ditch at the far +side. They crept along it, seeking some boundary wall or hedge running +at right angles which would cast a shadow over them. The horsemen passed +again, but this time the risk of discovery was less. The thatch of +Moylin's house had almost burned itself out. Only a red glow remained, +casting little shadow, lighting the land dimly. They crossed the field +in safety and reached a grove of trees. + +"We're right now," said Moylin. "We can take it easy from this on." + +"Neal Ward," said Felix Matier, "next time you get yourself into a +scrape I'll leave you there. I haven't been as nervous since I played 'I +spy' twenty years ago among the whins round the Giant's Ring. Fighting's +no test of courage. It's running away that tries a man." + +"Phew!" said Donald, wiping his brow. Even he seemed to have felt the +strain of the last half-hour. "I did some scouting work for General +Greene in the Carolinas. I've lain low in sight of the watch-fires of +Cornwallis' cavalry, but I'm damned if I ever had as close a shave as +that. I felt jumpy, and that's a fact. I think it was the sight of your +bare back, Neal, and that blackguard brandishing his belt over you that +played up with my nerves." + +"Let's be getting on," said Moylin, "my house is ashes now, the house I +built with my own hands, the room my wife died in, the bed my girl was +born in. She's safe out of this, thank God. I want to be getting on. I +want to be in Antrim to-morrow with a pike in my hand and a regiment of +dragoons in front of me." + +Under Moylin's guidance they travelled across country through the night. +About three in the morning, when the east was beginning to grow bright +with the coming dawn, they reached a substantial farmhouse and climbed +into the haggard. + +"We're within twenty yards of the main road now," said Moylin, "about +a mile and a half outside the town of Antrim. We can lie here till +morning. It's a safe place. The man that owns it won't betray us if he +does find us here." + +At six o'clock Donald Ward awoke. The rest of the party lay stretched +around him, sleeping as men do after severe physical exertion and mental +strain. He sat still for a while, and then crept out of the barn where +they slept, and reconnoitered the farmhouse. He was surprised to find no +sign of life about it. Doors and windows were fast shut. No dog barked +at him. No cattle lowed. Not even a hen pecked or cackled in the yard. +He returned to the barn and roused the rest of the party. + +"I've been looking round," he said, "to see what chance we have of +getting breakfast. As far as I can make out the place is deserted." + +"I wouldn't wonder," said Moylin, "if the man that owns it has cleared +out. He's a bit of a coward, and he's not much liked in the country +because he tries to please both parties." + +"I thought you said last night," said Donald, "that he wouldn't betray +us." + +"No more he would," said Moylin, "he'd be afraid of what might happen +him after, but I never said he'd help us. It's my belief he's gone off +out of this in dread of what may happen in Antrim to-day. He'll be at +his brother's farm away down the Six Mile Water." + +"Well," said Donald, "it doesn't matter about him. The question is, how +are we to get something to eat?" + +A long consultation followed. There were serious difficulties. The +amount of food required for seven hungry men was considerable, and +Donald Ward insisted strongly on the necessity of having a good meal. It +was decided at last that two of the party should venture into Antrim to +buy bread and wine. No one knew what troops there might be in the town. +It would not be safe to count on the support of the inhabitants if they +happened to have soldiers in their houses. The inns might be full of +officers. The shops might be in the hands of the royal troops. + +"It's no use discussing the difficulties and dangers," said Donald at +last. "We've got to risk it. We can't fight all day on empty stomachs. +We'd fight badly if we did. I and Neal here will go into Antrim, we're +the least likely to be recognised. The rest of you are known men. We'll +bring you back something to eat." + +At eight o'clock they set out, and reached the town just as the people +were beginning to open their doors. Donald Ward pressed some money into +Neal's hand. + +"Go into the inn where we stopped," he said. "Get a couple of bottles +of wine and some cold meat if you can. I'll go on to the baker's. We'll +meet again opposite the church. If I'm not there in twenty minutes go +back without me; I'll wait that long for you. Walk in as if you owned +the shanty. There's nothing starts suspicion as quick as looking +frightened. Bluster a bit if they look crooked at you, and answer no +questions for anybody." + +Neal did his best to follow the advice. But it is not easy for a man who +has slept two successive nights in the open, who has had no opportunity +of shaving, and who has crawled in ditches for several miles, to assume +the airs of an opulent and self-contented tourist. Neal was painfully +conscious that he must look like a disreputable tramp. Nevertheless he +squared his shoulders, held up his head, and jingled his money in +his pocket as he passed through the door. He called valiantly for the +master. A girl, tousle-headed and heavy-eyed, looking as if she, too, +had slept on a hillside or slept very little in bed, came to him. He +recognised her as the same who had waited on him and Donald when they +spent the night in the inn. She was sharp-sighted in spite of her +sleeplessness. She knew Neal. + +"In there with you," she said, pointing to a door, "I'll get you what +you're after wanting. The dear knows there's broken meat in plenty here +the morn." + +Neal entered the room. The table was littered with the remains of +breakfast. A large party had evidently been there and had gone. Neal +guessed that at least a dozen people had sat at the table. With his back +to the room, looking out of the window, stood a young man, booted and +spurred for riding, well dressed, well groomed, a sword by his side. His +figure struck Neal as being familiar. A second glance made him sure that +this was Maurice St. Clair. For a moment he hesitated. Then he said-- + +"Maurice." + +"Neal," said the other, turning quickly. "What brings you here? God, +man, you mustn't stay. My father is in the house and Lord O'Neill. Thank +God the rest of them are gone." + +"What brings you and your father to Antrim, Maurice?" + +"There was to have been a meeting of the magistrates of the county here +to-day. My father rode in last night and brought me with him, but there +came an orderly from Belfast this morning with news which fluttered our +company. The rebels are to attack the town to-day. Oh, Neal, but it was +fun to see the hurry the worshipful justices were in to get home this +morning. There were a round dozen of them here last night drinking death +and damnation to the croppies till the small hours. This morning it +was who would get his breakfast and his horse first. You never saw such +scrambling." + +"You and your father stayed," said Neal. + +"Yes. Is it likely my lord would ride away from danger? You know him, +Neal." + +The girl entered with a basket on her arm. With a glance at Maurice St. +Clair she came close to Neal and whispered-- + +"There's for you. There's plenty wine and cold meat for half a score. +I'll be tongued by the master after, it's like, but I'll give it for the +sake of Jemmy Hope, who's a better gentleman than them that wears finer +coats, that never said a hard word or did an uncivil thing to a poor +serving wench no more than if she'd been the first lady in the land." + +Neal took the basket and bade farewell to Maurice, but as he turned to +leave the room Lord Dunseveric and another gentleman entered. Neal stood +back, hoping to escape notice, but Lord Dunseveric saw and recognised +him. + +"O'Neill," he said to his companion, "pardon me a moment. This is a +young friend of mine to whom I would speak a word." + +He led Neal to the window. + +"Are you on your way home, Neal?" + +"No, my lord." + +"I suppose I must not ask where you are going or what you mean to do. I +don't ask, but I advise you strongly to go home. The game is up, Neal. +The plans of your friends have been blown upon. Their secrets are known. +See here." + +He held out a printed paper. Neal took it and read-- + +"To-morrow we march on Antrim. Drive the garrison of Randalstown before +you, and haste to form a junction with the commander-in-chief.--Henry +Joy M'Cracken. First year of Liberty, 6th June, 1798." + +"That paper was handed to General Clavering last night," said Lord +Dunseveric, "and half a dozen more copies were sent to other officers. +Is it any use going on now?" + +"My lord," said Neal, "I have heard things--I have seen things. Last +night I myself was stripped for flogging. They have set a price on my +head. I put it to you as a gentleman, as a just man and a brave, would +it be right to go back now?" + +"It is no use going on." + +"But would you go back? Would you desert friends who did not desert you? +Would you leave them?" + +"A wise man does not struggle against the inevitable, Neal." + +"But a man of honour, my lord. What would a man of honour do?" + +"A man of honour," said Lord Dunseveric, "would act as you are going to +do." + +"Farewell, my lord, I go with an easy mind now, if I go to my death, for +I have your approval." + +"Neal Ward," said Lord Dunseveric, "I have known you since you were a +boy, and I've loved you next to my own children. I don't say you are +acting wrongly or dishonourably, but you and your friends are acting +foolishly. You cannot win. You and hundreds of innocent people must +suffer, and Ireland, Neal, Ireland will come to the worse, to the +old subjection, to the old bondage, to the old misery, through your +foolishness. I say this, not to dissuade you from going on, for I think +that you must go on now, but in order that when you look back on it all +afterwards you may remember that there were true friends of Ireland who +were not on your side." + +Neal bent over Lord Dunseveric's hand and kissed it solemnly. + +"I have known two great and good men," he said. "You, my lord, and one +whose name you might count contemptible, James Hope, the weaver, of +Templepatrick. I think myself happy that I have had the goodwill of +both. And, my lord, I think Ireland the most unhappy country in the +world because to-day these two men will be in arms against each other." + +He sobbed. Then, lest he should betray more emotion, went quickly from +the inn. + +He found his uncle waiting for him outside the church. + +"Well, Neal," he said, "how have you sped? You have a basket; I hope it +is full. See here, I have four loaves of bread. The baker man would have +denied me. He suspected me, but I had my answer for him. I told him I +was groom to a great lord who was staying in the inn. I made free with +the name of your friend, Lord Dunseveric. I told him that if he refused +my lord the bread he wanted he would hang him for his insolence. I got +the bread. For the first time and the last I have been a serving man. +Now, back, back as fast as we can go to our hungry comrades." + +After they left the town Donald Ward grew grave again. + +"My lad," he said, "we shall have a fight to-day--a fight worth +fighting. It won't be the first time I've looked on bare steel or heard +the bullets sing. I know what fighting means, and I know this, that many +of us will lie low enough before the sun sets. It may be my luck to come +through or it may not. I have a sort of feeling that I am to fire my +last shots to-day. Don't look at me like that, boy, I'm not frightened. +I'll fight none the worse. But I want to settle a little bit of business +with you now that we are alone. I have a paper here, I wrote it +last night while you slept; I signed it this morning, and I have it +witnessed. I got a parson to witness it, a kind of curate man, a poor +creature. I caught him going into the church to say prayers, and made +him witness my signature. I had time enough, for you were longer at the +inn than I was at the baker's. Here it is for you, Neal. In case of my +death it makes you owner of my share of a little business in the town +of Boston. My partner is managing it now. We own a few ships, and were +making money when I left. But it did not suit me. I got the fighting +fever into my blood during the war. I couldn't settle down to books and +figures. Maybe you'll take to the work. If you do you ought to stand a +good chance of dying a rich man, and you'll be comfortably off the day +you hand that paper to my partner. Not a word now, not a word. I know +what you want to say. Twist your lips into a smile again. Look as if you +were happy whatever you feel, and when all's said and done you ought to +be happy. Whatever the end of it may be we'll get our bellies full of +fighting to-day, and what has life got to give a man better than that?" + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +After breakfast Donald Ward led his party along the road up which +M'Cracken's force must march to reach Antrim. At about noon he met the +advance guard of United Irishmen. Several of Donald's companions were +recognised by these men, and his party were led back to where M'Cracken +himself marched with the central division of his army. It was then +that Neal first saw this leader--a tall, fair-haired, gentle-faced man, +dressed in a white and green uniform, armed with a sword. He spoke to +Donald Ward, and then calling Neal, questioned him about the condition +of the town of Antrim. Neal repeated all that Lord Dunseveric had said, +and told how he had been shown a copy of the proclamation. + +"You will not tell anyone else what you have told me, Mr. Ward," said +M'Cracken, "the news that our plans are known to the enemy might be +discouraging to the men. It does not alter my determination to take +Antrim to-day. Now I must give you your orders and your posts." He +called Donald Ward to him. "You will take charge of our two pieces of +cannon," he said. "They are at the rear of the force. Neal Ward, you +will join the first division of the army--the musketeers--and place +yourself under James Hope's command. I think this is what both you and +he would wish. Felix Matier and James Bigger will do likewise. Moylin, +you and your two friends will march with the pikemen, whom I lead +myself. Some of the men have arms for you." + +The party had fallen somewhat to the rear of the column during this +conversation with M'Cracken. Neal and his two companions hurried forward +at once in order to reach the division of musketeers which was in the +van. They had opportunity as they passed along to admire the steady +march and the determined bearing of the men. Green flags were everywhere +displayed. The long pikes, iron spear-heads fastened on stout poles, +were formidable weapons in the hands of strong men. An almost unbroken +silence was preserved in the ranks. The northern Irishmen are not great +talkers at any time. Set to work of deadly earnest, they become very +silent, very grim. + +There were men in the little army belonging to some of the finest +fighting stocks in the world. There were descendants of the fiery Celtic +tribes to whom Owen Roe O'Neill taught patience and discipline; who, +under him, if he had lived, might well have broken even Cromwell's +Ironsides and sent the mighty Puritan back to his England a beaten man. +Despised, degraded, enslaved for more than a century, these had yet in +them the capacity for fighting. There were also the great-grandsons of +the citizen soldiers of Derry--of the men who stood at bay so doggedly +behind their walls, whom neither French military art nor Celtic valour, +nor the long suffering of famine and disease, could cow into surrender. +There were others--newcomers to the soil of Ireland--who brought with +them to Ulster the traditions of the Scottish Covenantors, memories +of many a fierce struggle against persecution, of conflict with the +dragoons of Claverhouse. All these, whose grandfathers had stood in arms +for widely different causes, marched together on Antrim, an embodiment +of Wolfe Tone's dream of a united Ireland. Their flags were green, +vividly symbolic of the blending of the Protestant orange with the +ancient Irish blue. M'Cracken, with such troops behind him, might march +hopefully, even though he knew that the cavalry, infantry, and artillery +were hurrying against him along the banks of the Six Mile Water, from +Blaris Camp and Carrickfergus. + +James Hope greeted Neal warmly. + +"There is a musket for you," he said, "and your own share of the +cartridges you helped to save. There's a lad here, a slip of a boy, who +is carrying them for you." + +He looked round and pointed out the boy to Neal. + +"There he is; you may march in the ranks along with him." + +Neal took his place beside a boy with bright red hair and a pleasant +smiling face, who handed him a musket and a pouch of cartridges. + +"Them's yours, Neal Ward. Jemmy Hope bid me bring them for you." + +"But what are you to do?" said Neal. "You have no musket for yourself." + +"Faith I couldn't use it if I had. I never shot off one of them guns +in my life. I'd be as like to hit myself as any one. I'll just go along +with you, I have a sword, and I'll be able to use that if I get the +chance." + +Neal looked at the lad beside him, noted his smooth face and sparkling +eyes. + +"You must be very young," he said, "too young for this work." + +"I might be older than you now, young as I look. But is thon Mr. Matier +coming till us? Go you and talk to him if you want. I won't have him +here, marching along with me." + +At about half-past one Hope halted his musketeers. He was in sight of +Antrim, and he waited for orders. It was clear that the town was held +by English troops. Their red coats were visible in the main street, +but, without that, the houses which burnt here and there gave sufficient +evidence of the presence of a ravishing army. + +M'Cracken made a speech to his men--an eloquent speech. Now-a-days +we are inclined to look with some contempt on men who make eloquent +speeches. We are so accustomed to the perpetual flow of our Sunday +oratory that we have come to think of speeches as mere preliminaries +to copious draughts of porter in public-houses--a sort of grace before +drink, to which no sensible man attaches any particular importance. +But the orators of M'Cracken's day spoke seriously, with a sense of +responsibility, because all of them--Flood, Grattan, and the rest--spoke +to armed men, who might at any time draw swords to give effect to the +speaker's words. M'Cracken spoke to men with swords already drawn and +muskets loaded. Therefore, he had some right to be eloquent, and his +hearers had some right to cheer. + +Felix Matier had somehow laid hands on Phelim, the blind piper, and set +him playing. A hundred voices, voices of marching men, caught the tune, +whistled, and sang it. Matier's own voice rang out clearest and loudest +of all. It was, the "Marseillaise" they sang--a not inappropriate anthem +for soldiers about to fight for the liberty of man. But James Hope had +something else in his mind besides the storming of a French Bastille +and the guillotining of a French aristocracy. He believed that he was +fighting: for Ireland, and the foreign tune was not to his mind. Laying +his hand on Matier's shoulder he commanded silence. Then whispering to +Phelim, he set a fresh tune going on the pipes. An ancient Irish war +march shrilled through the ranks--a tune with a rush in it--a tune which +sends the battle fever through men's veins. Now and then the passion of +it reaches a climax, and the listeners, almost in spite of themselves, +must shout aloud. It is called "Brian Boroimhe's March," and it may be +that his warriors shouted when the pipers played it marching on Clontarf +against the Danes. Hope's musketeers heard it, whistled it as the piper +played, hummed it in deep voices, and always, when the moment came, +shouted aloud. + +The musketeers halted, and the pikemen passed them by. The broad, +straight street lay before them, and at the end of it, half sheltered by +the market house, were the English infantry. Behind them, blocking the +end of the street, splitting it as it were into two roads, which run to +the right and left, was the wall of Lord Massereene's demesne. Across +the bridge the English cannon, almost too late, were being hurried by +an escort of sweating dragoons. There was work with them for Hope's +musketeers and Donald Ward's two brass six-pounders. But between the +infantry and M'Cracken's men was a body of cavalry, sitting in shelter +behind the wall which surrounded the church. These would cut the +musketeers to pieces. The pikemen must face them first. + +The horsemen wheeled from their shelter and charged. The long pikes +were lowered, steadied, held in bristling line. There was trampling, +shouting, cursing, torn horses, wounded men, dust, and confusion. Then +the horsemen turned back, musket bullets followed them, men reeled from +the saddles, horses stumbled, the pikemen at the lower end of the street +shook themselves and cheered. They had tasted victory. A louder cheer +followed. Another body of pikemen, true almost to the moment of their +time, marched in along the Carrickfergus Road and joined M'Cracken. +The whole body moved forward together. Down the street to meet them +thundered the dragoons who had brought the cannon in across the bridge. +Hope's musketeers fired again, but no bullets could stop the furious +charge. The dragoons were on the pikes--among the pike men, There was +stabbing and cutting, pike and sabre clashed. Again the cavalry were +driven back, again the musket bullets followed them--musket bullets +fired by marksmen. M'Cracken, at the head of his men, pushed forward. +The dragoons took shelter, the English artillery and infantry opened +fire. The street was swept with grape-shot and bullets. + +Neal, in the front rank of Hope's men, was loading and firing rapidly. +He heard a shout behind him. + +"Way there, make way!" + +He turned. Donald Ward and two men with him had got one of their +six-pounders mounted on a country cart. They dragged the gun to the +middle of the road. Donald, sweating and dusty, but calm and alert, with +a grim smile on his face, laid the gun, loaded, fired. Again he fired. +The gun was well aimed. His shot ploughed its way among the men who +served the English guns, but at the second discharge a round shot flung +it from its carriage and laid it useless on the road. The man who stood +beside it cursed and flung his hands up in despair. Donald Ward turned +quickly. + +"Back," he said, "get the other gun." + +The pikemen pressed on against the storm of grape and cannister and +bullets. The guns ceased firing to let the dragoons charge. Again the +pikemen knelt to receive them, and flung them back. At last the wall of +the churchyard was reached. The pikemen leaped into the churchyard and +breathed in safety. A flag was raised above the wall, a green flag. A +wild cheer greeted it. Hope shouted an order to his men. They rushed +forward along the ground that had been so hardly won, and took their +places with their comrades behind the wall. Leaning over it, or finding +loopholes in the rough masonry, they opened fire on the infantry before +them. A large body of pikemen crossed the road and entered a lane. They +pressed along behind the houses of the street to turn the flank of the +English infantry who were drawn up against the demesne wall. The English +commander saw his danger, and sent dragoons charging down the street +again. But Hope's musketeers were in the churchyard this time. They +fired at close range. The dragoons hesitated. The remaining pikemen +rushed out on them. The colonel reeled in his saddle, struck by a +bullet. His men wavered. In one instant the pikemen were among them. +Three horsemen shouted to the men to rally, and with the flats of their +swords struck at those who were retreating. But the dragoons had had too +much of the pikes. They turned and fled up the street. Sweeping to the +left they galloped in confusion from the battle. The three horsemen +who did not fly were surrounded. The main body of the pikemen pressed +forward; the flanking party joined them. The English infantry and +gunners were driven through the gates and took shelter behind the walls +of the demesne. + +In the middle of the street the three horsemen fought for their lives +against a handful of men who had held back from the main charge. Neal +recognised two of them--saw with horror Lord Dun-severic and Maurice +cutting at the pikes with their swords. He leaped the wall and rushed +to their help. The third horseman--the unfortunate Lord O'Neill--was +separated far from them. He fell from his saddle, ripped by a pike +thrust. Lord Dunseveric's horse was stabbed, and threw its rider to the +ground. Maurice leaped down and raised his father. The two stood back to +back while the pikemen pressed on them. Then Neal reached them. With his +musket clubbed he beat down two of the pikes. The men cursed him, and, +furious at his interference, thrust at him. A sword flashed suddenly +beside him, and a pike, which would have pierced him, was turned aside. +Neal saw that the red-haired boy who marched with him in the morning had +followed him from the churchyard and was fighting fiercely by his side. +The pikemen realised that they were attacking their friends. Leaving +Neal and his protector, they ran to join their comrades. + +"Yield yourselves," shouted Neal. "You are my prisoners. Yield and you +are safe." + +Lord Dunseveric bowed. + +"Thank you, Neal," he said, quietly, "we yield to you." + +A bullet struck the ground at their feet, and then another. The soldiers +behind the demesne wall were firing at them. The boy who had saved Neal +from the pike thrust gave a sudden cry and sank on the ground. + +"I think," said Lord Dunseveric, "you had better pick up that boy and +walk in front of us. It is possible that our men will cease firing when +they see that Maurice and I are between them and you." + +Neal stooped and raised the boy. + +"I can walk fine," he said, "if you let me put my arm round your neck." + +There was a pause in the fighting. The English infantry drawn up on the +terrace behind the wall would not fire on Lord Dunseveric and his son. +Hope's musketeers in the churchyard watched in silence while the little +procession approached them. Neal, with his arm round the wounded boy, +walked first. Lord Dunseveric, following, drew his snuff-box from +his pocket, tapped it, and took a pinch, drawing the powder into his +nostrils with deliberate enjoyment. + +"It seems, Maurice," he said, with a slight smile, "that we are people +of considerable importance. Two armies are looking on while we march to +captivity, and yet we do not appear in a very heroic light. We are the +prisoners of one badly-armed young man and a wounded boy." + +"Neal saved us," said Maurice. + +"Yes," said Lord Dunseveric, "that is, no doubt, the way to look at it. +We should certainly have been piked if it had not been for Neal." + +Neal lifted the wounded boy over the churchyard wall and knelt beside +him on the grass. + +"Where are you hit?" he said. + +"It's my leg, the calf of my leg, but it's no that bad, I could get +along a bit, yet." + +The English infantry opened a furious fire on M'Cracken's pikemen, who +stood around the cannon they captured. Hope's musketeers replied, firing +rapidly. Many of them had fallen. There were muskets to spare, and the +wounded men, crawling round their comrades, loaded for them, and passed +the guns up to those who still could shoot. The whole churchyard was +full of smoke, and a heavy cloud of it hung in the still air before the +wall. It became impossible to see plainly what was happening. Neal was +aware that Felix Matier stood beside him, and that Lord Dunseveric was +somewhere behind him watching, with cool interest, the progress of the +fight. Suddenly Felix Matier shouted-- + +"We're blinded with this smoke. We must see to shoot. We must see to +aim. Follow me who dare!" + +He leaped into the street, and knelt down. The air was clearer there +than in the churchyard. He aimed steadily, fired, loaded, and fired +again. The bullets of the infantry splashed on the ground around him +like rain drops in a heavy shower. His clothes were cut by them. It +seemed a miracle that he did not fall. He began to sing, and this time +there was no one to forbid his "Marseillaise." Then, while his +voice rose to its highest, while he seemed, out there alone in the +bullet-swept street, a very incarnation of the battle spirit--the end +came for him. He flung up his arms, rose, staggered towards the shelter +of the churchyard, turned half round in the direction of the men who +fired at him, and dropped dead. + +Lord Dunseveric stepped forward and tapped Neal on the shoulder. + +"Listen," he said. + +From the Belfast Road, along which the United Irishmen had marched in +the morning, came the sound of drums. Through the smoke it was possible +to discern dimly that a large body of troops was approaching the town. +There could be no doubt as to who they were. No reinforcements for +M'Cracken's army could be looked for from the south. Neal grasped the +meaning of what he saw. Hope's men in the graveyard, which they had held +so long, were caught between the soldiers in the demesne and these fresh +troops who marched on them. Others besides Neal saw what was happening. +The firing slackened. Here and there a man dropped his musket and +stared wildly around. At the top of the street the dragoons who had fled +appeared again. They attacked M'Cracken's pike-men once more, and this +time victoriously. Shaken by the fire of the soldiers behind the wall, +disheartened by the appearance of the enemy in their rear, these men, +who had fought so well, could fight no more. Some fled, some, with their +leader, faced the dragoons and, their pikes still forming a bristling +hedge in front of them, retired sullenly eastwards from the town. + +The musketeers were left alone. Their position seemed desperate. Neal +stopped firing, and looked round. Hope stood bare-headed, his sword in +his hand. + +"We have fought a good fight, men, and we'll fight again, but we must +get out of this now. Load and reserve your fire till I give the order. +Follow me." + +He stepped into the street. His men, gaining courage from the cool +confidence of his voice, loaded their muskets and went after him. + +"Neal," said Lord Dunseveric, "this is madness. Stay. There are at least +a thousand men in front of you. You can't cut your way through them." + +But Neal did not listen. To him, for the moment, it was enough that Hope +was leading. + +"Neal, Neal, don't leave me." + +It was the voice of the boy who had stood by him in the street and +turned the pikes aside. + +"See, I have bound up my leg. I can walk." + +Neal took him by the arm, and together they joined the remnant of Hope's +musketeers in their march against the fresh troops who approached them. + +Lord Dunseveric, heedless of the bullets which still swept the street +from the demesne, stood on the graveyard wall. He was excited at last. + +"Maurice," he cried, "these men are going to certain destruction, but, +by God, their courage is glorious. Look, they are out of the town. They +have halted. They fire. Now, if the English officer has any horse he can +cut them to pieces. He should advance, cavalry or no cavalry. A charge +with the bayonets would settle it. See, Maurice, the red coats have +halted. They are forming a square; they expect to be charged. The rebels +have turned. They are satisfied with having checked the advance. They +are making back into the town. Are they mad? No, by God, they wheel to +their right. They are off. They have escaped." + +The meaning of Hope's manoeuvre broke suddenly on Lord Dunseveric. There +was a road at the end of the town leading north-east to Done-gore. By +going along it Hope could join M'Cracken and the remains of the +army. But to keep it open he had to check the advance of the English +reinforcements. He feinted against them, calculating that their +commander would not know how the fight had gone in Antrim, and must of +necessity move cautiously. He risked the utter destruction of his little +force in making his bid for safety. He reaped the reward of courage +and skill, extricating his musketeers from what seemed an impossible +position. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +General Clavering seemed in no way disconcerted by the escape of Hope's +musketeers. He marched through the town with drums beating and +colours flying, having very much the air of a victorious general. Lord +Dunseveric stepped out of the graveyard and saluted him. + +"Accept my congratulations," he said, "on your timely arrival. You +have released me and my son from what might have been an unpleasant and +uncomfortable captivity." + +"I am glad," said the general, "to have been of any service to your +lordship. I trust you suffered no ill-usage at the hands of the rebels. +If you did-----, well, we have an opportunity of settling our scores +with them now." + +He smiled, but the look on his face was by no means pleasant to see. + +"I received no ill-usage at all," said Lord Dunseveric. "On the +contrary, I was treated with as much courtesy as was possible under the +circumstances. I would ask your forbearance towards any prisoners you +may take, and your kindness to the wounded. There are many of them in +the churchyard." + +"You may be sure that your lordship's recommendation shall have due +weight with me." + +The words were civil, but Lord Dunseveric detected a sneer in the voice +which uttered them. He was not well pleased. + +"I trust, sir," he said coldly, "that I am to take your words literally +and not interpret them in accordance with the tone in which they are +spoken." + +"If you want plain speaking, Lord Dunseveric," said the general, "I +shall deal with the rebels, whole or wounded, as rebels deserve. I mean +to make these Antrim farmers as tame as gelt cats before I've done with +them." + +He beckoned to an officer of his staff, and gave some orders. In a few +minutes several companies of mounted yeomen and dragoons trotted out of +the town. + +"It is a good job," said General Clavering, "that the rebels succeeded +in getting away. If we had cut off their retreat we might have had some +hard fighting. There is nothing nastier than tackling a rat in a corner. +It is a much simpler business to cut up flying men. All beaten troops +straggle and desert. Irregulars, operating in their own country, simply +melt away after a defeat. They sneak off home, hide their arms in hay +stacks, and pretend they never left their ploughs. I know their ways, +and, by God, I'll track them. I'll ferret them out." + +General Clavering's estimate of the conduct of irregular troops had +something in it. Even James Hope's influence failed to keep his men from +straggling. They had fought well while there was any chance of victory, +but war was strange to them. The horrors of wounds and death, the bitter +disappointment of defeat, the hopeless outlook of the future, depressed +them. Their homes were near at hand. Within a few miles of them were the +familiar cottages, the waiting, anxious wives, the little children with +eager faces. There was always the chance for each man that he might +escape unknown, that his share in the rising might be forgotten. One and +another dropped out of the ranks, slipped across the fields, sought to +get home again along by-paths. It was not possible for Hope to delay his +march in order to reason with his men--to hearten and steady them. He +knew that the enemy would be swift in pursuit, that he must press on if +he were to meet M'Cracken at Donegore. He did what he could. He went +to and fro through the ranks, speaking quiet, brave words. Donald Ward, +cool and determined as ever, talked of the American war. + +"You're young at the work, yet," he said to the disheartened men. "Wait +till you've been beaten half a dozen times. It was only by being beaten, +and standing up to our beatings, that we won in the end. I remember when +I was with General Greene in the Carolinas----" + +The men listened to him and listened to Hope. Their spirit began to +return to them. The ranks closed up. The march grew more regular, but +the straggling did not altogether cease. The lure of home, the thought +of rest after struggle, was too strong for some of them. Neal marched +near the rear of the column. He had no thought of deserting a beaten +side, of trying to save himself, but he knew that he could not go on for +very long, and that he would not be able to reach Donegore. The boy whom +he supported leaned heavily on him, until he almost had to carry him. +The strain became more and more severe. He gave his musket to a comrade +to carry for him. He lifted the boy upon his back and staggered on. + +After nearly an hour's march Hope called a halt. Half a mile behind them +on the road was a body of dragoons advancing rapidly. Hope drew his men +up across the road, the few pikemen who were with him kneeling in front, +the musketeers behind them. The dragoons came on at a trot. Then a word +of command was given by their officer, and they galloped forward. Hope +waited, and only at the last moment gave the word to fire. Horses and +men fell. The charge was checked. A few staggered forward against the +pikes. Most turned and fled. A wild cheer burst from Hope's men. Without +waiting for orders they rushed after the retreating dragoons. The misery +of defeat was forgotten for a moment. They tasted the joy of victory +again. But the horsemen rallied, turned on their pursuers, and rode +through them, cutting with their sabres. Neal, who had sat down on the +roadside after firing his musket, saw Hope trying to recall his men, saw +Donald Ward far down the road gather a few pikemen round him and stand +at bay. The dragoons, who had had enough of charging pikes, dismounted, +unslung their carbines, and fired. Neal saw his uncle fall. Hope +reformed his men and bade them load again, but the dragoons had no taste +for another charge. Their officer was wounded. They turned and rode back +towards Antrim. + +Hope gave the word to march again, but Neal could carry the boy no more. + +"I can't do it," he said. "We must stay here and take our chance." + +"Go on," said the boy, "go you on. I've been a sore trouble to you the +day, have done with me now." + +"I will not leave you," said Neal, "we'll take our chance together." + +He watched Hope's little force disappear up the road. Then he dragged +the boy through the hedge into the meadow beyond it, and lay down in the +deep grass. + +"Is your leg very bad?" said Neal. + +"It's no that bad, only I canna walk. It's bled a power, my stocking's +soaked with the blood. Maybe if we could tie it up better we might stop +it and I'd get strength to go again." + +Neal dragged the lining from his coat, and tore it into strips. He cut +the stocking from the boy's leg with his pocket-knife, and bandaged a +long flesh wound as best he could. + +"Rest now," he said, "and after a while we'll try and get on a bit." + +They lay in the deep, cool grass. There was pure air round them, and +they drew deep breaths of it into throats and lungs parched by the fumes +of sulphurous smoke. A delicious silence wrapped them, folded them as if +in a tender, kind embrace. A faint breeze stirred the grass, waved the +white plumes of the meadow sweet, shook the blue vetch flowers and the +purple spears of lusmor. In the hedge the reddening blooms of faded +hawthorn still lingered. The honeysuckle fragrance filled the air. +Groups of merry-faced dog-daisies nodded in the ditch, and round +their stalks were buttercups, and beyond them the rich yellow of marsh +marigolds. Neal fancied himself awaking from some hideous nightmare. It +became impossible to believe in the reality of the battle, the fierce +passion of it, the smoke, the sweat, the wounds, the cries. He was +lulled into delicious ease. Rest was for the time the supreme good of +life. His eyes closed drowsily. He was back in Dunseveric again, and in +his ears the noise of a gentle summer sea. + +He was roused by a touch of his companion's hand. + +"I'm afraid there's a wheen o' sogers coming up the road." + +Neal rose to his hands and knees and peered cautiously through the +hedge. He saw mounted men riding slowly along the road from the +direction of Antrim. They were still about half a mile off. Every now +and then they halted and peered about them. They rode as if they feared +an ambush, or as if they sought something or some one in the fields at +each side of the road. + +"They're yeomen," said Neal, "and they're coming towards us. We must lie +as still as we can. Perhaps they may pass without seeing us." + +"They willna," said the boy, "they'll see us. We'll be kilt at last." + +Neal peered again. The yeomen had reached the spot where Donald and his +pikemen had made their stand. They halted and dismounted to examine, +perhaps to plunder, the bodies. Neal could see their uniforms plainly. +He shivered. They were men of the Kilulta yeomenry, of Captain Twinely's +company. + +"Neal Ward, there's something I want to say to you before they catch +us." + +"Well, what is it? Speak at once. They'll be coming on soon, and then it +won't do to be talking." + +"Ay, but you mustn't look at me while I tell you." + +Neal turned away and waited. He was impatient of this making of +mysteries in a moment of extreme peril. + + "I would I were in Ballinderry, + I would I were in Aghalee, + I would I were in bonny Ram's Island + Trysting under an ivy tree-- + Ochone, Ochone!" + +The words were sung very softly, but Neal recognised the voice at once. +He turned at the second line and gazed in open-eyed astonishment at the +singer. + +"Ay, it's just me, just Peg MacIlrea." She smiled up at him as she +spoke. + +"But, Peg, how could you do it? Peg, if I'd only known. Why did you +come?" + +"It wasna right. It wasna maidenly. If that's what you want to be saying +to me, Neal Ward. The other lassie wouldna have done it. Maybe not. But +a' the lads I knew well were turning out and going to the fight, and +what was to hinder a poor, wild lassie, that nobody cared about, from +going, too? Ay, and being there at the break, the sore, sore break, in +Antrim town?" + +Neal heard the tramp of the yeomen's horses on the road. He heard their +voices, their laughter, their oaths. + +"Neal," said Peg, "you're a brave lad and a kind. I aye said it of ye +from thon night when you throttled the dragoon. Do you mind it? D'you +mind how I bit him?" + +The yeomen were almost opposite their hiding-place now. + +"Neal," whispered Peg, "will ye no gie me a kiss? The other lassie +wouldna begrudge it to me now, I'm thinking." + +He bent over her, put his arms round her neck, raised her head, and +kissed her lips. + +"Hush, Peg, hush," he whispered. + +"There's a musket on the road in front of you, sergeant." Neal +recognised Captain Twinely's voice. "There might be some damned croppy +lurking in the meadow there. Dismount and beat him up. Hey! but we'll +have some sport hunting him across country if he runs. The earths are +all stopped. We'll have a fine burst, and kill the vermin in the end." + +Neal stood upright. + +"I surrender to you, Captain Twinely. I surrender as a prisoner of war." + +It seemed to him the only chance of saving Peg MacIlrea. It was just +possible that the yeomen would be satisfied with one prisoner. + +"By God," said the captain, "if it isn't that damned young Ward again. +Come, croppy, come, croppy, I'll give you a run for your life. I'll give +you two minutes start by my watch, and I'll hunt you like a fox. It's a +better offer than you deserve." + +Neal stood still, and made no answer. + +"To him, sergeant, prick him with your sword. Set him running." + +The sergeant came blundering through the hedge. Neal stepped forward to +meet him, in the hope of keeping Peg concealed, but the sergeant caught +sight of her. + +"There's another of them, Captain, lying in the grass." + +"Rout him out, rout him out," said Captain Twinely, "we'll run the two. +We'll have sport." + +The sergeant stepped forward and kicked Peg. Neal flew at the man and +knocked him down. + +"Ho, ho," laughed Captain Twinely, "he's a game cub. Get through the +hedge, men, and take a hold of him. We'll hunt the other fellow first." + +"The other seems to be wounded, sir," said one of the men. "He has his +leg bandaged." + +"Then slit his throat," said the captain, "he can't run, and I've no use +for wounded men." + +Neal, his arms tightly gripped by two troopers, made a last appeal. + +"It's a girl," he said, "would you murder a girl?" + +Captain Twinely rolled in his saddle with mirth. + +"A vixen," he cried. "Damn your soul, Neal Ward, but you're a sly one. +To think of a true blue Presbyterian like you, a minister's son, God rot +you, lying and cuddling a girl in a field. A vixen, by God. Strip her, +sergeant, till we see if he's telling the truth." + +Neal, with the strength of a furious man, tore himself from the grasp of +his guards. He plunged through the hedge and leaped at Captain Twinely. +He gripped the horse's mane with his left hand, and made a wild snatch +at the throat of the man above him in the saddle. A blow on the face +from the hilt of Twinely's sword threw him to the ground. He fell half +stunned. He heard Peg shriek wildly, and then lost consciousness of what +was happening. + +He was roused again by a prod of a sword, and bidden to stand up. His +hands were tied and the end of the rope made fast to the stirrup iron of +one of the trooper's horses. + +"We're going to take you back into Antrim," said Captain Twinely. "I +don't deny that I'd rather deal with you here myself, but you're a +fifty-pounder, my lad, and my men won't hear of losing their share of +the reward. It'll come to the same thing in the end, any way. Clavering +isn't the man to be squeamish about hanging a rebel. Mount men and +march." + +"Maybe the young cub would like to see his lass before he leaves her. +Her face is a bonny one for kissing now." + +Neal shuddered, and turned sick. Beyond the hedge in the trampled grass, +among the meadow sweet and the loose strife, lay unnamable horror. +He shut his eyes, dreading lest he should be forced to look, but the +suggestion was too brutal even for Captain Twinely. + +"Shut your devil's mouth," he said to the sergeant, "isn't what you've +done enough for you? If the croppy that came on you at Donegore had +broken your skull, instead of just cracking it, he would have rid the +country of the biggest blackguard in it." + +"Thon's fine talk," growled the sergeant, "but who bid us strip the +wench? Is bloody Twinely turning chicken-hearted at the last?" + +Captain Twinely did not choose to hear the sergeant's words, or the +grumbling of the men around him. He put his troop in motion, and trotted +off towards Antrim. Neal, running and stumbling, dazed, utterly weary +and dejected, was dragged with them. + +General Clavering sat at dinner in a private room of the Massereene +Arms. He had with him Colonel Durham and several of the officers who +had commanded troops during the battle. The landlord, obsequious and +frightened, waited on the party himself. He had the best food he could +get on the table, and the best wine from the cellar was ready for +his guests. In the public room a larger party was gathered--yeomanry +officers, captains, and lieutenants of the royal troops, and a few of +the country squires who had ridden into the town after the fighting was +over. Lord Dunseveric and Maurice were in the room where they had slept +the night before. Lord O'Neill lay on one of two beds. Life was in him +still, but he was mortally wounded. Lord Dunseveric sat beside him, +holding his hand, and speaking to him occasionally. Maurice was at the +window. The laughter of the party in the room below reached them, and +the noisy talk of the troops who thronged the streets. Jests, curses, +snatches of song, and calls for wine mingled with the groans which his +extreme pain wrung from the wounded man and the solemn, quiet words +about strength and courage which Lord Dunseveric spoke. + +A party of horsemen clattered up the street, and halted at the inn +door. They had a prisoner with them--a wretched-looking man, with torn +clothes, a bruised, bloody face, and hair matted with sweat and grime. +But Maurice recognised him. It was Neal Ward. He turned to his father. + +"A company of yeomen has just marched in and they have Neal Ward with +them. Their officer, I think it was that blackguard Twinely, has asked +for General Clavering, and entered the inn." + +"Very well, Maurice." Lord Dunseveric turned to the wounded man. "I must +leave you for a few minutes, my friend; keep quiet and be brave. I shall +be back again. Maurice will stay with you, and get you anything you +want." + +"Where are you going, Eustace?" + +"I'm going to the general, to this Clavering man. He has a prisoner now +whom I want to help if I can--the young man I told you about, who saved +me from being piked in the street to-day. I would to God he could have +saved you, too." + +"That's past praying for now," said Lord O'Neill, "but you're right, +Eustace, you're right. Save him from the hangman if you can. There's +been blood enough shed to-day--Irish blood, Irish blood. There should be +no more of it." + +Lord Dunseveric entered the room where General Clavering and his +officers sat at dinner. Captain Twinely stood at the end of the table, +and Lord Dunseveric heard the orders he received. + +"Put him into the market-house to-night. I'll hang that fellow in the +morning, whatever I do with the rest." + +"The market-house is full, sir," said Captain Twinely, "the officer in +command says he can receive no more prisoners." + +"Damn it, man, shut him up somewhere else, then, but don't stand there +talking to me and interrupting my dinner. Here, landlord, have you an +empty cellar?" + +"Your worship, my lord general, there's only the wine cellar; but it's +very nigh on empty now." + +A shout of laughter greeted the remark. + +"Fetch out the rest of the wine that's in it," said the general, "we'll +make a clean sweep of it. Or, stay, leave the poor devil one bottle of +decent claret. He's to be hanged tomorrow morning. He may have a sup of +comfort to-night." + +Captain Twinely saluted and withdrew. + +"General Clavering," said Lord Dunseveric, "I ask you to spare this +young man's life. I will make myself personally responsible for his +safe keeping, and undertake to send him out of the country at the first +opportunity." + +"It can't be done, Lord Dunseveric. I am sorry to disoblige in a small +matter, but it can't be done." + +"I ask it as a matter of justice," said Lord Dunseveric. "The man saved +my life and my son's life to-day in the street at the risk of his own. +He deserves to be spared." + +"I've given my answer." + +Lord Dunseveric hesitated. For a moment it seemed as if he were about to +turn and leave the room. Then, with an evident effort, he spoke again. + +"I ask this man's life as a personal favour. I am not one who begs often +from the Government, or who asks favours easily, but I ask this." + +"Anything else, my lord, anything in reason, but this I will not grant. +This young man has a bad record--a damned bad record. He was mixed up +with the hanging of a yeoman in the north------" + +"He was not," said Lord Dunseveric. "I hanged that man." + +"You hanged him," said General Clavering, Angrily, "and yet you come +here asking favours of me. But there's more, plenty more, against this +Neal Ward. He tried to choke a dragoon in the street of Belfast, he +took part in a daring capture of some ammunition for the rebels' use, +he helped to murder a loyal man at Donegore last night, he was in arms +to-day. There's not half a dozen deserve hanging more richly than he +does, and hanged he'll be. Never you fret yourself about him, Lord +Dunseveric; sit down here and drink a glass with us. We're going to make +a night of it." + +"I beg leave to decline your invitation," said Lord Dunseveric, stiffly. +"I have asked for mercy and been refused. I have asked for justice and +been refused. I have begged a personal favour and been refused. I bid +you good night. If I thought you and your companions were capable of any +feeling of common decency I should request you to restrain your mirth a +little out of respect to Lord O'Neill, who lies dying within two doors +of you. But I should probably only provide you with fresh food for your +laughter if I did." + +He bowed coldly, and left the room. The company sat silent for a minute +or two. No man cared to look at his neighbour. Lord Dunseveric's last +words had been unpleasant ones to listen to. Besides, Lord Dunseveric +was a man of some importance. It is impossible to tell how far the +influence of a great territorial lord may stretch. Promotion is +sometimes stopped mysteriously by influences which are not very easily +baffled. There were colonels at the table who wanted to be generals, +and generals who wanted commands. There was a feeling that it might have +been wiser to speak more civilly to Lord Dunseveric. + +General Clavering himself broke the silence. + +"These damned Irishmen are all rebels at heart," he said. "The gentry +want their combs cut as much as the croppies. I'm not going to be +insulted at my own table by a cursed Irishman even if he does put lord +before his name. I'll write a report about this Lord Dunseveric. I'll +make him smart with a sharp fine. You heard him boast, gentlemen, boast +before a company of men holding His Majesty's commission, that he hanged +a soldier in discharge of his duty." + +"A yeoman," said Colonel Durham, "and some of the yeomen deserve +hanging." + +"God Almighty!" said Clavering, "are you turning rebel, too? I don't +care whether a man deserves it or not, I'll not have the king's troops +hanged by filthy Irishmen." + +He looked round the table for applause. He got none. General Clavering +had boasted too loudly--had gone too far. It was well known that in the +existing state of Irish politics Pitt and the English ministers would +probably prefer cashiering General Clavering to offending a man like +Lord Dunseveric. There were plenty of generals to be got. A great Irish +landowner, a man of ability, a peer who commanded the respect of all +classes in the country, might be a serious hindrance to the carrying +out of certain carefully-matured schemes. General Clavering attempted to +laugh the matter off. + +"But this," he said, "is over wine. Men say more than they mean when +they are engaged in emptying mine host's cellar. Come, gentlemen, +another bottle. We must hang the damned young rebel, but we'll do him +this much grace--we'll drink a happy despatch to him, a short wriggle at +the end of his rope, and a pleasant journey to a warmer climate." + +Lord Dunseveric returned to his room and sat down again beside Lord +O'Neill. He said nothing to Maurice. + +"Well," said Lord O'Neill, "will they spare him?" + +"No." + +"More blood, more blood. God help us, Eustace, our lot is cast in evil +times. Would it be any use if I spoke, if I wrote! I think I could +manage to write." + +"None, my friend, none. Keep quiet, you have enough to bear without +taking my troubles and my friend's troubles on your shoulders." + +For a long time there was silence in the room, broken only by an +occasional groan from the wounded man and a word or two murmured low +by Lord Dunseveric. Maurice took his place at the window again. He +understood that his father's intercession for Neal had failed, but he +was not hopeless. He did not know what was to be said or done next, but +he waited confidently. It was not often that Lord Dunseveric was turned +back from anything he set his hand to do. It was likely that if he +wanted Neal Ward's release the release would be accomplished whatever +General Clavering might think or say. + +The evening darkened slowly. Lord O'Neill dropped into an uneasy dose. +Lord Dunseveric rose, and crossed the room to Maurice. + +"You heard what I said, son? They are to hang Neal Ward to-morrow." + +Maurice nodded. + +"I can do no more. Besides, I am tired. I want to rest." + +Maurice looked at his father in surprise. He could not recollect ever +having heard before of his being tired or wanting rest. + +"I shall sleep here in your bed, Maurice, so as to be at hand if Lord +O'Neill wants me. You must go down to the public room of the inn or to +the tap-room. You can get James, the groom, to keep you company if you +like. You cannot go to bed to-night, you understand. You must sit by the +fire till those roisterers have drunk themselves to sleep. James +will keep you company, There will be sound sleep for many in this inn +to-night, but none for poor Neal, who's down in some cellar, nor the +sentry they post over him, nor for you, Maurice, nor for James. Maybe +after all Neal won't be hanged in the morning. That's all I have to +say to you, my son. A man in my position can't say more or do more. You +understand?" + +"I understand," said Maurice, "and, by God, they'll not hang----" + +"Hush! hush! I don't want to listen to you. I'm tired. I want to go to +sleep. Good night to you, Maurice." + +With a curious half smile on his face Lord Dun-severic shook his son's +hand. It appeared that he had the same kind of confidence in Maurice +that Maurice had in him. Like father, like son. When these St. Clairs of +Dunseveric wanted anything they generally got it in the end. And none +of the race of them had ever been over-scrupulous in dealing with such +obstacles as stood in their way, or particularly careful about what +those glorified conventions that men call law might have to say about +the methods by which they achieved their ends. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +Men who have eaten sufficiently and drunk heavily are not anxious to +admit into their company any one who has not dined, and whose last glass +of wine was drunk the day before. The gentlemen in the public room of +the Massereene Arms were not, most of them, drunk when Maurice St. Clair +came among them, but they were gay. Their hearts, to use a Scripture +phrase, were made glad with wine. They were in the mood in which men +crack jokes and laugh loud at jokes which would not pass muster before +dinner. They were ready to sing out of time and tune or to applaud +the songs of others without criticising them. But they were, with the +exception of one or two, men of feeble capacity, sober enough to be +conscious of the fact that they were liable to make fools of themselves, +and to resent the intrusion of a cool-headed stranger. + +They stared angrily at Maurice St. Clair. They said in audible tones +things which showed him plainly that his presence was most unwelcome, +but Maurice remained unabashed. He crossed the room and sat down on the +window seat--the same seat from which Neal had watched the piper and the +dancers a week or two before. He beckoned to the harassed and wearied +girl who waited on the party. + +"Get me," he said, "something to eat--anything. I do not mind what it +is, and bring a cup of milk. Then send my groom to me." + +"The gentleman," said a young squire, who had certainly crossed the +undefined line which separates sobriety from drunkenness, "is going to +drink milk. Now, what I want to know is this--has any gentleman a right +to drink milk on an evening like this, after the glorious victory which +we have won?" + +"It's damned little you had to do with winning it," said an officer who +sat beside him. "You can drink, but----" + +"The man that says I can't drink lies," said the other. "No offence +to you, Captain; no offence meant or taken. I give you a toast, and +I propose that the milky gentleman in the window--the milk-and-water +gentleman--drinks it along with us. Here's success to the loyalists +and a long rope and short shrift to the rebelly croppies. Now, Mr. +Milk-and-Water----" + +Maurice rose to his feet. + +"I understand, gentlemen, that this is a public room in which any +traveller may be supplied with what he calls for. I have no wish to push +myself into your company. I trust that you will allow me to enjoy my own +unmolested." + +The intoxicated proposer of the toast laid his hand on his sword, +blustered out an oath or two, and was pulled down again into his +seat. There was good feeling enough left among the better class of +his companions to understand that a stranger should be treated with +civility. There was sense enough among the rest to recognise that +Maurice was not the kind of man whom it would be safe to bully. The girl +returned and informed Maurice that his groom was in the kitchen, but +refused to attend him. + +Maurice rose and sought the man himself. The reason of the refusal was +sufficiently obvious. The kitchen was full of troopers who had advanced +much further on the way to absolute drunkenness than their officers. +James, Lord Dunseveric's groom, was decidedly the most drunken of the +party, but Maurice wanted the man, and was prepared to take some trouble +to reduce him to a condition of serviceableness again. He grasped him +by the collar of the coat, and pushed him through the back door into the +yard. A delighted stable boy worked the pump handle while Maurice held +the groom under the stream of cold water. The cure was ineffective. +Maurice walked him up and down the yard for half an hour, and then put +him under the pump again. The man remained obstinately drunk. Maurice +flung him down in a corner of a stable and left him. + +He returned to the room where the feasters sat, and looked in. The +company had advanced rapidly since he had seen them last. The squire who +had proposed the toast was under the table. Several others were lying +back helplessly in their chairs. Those who could talk were talking +loud and all together. The amount of liquor still to be consumed was +considerable. Maurice smiled. These officers and gentlemen were little +likely to interfere with anything he chose to do at midnight. He went +out of doors and sat on the stone bench in front of the inn. + +He had no plan in his head for the rescue of Neal Ward, only he was +quite determined to accomplish it somehow before morning. He did not +even know where his friend was imprisoned, or how he was guarded. His +father had spoken of a cellar somewhere in the inn. He supposed that foe +would sooner or later be able to find it, overpower the sentry, and set +Neal free. In the meanwhile, he had nothing to do but wait. + +He felt a touch on his shoulder, and looked round to see the girl, the +inn servant, standing beside him. + +"You're the gentleman," she whispered, "that was speaking till the young +man here the morn--the young man that I give the basket to, that is a +friend o' Jemmy Hope's?" + +Maurice recollected the incident very well. + +"He's here the now," whispered the girl again. "He's down in the wine +cellar, and the door's locked on him, and there's a man with a gun +forninst the door, and, the Lord save us, it's goin' to hang him they +are." + +"Will you show me where the cellar is?" said Maurice. + +"Ay, will I no? I'll be checked sore by the master, but I'll show you, I +will." + +The girl led him down a long passage, which was nearly dark, opened a +door, and showed him a flight of stone steps. + +"There's three doors," she said. "It's the one at the end forninst you +that's the cellar door. Are ye going down? It's venturesome ye are. +Whisht, then, and go canny, and dinna go ayont the bottom of the steps." + +Maurice went cautiously. When he reached the bottom of the steps he saw +before him a long passage, stone-flagged, low-roofed, narrow. From an +iron hook at the far end hung a lamp. Beyond it stood a sentry, one of +Captain Twinely's yeomen. The man was awake and alert. There was no sign +of drunkenness about him. He was well armed. The light from the lamp was +dim and feeble at Maurice's end of the passage, but it shone brightly +enough for a space in front of the sentry. Maurice saw that it would +be impossible to approach the man unseen, impossible to steal on him or +rush at him without having a shot fired which would startle every one in +the inn. He crept up the stairs again. The girl was waiting for him. + +"Is the door of the cellar locked?" he asked. + +"Ay, it is, I fetched the last bottles of wine out mysel', and I saw +them put the man in--sore draggled he was, and looking like a body in a +dwam. The master locked the door himsef, and the captain took the keys +off with him. But there's no harm in that. There's another key that the +mistress used to have afore she died, the creature. It's in a drawer in +the master's room, but it's easy got at." + +"Get it for me," said Maurice. + +He looked into the public room again. The revel was far advanced now. +It was nearly midnight, and only three or four of the most seasoned +drinkers survived. Even they, as Maurice saw, were in no position to +assert themselves, or to understand anything that was going on. A +few minutes later even these veterans felt that they had had enough. +Supporting each other, reeling against tables and chairs, they staggered +upstairs to their beds. The greater part of the merry company lay on +the floor in attitudes which were neither dignified nor comfortable, +and snored. The rest of the inn was silent. From outside came the steady +tramp of the soldiers who patrolled the town, and from far off their +challenges to the sentries on watch at the ends of the streets. + +The girl came back to Maurice with the key in her hand. + +"I got it," she said. "The master's cocked up sleepin' by the kitchen +fire. There was a man in his bed, or maybe twa, but I didna wake them." + +"Come back to me in half an hour," said Maurice, "I may want your help. +And listen, my lass, if you stand by me to-night I'll see you safe +afterwards. You shan't want for a handful of silver or a bran new gown." + +"I want none of your siller nor your gowns," said the girl. "I'll lend +ye a han' because you're a friend of the lad that's the friend of Jemmy +Hope." + +At about half-past twelve the sentry who stood in front of Neal's cellar +heard some one descend the stairs into the passage with shuffling steps. +A slatternly girl with shoes so down at the heel that they clattered +on the stone flags every time she lifted her feet, approached him. She +rubbed her eyes and yawned like one lately wakened out of sleep. She +carried a lantern in her hand. + +"What do you want here?" said the man. + +"The master sent me, sir, with another lamp. He was afeard the yin ye +had would be out again the morn. There isna that much oil in it." + +"Your master's civil," said the man. "I've no fancy for standing sentry +here in the dark. He's a civil man, and I'll speak a good word for him +to-morrow to the captain. I hope you're a civil wench like the man you +serve." + +"Ay, amn't I after fetchin' the lamp till ye?" + +"And a kiss along with it," said the soldier. "Come now, you needn't be +coy, there's none to see you." + +He put his arms round her waist and pulled her towards him. + +"Mind now, mind, will ye, have you neither sense nor shame? Ye'll have +the lamp spilt and the house in a blaze this minute." + +She escaped from him, and, standing on tip-toe, reached the lamp which +hung from the roof and put it on the ground. The soldier caught her +again, and this time succeeded in kissing her. + +"Ye may hang the fresh lamp up yourself," said the girl. "I willna lay a +finger on it for ye now." + +Rubbing her mouth with her hand, as if to wipe away the kiss forced on +her, she shambled down the passage, taking the first lamp with her. The +sentry heard her shuffle up the stairs again, making a great deal of +noise with her clattering shoes. Then he hung the fresh lamp on his hook +and stood back again against the door of the cellar. + +It was very dull work standing all night in the passage, but he was +determined to keep awake. Neal Ward had slipped through the fingers of +Captain Twinely's men twice. There was not much chance of his escaping +this time, but the sentry, for the honour of his corps, and for the sake +of the personal ill-will that every member of it bore to the prisoner, +was not going to run the smallest risk. Earlier in the night he had +amused himself by shouting insults of various kinds through the door +of the cellar. Later on he had given the prisoner a vivid and realistic +description of the way in which men are hanged, but Neal had made no +sign of hearing a word that was said to him, so the occupation grew +uninteresting. Now he whistled a few of his favourite airs, speculating +on the amount of the fifty pounds reward offered for Neal's capture +which would fall to his share, and estimating his chances of taking +some of the other United Irishmen for whom the Government had offered +substantial sums. Then he began to count the flagstones on the floor of +the passage. He had done this once or twice before, and had been able to +distinguish as many as twenty-five, which brought him more than half way +to the staircase, before the light failed him. This time he could +only count twenty. Beyond that the floor lay dimly visible, but it was +impossible to distinguish one stone from another. + +"Damn it," He growled, "this isn't near as good a lamp as the first." + +He counted again, and only reached a total of eighteen slabs of stone. +He glanced down the passage, and found that he could not see the end of +it. He looked at the lamp. It was burning very low. It occurred to him +as an unpleasant possibility that the girl had taken away the wrong +lamp--had taken the one with the oil in it and left him the empty one. +He reassured himself. This lamp was a different shape from that which +hung in the passage when he first took his post as sentry. He made up +his mind that its wick must require to be turned up. Perhaps it had been +badly trimmed. The girl who brought it was evidently sleepy; she would +be very likely to forget to trim it. He stepped forward to where the +lamp hung. He paused, startled by a slight noise at the far end of the +passage. He listened, but heard nothing more. It was necessary to lift +the lamp off the hook before he could trim the wick. He laid his musket +on the ground and reached up to it. As he did so he heard swift steps, +steps of heavy feet, on the flagged passage. They were quite close to +him. He looked round and caught a glimpse of Maurice St. Clair in the +act of springing on him. He was grappled by strong arms and flung to the +ground before he could do anything to defend himself. Maurice, kneeling +on him, put the point of a knife to his throat. + +"If you speak one word or utter the slightest sound I cut your throat at +once." + +The unfortunate soldier lay still. Maurice, the knife still pricking the +man's throat, crept slowly off him and knelt on the floor. With his left +hand he unclasped the soldier's belt. + +"Now," he said, "turn over on your face, and put your hands behind you." + +The man obeyed, and felt the sharp point of the knife slip slowly round +his neck until it rested behind his ear. + +"'Remember," said Maurice, "one good cut downwards now and you are a +dead man. Put your hands together." + +He pulled the leather belt clear with his left hand, then, dropping the +knife, he knelt on the man's back and gripped his wrists. + +In a moment he had them securely strapped together with the leather +belt. Then he stuffed a cloth into the soldier's mouth and bound it +there with a stout cord tied tight round his head. Another cord--Maurice +had come well supplied with what he was likely to want--was made fast +round the man's legs. Then Maurice stood up and surveyed his handiwork. +He laughed softly, well satisfied. The lamp flickered and went out. + +"It's a good job for you," said Maurice, "that the light lasted as long +as it did. I couldn't have gagged and tied you in the dark. I should +have been obliged to kill you." + +He felt along the wall until he came to the cellar door and found the +keyhole. After much fumbling he got the key in, turned it, and pushed +open the door. + +"Neal," he called. "Neal, are you there?" + +"Yes. Who is that? Is it you, Maurice? It's like your voice." + +Stumbling forward through the pitch dark, Neal gripped Maurice at last. +Hand in hand they went cautiously along the passage and up the stairs. + +"Come in here," said Maurice. "There's a light here, and I want to +see if it's really you. Oh! you needn't be afraid. There are plenty of +soldiers, but they won't hurt you. They're all dead drunk. Now, Neal, +there's lots to eat and drink. Sit down and make the best of your time. +You'll want a square meal. I'll just take a light and go down to that +fellow in the passage. I've got a few fathom of good, stout rope--I'm +not sure that it isn't the bit that they meant to hang you with in the +morning--and I'll fix him up so that he'll neither stir nor speak till +some one lets him loose." + +In a quarter of an hour Maurice returned. + +"The next thing, Neal, is to get you out of this town. It's full of +soldiers, and there are sentries at every turn, but I've got the word +for the night, and I think we'll be able to manage." + +He walked round the room peering carefully at the drunken men who lay on +the floor. + +"'Here's a fellow that's about your size, Neal. He seems to be a captain +of some sort, a yeomanry captain by the look of him. I'm hanged if it +isn't our friend Twinely again. We'll take the liberty of borrowing +his uniform for you. There'll be a poetic justice about that, and he'll +sleep all the better for having these tight things off him." + +He knelt down and stripped Captain Twinely. + +"Now then, quick, Neal. Don't waste time. Daylight will be on us before +we know where we are. Take your own things with you in a bundle. Change +again somewhere when you get out of the town, you'll be safer travelling +in your own clothes. Take some food with you. Here, I'll make up a +parcel while you dress. I'll stick in a bottle of wine. Now you're +right. Walk boldly past the sentries. If you're challenged curse the man +that challenges you. The word for the night is 'Clavering.' Travel by +night as much as you can. Keep off the main roads. Strike straight for +home. It'll be a queer thing if you can't lie safe round Dunseveric for +a few days till we get you out of the country." + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +Lord Dunseveric and Maurice breakfasted together at eight o'clock on the +morning of Neal's escape. They sat in the room where Lord O'Neill lay, +and had a table spread for them beside the window. It was impossible +to eat a meal in any comfort elsewhere in the inn. Indeed, but for +the special exertions of the master and his maid it would have been +difficult to get food at all. Maurice was triumphant and excited. Since +Neal had not been brought back it was reasonable to suppose that he had +made good his escape out of the town, and there was every hope that he +would get safe to the coast. Once there he had friends enough to feed +him, and hiding-places known to few, and almost inaccessible to soldiers +or yeomen. + +Lord Dunseveric asked no questions about Maurice's doings in the night. +He felt perfectly confident that Neal had got off somehow. The details +of the business he would hear later on. For the present he preferred to +know nothing about them. + +An officer entered the room and handed a letter to Lord Dunseveric. +It was a request, in civil language enough, that he would meet General +Clavering in the public room of the inn at nine o'clock, and that +Maurice would accompany his father. + +General Clavering sat at the head of the table when Lord Dunseveric and +Maurice entered. Three or four of the senior officers of the regular +troops sat with him. Captain Twinely, in a suit of clothes he had +borrowed from the master of the inn, and one of his men, stood near the +fireplace. The room had been cleared of the drunken sleepers, but a good +deal of the _debris_ of their revel--empty bottles, broken glasses, and +little pools of spilt wine--were still visible on the floor. + +"I have to announce to you, Lord Dunseveric," said the general, "that +the prisoner who was confined in the inn cellar last night, Neal Ward, +has escaped." + +Lord Dunseveric bowed, and smiled slightly. His eye lighted on Captain +Twinely, and his smile broadened. The landlord's suit fitted the captain +extremely ill. + +"Indeed," he said, "Captain Twinely seems to be unfortunate with regard +to this particular prisoner. This is, let me see, the third time that +Neal Ward has--ah!--evaded his vigilance." + +"The sentry who guarded the door of the cellar," said General +Clavering, "was attacked, overpowered, bound, and gagged." + +"By the prisoner?" + +"No, my lord, by some one who assisted the prisoner to escape, who, +after dealing with the sentry as I have described, unlocked the door of +the cellar with a key, the duplicate of that which Captain Twinely had +in his pocket. This man and the prisoner subsequently stripped Captain +Twinely of his uniform, and, as I learn from my sentries, Neal Ward +passed through our lines in the disguise of a captain of yeomanry." + +"You surprise me," said Lord Dunseveric, "a daring stratagem; a +laughable scheme, too. I trust you took no cold, Captain. I confess that +I should have liked to have seen you in your shirt tails this morning. +You were, I presume," he stirred a little heap of broken glass with his +foot as he spoke, "_vino gravatus_ when they relieved you of your tunic. +But what has all this to do with me?" + +"Merely this," said General Clavering, "that your son is accused of +having effected the prisoner's escape." + +Lord Dunseveric looked at Maurice, looked him quietly up and down, as if +he saw him then for the first time. + +"I can believe," he said, "that my son might overpower the sentry. He +is, as you see, a young man of considerable personal strength, but +I should be surprised to learn that he dressed the prisoner in the +captain's uniform. I may be misjudging my son, but I have hitherto +regarded him as somewhat deficient in humour. You must admit, General +Clavering, that only a man with a feeling for the ridiculous would have +thought of----" + +"It will be better for you to hear what the sentry has to say, my lord, +and I beg of you to regard the matter seriously. I assure you it will +not bear joking on. The rescue of a prisoner is a grave offence. Captain +Twinely, kindly order your man to tell his story." + +"Since I am not a prisoner at the bar," said Lord Dunseveric, "I shall, +with your permission, sit down. As to the seriousness of the business +in hand, I confess that for the moment the thought of the worthy Twinely +waking this morning not only with a splitting headache but without +a pair of breeches on him keeps the humorous side of the situation +prominent in my mind." + +The sentry told his story. To Maurice's great relief, he omitted all +mention of the girl who had supplied the lamp which so conveniently +burnt low, but he had recognised Maurice and was prepared to swear to +his identity. + +"No doubt," said General Clavering, "you will wish to cross-question +this man, my lord." + +Lord Dunseveric yawned. + +"I think that quite unnecessary," he said, "a much simpler way of +arriving at the truth of the story will be to ask my son whether +he rescued the prisoner or not. Maurice, did you bind and gag this +excellent trooper?" + +"Yes." + +"Did you subsequently release Neal Ward from the cellar?" + +"Yes." + +"Now, Maurice, be careful about your answer to my next question. Did you +take the clothes off Captain Twinely?" + +"Yes." + +"And was that part of the scheme entirely your own? Did the idea +originate with you or with the prisoner whom you helped to escape?" + +"It was my idea." + +"I apologise to you, Maurice. I did you an injustice. You have a certain +sense of humour. It is not perhaps of the most refined kind, still you +have, no doubt, provided a joke which will appeal to the officers' mess +in Belfast, Dublin, and elsewhere; which will be told after dinner in +most houses in the county for many a year to come. And now, General +Clavering, I presume there is no more to be said. I wish you good +morning." + +"Stop a minute," said General Clavering, "you cannot seriously suppose +that your son, simply because he is your son, is to be allowed to +interfere with the course of justice?" + +"Of justice?" asked Lord Dunseveric in a tone of mild surprise. + +"With His Majesty's officers in the execution of their duty--that is, +to release prisoners whom I have condemned--I, the general in command +charged with the suppression of an infamous rebellion. Your son, my +lord, will have to abide the consequences of his acts." + +"Maurice," said Lord Dunseveric, "it is evident that you are going to +be hanged. General Clavering is going to hang you. It is really +providential that you didn't steal his breeches. He would probably have +flogged you first and hanged you afterwards if you had." + +"Damn your infernal insolence," broke out General Clavering furiously, +"You think that because you happen to be a lord and own a few dirty +acres of land that you can sit there grinning like an ape and insulting +me. I'll teach you, my lord, I'll teach you. By God, I'll teach you and +every other cursed Irishman to speak civil to an English officer. You +shall know your masters, by the Almighty, before I've done with you." + +Lord Dunseveric rose to his feet. He fixed his eyes on General +Clavering, and spoke slowly and deliberately. + +"I ride at once to Dublin," he said. "I shall lay an account of your +doings and the doings of your troops before His Majesty's representative +there. I shall then cross to England, approach my Sovereign and yours, +General Clavering. I shall see that justice is done between you and the +people you have outraged and harried. As to my son, I have work for him +to do. I shall make myself responsible for his appearance before a court +of justice when he is summoned. In the meanwhile, I neither recognise +you as my master nor your will as my law. I appeal to the constitutional +liberties of this kingdom of Ireland and to the right of every citizen +to a fair trial before a jury of his fellow-countrymen. You shall not +arrest, try, or condemn my son otherwise than as the law allows." + +General Clavering grew purple in the face. He stuttered, cursed, laid +his hand on his sword, and took a step forward. Lord Dunseveric, his +hands behind his back, a sneer of contempt on his face, looked straight +at the furious man in front of him. + +"Do you propose," he said, "to stab me and then hang my son?" + +This was precisely what General Clavering would have liked to do, but he +dared not. He turned instead on Captain Twinely. + +"Let me tell you, sir, that you're a damned idiot, an incompetent +officer, a besotted fool, and your men are a lot of cowardly loons. +You had this infernal young rebel safe and you let him go. You not only +allowed him to walk off, but you actually provided him with a suit of +clothes to go in. You're the cause of all the trouble. Get your troop +to horse. Scour the country for him. Don't leave a house that you don't +search, nor a bed that you don't run your sword through. Don't leave a +dung-heap without raking it, or a haystack that you don't scatter. Get +that man back for me, wherever he hides himself, or, by God, I'll have +you shot for neglect of duty in time of war, and your damned yeomen +buried alive in the same grave with you." + +The general was still bent on teaching the Irish to know their masters +and making good his boast of reducing them to the tameness of "gelt +cats." With Captain Twinely, at least, he seemed likely to succeed. + +"I can imagine, Maurice," said Lord Dun-severic, when they were alone +together again, "that Captain Twinely and his men have at last got a job +to suit them. Sticking swords through old wives feather beds is safer +work than sticking them through rebels. Scattering haystacks will be +pleasanter than scattering pikemen. Raking dung heaps will, I suppose, +be an entirely congenial occupation." + +His tone changed, He spoke rapidly and seriously. + +"You will ride with me as far as Belfast. From there you must find some +means of communicating with the captain of that Yankee brig of which you +told me. If necessary, go yourself to Glasgow and find the man. Pay him +what he asks and arrange that he lies off Dunseveric and picks up Neal. +You must then go home and see to it yourself that Neal gets safe on +board. It may not be easy, for the yeomen will be after him; but it has +got to be done. I go to Dublin as I said. I shall have some trouble +in settling this business of yours. It really was an audacious +proceeding--your rescue of the prisoner. It will take me all my time +to get it hushed up. Besides, I must use my influence to prevent bad +becoming worse in this unfortunate country of ours. By the way, did you +make any arrangement for the return of Captain Twinely's uniform when +Neal had finished with it?" + +"No, I never thought of that." + +"You ought to have thought of it. Poor Captain Twinely looks very odd in +the inn-keeper's clothes, which do not fit him in the least." + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +It was obvious to Captain Twinely that Neal Ward's instinct would be +to make for Dunseveric. He spread the men under his command, and the +members of a couple of corps similar to his own, in bands of five +or six, across a broad belt of country. He arranged what he called +a "drive," and pushed slowly northward, searching every possible +hiding-place as he went. It seemed to him totally impossible that +Neal could escape. Sooner or later he was sure to come on him, and +then--Captain Twinely chuckled grimly at the thought that he would leave +no chance of a fourth escape. + +This excellently-planned search resulted in the discovery of Captain +Twinely's clothes, damp and somewhat muddy, in a ditch about a mile out +of the town. It did not end in the capture of the fugitive, because +it was founded on a miscalculation. Neal did not make straight for +Dunseveric. When he got out of the town and changed his clothes he went +to Donegore Hill. M'Cracken and Hope were there with the remains of +their army, and Neal was most anxious to join them. The murder of Peg +MacIlrea had made him so furiously angry that he cared nothing about his +own safety. His escape from Antrim was a matter of satisfaction mainly +because it seemed to afford him another opportunity for fighting. He +neither attempted to weigh the chances of success nor considered the +uselessness of continuing the struggle. He wanted vengeance taken on men +whom he hated, and he wanted to have some share himself in taking it. + +He found the roads round Donegore Hill guarded by sentries. The camp +on the top of the old rath had all the appearance of being held by +disciplined troops. There was little sign of the disorganisation and +panic which often follow defeat. The men were calm, self-possessed, and +reasonable, but they were hopeless. Neal realised that this army, at +least, would do no more serious fighting. The men were anxious to make +terms for themselves and for their leaders. They were perfectly well +aware that they were beaten, and could not expect to make any head +against their enemies. + +Neal found James Hope, and was warmly greeted by him. + +"When I discovered that we'd left you behind," said Hope, "I made up +my mind that you must have been shot down along with your uncle and the +fine fellows who made a stand with him. Ah, Neal, we've lost many--your +uncle, Felix Marier, poor Moylin, and many another. One killed here, +another there, but all of them in doing their duty. But we mustn't talk +of these things, lad. Tell me, what brings you here?" + +"Need you ask?" said Neal. "I am come to fight it out to the last." + +"Take my advice and slip off home. There's no good to be done by +stopping with us. Things are desperate. Most of our people are going +home to-day. M'Cracken and a handful--not more than a hundred--are going +to Slievemis in the hope of being able to join Monro in County Down, or +perhaps to get through to the Wexford men." + +"I will go with you." + +"No, no, lad, you've done enough. You've done a man's part. Go home +now." + +"What are you going to do?" + +"I? Oh, I'm only a poor weaver. It doesn't matter what I do. I'm going +on with M'Cracken." + +"So am I. Listen to me, James Hope, till I tell you what is in my +mind--till I tell you what has happened to me since yesterday." + +They sat on the grassy slope of the old rath. The wide plain stretched +before them--green, well wooded, beautiful. There lay Adair's +plantations, the Six Mile Water winding like a serpent among the fields, +the woods of Castle Upton, and the young trees on Lyle Hill, with the +distant water of Lough Neagh glistening in the sunlight. Nearer at hand +thatched farmhouses smoked, signs that the yeomen were enjoying the +fruits of victory. Hope pointed to Farranshane, where William Orr's +house was burning--a witness to a malignity so bitter that it wreaked +the vengeance from which the dead man was safe on his widow and his +orphans. + +Neal told his story, and spoke of the passionate desire for revenge +which burned in him. Hope listened patiently to every word. Then he +spoke. + +"If I were to tell you now, Neal, as I told you once before, that +vengeance belongeth only unto the Lord, you would turn away and listen +to me no more. Therefore, I shall not speak to you in that way at all, +or appeal to those higher feelings which the great God has planted +in the breasts of even the humblest of His servants. I will, instead, +appeal to that which is lower and smaller than the religion of Christ, +and which yet may be in its way a noble thing. I will speak to you as to +a man of honour. I am not fond of the title of gentleman, but I think I +know what is meant by honour. Sometimes it is no more than a fantastic +image bred of prejudice and pride; but sometimes it is high and holy, +next to God. I think, Neal, that you would like to reckon yourself a man +of honour." + +Already James Hope's words were producing an effect on Neal's mind. The +extreme bitterness of his passion was dying away from him. + +"You are right," he said, "I wish to act always as a man of honour, but +my honour is engaged----" + +"That is not what you said before. Before, you spoke of revenge and not +of honour. But let that pass. I will try to show you, as a truly noble +man would, as your friend, Lord Dunseveric, would if he were here to +advise you, how your honour really binds you. You were rescued from +your imprisonment last night and from death this morning by your friend, +Maurice St. Clair, and he bid you go home. He set you free in order that +you might go home. I think he would not have done what he did unless he +had believed that you would go home. You are in honour bound to him. You +are in reality still a prisoner--a prisoner released on parole, although +no formal promise was required of you. Do you understand what I mean?" + +"Yes, I understand; but you are advising me to do a cowardly thing--to +desert you, whom I reckon my friend, in the time of your extremity." + +"Maurice St. Clair was your friend before I was, Neal. You are bound to +him by earlier ties. Besides, he has given you your life." + +"But he is in no danger." + +"I am not sure of that. If it is discovered that he let you go last +night he will surely suffer for it. They have hanged men for less, and +imprisoned or exiled others." + +"Oh," said Neal, "I could find it in my heart to wish they would hang +Maurice. Hope, you know many men and many things, but you don't know +Lord Dunseveric. Why, man, if they hanged Maurice the old lord would +hang them--he would hang them in batches of a score at a time. If any +escaped him he would wait for them till the resurrection morning. He +would meet them as they stepped out of their graves and hang them then. +He would hang them if there wasn't another tree in the whole universe to +put the rope round except the tree of life which stands by the river in +the New Jerusalem." + +He laughed exultingly. Hope looked at him with pitying tenderness. He +understood the hysterical passion which had dragged such words from him. + +"I am glad," he said, "that your friend is in no great danger, but that +does not alter the truth of what I say. You are his prisoner, released +on your parole, and you must present yourself to him when he calls for +you at Dunseveric. Besides, Neal, you owe a duty to your father and to +those at home who love you. For their sakes you must not throw your life +away." + +The anger died out of Neal's heart. This last appeal left him with no +feeling but tenderness. He thought of his father, a lone man, waiting +for news of him, of Donald, of the battle, and the cause. He thought of +Una St. Clair and the ever-new marvel of the love that she had confessed +to him. Still he hesitated. Brought up in the stern faith of the +Puritans, he believed that because a thing offered a prospect of great +delight it must somehow be wrong. The longing to see Una again came +on him, sweeping over all other thought and emotion as the flowing +spring-tide in late September sweeps over the broad sands of the +northern coast. To see her, to hear her, to touch her, perhaps to kiss +her again, was the one thing supremely desirable in life. Therefore, he +felt instinctively that it must be a tempter's voice which showed him +the way to the fulfilment of such desire. + +"Are you sure," he asked, "that you are not, out of love for me, +advising me to do wrong?" + +"I am sure," said Hope. + +Afterwards they talked of how Neal might best accomplish his journey to +Dunseveric. It was clear to Hope, as it had been to Maurice St. Clair, +that the main roads must be avoided, and that all travelling must be +done by night; but it was not very easy to go through an unknown country +by night, and until Neal got as far as Ballymoney he could not be sure +of being able to find his way. + +"I might manage it," he said, "if I could keep to the main road. I have +travelled it once and I think I should not miss it even at night, but +how am I to get along lanes and across fields which I have never seen +without losing myself?" + +"Ah," said Hope, "that is a difficulty, and yet there is a way out of +it. Phelim, the blind piper, is with us here. God knows how he got safe +from the battle yesterday, and found his way to us. He will be no use to +us any more, only a hindrance. We shall not march to battle again with +our pipes playing and our colours flying. I think I shall be able to +persuade him to act as your guide. The blind leading the ignorant, eh, +Neal? But Phelim knows every lane and path in the country. How he does +I don't know. Perhaps some new sense is developed in the blind. +Anyway, night and day are alike to him. If he takes you as far as the +neighbourhood of Ballymoney you'll be able to find the rest of the way +afterwards yourself." + +That night, while M'Cracken marched the remnant of his army to +Slievemis, Neal and blind Phelim set off on their journey north. They +travelled safely in the rear of the yeomen who were searching the +country side. Neal lay hid all one day in a little wood while +Phelim, who seemed to want little rest and no sleep, wandered in the +neighbourhood and brought back tidings of the doings of the yeomen who +had passed. Before daybreak the next morning Neal left his guide behind +him and made his way to the sandhills near Port Ballin-trae. He lay in a +hollow near the mouth of the river Bush. He understood from what Phelim +had told him that Captain Twinely and his men had pushed northwards in +pursuit of him, and that he had followed in their tracks. He realised +that there must be a large force gathered in Bushmills and Ballintoy, +and that the whole country would be scoured to find him. Therefore, +though he was within a few miles of his home, he dare not stir in the +daytime. He lay in his sandy hollow through the long hot day, with the +sound of the sea in his ears. He slept for an hour or two now and then. +Once he crept among the dunes to a place where a little stream trickled +down, in order to get a drink, but he did not venture to stay beside +the stream. For some time he amused himself by plaiting the spiked grass +into stiff green rods, and then, from a razor shell which he found in +his hollow, he fashioned pike heads for the ends of the rods. Afterwards +he picked all the yellow crow-toes within reach, and the broad mauve +flowers of the wild convolvulus. He set them out in gay beds, like +flowers growing in gardens, and edged them round with borders of wild +thyme. Then, with great labour, he collected forty or fifty snail shells +and laid them in rows, making each row consist only of those like each +other in colouring. He had lines of dark brown shells, of pale yellow, +and of striped shells. These again he subdivided according to the width +and number of their stripes. Once he ventured to creep to a place from +which he could watch the sea. He saw that the tide was flowing. Below +him on the strand were a number of seagulls, strutting, fluttering, +shrieking, splashing with wing-tips and feet in the oncoming waves. He +supposed that the young fry of some fish must have drifted shorewards, +and that the birds were feasting on them. Then', at the far end of the +bay, he saw men's figures moving, near the Black Rock, among the boats +hauled up on the shore in the creek from which he and Maurice and Una +had set out to fish on Rackle Roy. A dread seized him that these might +be yeomen. Since he had come within reach of home, since he had seen and +heard the sea, since he had breathed the familiar salt-laden air, his +courage had left him. He felt a very coward, desperately anxious not to +be caught and dragged back again to the horror of death. He wanted to +live now that he was back at home and almost within reach of Una. +He eyed the distant figures anxiously, and then crept back and lay +trembling in his hollow among his ordered snail-shells and the flowers, +already withered, which he had plucked and planted in the sand. + +At last the sun set. Neal waited for an hour while the June twilight +slowly faded. He watched the sandhills round his lair turn from bright +yellow to grey, watched them while they seemed in the fading light to +grow loftier, and assume a weird majesty which was not their's in +the daytime. The objects near at hand, the faded flowers, and the +snail-shells, and the rods of woven bent, lost their bright colours and +became almost invisible. The eternal roaring of the sea seemed to be +subdued, as if even it felt awed by the stillness of the June night. +The sand on which he lay was damped with dew. Only the sharp cry of the +corncrake broke the solemnity of the night. + +He rose, and, peering anxiously before him as each fresh stretch of his +way became visible, crossed the sandhills. Avoiding the stepping-stones +and the regular crossing-place, he waded through the brook which ran +gurgling between the sandhills and the rough track beyond them. He +crossed it, and, skirting the rear of a cottage, reached the top of the +Runkerry cliffs. Far below him the sea rushed, white-lipped, against the +rocks. The tide was almost full. The scene was as it had been ten days +ago, ten years ago, a whole lifetime ago, when he walked this same way +with Donald Ward. Still keeping close to the sea, he avoided the high +road near the Causeway, plodded along the stony track past the Rocking +Stone and the Wishing Well, climbed the Shepherd's Path, and once more +walked along the verge of the cliff above Port na Spaniard and the Horse +Shoe Bay and Pleaskin Head. He reached Port Moon, and saw far below +him the glimmer of a light in the rude shelter where fishermen lodge in +summer time. Avoiding the farmhouse near him on his right, and the lane +which led past it to the high road, he went on, clinging close to the +sea as if for safety. He rested a while in the shelter of the ruins of +Dun-severic Castle, and then went on till his feet were stumbling among +the graves of Templeastra, where the dust of his mother lay. It was dark +now. He guessed that he must have been an hour and a half on his way. He +came close to the manse--his home. Below him lay Ballintoy Strand, with +its sentinel white rocks which keep eternal watch against invading seas. +Between him and his home there was the road to cross and the meadow to +wade through. It must, as he guessed, be eleven o'clock. His father +and Hannah Macaulay would be in bed. He would have to rouse them with +cautious tapping upon window panes. + +He reached the back of the house at last, and saw, to his amazement, +that a light burned in the kitchen, and that the door stood wide open. +A dread seized him. Perhaps the house was occupied by soldiers. For a +moment he thought of turning back again to the sea and the cliffs. But +he wanted food, and it was absolutely necessary for him to communicate +with some one. His plan was to lie hid in the Pigeon Cave, but he must +have food brought to him day by day, and he must let his father or +Hannah know where he was going. + +Very cautiously he crept forward and peered through the window. There +was a candle in its tall iron stand on the floor, and the peat fire +burned brightly on the hearth. A row of brass candlesticks were on the +mantel-board. Hannah Macaulay sat on a chair near the door knitting. The +room, he saw, was neat and orderly as ever. + +The lids of the pots and the metal dish-covers gleamed from the nails +on which they hung round the walls. The pewter plates, bronze jugs, +and upturned noggins stood in shining rows on the dresser shelves. Neal +waited. Not a sound reached him from the house. He took courage and +slipped through the open door. + +"Is that you yoursel', Master Neal?" said Hannah, quietly, "I ha' your +supper ready for ye. I was sitting up for you. You're late the night." + +She rose from her seat and, without a sign of surprise or excitement, +closed the door and bolted it. + +"Hannah, how is it that you are expecting me? You can't have known that +I was coming. How did you know?" + +Hannah took plates from the dresser and food from the cupboard while she +answered him. + +"Master Maurice's groom, the lad they call James, rode in from Antrim +the day afore yesterday with a note for Miss Una ower by. She tellt +me that you'd be coming and that it was more nor like you'd travel by +night. I've had your supper ready, and I've sat waiting for you these +two nights, I knew rightly that it was here you'd come first." + +"Where is my father?" + +"He's gone, Master Neal. The sojers came and took him, but he bid me +tell you not to be afeard or taking on about him. He was thinking they'd +send him across the sea, maybe to Scotland, he said, but they wouldna +hurt him. So eat your bit and take your sup, my bairn. You must be sore +troubled with the hunger. How ever did ye thole?" + +"I have your bed ready for you," she said as Neal ate, "and it's in it +you ought to be by right. I'm thinking it's more than yin night since ye +hae lain atween the sheets, judging by the looks of ye." + +"It's five, Hannah, and it will be twice five more before I sleep in a +bed again. I dare not stay here." + +"Thon's what Miss Una said. But, faith, if it's the yeomen you're afeard +of, I'll no let them near you." + +"I daren't, Hannah; I daren't do it. I must away to-night and lie in the +Pigeon Cave. I'll be safe there, and you must manage somehow to get food +to me." + +"Is it me that you look to be climbing down them sliddery rocks and +swimming intil the cold sea among your caves and hiding holes? I'm too +old for the like, but there's a lassie with bonny brown eyes that'll do +that and more for ye. Don't you be afeard, Master Neal. She'd climb +the Causey chimney pots and take the silver sixpence off the top if +she thought you were wanting it. Ay, or swim intil them caves, that God +Almighty never meant for man nor maid to enter, and if were waiting for +her at the hinder end of one of them. She's been here an odd time or twa +since ever she got the letter that the groom lad fetched. I've seen the +glint in her eyes at the sound o' your name, and the red go out of her +cheek at word of them dratted yeos, bad scran to them! I'm no so old +yet, but I mind weel how a young lassie feels for the lad she's after. +Ay, my bairn, it's all yin, gentle or simple, lord's daughter or +beggar's wench, when the love of a lad has got the grip o' them. And +there was yin with her--the foreign lady with the lang name. For all +that she mocks and fleers as if there was nothing in the wide world but +play-actin' and gagin' about. Faith, she's an artist, but she might be +more help than Miss Una herself if it came to a pinch. She's a cunning +one, that. I'm thinking that she's no unlike the serpent that's more +subtle than any beast of the field. She has a way of glowerin' a body +and giving a bit of a girn to her mouth. Man or woman or red-coated +sojer itself, they'd need to be up gey an' early that would get the +better o' her. A bird might be lang afore it could find time to build a +nest in her ear, so it might. Eh! but, my poor lad, it's a sorry thing +to think of ye lyin' the night through among the hard stones and me in +my warm bed. Eh! but it grieves me sore---- whisht, boy, what's thon?" + +Hannah started to her feet. Hand to ear, lips parted, with eager eyes +and head bent forward she listened. + +"It's the tread of horses; they're coming up the loany." + +"I must run for it," said Neal, "let me out of the door, Hannah." + +"Bide now, bide a wee, they'd see you if you went through the door." + +She put out the lamp as she spoke. + +"Do you slip through to the master's room and open the window. Go canny +now, and make no noise. Get through and off with ye into your cave as +hard as ever you can lift a foot, I'll cap them at the door, lad. I'm +the woman can do it. Faith and I'll sort them, be they who it may, so as +they'll no be in too great a hurry to come ridin' to this house again, +the black-hearted villains. But I'll learn them manners or I'm done wi' +them else my name's no Hannah Macaulay." + +Neal, as he slipped silently from the room, was aware that Hannah +meditated a vigorous attack upon her midnight visitors. She took the +long kitchen poker in her hand, shook it with a grim smile, and thrust +the end of it into the heart of the fire. + +There was a knock at the door. Hannah, standing in a corner of the room, +and hidden from any one looking in through the window, neither spoke nor +stirred. The knocking was repeated, and again repeated. Hannah remained +silent. + +"Open the door," shouted a voice from without, "open the door at once." + +Still there was no reply. + +"We know you're within, Hannah Macaulay, we saw the light before you put +it out. Open to us, or we'll batter in the door, and then it will be the +worse for you." + +"And who may be you that come knocking and banging the door of a dacent +house at this time o' night, making a hullabaloo fit for to wake the +dead; and it the blessed Sabbath too?" + +"Sabbath be damned; it's Thursday night." + +"Is it, then, is it? There's them that wouldn't know if it was Monday +nor Tuesday, nor yet Wednesday, nor the blessed Sabbath day itself, and, +what's more, wouldn't care if they did know. That just shows what like +lads you are. Away home out o' this to your beds, if so be that you have +any beds to go to." + +In fact the men outside were perfectly right. The day was Thursday, +though it neared Friday. The Sabbath was a long way off yet, as Hannah +knew quite well. + +"You doited old hag, open the door." + +"I'm a lone widow woman," said Hannah, plaintively, "I canna be letting +the likes of ye in and me in my bed. It wouldna be dacent if I did. +Where'd my good name be if I did the like and me not know ye?" + +A savage kick at the door shook it on its hinges. + +"Bide quiet, now," said Hannah, "and tell me who ye are afore I open +to you. Would you have me let robbers intil the house, and the master +awa'?" + +"We're men of the Killulta yeomanry, we're here to search the house by +order of Captain Twinely. Open in the King's name." + +"Why couldn't ye have tellt me that afore? There isn't a woman living +has as much respect for the King as mysel'. Wait now, wait till I slip +on my petticoat. You wouldna have a woman come to the door to you in her +shift, would ye?" + +There was a long pause--too long for the yeomen outside. Another kick, +and then another, shook the door. Hannah went over to it and began to +fumble with the bolt. + +"I'm afeard," she said, "that the lock's hampered." + +"I'll soon cure that; stand clear of the keyhole till I fire." + +"For the Lord's sake, man, dinna be shootin' aff your guns, I canna +abide the sound o' the like. It dizzens me. Dinna be hasty, fair and +easy goes far in the day. Who is it you said you were?" + +"The yeomen, you deaf old hag." + +"The yeomen, God bless us, the yeomen. That's the kind of lads that +dresses themselves up braw in sojers' coats and then, when there's any +fighting going on, let's the real sojers do it, and they stand and look +round to see the gommerels admiring them. Faith I'll let you in. There's +no call even for a hirplin ould woman with one foot in the grave and the +ither out of it to be afeard of the likes of you." + +Hannah Macaulay's description of her bodily condition erred on the +side of self-depreciation. The one foot which remained out of the grave +carried her across the kitchen floor with remarkable speed. She took the +poker now red, almost white, hot at the end, darted back to the door, +and flung it open. With a wild whoop she rushed at the two yeomen who +stood on the threshold. There were other yells besides her's, a smell +of burning cloth and singed flesh, a hurried treading of feet, and a +clattering of the hoofs of frightened horses. Hannah sent into the night +a peal of derisive laughter, and then turned into the house and shut the +door. + +"I said I'd sort them," she chuckled, "and I've sorted them rightly. Yin +o' them will carry a mark on his mug to the day of his death, and lucky +if he hasn't lost the sight of an eye. There'll be a hole in the breeks +of the other that'll tak a quare width of cloth to make a patch for +it. And, what's more, thon man'll no sit easy on his horse for a bit. +They'll not be for chasing Master Neal the night any way. But, faith, +this house will be no place for me the morrow. I'll just tak my wee bit +duds under my arm and away with me up to Dunseveric House. Miss Una'll +take me in when she hears the tale I ha' to tell. I'd like to see the +yeos or the sojers either that would fetch me out of the ould lord's +kitchen. If they tak to ravishing and rieving the master's plenishins I +canna help it. Better a ravished house nor a murdered woman." + +Neal got out of the window, and once more crossed the meadow. He lay for +a minute in the ditch beside the road listening intently. He feared that +he might have been tracked home, that the house might be surrounded, and +that escape might be difficult or impossible. But there was no sound +of any sort on the road--neither voices of men, treading of horses, or +jangling of accoutrements. Evidently the men at the door of the manse +were no more than a patrol. They were entering the house out of wanton +desire to annoy Hannah Macaulay or on the chance of discovering there +something which might give them a clue--not because they actually +suspected that he was within. He heard the crash of the first kick on +the door, rose from the ditch, crossed the road, and took to the edge of +the cliffs again. He walked quickly, frightened and shaken. He started +into a breathless run when Hannah's battle whoop reached him on the +still air. He heard distinctly the men's shrieks, and even the noise of +the runaway horses galloping on the hard road. He went the faster--a mad +terror driving him. + +He passed Port Moon again, crossed the majestic brow of Pleaskin Head, +skirted the Causeway, and reached the Runkerry cliffs. He went more +slowly, ceased running, sat down, drawing deep laboured breaths. The +food he ate in the manse had strengthened him. The assurance of the care +and watchfulness of his friends cheered him, but his mind was like that +of a hunted animal. He had no courage left, nothing but an overmastering +desire to hide himself. + +He rose, and went on again, reached the cliff above the Rock Pigeons' +Cave, and found the place where descent to the sea was possible. There +was no path, just a precipitous grass slope, and then steep rocks, and +below them the dark, moaning sea. A timid man might shrink from the +climb in daylight, a bold man would be rash to attempt it at night, but +of this short, slippery grass and these sharp rocks Neal had no fear at +all. He knew them all too well to fear them. He let himself slide down, +sure of the resting-place his feet would find. With firm hand-grips and +confident steps he descended from rock to rock until he stood at last +on a flat shelf, a foot or two above the sea. He saw the long channel, +rock-bounded, narrow, dark, along which he and Maurice had piloted +their boat. He saw beyond it the mouth of the cave--a space of actual +blackness on the gloomy face of the cliff. He heard the water drop from +the roof into the sea with heavy splashes. At his feet the long swell +writhed between the walls of rock, reached up black lips and drew them +down again with hollow, sobbing sound. From the extreme darkness of the +cave came the dull moaning of the ocean, as of some inarticulate monster +bowed with everlasting woe. A swim through this cold, lonely water, +between the smooth walls which rose higher and higher on either side, +into the impenetrable gloom of the echoing cavern and on to the extreme +end of it, was horrible to contemplate. But for Neal there were worse +horrors behind. His cowardice made him brave. He stripped and stood +shivering, though the night air was warm enough. He wrapped his clothes +into a bundle and, with his neck scarf, bound them firmly on his head. +He slipped without a splash into the water and struck out towards the +mouth of the cave. + +The dull swell lifted him on its breast and drew him down again as if to +wrap him with huge cold hands. An undertow of receding water pulled him +to the rocks and he touched them with his hands. He reached the mouth of +the cave, and felt the splash of the drops which fell from it. He moved +very cautiously, fearing to strike suddenly on the sunken rocks. He felt +for them with his feet, reached them, stood upright waist-deep. Then, +with cold limbs and a numb terror in his heart, he plunged forward +again into the deep water within the cave. He swam on, with set teeth, +close-pressed lips, and eyes strained to see a foot in front of him into +the blackness. Once he turned and looked back. Through the mouth of the +cave he saw the dim grey of the June night--a framed space of sky which +was not actually black. He felt as if he were looking his last at the +familiar world of living things--as if he were on his way to some gloomy +other world of moaning, forlorn spirits, of desolate, disappointed +loves, of weary, spent souls floating aimlessly on chill, unfathomable +sorrow. He swam on, and heard at last the splash of the waves on the +shore. His feet touched bottom. He slipped and slid among large slimy +stones, worn incredibly smooth by their age-long washing in this sunless +place. He struggled forward breast-deep, waist-deep, knee-deep, in the +black water. He reached dry ground, crawled upwards till he felt the +boulders no longer damp, and knew that he lay above the reach of the +tide. He unbound the bundle from his head, clothed himself, and felt +the blood steal warm through his limbs again. He staggered further up, +groped his way to the side of the cave, as if the touch of solid rock +would give him some sense of companionship. Then, like a benediction +from the God who watched over him, sleep came. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +The next morning broke cloudless. As the day advanced the sun grew hot. +The land at noon seemed to gasp for breath. The sea lay glowing in the +light; the waves broke in slow rhythm on the sand and rocks, as if the +warmth had imposed even on the Atlantic a mood of luxurious laziness. + +Una St. Clair and the Comtesse de Tourneville, attended by Hannah +Macaulay, walked shorewards from Dunseveric House. It appeared that +they were going to bathe, for they carried bundles of white sheets and +coloured garments, large bundles well wrapped together and strapped. +Hannah Macaulay had, besides, a little raft made of the flat corks which +fishermen use to mark the places where their lobster pots are sunk and +to float the tops of salmon nets. It seemed as if one of the party were +no great swimmer, and did not mean to venture into deep water without +something to which to cling. + +A hundred yards from the gate were two yeomen on horseback. The Comtesse +greeted them cheerfully as she passed. The men followed the ladies along +the road. + +"What are we to do?" said Una, "they mean to watch us." + +"Perhaps not," said the Comtesse, "let us make sure." + +She motioned Una to stop, and sat down on the bank on the roadside. The +men halted and waited also. It became obvious that they intended to keep +the ladies in view. + +"This is abominable," said Una. "How dare they follow us when we are +going to bathe?" + +"My dear," said the Comtesse, laughing, "they very likely think that we +are not going to bathe. So far as I am concerned, their suspicions are +quite just. I am certainly not going to undress on a nasty rock which +would cut my feet, and then go into cold salt water to have my toes +nipped by crabs and lobsters. The worthy Hannah is not going to bathe +either. She has too much good sense. Even these stupid yeomen must guess +that we are carrying something else besides towels." + +"But I am going to bathe," said Una, "and it is intolerable that I +should be spied upon and watched." + +The Comtesse rose and approached the men. + +"Where is Captain Twinely this morning?" she asked, smiling. + +"Here he is, coming along the road forninst you, Miss." + +The man spoke civilly enough. It was natural to be civil to the Comtesse +when she smiled. She had fine eyes, and was not too proud to use them in +a very delightful manner even when the man before her was no more than a +trooper in a company of yeomen. + +"So he is!" she said. "And my good gentleman trooper, how nice your +manners are. I am, alas! no longer 'Miss,' though it pleases you to +flatter me. I am 'Madam,' a widow, quite an old woman." + +She left him and hurried forward to greet Captain Twinely. + +"I am charmed to meet you, Captain Twinely. But why have you never +been up to call on us? We hear that you have been two whole days in our +neighbourhood and not even once have you come to see us. How rude and +unkind you are. I would not have believed it of you. But perhaps you +have been very busy chasing the odious rebels and had no time to visit +us poor ladies." + +"I didn't think I was wanted at Dunseveric House, my lady," said the +captain. + +Like his trooper, he was aware that the Comtesse smiled at him, and that +she had beautiful eyes. + +"I will not take that as an excuse," she said. "Surely you must know, +Captain Twinely, that we are two lonely women, that my lord and my +nephew are away. You must have guessed that we should suffer, ah, so +terribly, from 'ennui'. Is it not the first duty of an officer to +pay his respects to the ladies and to amuse them, especially in this +terrible country where it is only the military men who have any manners +at all?" + +Captain Twinely was delighted and embarrassed. He wished that he had +brushed his uniform more carefully in the morning, and that he had not +been too lazy to shave. He would gladly have been looking his best now +that the eyes of this elegant lady of title and fashion were on him. + +"I am at your ladyship's service," he murmured. + +"Now that is really kind of you. Please get down from your horse. How +can I talk to you when you are so high above me?" + +The captain dismounted and gave his horse to one of the troopers. The +Comtesse laid her hand on his arm and smiled at him. + +"We have a little _fete_ planned for to-day," she said. "We are going to +have a pic-nic by the sea. Will you not join us. It will be so kind of +you. My niece wishes also to bathe. But I--I am not very anxious to go +into the sea. Perhaps you and I might wait for her in some pleasant spot +and prepare the pic-nic while she and her maid go to the bathing-place. +What do you say, captain?" + +"I shall be delighted," he said, "quite delighted." + +Captain Twinely had never before been so smiled on by a pretty +woman. Never before had such fine eyes looked into his with such an +unmistakable challenge to flirtation. He was almost certain that he felt +the Comtesse's hand press his arm slightly. He grew pink in the face +with pleasure. + +"We must tell my niece." + +She leaned towards Captain Twinely and whispered in his ear. Her breath +touched his cheek. The delicate, faint scent of her clothes reached him. + +A confidence, entailing the close proximity of this desirable lady, was +an unlooked-for delight. + +"My dear niece is very young--a mere child, you understand me, unformed, +gauche, what you call shy. You will make excuse for her want of manner." + +The apology was necessary. In Una's face, if he had eyes for it at all, +Captain Twinely might have seen something more than shyness. There was +an expression of loathing on the girl's lips and in her eyes when he +stepped up to her, hat in hand. + +"Una," said the Comtesse, "the dear captain will take pity on us. He +will send one of his men back to the house to fetch a cold chicken and +some wine--and all the delightful things we are to eat and drink. Give +him a note to the butler, Una, we will go on with Captain Twinely." + +Una, puzzled, but obedient to a quick glance from her aunt, wrote +the note. The troopers, leading Captain Twinely's horse, rode back to +Dunseveric House. The Comtesse, still leaning on the captain's arm, +picked up her bundle of bathing clothes. + +"Allow me to carry that for you," said the captain, "allow me to carry +all the bundles." + +"Oh, but no. Have we got a cavalier with such trouble and shall we turn +him into a beast of burden, a--how do you say it?--a baggage ass? The +good Hannah will carry my bundle.'" + +The good Hannah became a baggage animal, but she was not an ass. She +was, indeed, struggling with suppressed mirth. She was confirmed in her +opinion that the Comtesse possessed a subtlety not unlike that of the +serpent in Eden. + +The Comtesse led the way, chatting to Captain Twinely, saying things +more charmingly provocative than any which poor Twinely had ever heard +from a woman's lips. Her eyes flashed on him, drooped before his gaze, +sought his again with shy suggestiveness. She even succeeded, when his +glance grew very bold, in blushing. They reached the little cove where +Maurice's boat lay. + +The Comtesse sat down, and then lolled back on the short grass. Her +motions and her attitudes were the most easy and natural possible, yet +her pose was charming. There was not a fold of her skirt but fell round +her gracefully. From the challenging smile on her lips to the point of +the little shoe which peeped out beneath her petticoat, there came an +invitation to Captain Twinely--a suggestion that he, too, should sit +gracefully on the grass. + +"Now, Una," she said, "go and have your bathe, if you must do anything +so foolish. We will wait for you here, the captain will amuse me till +you return. Kiss me, child, before you go." + +Una bent over her. + +"I'll keep him," whispered the Comtesse, "I'll keep him, even if I have +to allow the animal to embrace me. But, dear Una, do not be very long." + +Una sped away. Hannah, heavily laden, and laughing now outright, +followed her. + +"I never seen the like," she said. "Didn't I say to Master Neal last +night that she was an early one? Eh, Miss Una, did you no take notice of +the eyes of her? She'd wile the fishes out of the sea, or a bird off a +bush, so she would, just by looking sweet at them. It's queer manners +they have where she comes from. I'm thinking that silly gowk of a +captain's no the first man she's beguiled. I was counted a braw lass +myself in me day, and one that could twine a lad round my thumb as fine +as any, but I couldna have done thon, Miss Una." + +Una gave a little shudder of disgust. + +"How could she bear to? How could she touch such a man?" + +"Ay, I was wondering that myself, her that's so high falutin' in her +ways, and no like a common lassie. Not but what thon captain's a clever +enough cut of a man for them as thinks of nothing but a clean figure and +a good leg. He's no that ill-looking; but, eh, there's a glint in his +eye I wouldna trust. I pity the lassie that loves him. But there's no +fear of thon lady falling into sic a snare. She can mine herself well, +I'm thinkin'." + +They reached the cliff above the Pigeon Cave, and Una began her downward +climb. Hannah stared at her in horror. + +"Mind yourself, Miss Una. You're never going down there, are ye? And +you expect me to break my old bones going after you, do ye? Faith and +I willna avaw, I'd rather be back rolling my eyes at the captain and +letting on to him that I wanted a kiss than go down yon cliff." + +"Come," said Una, "it looks worse than it is. Come, Hannah, you must +come. Would you have the poor boy starve in the cave?" + +The appeal was too strong to be resisted. Hannah, with much grumbling, +climbed down. Una carried the bundles one by one to the shelf of rock +from which Neal had slipped into the dark water the night before. She +took the straps from them, and unwound the sheets and bathing clothes. +Within was store of food--parcels of oatcake, baps, cold meat, butter, +cheese, a bottle of wine, a flask of whisky and water, a package of +candles. She had determined that Neal should feast royally in his +hiding-place, and that he should not sit in the dark, though he had to +sit alone. She floated the raft of corks, and very carefully loaded it +with her good things. Then, with a piece of cord, she moored it to the +rock. + +"Are ye no afeard, Miss Una?" said Hannah. "Eh, but it's well to be +young and strong, I wouldna go in there, not for all the gold and silver +and the spices that King Solomon gave to the Queen of Sheba. I wouldna +go in a boat, let alone swimming. Miss Una, could you no shout, and let +him come for the food himself?" + +Una looked at her with a wondering reproach in her eyes. + +"Am I the only one that's to do nothing for him? Didn't Maurice get him +free in the town of Antrim? Didn't you chase the yeomen from him last +night? Isn't Aunt Estelle sitting with that Captain Twinely now? And may +I not do something, too? I think mine's the easiest thing of the four." + +"You're a venturesome lassie, so you are. I dinna like the looks of thon +water. It's over green for me, so it is. I can see right down to the +bottom of it, and that's no natural in the sea, and it so deep, too. And +thon cave, Miss Una, with the smooth, red, clampy sides to it. What call +has the rocks to be red? I'm thinking when God made the rocks black, +and maybe white, it's black and white he meant them to be and no red. I +wouldna say but what there's something no just canny about a cave with +red sides to it higher than a man can stretch. Eh, but you've the chiney +white feet, Miss Una. Mind now you dinna scrab them on the wee shells. +Bide now, bide like a good lassie, till I spread the sheet for you to +tread on. You will no be for going right intil the cave? Would it no +do you to shout when you got to the mouth of it? I dinna like that cave +with the red sides till it. I'm thinking maybe there was red sides to +the cave where the witch of Endor dweft. Are you no sure that there isna +something of that kind, something no right in the gloom beyond there?" + +"Neal's in it," said Una, "what's to frighten me?" + +"Ay, sure enough, he's there, the poor bairn. Lord save us, and keep +us! The lassie's intil the water, and it up ower her head, and she's +drownded. No, but she's up again, and she's swimmin' along like as if +she was a sea maiden with hair all wet. Eh, but she swims fine, and +she's gotten hold of the wee boatie wi' the laddie's dinner on it. Look +at the white arms of her moving through the water, they're like the +salmon fish slithering along when the net is pulled in. She's bonny, so +she is. See till her now! See till her if she hasna lighted on some kind +of a rock. She's standing up on it, and the sea no more than up to the +knees of her. The water is running off her, and she's shaking herself +like a wee dog. She doesna mind it. She's waving her hand to me and her +in the very mouth of thon awful cave. Mine yourself, Miss Una, take heed +now, like a good lass. Dinna go further, you're far enough. Bide where +you are, and shout till him. Lord save us, she's off again, and the wee +boatie in front of her. I've known a wheen o' lassies in my time that +would do queer things for the lads they had their hearts set on, but +ne'er a one as venturesome as her. I'm thinking Master Neal himself +would look twice e'er he swam into thon dark hole. Eh, poor laddie, but +there'll be light in his eyes when he sees the white glint of her coming +till him where he's no expecting her or the like of her." + +Indeed, Una was not so brave as she seemed. Her heart beat quicker as +she struck out into the gloom of the cave. The water was colder, or +seemed colder, than it had been outside. The splashing of drops from +the roof, and the echoing noise of the sea's wash awed her. She felt a +tightening in her throat. She swam with faster and faster strokes. The +sides of the cave loomed huge about her. The roof seemed immensely, +remotely, high. The water was dark now. It was a solemn thing to swim +through it. She began to wonder how far it was to the end of the cave. +A sudden terror seized her. Suppose, after all, that Neal was not in +the cave, suppose that she was swimming in this awful place alone. She +shouted aloud-- + +"Neal, Neal, Neal Ward, are you there?" + +The cave echoed her cries. A thousand repetitions of the name she had +shouted came to her from above, from behind, from right, from left. The +rocks flung her words to each other, bandied them to and fro, turned +them into ridicule, turned them into thundering sounds of terror, turned +them into shrill shrieks. The frightened pigeons flew from their rocky +perches; their wings set new echoes going. Una swam forward, and, +reckless with fright now, shouted again. She heard some one rushing down +to meet her from the remote depths of the cave. The great stones rolled +and crashed under his feet with a noise like the firing of guns. Then, +amid a babel of echoes, came a shout answering her's. + +"I'm coming to you, Una." + +She felt the bottom with her feet. She stood upright. At the sound +of Neal's voice all her fears vanished. She could see him now. He was +stumbling down over the slippery stones which the ebb tide left bare. He +reached the water and splashed in. + +"Stay where you are, you must not come any further." + +"Una," he said, "dear Una, you have come to me." + +She laughed merrily. + +"Don't think I've come to live with you here, Neal, like a seal or a +mermaid. No, no. I've brought you something to eat. Here, now, don't +upset my little boat." She pushed the raft towards him. "Isn't it just +like the boats we used to make long ago when we were little? Oh! do you +remember how angry the salmon men were when you and Maurice stole all +the corks off their net? But I can't stay talking here, I'm getting +cold, and you, Neal, go back to dry land. What's the use of standing +there up to your knees in water? There's no sun in here to dry your +clothes afterwards. No, you must not come to me, I won't have it. You'd +get wet up to your neck. Keep quiet, now. I've something to say to you. +Maurice has gone to Glasgow to see that funny Captain Getty, who made +you both so angry the day we took your uncle from the brig. He is +arranging for the brig to lie off here and pick you up. Maurice and I +will take you out in the boat. We will come in to the mouth of the cave +and shout to you unless it's rough. If it's rough, Neal, you must swim +out and hide somewhere among the rocks. But I hope it will stay calm. +Maurice may be back to-morrow or next day. I've given you enough to eat +for two days. I may not be able to come to-morrow." + +"Do come again, Una, it's very lonely here." + +"I will if I can, Neal. Good-bye. Keep a good heart. Good-bye. Oh, but +it's hard to be leaving you in this dark place, but I think it's safe, +and the country is full of yeomen. Good-bye, Neal. God bless you." + +When Una and Hannah reached the little cove again, they found luncheon +spread out on the grass ready for them. The troopers who had brought +the baskets from Dunseveric House sat on their horses at the end of the +rough track which led to the strand. The Comtesse reclined on a cloak +spread for her on the grass. Captain Twinely, a worshipper with bold +eyes and stupid tongue, sat at her feet and gazed at her. He had ceased +even to wonder at his own good fortune in captivating so fair a lady. He +had forgotten all about the angular daughter of a neighbouring squire, +who was waiting for him to marry her. He was hopelessly, helplessly, +fascinated by the woman in front of him. Estelle de Tourneville had +never made an easier conquest. And she was already exceedingly weary of +the flirtation. The man bored her because he was dull. He disgusted her +because he was amorous. + +"Oh, Una," she cried, "how quick you've been! It hardly seems a moment +since you left. Captain Twinely and I have had such a delightful talk. I +was telling him about the Jacobins in Paris, and how they wanted to cut +my head off in the Terror. My dear, your hair is all wet. You look just +like a seal with your sleek head and your brown eyes. Just fancy, Una, +Captain Twinely thought that we were in sympathy with the rebels here. +He had actually told his men to watch us in case we should try to help +some horrid _sans-culotte_ who is hiding somewhere. Just think of his +suspecting me--me, of all people." + +She cast a glance at Captain Twinely. Her eyes were full of half serious +reproach, of laughter and enticement. + +"I'm very hungry after my swim," said Una, "let us have our lunch." + +Captain Twinely, awkward but anxious to please, was on his feet in +an instant. He waited on the ladies, waited even on Hannah, whom he +supposed to be Una's maid. He did not notice that Una shrank from him. +He probably would not have cared even if he had seen that she avoided +touching his hand as she might have avoided some loathsome reptile. His +thoughts and his eyes were all for the Comtesse. She did not shrink from +him. Her wonderful eyes thrilled him again and again. He touched her +hand, her hair, her clothes, as he handed her this or that to eat +or drink. He grew hot and cold in turns with the excitement of her +nearness. He was ecstatically, ridiculously happy. + +He walked back to Dunseveric House with her. He promised to call on her +the next day. He promised to leave troopers on guard round the house all +night in case a fugitive rebel, wandering in the demesne, might frighten +the Comtesse. He suggested another pic-nic. At last, reluctantly, +lingeringly, he bade her farewell. + +"Adieu, Monsieur le Capitaine," said the Comtesse, "we shall expect you +to-morrow then." + +She stretched out her hand to him. He stooped and kissed it. Then she +turned from him and ran up the avenue after Una and Hannah. The captain +watched her. He pulled himself together, reassumed his habitual swagger, +tried to persuade himself that he looked on the Comtesse as he had long +been accustomed to look on other women. + +"A damned fine woman," he said, "and a bit smitten with me. Begad, these +French women have a great deal to recommend them. Thy catch fire at +once. A man does not have to spend a month dilly-dallying with them, +dancing attendance and looking like a fool while they are as cold as ice +all the time. Give me a good full-blooded filly like this one." + +"Una," said the Comtesse, when she overtook her niece. "Una, I +positively can't stand another day of that man. He's odious. You'll +have to do him yourself to-morrow, and let me go to the young man in the +cave." + +"But, Aunt Estelle, I thought you--you liked it. You looked as if you +liked it." + +"_Mon dieu!_" said the Comtesse, laughing, "of course I looked as if I +liked it. If I had looked as if I disliked it I could not have kept +him for ten minutes, and then what would have happened to you, +mademoiselle?" + +"It was very, very good of you," said Una, penitently. "I can never +thank you enough." + +"Oh, it wasn't so very good of me, and I don't want to be thanked at +all. I'll tell you a secret, Una, and Hannah shall hear it too. I did +like it. Now, what do you think?" + +"You would, my lady," said Hannah. "I know that finely, I'd have liked +it myself when I was young and frisky like you." + +"What would you have liked, Hannah?" asked the Comtesse. + +"Eh! just what you liked yourself, my lady; just seeing a man making +himself a bigger fool nor the Lord meant him to be for the sake of my +bonny face. I'm thinking you're the same as another for a' you're a +countess and have a braw foreign name. You just like what I'd have +liked, and what all women ever I heard tell on liked in their hearts, +though maybe they wouldna own up till it, from thon wench, that might +have been a gran' lady, too, for a' I ken, who made the great silly gaby +of a Samson lie still while she clipped the seven locks off of his head. +She liked fine to see him sleeping there like the tap he was for all the +strongness of him." + +"You are right, Hannah, you are right. Oh, Una dear, if you could have +seen him--but you wouldn't understand. What's the good of telling you? +Hannah, if you'd seen him sitting there like a great woolly sheep, with +the silliest expression in his eyes; if you'd seen him putting out his +hand to touch me, pretending he did it by accident, and then pulling it +away again like one of those snails that crawl about in the sandhills +when you touch his horns with the end of a blade of grass. If you'd seen +him. Oh, I wish you'd seen him!" + +"Faith, I seen plenty." + +"You did not, Hannah; you didn't see half. He was far, far better before +you came back." + +She burst into a peal of half hysterical laughter. She may have enjoyed +the captain's company, but he had evidently tried her nerves. + +"But, Una dear," she said, when she grew calm again, "I hope Maurice +will come soon, or that American ship, or something. I won't be able to +go on very long." + +"There's been an easterly breeze since noon," said Una, "and there's a +haze out at sea." + +"Do talk sense, Una. Here I've been sacrificing myself for you all day, +and when I ask you for a little sympathy you talk to me about an east +wind." + +"But the east wind will bring the brig, aunt. How could she get here +from Glasgow without the wind?" + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +The Comtesse underrated her powers of endurance. For two more whole days +she encouraged Captain Twinely to make love to her. She sat with him in +the sandhills, she walked with him along the strand, she flattered him, +ogled him, enticed him, till the man was beside himself with the +desire of her. But in private it was not safe to speak to her about the +captain. Her temper, when the hours of her love-making were over for the +day, was extremely bad. Even Hannah, who was a match for most women in +the use of her tongue, shrank from the sharp gibes of the Comtesse. Una +tried in vain to soothe the ruffled lady, and had to bear much from her, +but Una could have borne anything patiently. The east wind blew gently +day and night, bringing--surely bringing--the white sails of the brig. +The sea remained calm and she was able to go twice more to the cave. She +saw the yeomen spread over the country, searching everywhere, through +fields and hills and along the river banks, by the shore, among the +rocks, over the Causeway cliffs, through the sandhills, the ruins of +Dunluce, among the white cliffs of Port-rush Strand, at high tide and +low tide, everywhere except the one place--the nook where Una bathed. +Estelle de Tourneville secured that spot from the searchers' gaze. No +man dared go there. Una could forgive the worst of tempers to the woman +who purchased such security. And the Comtesse was excusable. Doubtless, +she paid a heavy price for a delicately-nurtured and fastidious lady. No +one ever knew what she endured. Neither to Una nor any one else did she +tell at the time or afterwards the details of the captain's courtship. + +At last, one evening after dusk, Maurice rode in from Ballycastle. +He brought glorious news. Captain Getty was on his way. He might be +expected off the coast the next day. Maurice had left the brig at the +quay at Greenock ready to sail. Next morning he was up early. He took +bread and meat and went alone to Pleaskin Head, carrying his father's +long telescope with him. All morning he lay on the edge of the cliff +peering eastward across the sea. He was strangely nervous now that the +critical moment had arrived. He understood that the coast was being +carefully watched, that the sight of a ship lying-to a mile or two +from the shore, would certainly excite suspicion; that it might be very +difficult for him to take his boat round to the cave where Neal lay +hidden without being followed. It was absolutely necessary for him to +catch sight of the brig before any one else did, to get off from the +shore before the brig lay to, to be well on his way to her before any +other boat put out to chase him. He knew that his own movements were +watched. He was followed from the house to Pleaskin Head by two yeomen. +As he lay on the cliffs he saw them a few hundred yards inland keeping +guard on him. + +At ten o'clock he caught sight of the topsails of a ship far east, +beyond the blue outline of the Rathlin hills. The wind, very feeble at +dawn, was freshening slightly. The lower sails of the vessel rose slowly +into view. Maurice guessed her to be a brig--to be the brig he looked +for. He lay still, watching her intently, till he was sure. Then he +went home. He found Una and the Comtesse in the breakfast room. Captain +Twinely, on the lawn outside, leaned on the window sill and talked to +them. Maurice, uncontrollably excited, whispered to Una-- + +"Now." + +She rose, and followed him from the room. Captain Twinely eyed them +sharply. He had ceased to distrust the Comtesse, but he was keenly +suspicious of Maurice. Since he had been robbed of his clothes in Antrim +he hated Maurice nearly as bitterly as he did Neal, and was determined +to have him strictly watched. + +"Pardon me, dear lady," he said, "I must give some orders to the +patrol." + +"Don't be long, then," she said, "I want you to-day, Captain Twinely. +Come back to me." + +Their eyes met, and the Comtesse felt certain that her victim would +return to her. She leaped from her chair the moment he left her and ran +from the room. + +"Una," she cried. "Una, Maurice, where are you?" + +She found them; they were packing clothes in a hand-bag--clothes, she +supposed, for Neal. + +"He's gone to give orders to his men about you, Maurice. I know he has. +I haven't a moment to explain. Leave everything to me. I'll manage him, +only trust me and do what I say. Una, are you a born idiot? Take those +things out of the bag. How can you go about with that travelling-bag in +your hand and not excite suspicion? If you must have clothes wrap them +in a bathing-sheet. Oh, what a fool you are!" + +She left them no time to answer her, but fled back to the +breakfast-room. A moment later Captain Twinely found her, lounging--a +figure of luxurious laziness--among the cushions of Lord Dunseveric's +easy chair. + +"We are going on the sea to-day," she said, "my nephew, Maurice, has +promised to take us in a boat to the Skerries. I have never been there, +but I hear they are delightful. I hope you will come with us. Please say +yes. I should feel so much safer in a boat if you were there. My nephew +is very rash. He frightens me. I do not trust him. I shall not feel +secure or easy in my mind unless you come, too. Besides"--her voice +sank to a delicious whisper--"I shall not really enjoy myself unless +you are there." + +She stretched her hand out and laid it with the tenderest motion of +caress on his hand. Captain Twinely could not hesitate, he promised to +go with her. In the back of his mind was a feeling that if he were of +the party Maurice St. Clair could not attempt to communicate with the +fugitive. + +"Maurice," said the Comtesse, "Maurice, are you ready? Captain Twinely +is coming with us to the Skerries for a pic-nic. Won't that be nice? +Come along quickly, we are starting." + +She took the captain with her, and walked down to the cove where the +boat lay. Una and Maurice, with their bundles of clothes, followed. + +"Una," said Maurice, "what does she mean? I can't take this man in the +boat, and I won't. What does she mean by inviting him?" + +"I don't know, but we must trust her. We can trust her. She's been +wonderful all these last three days. Only for her I could never have got +food to Neal." + +"Well," said Maurice, "I suppose if the worst comes to the worst it will +only be a matter of knocking him on the head with an oar. I don't want +to do that if I can help it. My lord will be angry if he has to get +me out of a fresh scrape. It will be a serious matter to assault this +captain in cold blood. I'll do it, of course, if necessary, but I would +rather not." + +The boat was dragged down the beach. The Comtesse looked at it, and +protested. + +"Maurice, surely you are not going in that little boat. It's far too +small. It's not safe." + +"Oh, it's safe enough," said Maurice, "and anyway there's no other." + +"There is," said the Comtesse. "There, look at that nice broad, flat +boat. I'll go in that." + +"The cobble for lifting the salmon net!" said Maurice, with a laugh. "My +dear aunt, you couldn't go to sea in that. She can't sail, and it takes +four men to pull her as fast as a snail would crawl. Who ever heard of +going off to the Skerries in a salmon cobble?" + +"Well," said the Comtesse, angrily, "I won't go in the other. I know +that one is too small. Isn't she too small, Captain Twinely? Look at the +size of the sea. Look how far off the island is! No, I won't go. If you +persist in being disobliging, Maurice, you and Una can go by yourselves. +Captain Twinely and I will stay on shore." + +The boat was already in the water and Una sat in the stern. Maurice, +ankle deep in water, held her bow. Maurice laughed aloud. He began to +understand his aunt's plan. + +"Come, Captain Twinely, we will go for a walk along the cliffs." + +Her hand was on his arm. She held him. He looked at the boat. A swift +doubt shot through his mind. Something in the way Maurice laughed +aroused his suspicion. He took a step forward. The Comtesse clung +tightly to his arm. Maurice gave a vigorous shove and leapt forward over +the bow. The boat shot out and floated clear of the land. + +"Isn't he a disagreeable boy?" said the Comtesse. "You wouldn't have +refused to do what I asked you, would you, Captain Twinely?" + +Her eyes sought his, but he was watching the boat uneasily. Maurice had +the oars out, and was pulling round the Black Rock. + +"He's not going to the Skerries," he said, "he's going in the other +direction." + +"What does it matter where he goes? Besides, you know what stupid things +boats are. They always turn away from the place they want to go to. It's +what they call tacking. Maurice must be tacking now. Let him manage his +horrid boat himself. We needn't trouble ourselves about him. We will go +for a walk on the tops of the cliffs." + +"I thought you did not like walking on the cliffs, you never would walk +there with me before." + +"Please don't be cross with me. May I not change my mind?" + +She stroked his hand and looked up into his face with eyes which +actually had tears in them. "I shall be so miserable if you are cross. +I shall feel that I have spoiled your day. I wish now that I had gone in +the little boat. I wish I had been upset and drowned. Then perhaps you +would have been sorry for me." + +She was crying in earnest now. Captain Twinely yielded, yielded to her +tears, to the fascination of her presence, to the passion of his love +for her. Very tenderly and gently he led her up the steep path to the +top of the cliffs. Holding her hands in his he walked silently beside +her. He was a bad man, revengeful, cruel, cowardly, but he really loved +the woman beside him. His was no heroic, spiritual love, but it was the +best, the strongest, of which his nature was capable. He could never +for her sake have lived purely and nobly, or learned self-denial, but, +cowardly as he was, he would have died for her. + +Suddenly she stood still, snatched her hand from his grasp, and stepped +away from him. + +"Now," she cried, "at last! at last! There, Captain Twinely, there is +the boat with the sail spread, shooting out to sea. Look at her; look +carefully; look well. How many people are there in her? Can you see? I +can see very well. There are three, and who is the third?" + +The tears were gone out of her eyes now. They blazed with triumph and +satisfaction. She laughed aloud, exultingly, bitterly. + +"Who is the third? Can you see? He is Neal Ward, the man you've chased, +the man you've been seeking day and night. There"--she pointed further +eastwards--"there is the American brig which will bear him away from +you. Do you understand?" + +Captain Twinely followed her gaze and her pointing finger. He began to +understand. + +"And I did it. I fooled you. I blinded your eyes while my niece fed him +in his hiding-place. I encouraged you to seek everywhere, and kept you +back from the place where he was. I--I made pretence of tolerating your +hateful presence. I made you think that I cared for you, loved you, you, +you--I would rather love a toad." + +"You have deceived me, then, all the time, played with me." + +"Yes," she laughed wildly, "deceived you, played with you, fooled you, +cheated you, and hated you--yes, hated, hated the very sight of you, the +abominable sound of your voice, the sickening touch of your hand." + +"And I loved you," he said, simply. "I loved you so well that I think I +would have done anything for you. There was no need for you to fool me. +I would have let the man go if you had asked me. I would have let him +go, though I hate him, and I could not have asked leave even to kiss +your hand for my reward. I would have been content just to have pleased +you. Why did you cheat me?" + +The Comtesse had no pity for him. The memory of the words he had spoken +to her, of his foolish face, of his amorous ways, of the touchings of +his hands which she had endured, thronged on her. Her lips curled back +over her teeth. Her eyes were hard like shining steel. + +"I hate you," she hissed at him. "I have always hated you since the +night when you seized me and dragged me into the meeting-house. I would +have revenged myself for that even if there had been no prisoner to save +from you." + +"I did not do that," said Captain Twinely, "and I did not know who you +were at the time. Be just to me even if you hate me. God knows that I +would have died to save you from the smallest hurt." + +He fell on the ground before her. + +"Oh," he cried, "have some pity for me. I love you with all my soul. Let +me serve you, let me wait on you. Let me see you sometimes and hear your +voice. Have you no pity for me? I do not ask for love, or friendship, or +the meanest gift. Only do not hate me. I have led an evil life, I know +it, but for your sake, for your sake, if you will pity me, I will do +anything. I will be anything you bid me. But do not hate me. For the +love of God, by the mercy of Christ the Saviour, do not cast me utterly +away from you. Do not hate me." + +He crawled forward, and clutched the bottom of her skirt with his hand. +With a swift movement she snatched it from his grasp. + +"I do hate you," she cried, "and I shall always hate you. From this out +I shall always hope and pray and strive to get to heaven when I die, +not for the love of the saints or because I think that I shall be happy +there, but just because I shall be safe from the sight of you, for you +will surely be in hell." + +She turned and walked down the path they had ascended together. She left +him grovelling on the ground, his face slobbered with tears and grimy +with the clay his hands rubbed over it. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +The boat sped seawards. The wind had freshened since the morning, and +worked round after the sun, as the wind does in settled weather. It blew +now from the south-east, and the boat reached out with a free sheet. Una +sat in the stern and held the tiller. Her eyes glistened with excitement +and delight. At her feet, on the floor boards of the boat, sat Neal, +dripping after his swim out of the cave. The sun shone warm on him, and +he had Una close to him. He was safe at last, freed from the terrible +anxiety and fears. He had life before him--a glad, good thing, yet there +was more sorrow than joy in his face. In an hour, or less than an hour, +he must say farewell to Una. He felt that he would gladly have gone back +to the gloom of the cave for the sake of a brief visit from her every +day. He would have accepted the life of a hunted animal rather than +part, for years perhaps, from Una. He was sure that he had never known +the fulness of his love for her until this hour of parting. His eyes +never left her face. Now and then, when she could spare attention from +her steering, she answered his glances. In her face there was no sorrow +at all, only merry delight and the anticipation of more joy. "I have +brought you a suit of my clothes, and some change of linen," said +Maurice. "I have them in a bundle here, done up in a great sheet. Hullo! +there are two bundles. I didn't notice that you had brought a second +one, Brown-Eye. You'll not leave me a rag to my back if you give Neal +two suits." + +"It's all right, Maurice," said Una, "the second bundle has my clothes +in it." + +"Your clothes, Brown-Eyes! Why have you brought clothes?" + +"I'm going with Neal, of course." + +Neal sat upright suddenly and stared at her with a new expression in his +eyes. He was the prey of sheer astonishment, then of a rapture which set +his heart beating tumultuously. + +"You are going with Neal! Nonsense, Brown-Eyes. How can you?" + +"I've money to pay my passage," she said, "and if I hadn't I'd go just +the same. I shall climb up into the brig, and I won't be turned out of +her." + +"You can't," said Maurice. + +"Oh, but I can, and I will. Do you think you and father are the only two +in the family that have wills of your own. You'll take me, Neal, won't +you? We'll be married as soon as ever we get to America. I'm like the +girl in the song-- + + "'I'll dye my petticoat, I'll dye it red, + And through the world I'll beg my bread,' + but I won't leave you now, Neal." + +She began to sing merrily, exultingly-- + + "Though father and brother and a' should go mad, + Just whistle and I'll come to you, my lad." + +"Well," said Maurice, "if you go I may as well take my passage, too. I +daren't go home and face my lord with the news that you've run off from +him. But steady, Brown-Eyes, watch what you're doing. We're close on +the brig now. We'll neither go to America nor back home if you upset us +now." + +He took in the sprit of the sail as Una rounded the boat under the +brig's stern. A rope was flung to them and made fast. Another rope, a +stouter one, was lowered to Neal. Una seized it and climbed up. Willing +hands caught her, lifted her over the bulwarks, and set her on the deck. + +"Am I to ferry you across, too, young lady?" asked Captain Getty. + +"Yes," said Una, "I am going with you." + +Neal leaned across the thwarts of the boat to Maurice. + +"Stay you here," he said, "leave this to me." + +He gained the deck of the brig. Una met him with outstretched hands and +sparkling eyes. + +"Isn't this glorious?" she said. "You never guessed, Neal. Confess that +you never guessed." + +Then she shrank back from him, frightened by what she saw. His face was +ashy grey, save for two flaming spots on his cheek bones. His lips +were trembling. His eyes told her of some desperate resolution, of some +counsel adopted with intense pain. + +"What is the matter, Neal! Do you not want me after all? Will you not +take me?" + +"No, I will not take you." + +It was all he succeeded in saying before a sob choked him. Una stared at +him in terrified surprise; but even then, even with his own words in her +ears, she did not doubt his love for her. She waited. + +"Una," he said at last, "I cannot take you with me." + +She gazed at him with wide, pitiful eyes, like the eyes of a little +child struck suddenly and inexplicably by the hand of some trusted +friend. Neal trembled and turned away from her. He could not look at her +while he spoke. + +"Una, dearest, it is not that I do not love you. I love you. Oh, heart +of my heart, I love you. I would give----" + +He sobbed again. Then, with an effort, he mastered himself, and spoke +slowly in low, tender tones. + +"Una, your father has trusted me. He has helped me, saved me. He has +been my friend. I am bound in honour to him. I cannot take you from him +like this." + +"Ah!" she said. "Honour! Is your honour more than love?" + +"Una, Una, can't you understand? It's because I love you so well that I +cannot do this. Wait, dearest, wait a little while. I shall come back +to you. The world is not so wide that it can keep me from you. The time +will not be long." + +He turned to her, and saw again the intolerable stricken sadness of her +eyes. + +"My darling," he said, "I cannot bear it. I will take you with me. Come. +What does it matter about honour or disgrace? What have we to do with +right or wrong? Will you come, Una?" + +"Her eyes dropped before his gaze. Her hands clasped and unclasped, the +fingers of them sliding close-pressed against each other. She trembled. + +"If it is wrong----," she whispered. "Oh, Neal, I do not understand, but +what you think wrong is wrong for me, too. I will not do what you say is +wrong. But, oh! come back to me, come back to me soon. I cannot bear to +wait long for you." + +All the joy was gone from her. Forgetful of the strangers who stood +round her, she covered her face with her hands and wept bitterly. + +Maurice's voice reached them from the boat. + +"Be quick, Neal. I must cast off and let you get under way. They've got +the old salmon cobble out, and they're coming after us. Captain Twinely +must have managed to tear himself away from the Comtesse. They are +pulling six oars, and the cobble is full of men. Be quick." + +Una stopped crying on the instant. She cast a terrified glance at the +approaching boat. Then she ran across the deck to Captain Getty. She +seized his hand, and fell on her knees before him. + +"Keep him safe, Captain Getty. Keep him safe. The soldiers, the yeomen, +are after him. Do not give him up to them. They will hang him if they +get him. Keep him safe. Do not let them take him." + +"Young lady, Miss," said Captain Getty, "stand up and dry your eyes. +Your sweetheart's safe while he stands on my deck. Safe from them. For +tempests and fire and the perils of the deep, and the act of God"--he +lifted his cap from his head--"I can't swear, but as for darned British +soldiers of any kind--such scum set no foot on the deck of Captain +Hercules Getty's brig--the _Saratoga_. You see that rag there, young +lady, that rag flying from the gaff of the spanker, it's not much to +look at, maybe, not up to the high-toned level of the crosses and the +lions that spread themselves and ramp about on other flags, but I +guess a man's free when that flies over him. You take my word for it, +Miss--the word of Captain Hercules Getty--the Britisher will knuckle +under to that rag. He's seen the stars and stripes before now, and he +knows he's just got to slip his tail in between his hind legs and scoot, +scoot tarnation quick from the place where that rag flutters on the +breeze." + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +In the summer of 1800 the Act of Union was passed. The Irish +Constitution ceased to exist. The country lay torpid and apathetic under +the blow. Blood had been let in Antrim and Down, in Wexford and Wicklow. +The society of United Irishmen was broken. The Protestant gentry were +frightened or bribed. They, or the greater part of them, surrendered +their birthright without even Esau's hunger for excuse. Roman Catholic +ecclesiastics, deluded by the promise of emancipation, which was not +kept for many a long year afterwards, offered a dubious welcome to the +English power. The people, cowed, helpless, expectant of little any way, +waited in numb indifference for what the new order was to bring. There +was little joy and little cause for joy in Ireland then. + +From the gate of Dunseveric House, in the twilight of the short October +afternoon, came a young man who seemed to feel no sense of depression or +sadness. He strode briskly along the muddy road, swinging his stick in +his hand, whistling a merry tune. After a while, for very exuberance +of spirits, he broke into song. His voice rang clear through the damp, +misty air-- + + "Oh, my love's like a red, red rose, + That's newly sprung in June: + Oh, my love's like the melody + That's sweetly played in tune." + +A hundred yards or so further along the road walked another traveller. +He carried a knapsack on his shoulders and a stout staff in his hand. +When the song reached his ears he stopped, listened carefully, and then +waited for the singer to overtake him. It seemed as if the young man +was too glad at heart to sing through one song. He began again, and +his voice was full of passion, as if he had abandoned himself to the +inspiration of his words-- + + "Oh, wert thou in the cauld blast, + On yonder lea, on yonder lea, + My plaidie to the angry airt, + I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee." + +"Neal Ward," said the man who waited. + +The singer paused. + +"I'm Neal Ward, my friend, who ever are you? And I know your voice. I +know it. Let me see your face, man. You're Jemmy Hope. As I'm a living +man, you're Jemmy Hope. I couldn't have asked a better meeting." + +He seized Hope's hand and wrung it heartily. He held it firm. + +"There's no man in the world I'd rather have met to-night. But I might +have guessed I'd meet you. When a man's happy every wish of his heart +comes to him. It's only the poor devils who are sad that have to wait +and sigh for what they want and never get it." + +"So you are happy, Neal. I am right glad of it. It makes me happy, too, +for all that's come and gone, to listen to your singing. Give me a share +of your good news, Neal. We want good news in Ireland now-a-days. What +makes you happy?" + +"I'm to be married to-morrow, Jemmy Hope. To-morrow, to-morrow, man. +Isn't that enough to make me happy?" + +He put his arm round Hope, and led him along the road. He walked as if +there were music in his ears which made him want to dance. + +"She's the best girl in all the world," he said, "the bravest and the +truest and the sweetest-- + + 'Or were I a monarch o' the globe, + With thee to reign, with thee to reign, + The brightest jewel in my crown + Wad be my queen, wad be my queen.' + +Haven't I the right to be happy, James Hope? Tell me that." + +"You have the best gift that God has got to give to man," said Hope, +"and I that speak to you know. I have my own dear Rose. I have found +that the love of a good woman made all my trouble easy, turned sorrow of +heart into a kind of gladness, brought joy out of disappointment, made +poverty sweet to bear." + +"But I'm not poor," said Neal, "I have a home to offer her, a home not +unworthy of her. I have money to give her what she wants. I shall take +her across the sea in a fine ship that I own myself, in a cabin I have +fitted out for her, fine enough for a crowned queen, but not fine enough +for her-- + + "'Blair in Athol's mine lassie, + Fair Dunkeld is mine lassie, + St. Johnston's bower and Hunting Tower, + And a' that's mine is thine, lassie.' + +Oh, man, but I have cause for my happiness. I have the world before +me, good work to do, good money to earn, and her love like a "perpetual +sun-shine to make life fair to me." + +Then suddenly his voice changed. + +"Ah, but my happiness is not complete. There are two things I want yet. +I want my father to come out with me, and I want you, too, my friend." + +"And will your father not go? I heard that they had released him at last +from the prison in Scotland, whew they kept him since the year of the +break at Antrim. He's home again." + +"Ay, he's home, and it's little cause he has to stay here. They have +put a new minister in his place. The Synod, the conscienceless villains, +declared it vacant. Castlereagh, through his satellite Black, has +corrupted them, too. He'll preach no more in the old meeting-house, nor +sit over his bodes in the old manse. He's at the Widow Maclure's now, +the woman whose husband was hanged. He'll not want his bit while I've +money in my pocket. But I'd like to bring him with me, to give him a +better home." + +"And will he not go?" + +"He will not. He says he's too old to go to a new land now; but you'll +help me to persuade him. I think, maybe, if you'd come with me that he'd +come, too. And you will come, won't you?" + +Hope shook his head. + +"Don't shake your head at me that way, James Hope. You don't know what +you're refusing. I can give you work to do out there, and money to earn, +and a fine house to live in. It's a good land, so it is; it's a land of +liberty. We've done with the tyrannies of this worn-out old world. A man +may speak his mind out there, and think his own thoughts and go his own +way. We doff our hats and make our bows to no man living, only to him +who shows himself by fine deeds to be our better. It's the land for you +and the land for me, and the land for every man that loves freedom. Will +you not come?" + +They reached the door of the Maclures' house and entered. A bright fine +burned on the hearth. The Widow Maclure was busy spreading a white cloth +on the table. Her eldest girl, a child of twelve years old, stood near +at hand with a pile of wooden porridge bowls in her arms. The two other +children, holding by their mother's skirts, followed, smiled on and +chidden as they impeded her work, and babbled questions about this or +that. Beside the fire, in the chair that had once belonged to the master +of the house, sat Micah Ward. He looked very old now and infirm. The +months in a prison hulk in Belfast Lough and the long weariness of his +confinement in bleak Fort George had set their mark upon him. On his +knees lay a Greek lexicon, but he was pursuing no word through its +pages. It was open at the fly-leaf inside the cover. He was reading +lovingly for the hundredth time an inscription written there-- + +"This book was given to Rev. Micah Ward by his fellow-prisoners in +Fort George, in witness of their gratitude to him for his ministrations +during their captivity, and as a token of their admiration for his +fortitude, his patience, and his unfailing charity." + +There followed a list of twenty names. Four of them belonged to men of +the Roman Catholic faith, six of them were the names of Presbyterians, +ten were of those who accepted the teaching of that other Church which, +trammelled for centuries by connection with the State, hampered with +riches secured to her by the bayonets of a foreign power, dragged down +very often by officials placed over her by Englishmen, has yet in spite +of all won glory. Out of her womb have come the men whose names shine +brightest on the melancholy roll of the Irish patriots of the last two +centuries. She has not cared to boast of them. She has hidden their +names from her children as if they were a shame to her, but they are +hers. + +Thus far off in a desolate Scottish fortress, after the total failure +of every plan, in the hour of Ireland's most hopeless degradation, the +great dream which had fired the imagination of Tone and Neilson and +the others, the dream of all Irishmen uniting in a common love of their +country, a love which should transcend the differences of rival creeds, +found a realisation. The witness, written in crabbed characters on +the fly-leaf of a lexicon, lay on the knees of a broken old man in the +cottage of a widow within earshot of the perpetual clamour of the bleak +northern sea. + +"Well, father," said Neal, "here I am back again. And here's Jemmy +Hope, whom I picked up on the road. He's come to see you. He's going to +persuade you to cross the sea with me. You and I and he together, and +Hannah Macaulay, who's coming, too. Una will make you all welcome on her +sturdy ship. It's her ship now. All that I have is her's." + +Micah Ward looked at his son with a gentle, sad smile on his face. Then +he turned to welcome his visitor. + +"So you have come to see me, James Hope. It was good of you. Ah, man, +there's not so many of us left now. Orr, they hanged him; M'Cracken, +they hanged him; Monro, they hanged him; Porter, they hanged him. And +many another, many another. And the rest are gone across the sea. You +and I are left, with one here and there besides--a very small remnant, +a cottage in a vineyard, a lodge in a garden of cucumbers, a besieged +city." + +"It's hard to tell," said Hope, "why they did not hang me, too. There +were times when, only for my wife, who would have grieved after me, I +could have found it in my heart to wish they would." + +"Father," said Neal, "Hope is coming to America with me." + +"Nay, lad, nay. I was born in Ireland, I've lived my life in Ireland, +I'll die in Ireland when my time comes. Maybe before the end I'll find a +chance to strike another blow for her." + +"Doubtless," said Micah Ward, "such a blow will be stricken, but not in +our time, James Hope. The fighting spirit is gone from us. The men are +laid low or scattered or broken. The people speak about the 'break.' +They call it well. 'Shall iron break the northern iron and the steel?' +Yea, but iron hath broken us. It hath entered into our souls. And if one +look unto the land, behold darkness and sorrow and the light is darkened +in the heavens thereof." + +"But there is another land," said Neal, "where the sun shines, where +neither palaces of kings, nor haughty churches, nor the banners and +cannon smoke of England's soldiers, nor yet the gallows, casting shadows +over the green fields, and overtopping every village, can come between +the people and the good light which the Lord God made for them. That's +the land for you and me." + +"For you, Neal," said Micah Ward, "and for the girl you love. But there +is no other land except only this lost land for me and him." + +He took Hope's hand and held it. Then, with his other hand, he drew his +son down beside him. Neal knelt on the earthen floor of the cottage. He +felt hands laid upon his head--his father's hands and James Hope's. The +benediction came from both of them, though it was Micah Ward's voice +which spoke the words-- + + "The Lord hear thee in the day of trouble, Neal; + The name of the God of Jacob defend thee; + Send thee help from the sanctuary, + And strengthen thee out of Zion; + Remember all thy offerings, + And accept thy burnt sacrifice; + Grant thee according to thine own heart, + And fulfil all thy counsel." + + +THE END + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Northern Iron, by George A. 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Birmingham + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Northern Iron, by George A. Birmingham + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Northern Iron + 1907 + +Author: George A. Birmingham + +Release Date: January 23, 2008 [EBook #24140] +Last Updated: October 4, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE NORTHERN IRON *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE NORTHERN IRON + </h1> + <h2> + By George A. Birmingham + </h2> + <h4> + Dublin: Maunsel & Co., Limited + </h4> + <h3> + 1907 + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h3> + TO FRANCIS JOSEPH BIGGER, <br /> <br /> ARDRIGH, BELFAST. + </h3> + <p> + <i>My Dear Bigger,</i> + </p> + <p> + <i>This story, as you have already guessed, is the fruit of a recent + holiday spent in County Antrim. The writing of it has been a great + pleasure, for almost every place mentioned in it recalls the goodness of + the friends who received me and made my holiday a happy one. I think of + kind people when I write of Dunseveric and Ballintoy—of hours spent + in their company among the Runkerry cliffs, the sandhills, the Skerries, + and of the morning on which I swam, like Neal and Una, into the Rock + Pigeons’ Cave, I remember a time—full of interest and delight—spent + with you when I mention Donegore, Antrim, and Temple-Patrick. My mind + dwells on an older, a very dear friend and relative, when I tell of Neal’s + visit to Belfast. And the book is more than the recollection of a summer + holiday. I go back in it to my own country—to places familiar to me + in boyhood as the mountains and bays of Mayo are now; to days very long + ago, when I caught cuddings and lithe off the Black Rock or Rackle Roy and + learned to swim in the Blue Pool at Port Ballintrae. Yet I know that I + could not, for all that I remembered of my boyhood or learned during my + holiday, have written this story without your help. You told me what I + wanted to know, you corrected, patiently, my manuscript, and you have + helped me to enter into the spirit of the time. For all this I owe you + many thanks, and if I have succeeded in writing a story which interests my + readers they, too, will owe you thanks.</i> + </p> + <p> + <i>I have tried to be faithful to the facts of history and to represent + the thoughts and feelings of the men who took part in the</i> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Out, unhappy far off things + And battles long ago,” + </pre> + <p> + <i>of which I chose to write. Most of my characters are purely imaginary. + Of the men who really lived and acted in 1798 only one—James Hope—appears + prominently in my story. In his case I have taken pains to understand what + manner of man he was before I wrote of him, and I believe that, feeble + though my presentation of his character may be, you will not find it + actually untruthful.</i> + </p> + <p> + <i>I am your friend,</i> + </p> + <p> + <i>GEORGE A. BIRMINGHAM.</i> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>THE NORTHERN IRON</b> </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + THE NORTHERN IRON + </h1> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I + </h2> + <p> + The road which connects Portrush with Ballycastle skirts, so far as any + road can and dare, the sea coast. Sometimes it is driven inland a mile or + so by the impossibility of crossing tracts of sandhills. The mounds and + hollows of these dunes are for ever shifting and changing. The loose sand + is blown into new fantastic heights and valleys by the winter gales. No + road could be built on such insecure foundation. Elsewhere the road + shrinks back among the shelterless fields for fear of mighty cliffs by + which this northern Antrim coast is defended from the Atlantic. No + engineer in the eighteenth century, when the road was made, dared lay his + metal close to the Causeway cliffs or the awful precipice of Pleaskin + Head. Still, now and then, in places where there are no sandhills and the + cliffs are not appalling, the road ventures, for a mile or two, to run + within a few hundred yards of the sea, before it is swept, like a cord + bent by the wind, further inland. Thus, after passing the ruins of + Dunseveric Castle, the traveller sees close beneath him the white + limestone rocks and broad yellow stretch of Ballintoy Strand. Here, when + northerly gales are blowing, he may, if he is not swept off his feet, + cling desperately to his garments and watch the great waves curl their + feathered crests as they rush shorewards. He may listen, awestruck, to the + ocean’s roar of amazement when it batters in vain the hard north coast, + the rocks and sand which defy even the strength of the Atlantic. + </p> + <p> + A quarter of a mile back from this piece of road there stood, in 1798, the + meeting-house of the Presbyterians and their minister’s manse. The house + stands on the site of a bare, shelterless hill. It is three storeys high—a + narrow, gaunt building, grey walled, black-slated. Its only entrance is at + the back, and on the shoreward side. This house has disdained the shelter + which might have been found further inland or among its fellow-houses in + the street of Ballintoy. It faces due north, preferring an outlook upon + the sea to the warmth and light of a southern aspect. It is bare of all + architectural ornament. Its windows are few and small. The rooms within + are gloomy, even in early summer. Its architect seems to have feared this + gloominess, for he planned great bay windows for three rooms, one above + the other. He built the bay. It juts out for the whole height of the + house, breaking the flatness of the northern wall. But his heart failed + him in the end. He dared not put such a window in the house. He walled up + the whole flat front of the bay. Only in its sides did he place windows. + Through these there is a side view of the sea and a side view of the main + wall of the house. They are comparatively safe. The full force of the + tempest does not strike them fair. + </p> + <p> + In one of the gloomy rooms on a bright morning in the middle of May sat + the Reverend Micah Ward, the minister. The sun shone outside on the yellow + sand, the green water, and the white rocks; but neither sun nor sea had + tempted Micah Ward from his books. Great leather-covered folios lay at his + elbow on the table. Before him were an open Hebrew Bible, a Septuagint + with queer, contracted lettering, and an old yellow-leaved Vulgate. The + subject of his studies was the Book of Amos, who was the ruggedest, the + fiercest, and the most democratic of the Hebrew prophets. Micah Ward’s + face was clean-shaved and marked with heavy lines. Thick, bushy brows hung + over eyes which were keen and bright in spite of all his studying. Looking + at his face, a man might judge him to be hard, narrow, strong—perhaps + fanatical. Near the window:—one of the slanting windows through + which it is tantalising to look—sat a young man, tall beyond the + common, well knit, strong—Neal Ward, the minister’s son. He had + grown hardy in the keen sea air and firm of will under his father’s rigid + discipline. He had never known a mother’s care, for Margaret Ward, a + bright-faced woman, ill-mated, so they said, with the minister, never + recovered strength after her son’s birth. She lingered for a year, and + then died. They laid her body in Templeastra Graveyard, near the sea. Over + her grave her husband set a stone with an austerely-worded inscription to + keep her name in memory:—“The burying-ground of Micah Ward. Margaret + Neal, his wife, 1778.” Such inscriptions are to be found in scores in the + graveyards of Antrim. The hard, brave men who chose to mark thus the + resting-places of their dead disdained parade of their affliction and + their heart-break, and held their creed so firmly that they felt no need + of any text to remind them of the resurrection of the dead. + </p> + <p> + Neal Ward, like his father, had books and papers before him, but his + attention was not fixed on them. Now and then, with spasmodic energy, he + copied a passage from the page before him. Then, with a sigh, he laid his + pen down and gazed out of the window. His father took no notice of the + young man’s want of application. No words passed between the two. Then + suddenly the silence was broken by a cry from the field below the house— + </p> + <p> + “Hello! Neal! Neal Ward! Hello! Are you there?” + </p> + <p> + The young man started to his feet and made a step to the window. Then + turning, he looked at his father. The frown on Micah Ward’s brow deepened + slightly. Otherwise he made no sign of having heard the cry. He went on + writing in his careful, deliberate manner. The voice from outside reached + the room again. + </p> + <p> + “Neal! Neal Ward! Come out. What right has a man to shut himself indoors + on a day like this?” + </p> + <p> + Neal stood irresolute, looking at his father. At last he spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Can I go out, father? I have almost finished the transcription of the + passage which you set me.” + </p> + <p> + Micah Ward laid down his pen, sprinkled sand on his paper, and looked up. + He gazed steadily at his son. The young man’s eyes dropped. He repeated + his question in a voice that was nearly trembling. + </p> + <p> + “Can I go out, father?” + </p> + <p> + “Who is it calls you, Neal?” + </p> + <p> + “It is Maurice St. Clair.” + </p> + <p> + “Maurice St. Clair,” repeated Micah Ward. Then, with a note of deep scorn + in his voice, “The Hon. Maurice St. Clair, the son of Lord Dun-severic. + Are you to do his bidding, to run like a dog when he calls you?” + </p> + <p> + “He is my friend, father.” + </p> + <p> + “Is he a fit friend for you? Have I not told you that his people and our + people are enemies the one to the other? That the oppression wherewith + they oppress us—but there. Go, since you want to go. You do not + understand as yet. Some day you will understand.” + </p> + <p> + Neal left the room without haste, closing the door quietly. Once free of + his father’s presence he seized a cap and ran from the house. Half-way + between him and the high road, knee deep in meadow grass, stood Maurice + St. Clair. + </p> + <p> + “Come along, come along quick,” he shouted. “I had nearly given up hope of + getting you out. We’re off for a day’s fishing to Rackle Roy. We’ll bag a + pigeon or two at the mouth of the cave before we land. Brown-Eyes is down + on the road waiting for us with rods and guns. We’ve all day before us. My + lord is off to Ballymoney, and can’t be back till supper-time.” + </p> + <p> + “What takes Lord Dunseveric to Ballymoney to-day?” asked Neal. “There’s no + magistrates’ meeting, is there?” + </p> + <p> + “No. He’s gone to meet our aunt, Madame de Tourneville. She’s been coming + these five years, ever since she ran away from Paris at the time of the + Terror; but it’s only now she has succeeded in arriving.” + </p> + <p> + Together the two young men crossed the field and vaulted the wall which + separated the manse land from the road. The girl whom her brother called + Brown-Eyes waited for them. The name suited her well, and came naturally + from Maurice. He was tall and fair, yellow-haired, blue-eyed, large + limbed, a fine type of Antrim Irishman, the heir of the form and face of + generations of St. Clairs of Dunseveric. The girl, Una St. Clair, belonged + to a different race—came of her mother’s people. She was small, + brown-skinned, brown-eyed, dark-haired. She grew as the years went on more + and more like what her mother had been. Lord Dunseveric, watching his + daughter pass from childhood to womanhood, saw in her the very image of + Marie Dillon, the French-Irish girl who had won his heart a quarter of a + century before in Paris. + </p> + <p> + “Take the guns, Neal. Here, Brown-Eyes, give me the rods and the basket. + There’s no need for you to break your little back carrying them.” + </p> + <p> + “Why should I when I’ve two big men to carry them for me? Indeed, I’m not + sure but one of you ought to carry me, too. You’re big enough and strong + enough.” + </p> + <p> + She smiled gaily at Neal as he shouldered the guns. They had built sand + castles together when they were little children, and tempted the waves to + chase them up the sand, flying barefoot from the pursuing lip of foam. + They had climbed and fallen, explored rocky bays, penetrated to the depths + of caves as they grew older. Always Una St. Clair had queened it over the + boys, teased them, petted them, scolded them. Now, grown to womanhood, she + discovered new powers in herself which made Neal at least more than ever + her slave. + </p> + <p> + They reached the little bay where the boat lay pulled up among the rocks. + Maurice and Neal lifted her stern on to a roller and dragged her towards + the sea. Una, running before them, laid other rollers on the pathway of + slippery rock till the boat floated. Then she climbed the gunwale and + settled herself on the stern seat among the rods and guns. The two young + men shoved off into deep water, springing into the boat with dripping feet + as she slid out clear of the shore. They placed the heavy oars between the + wooden thole pins and steadied the boat while Una shipped the rudder. The + wind was off shore and the sea, save for the long heave of the Atlantic, + was still. The brown sail was hoisted and stretched with the sprit. Then, + sailing and rowing, they swept past Carrighdubh, the Black Rock, which + guarded the entrance of the little bay, and passed into the shadow of the + mighty cliffs. + </p> + <p> + A silence fell on them. The laughter and gay talk ceased. The sense of + holiday joyfulness was overwhelmed by a vague awe of the ocean’s + greatness, the oppression of its strength, and the black towering rocks + which hung over the boat, casting a gloom across the sea. The feeling of + this solemnity abides through life with the men and women who have been + bred as children on this north Antrim coast. If they live their lives out + among its rugged harbours and stern ways they become, as the fishermen + are, people of slow thoughts, long memories, and simple outlook upon life. + The fear of the Lord is over their lives. If they wander elsewhere, making + homes for themselves among the southern or western Irish, or, further + still, to England or America, they may learn to be in appearance as other + men are—may lose the harsh northern intonation from their talk, but + down in the bottom of their hearts will be an awful affection for their + sea, which is like no other sea, and the dark overwhelming cliffs whose + shadow never wholly leaves their souls. In times of stress and hours of + bitterness they will fall back upon the stark, rigid strength of those + who, seeing the mightiest of His works, have learned to fear the Lord. + </p> + <p> + The boat lay off the entrance of the Pigeon Cave. The sportsman’s sense + awoke in Maurice. He gave a brief order to Neal, laid his oar across the + boat, stood up and took in the sprit, letting the sail hang in loose + folds. He unstepped the mast and sat down again. + </p> + <p> + “You may unship the rudder, Brown-Eyes, You had better leave the boat to + Neal and me to bring up to the cave. Pass the gun forward to me and the + powder horn.” + </p> + <p> + He loaded, ramming the charge down and pressing down the wad. Neal and the + girl sat silent. The solemn enchantment of the scene was on them still. + Then the two men took the oars again. Very cautiously they rowed along the + narrow channel which led to the opening of the cave. The rocks lay low at + first on each side of them; brown tangles of weed swayed slowly to and fro + with the onward sweep and eddy of the ocean swell. Then, as the boat + advanced, the rocks rose higher on each side, sheer shining walls, whose + reflection made the clear water almost black. The huge arch of the cave’s + entrance faced them. Behind was the dark channel, and beyond it the + sunlight on the sea, before them the impenetrable gloom of the cave. The + noise of the water dropping from its roof into the sea beneath struck + their ears sharply. The hollow roar of the sea far off in the utmost + recesses of the cave came to them. The girl leaned forward from her seat + and laid her hand on Neal’s arm. He looked at her. Her eyes, the homes of + laughter and quick inconsequences, were wide with dread. Neal knew what + she felt. It was not fear of any definite danger or any evil actually + threatening. + </p> + <p> + It was awe, the feeling of mariners of other days who penetrated to + unknown seas, of men in primitive times who knew that fairy powers dwelt + in dark lakes and precipitous mountain sides. + </p> + <p> + The bow of the boat touched the huge boulders which formed a bar across + the mouth of the cave. Maurice leaped out, gun in hand, and stood knee + deep in the water, feeling with his feet for a secure resting-place. + </p> + <p> + “Keep the boat off, Neal, and take your shot if you get a chance.” + </p> + <p> + He shouted—“Hello-lo-oh.” + </p> + <p> + The rocky sides and roof of the cave echoed back his cry a hundred times. + Again he shouted, and again, until shouts and echoes meeting clashed with + each other, and it seemed as if the tremendous laughter of gleeful giants + mocked the solemn booming of the sea. There was a rush of many wings, and + a flock of terrified rock pigeons flew from the cave. Maurice fired one + barrel after another in quick succession, and two birds dropped dead into + the water. Neal, shaking the girl’s hand from his arm, fired, too. From + his seat in the swaying boat it was difficult to aim well. He missed once, + but killed with his second shot. The boat was borne forward and bumped + sharply on the boulders at the cave’s mouth. The laughter of the echo died + away. Instead of it came, like angry threats, the repetition of their four + shots, multiplied to a fusilade of loud explosions. + </p> + <p> + “Come back, Maurice,” cried Una. “Come back and let us get out of this. + I’m frightened. I cannot bear it any longer.” + </p> + <p> + “You shall have all the four wings of my birds to trim your hats with, + Brown-Eyes,” said Maurice, as he clambered dripping into the boat. “Neal + will stuff his bird for you and perch him on a stone. You shall have him + to set on the top of your new bureau, the one Aunt Estelle sent you when + she escaped from Paris without having her head chopped off.” + </p> + <p> + They pushed the boat cautiously back along the channel, travelling stern + first, for there was little room to turn, and even in calm weather men do + not willingly lay a boat across the sea in such a place. + </p> + <p> + “Now for Rackle Roy and a basketful of glashins and lithe,” said Maurice. + </p> + <p> + East a little and out seawards from the mouth of the cave lies a long, + flat rock, dry at low water, and even at flood tide in calm weather, swept + with desolating surf when the Atlantic swell rolls in or the wind lashes + the nearer sea to fury. Right out of the centre of the rock the waves have + fashioned a deep bay, curved like a horse-shoe. This is a famous + fishing-place. As the tide rises, lithe and glashin, brazers, gurnet, rock + codling, and crowds of cuddings come here to feed, and the fisherman, on + those rare days, when he can land at all, may count on bringing home with + him great bunches of fish strung through the gills. + </p> + <p> + The rock lay far enough from the cliff to be clear of the shadow. The sun + shone on its brown weed-clad sides, glistened on black clusters of + mussels, glowed on the red seams of the rock where the iron cropped out, + and baked the black basalt of the upper surface. The spirits of the party + revived when they landed. Una’s gaiety returned to her. + </p> + <p> + “Have you forgotten the bait, Maurice? I’m sure you have. It would be like + you to come for a day’s fishing without bait.” + </p> + <p> + “No, then, I haven’t. There are three large crabs in the boat, and even if + there wasn’t one at all we could do nicely with limpets. There’s worse + bait than a good limpet.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, and if you have the crabs I expect you’ve forgotten the sheep’s + wool. What do you think, Neal? Yesterday we were fishing cuddings off the + Black Rock and Maurice ran out of wool. The fish simply sucked the bait + off our hooks and laughed at us. What did Maurice do but take my hairs. He + pulled them out one by one as he wanted them, and wrapped the bait on with + them.” + </p> + <p> + “Your wool, Brown-Eyes, doesn’t come up to that of the sheep. It’s not + soft enough. But I shan’t want it to-day. I’ve got my pockets half full of + the proper sort.” + </p> + <p> + Neal laughed, but he felt that to use Una’s hair as a wrap for the red + pulp of a crab’s back or the soft, black belly of a limpet was a kind of + profanation. He was a keen fisherman, but he would rather have missed the + chance of catching the largest lithe that ever swam than lure it with a + bait fastened with Una’s glossy hair. + </p> + <p> + They fished till noon, and the tide rose slowly round their rock. Then + Una’s luncheon basket was fetched from the boat, the mooring rope was made + secure above high water mark, and the three sat down on the sun-baked rock + and ate with keen appetites. Maurice stared seawards. + </p> + <p> + “That brig,” he said, “is lying very close inshore. Look at her, Neal.” + </p> + <p> + “I saw her pass the point of the Skerries an hour ago.” said Neal. “She + must have hauled her wind since then to fetch in so close with the tide + running against her.” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder why she’s doing it,” said Maurice. “She’ll have to run off again + to clear Benmore.” + </p> + <p> + “She looks a big ship,” said Una. + </p> + <p> + “Maybe she’s 250 tons,” said Neal. “She’s about the size of the brig that + sailed from Portrush for Boston last summer year with two hundred + emigrants in her.” + </p> + <p> + “She’s fetching closer in yet,” said Maurice. “See, she’s hoisted some + flag or other, two flags, no, three, from the peak of her spanker. It’s a + signal. I wonder what they want. Now they’ve laid her to. She must want a + boat out from the shore. Come on, Neal, come on, Brown-Eyes. We’ll go out + to her. We’ll be first. There’s no other boat nearer than those at the + Port, and we’ve got a long start of them. Never mind the fish. Or wait. + Fling them in. I dare say the men on the brig will be glad of them. She + must be an American.” + </p> + <p> + In a few minutes the boat was pulled clear of the little bay and out of + the shelter of Rackle Roy. The mast was stepped and the sail set. The + sheet was slacked out and the boat sped seawards before the wind. Maurice + was all impatience. He got out his oar. + </p> + <p> + “It’s no use,” said Neal, “the breeze has freshened since morning. She’ll + sail quicker than we could row.” + </p> + <p> + The brig lay little more than a mile from the shore. The boat soon reached + her. + </p> + <p> + “Boat, ahoy,” yelled a voice from the deck. “Lower your sail, and come up + under my lee.” + </p> + <p> + Maurice and Neal obeyed. The sea was rougher than it had been near the + shore. The boat, when Maurice had made fast the rope flung to him, plunged + up and down beside the brig, and needed careful handling to prevent her + being damaged. + </p> + <p> + The crew looked over the side with eager curiosity. + </p> + <p> + “Say, boys,” said the captain, “what will you take for your fish? I’ll + trade with you.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t want to sell them,” said Maurice. “I’ll give them to you.” + </p> + <p> + His voice and accent, his refusal to barter, betrayed the fact that he was + a gentleman. + </p> + <p> + “I guess,” said the captain, “that you’re an aristocrat, a British + aristocrat, too proud to take the money of the men who whipped you in the + States. That’s so.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m an Irish gentleman,” said Maurice. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Mr. Irish Gentleman, if you’re too darned aristocratic to trade, + I’ll give you a present of a case of good Virginia, and you may give me a + present of your fish. I’d call it a swap, but if that turns your stomach + I’ll let you call it a mutual present, an expression of international + goodwill.” + </p> + <p> + “Fling him up the fish, Neal,” said Maurice. + </p> + <p> + Then another man appeared beside the captain on the quarter-deck. He was + not a seafaring man. He was lean and yellow, and had keen grey eyes. His + face seemed in some way familiar to Neal, though he could not recollect + having ever seen the man before. + </p> + <p> + “Yon are the Causeway cliffs,” he said, “and yon’s Pleaskin Head, and the + islands we passed are the Skerries?” + </p> + <p> + “You know this coast,” said Neal. + </p> + <p> + “I knew this coast, young man, before your mother had the dandling of you. + I know it now, though it’s five and twenty years since I set foot on it. + But that’s not the question. What I want to know is this. Can you put me + ashore? I could do well if you land me at the Causeway. I’d make shift + with my bag if you put me out at Port Ballin-trae. I don’t want to be + going on to Glasgow just for the pleasure of coming back again.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll land you at the Black Rock under Run-kerry,” said Maurice, “if you + can pull an oar. The wind’s rising, and I’ve no mind to carry idle + passengers.” + </p> + <p> + “I can pull an oar,” said the stranger. + </p> + <p> + “I guess he can pull enough to break your back, young man,” said the + captain. “He’s an American citizen, and he’s been engaged in whipping your + British army. I guess an American citizen can lick a darned aristocrat at + pulling an oar same as he did at shooting off guns.” + </p> + <p> + “Shut your damned mouth,” said Maurice, suddenly angry, “or I’ll leave you + to land your passenger yourself and see how you like beating the bottom + out of your brig against our rocks. You’ll find an Irish rock harder than + your Yankee wood.” + </p> + <p> + The passenger fetched a small hand-bag and lowered it into the boat. Under + a shower of jibes from the captain, Maurice and Neal pushed off and + started for the row home against the wind. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II + </h2> + <p> + The passenger took his seat in the bow of the boat and stripped off his + coat in readiness to pull an oar. But no oar was offered to him. Maurice + St. Clair seemed to have entirely forgotten the stranger’s presence. The + remarks of the American captain had angered him, and his mind worked on + the insults hurled at him in parting. Neal was angry, too. They pulled + viciously at the oars. From time to time Maurice broke out fiercely— + </p> + <p> + “An unmannerly brute! I wish I had him somewhere off the deck of his brig. + I’d teach him how to speak to a gentleman. + </p> + <p> + “Is that his filthy tobacco at your feet, Brown-Eyes? Pitch it overboard. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose he’s a specimen of the Republican breed. That’s what comes of + liberty and equality and French Jacobinism and Tom Paine and the Rights of + Man. Damned insolence I call it.” + </p> + <p> + “I’d like to remind you, young man———.” The words came + with a quiet drawl from the passenger in the bow. + </p> + <p> + Maurice stopped rowing, and turned round. + </p> + <p> + “Well, what do you want to say? More insolence? Better be careful unless + you want to try what it feels like to swim ashore.” + </p> + <p> + “I’d like to remind you, young man, that Captain Hercules Getty, of the + State of Pennsylvania, who commands the brig ‘Saratoga,’ belongs to a + nation which has fought for liberty and won it.” + </p> + <p> + “What’s that got to do with his insolence?” + </p> + <p> + “I reckon that an Irishman who hasn’t fought and hasn’t won ought to sing + small when he’s dealing with a citizen of the United States of America.” + </p> + <p> + Neal turned in his seat. The stranger’s reproach struck him as being + unjust as well as being in bad taste. Maurice St. Clair was the son of a + man who had done something for Ireland. + </p> + <p> + “You don’t know who you’re talking to,” he said, “or what you’re talking + about. Lord Dunseveric, the father of the man in front of you, commanded + the North Antrim Volunteers, and did his part in winning the independence + of our Parliament.” + </p> + <p> + The stranger looked steadily at Neal for sometime. Then he said— + </p> + <p> + “Is your name Neal Ward?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. How do you know me?” + </p> + <p> + “You’re the son of Micah Ward, the Presbyterian minister?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I just guessed as much when I took a good look at your face. Will + you ask your father when you go home whether the Volunteers won liberty + for Irishmen, and what he thinks of the independence of an Irish + Parliament filled with placemen and the nominees of a corrupt + aristocracy?” + </p> + <p> + “Who are you?” asked Neal. + </p> + <p> + “My name’s Donald Ward. I’m your father’s youngest brother. I’m on my way + to your father’s house now, or I would be if you two young men would take + to your oars again. If you don’t I guess the first land we’ll touch will + be Greenland. We’d fetch Runkerry quicker if you’d pass forward the two + thole pins I see at your feet and let me get an oar out in the bow. The + young lady in the stern can keep us straight with the helm.” + </p> + <p> + “Give him the thole pins, Neal,” said Maurice, “and then pull away.” + </p> + <p> + “Just let me speak a word with you, Mr. St. Clair,” said Donald Ward, as + he hammered the thole pins into their holes. “You’re angry with Captain + Hercules Getty, and I don’t altogether blame you. The captain’s too fond + of brag, and that’s a fact. He can’t hold himself in when he meets a + Britisher. He’s so almighty proud of the whipping his people gave the + scum. But there’s no need for you to be angry with me. I’m an Irishman + myself, and not a Yankee. I fought in North Carolina, under General + Nathaniel Greene, but I fought with Irishmen beside me, men from County + Antrim and County Down, and they weren’t the worst men in the army either. + When I fight again it’ll be in Ireland, and not in America. If I riled you + I’m sorry for it, for you’re an Irishman as well as myself.” + </p> + <p> + Maurice’s anger was shortlived. + </p> + <p> + “That’s all right,” he said. “Here, I say, you needn’t pull that oar. Neal + and I will put you ashore. We’ll show that much hospitality to a County + Antrim man from over the sea.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said Donald Ward. “Thank you. You mean well, and I take your + words in the spirit you speak them; but when I sit in a boat I like to + pull my own weight in her.” + </p> + <p> + He shoved out his oar as he spoke, and fell into time with the long, + steady stroke which Neal set. + </p> + <p> + Una leaned forward and spoke in a low voice to Neal, timing her words so + that they reached him as he bent forward at the beginning of each stroke. + </p> + <p> + “Is’nt it curious, Neal, that Maurice and I are going back to welcome an + aunt whom we have never seen, and that you are taking an unknown uncle + home with you?” + </p> + <p> + Then, after a pause, she spoke again. + </p> + <p> + “It’s like a kind of fate, Neal, one of the things which happen to people, + and alter all their lives, and they can’t do anything to help themselves. + I wonder will we ever have good times together again, now that this aunt + of mine and this uncle of yours have come?” + </p> + <p> + “Why shouldn’t we?” said Neal. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don’t know. But your uncle seems to be one of the people who make a + great clatter about liberty and equality and the rights of man. And you + know Aunt Estelle belonged to the old aristocracy in France. They wanted + to guillotine her in the Terror. I don’t think she will love Republicans.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose not,” said Neal, gravely. + </p> + <p> + “But that won’t prevent our being friends, Neal?” + </p> + <p> + “Una, my father is always talking about the struggle that’s coming in + Ireland. I don’t know much about politics. I think I hate the whole thing. + But if there is trouble I suppose that I shall be on one side and you on + the other.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t look so sad, Neal.” + </p> + <p> + Then, as his spirits grew depressed, her’s seemed to rise buoyantly. She + raised her voice so that she could be heard in the bow of the boat. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Donald Ward! Mr. Donald Ward! Your nephew, Neal, is telling me that + when we have a reign of terror in Ireland you will make him cut off my + head. Please promise me you won’t.” + </p> + <p> + Donald rested on his oar and gazed at the girl as she sat smiling at him + in the stern of the boat. + </p> + <p> + “Young lady,” he said, “don’t trouble yourself. We didn’t hurt woman or + girl in America. No woman shall die a violent death in Ireland at the + hands of the people.” + </p> + <p> + “And no man, either?” cried Una. “Say it again, Mr. Donald Ward. Say ‘And + no man, either.’ Can’t we settle everything without killing men?” + </p> + <p> + “Men are different,” said Donald. “It’s right for men to die fighting, or + die on the scaffold if need be.” + </p> + <p> + A silence followed Donald Ward’s words. In 1798 talk of death in battle or + death on a scaffold moved even the youngest and most careless to serious + thought. The world was full then of the kind of ideas for which men are + well content to die, for the sake of which also they did not hesitate to + shed blood. The Americans had set mankind a headline to copy in their + Declaration of Independence. The French wrote Liberty with huge red + flourishes which set the heart of Europe beating high. Italians were + proclaiming a foreign army the liberators of their country, while Jacobins + growled fiercely against the Pope. Kosciusko, in Poland, organised a + futile revolution, and fell in the cause of national freedom. Even + phlegmatic Englishmen caught the spirit of the times, hated intensely or + worshipped enthusiastically that liberty which some saw as an imperial + goddess for the sake of whose bare limbs and pale, noble face death might + be gladly met; while others beheld in her a blood-spattered strumpet + whirling in abandoned dance round gallows-altars which reeked with human + sacrifice. + </p> + <p> + Ireland in those days was intellectually and spiritually alive. Men were + quick to feel the influence of world-wide ideas, and in Ireland the love + of liberty glowed brightly; nowhere more brightly than among the farmers + and lower middle classes of the north-eastern counties. The position was a + strange one. The landed gentry, who themselves, a few years before, + claimed and won from England the independence of their Parliament, grew + frightened and drew back from the path of reform on which alone lay + security for what they had got. The wealthier merchants and manufacturers, + satisfied with the trade freedom which brought them prosperity, were + averse to further change. The Presbyterians and the lower classes + generally were eager to press forward. They had conceived the idea of a + real Irish nation, of Gael and Gall united, of Churchman, Roman Catholic + and Dissenter working together for their country’s good under a free + constitution. But it soon became apparent that the reforms they demanded + would not be won by peaceful means. The natural terror of the classes + whose ascendancy or prosperity seemed to be threatened, the bribes and + cajoleries of British statesmen, turned the hearts of those who ought to + have been leaders from Ireland to England. The relentless logic, the + clear-sighted grasp of the inevitable trend of events, and the restless + energy of men like Wolfe Tone, changed a party of constitutional reformers + into a society of determined revolutionaries. Threats of repression were + answered by the formation of secret societies. Acts of tyranny, condoned + or approved by terror-stricken magistrates, were silently endured by men + filled with a grim hope that the day of reckoning was near at hand. + Far-seeing English statesmen hoped to fish out of the troubled waters an + act of national surrender from the Irish Parliament, and were not + ill-pleased to see the sky grow darker. Everyone else, every Irishman, + looked with dread at the gathering storm. One thing only was clear to + them. There was coming a period of horror, of outrage and burning, of + fighting and hanging, the sowing of an evil crop of fratricidal hatred + whose gathering would last for many years. + </p> + <p> + The boat reached the little bay under the Black Rock. There was no need to + drag her far up the beach now, for the tide was full. Working in silence, + the three men laid her beside the broad-bottomed cobble used for working + the salmon-net, and pushed her bow up against the coarse grass which + fringed the edge of the rocks. They carried the oars and sails into a + fisherman’s shelter perched on a rock beside the bay. Then Donald Ward + turned to Maurice and said— + </p> + <p> + “I am going to my brother’s house. I shall walk by the path along the + cliffs, and my nephew will go with me. Your way home, unless I have + entirely forgotten the roads, is not our way. We part here, therefore. I + bid you good night, and thank you heartily.” + </p> + <p> + “We had intended,” said Maurice, “to walk home with Neal. We have time + enough.” + </p> + <p> + His sister, quicker than he to take a hint, pulled him by the arm, and + whispered to him. Then she spoke aloud. + </p> + <p> + “Good night, Mr. Donald Ward. Good night, Neal. Perhaps we shall see you + to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + The uncle and nephew climbed the hill which led to the top of the cliffs + together. For a time neither of them spoke. The elder man seemed to be + absorbed in picking out the landmarks which had once been very familiar to + him. At last he spoke to Neal. + </p> + <p> + “Does your father wish you to have Lord Dun-severic’s son and daughter for + your friends?” + </p> + <p> + Neal hesitated for a moment, and then answered. + </p> + <p> + “He knows that they are my friends.” + </p> + <p> + “It would be better if they were not your friends. I have heard of Lord + Dunseveric, a strong man and an able man, a good friend of his own class, + not a good friend of the people.” + </p> + <p> + He paused. Neal wished to speak, to say some good of Lord Dunseveric; to + declare the strength of his friendship for Maurice. He could not speak as + he wished to speak. An unfamiliar feeling of oppression tied his tongue. + His uncle’s will dominated his. + </p> + <p> + “What is the girl’s name?” asked Donald. + </p> + <p> + “Una.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and what did her brother call her?” + </p> + <p> + “Brown-Eyes.” Neal felt as if the words were dragged from him. + </p> + <p> + “Are you the lover of this Una Brown-Eyes?” + </p> + <p> + Neal flushed. “You have no right to ask any such question,” he said, “and + I shall not answer it. I will just say this to you. Do you suppose that + Lord Dunseveric would accept me, a penniless man, the son of a + Presbyterian minister, a member of a Church he despises, and connected + with a party he hates—do you suppose he would accept me as a suitor + for his daughter’s hand?” + </p> + <p> + “You have answered my question, though you said you would not answer it. + You have told me that you love the girl. I have watched her smile at you, + and seen her eyes while she talked to you, and I can tell you something + more, something that perhaps you do not know—the girl loves you.” + </p> + <p> + Again Neal flushed. His uncle had put into words what he had never yet + dared to think. He loved Una. His uncle had assured him of something else, + something so glorious as to be incredible. Una loved him. Then he became + conscious that Donald Ward’s eyes were on him—cold, impassive, + unpitying; that Donald Ward was waiting till the throbs of joy and + excitement calmed in him, waiting to speak again. + </p> + <p> + “Put the thought of the girl from you. She is not for you, nor you for + her. Forget her. It will be better for you and for her. You shall have + work to do soon. Work is for men. Seeing babies in brown eyes is only for + boys.” + </p> + <p> + They left the path which skirted the tops of the cliffs, crossed a field + or two, and joined the road which led to Micah Ward’s manse. The sound of + the sea died away, though the smell of it and the feeling of its + neighbourhood were still with them. The savage grandeur of ocean and cliff + no longer oppressed their spirits. It seemed natural to talk of common + things and to leave high themes behind them in the lonely places they had + left. Donald Ward gazed with interest at the white-walled thatched + cottages on the roadside. He commented on the disappearance of some + homestead he remembered, or the building of a new one where none had been + before. It was evident that, in spite of his twenty-five years’ absence, + he cherished a clear and accurate recollection of the district he was + passing through. He inquired after the families who had lived in the + different houses, naming them. He learned how one or another had + disappeared, how old men were gone, and sons reigned in their stead. He + even supplied Neal with information now and then about some young man or + girl who had gone to America. + </p> + <p> + They arrived at the manse. Neal led his uncle through the yard, meaning to + enter as usual by the kitchen door. On the threshold the housekeeper met + him. + </p> + <p> + “Is that you, Master Neal? You’re queer and late. You’ve had a brave time + gadding with your fine friends and never thinking how you were leaving + your old father to eat his dinner his lone. And who’s this you have with + you? What sort of behaviour is this, to be coming here bringing a stranger + with you to a decent, quiet house, and he maybe——” + </p> + <p> + “Whisht, now, Hannah. Will you hold your whisht (tongue?)?” said Neal. + “It’s my uncle I have with me. You ought to be able to remember him.” + </p> + <p> + The old woman came forward to the place where Donald Ward stood, and + peered at his face. + </p> + <p> + “Aye, I mind you well, Donald Ward. I mind you well. You hadna’ just too + much of the grace of God about you when you went across the sea, and I’m + doubting by the looks of you now that you’ve done more fighting than + praying where you were.” + </p> + <p> + “Hannah Keady,” said Donald Ward. + </p> + <p> + “Hannah Macaulay,” said the housekeeper, “and forbye the old minister and + Master Neal here, they call me Mistress Macaulay that have any talk with + me. I’m married and widowed since you crossed the sea.” + </p> + <p> + “Mistress Hannah Macaulay,” said Donald, “you were a slip of a girl with a + sharp tongue when I mind you first, and a woman with a sharp tongue when I + said good-bye to you. You have lost your bonny looks and your shining red + hair; you’ve lost a husband, so you tell me, but you haven’t lost your + tongue.” + </p> + <p> + The old woman smiled. The compliment pleased her. + </p> + <p> + “Come in,” she said, “come in. The minister’ll be queer and glad to see + you. You know that fine. But have done with your old work. We’ve no more + call for Hearts of Oak boys, nor Hearts of Steel boys, nor for burning + ricks, nor firing guns.” + </p> + <p> + She led the way through the kitchen, up a narrow flight of stone stairs, + and opened the door of the room where the minister sat over his bodes. + </p> + <p> + “Here’s Master Neal home again,” she said, “and he’s brought your brother + Donald Ward along with him.” + </p> + <p> + Micah Ward rose to his feet and met his brother with outstretched hands. + </p> + <p> + “Is it you, Donald? Is it you, indeed? I’ve been thinking long for you + this many a time, my brother, and wearying for you. We want you, Donald, + we need you sore, sore indeed.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Micah,” said Donald, “you’ve grown into an old man.” + </p> + <p> + The contrast between the two brothers was striking, more striking than the + likeness of their faces, though that was obvious. Micah was stooped and + pallid. He walked feebly. His limbs were shrunken. His hair was thin and + white. Donald stood upright, a well-knit, vigorous man. The point of his + beard and the hair over his ears were touched with iron grey, but no one + looking at him would have doubted his energy and capacity for physical + endurance. + </p> + <p> + “Grey hairs are here and there upon us, and we know it not—Hosea, + 7th and 9th,” said the minister. “But there’s fifteen years atween us, + Donald. It makes a difference. Fifteen years age a man, but I’m supple and + hearty yet.” + </p> + <p> + “Will I cook the salmon for your supper?” said the housekeeper. “You’ll + not be contenting yourselves with the stirabout now that you have your + brother back again with you.” + </p> + <p> + “Cook the salmon, Hannah; plenty of it, and some of the ham and the eggs. + And, Neal, do you take the key of the cellar and get us a bottle of wine + and the whisky that old Maconchy brought in from Rathlin last summer. It’s + not often I take the like, Donald, but it is meet that we should make + merry and be glad.” + </p> + <p> + Mistress Hannah Macaulay was a competent cook and housekeeper. It is + noticeable that women with sharp tongues are generally more efficient than + their gentler sisters. Solomon, who knew a good many things, seems also to + have known this. He was of opinion that a peaceful dinner of herbs is + better than a stalled ox and contention therewith. He knew that he could + not have both. It is the shrew who succeeds in giving the males dependent + on her stalled oxen and such like dainties to eat. + </p> + <p> + The caressing wife and the sweet-tempered cook accomplish no more than + dinners of herbs, and generally even they are not particularly appetising. + The fact is, that the management of domestic affairs is the most trying of + all occupations. Cooking, washing, cleaning, and generally doing for men + in a house means continuous irritation and worry. A woman, however + sweet-natured originally, who is condemned to such work must either lose + her temper over it, in which case she may cook stalled oxen, but will + certainly serve them with sauce of contention, or she may give up the + struggle and preserve her gentleness. Then she will accomplish no more + than dinners of herbs, boiled cabbages, from which tepid water exudes, and + dishes of pallid turnips, supposed to be mashed but full of lumps. Solomon + preferred, or said he preferred, kisses and cauliflowers. On questions of + taste there is no use disputing. + </p> + <p> + Mistress Hannah Macaulay’s salmon steaks came to the table with an + appetising steam rising from their dish. Her slices of fried ham formed an + attractive nest for the white-skinned poached eggs. She had plates of + curly oatcake and powdery farles. She had yellow butter in saucers. She + brought the porridge to table in well-scoured wooden bowls with horn + spoons in them. + </p> + <p> + “The stirabout is good,” she said. “I thought you’d like to sup them + before you ate the meat.” + </p> + <p> + Neal poured the wine into an old cut-glass decanter, and set Maconchy’s + bottle of whisky, distilled, no doubt, by Maconchy himself among the + Rathlin Hills, beside his father’s plate. + </p> + <p> + Micah Ward said a long grace, in which he thanked the Almighty for the + fish, the ham, the eggs, the porridge, and his brother’s return from + America. As a kind of supplement, he added a prayer for the peace of his + household, in which Hannah Macaulay, appropriately enough under the + circumstances, was especially named. + </p> + <p> + After supper the two brothers drew their chairs to the fire. It was late + in May, but the air was still chilly in the evenings. Hannah took down + from the mantel-piece two well-polished brass candlesticks, fitted them + with tall dipt candles, and set them on the table she had cleared of + plates and dishes. Donald took a tobacco-box from his pocket, and filled a + pipe. + </p> + <p> + “Neal,” said his father, “you may go to your own room and complete the + transcription of the passages of Josephus which you left unfinished this + morning.” + </p> + <p> + “Let the lad stay,” said Donald. + </p> + <p> + “Neal knows nothing of the matters about which we must talk, brother, nor + do I think it well that he should know; not yet, at least.” + </p> + <p> + “Let the lad stay,” repeated Donald. “I’ve seen younger men than he is + doing good work. Neal ought to be working, too. We cannot do anything + without the young men.” + </p> + <p> + Micah Ward yielded to his brother. + </p> + <p> + “Draw your chair to the fire, Neal,” he said. “You may stay and listen to + us.” + </p> + <p> + At first the talk was of old days. An hour went by. Donald filled his pipe + more than once, and finished his tumbler of punch. Story followed story of + the doings of the Hearts of Steel and Hearts of Oak. Donald, as a boy, had + taken his part—and that a daring part—in the fierce struggle + by which the northern tenant-farmers gained fuller security and a chance + of prospering a whole century before their brethren in the south and west, + with the aid of the English Parliament, won the same privileges. Then + Donald, speaking oftener and smoking less, told of his own share in the + American War of Independence. Neal, listening, was thrilled with the + stories of unequal battles between citizen soldiers and trained troops. He + glowed with excitement as he came to understand the indomitable courage + which faced reverse after reverse and snatched complete victory in the + end. Donald dwelt much on the part which Irishmen had taken in the + struggle, especially on the work of Ulster men, Antrim men, men of the + hard northern breed, of the Presbyterian faith. + </p> + <p> + “There’s no breaking our people, Micah; men of iron, men of steel.” + </p> + <p> + “Shall iron break the northern iron, and the steel?” quoted Micah Ward, + and then, with that wonderful Puritan accuracy of reference to the Bible, + gave chapter and verse for the words—Jeremiah the 15th and 12th. + </p> + <p> + “And the spirit’s not dead in you at home, is it, Micah? The breed is pure + still.” + </p> + <p> + It was Micah’s turn to speak. Neal sat in astonishment while his father + told of the wrongs which the northern Presbyterians and the southern Roman + Catholics suffered. Never before had he heard his father speak with such + passion and fierceness. There was a pause at last, and Donald rose to his + feet. He re-filled his glass from the punch-bowl, raised it aloft, and + said:— + </p> + <p> + “I give you a toast. Fill your glass, brother. No, that will not do. Fill + it full, and fill a glass for Neal. Stand now. I will have this toast + drunk standing. ‘Here’s to America and here’s to France, the pioneers of + human liberty, and may Ireland soon be as they are now!’” + </p> + <p> + “Amen,” said Mica h Ward solemnly. + </p> + <p> + “Drink, Neal, drink. Drain your glass, boy. I will have it,” said Donald. + </p> + <p> + “The northern iron, the northern iron, and the steel,” muttered Micah. + </p> + <p> + Then the brothers drew their chairs closer together, and Micah, speaking + low, as if he dreaded the presence of some unseen listener, began to tell + of the plans of the United Irishmen. He mentioned the names of one leader + and another; told how the Government, vigilant and alert, had already + struck at the organisation; of the general dread of spies and informers. + He entered into details; told how the cannon, once given by the Government + to the Volunteers, were hidden in one place, how muskets were stored in + another, how the smiths in every village were fashioning pike heads, how + many men in each locality were sworn, how every male inhabitant of Rathlin + Island had taken the oath. Donald interrupted him now and then with sharp + questions. The talk went on and on. The tones of the speakers grew lower + still. Neal lost much of what was said. His interest slackened. His eyes + closed at last, and he fell fast asleep. + </p> + <p> + It was late, close on midnight, when his uncle shook him into + consciousness again. The candles were burned down. The fire was out. The + atmosphere of the room was heavy with tobacco smoke. The punch-bowl was + empty, and the two bottles, empty also, stood beside it. It seemed to Neal + that his uncle spoke thickly in bidding him good night, and walked + unsteadily across the room. But Micah Ward’s voice was clear and his steps + were firm. Only, as Neal thought, his eyes shone more brightly than usual, + and he held himself upright. The stoop was gone from his shoulders, and + the peering, peaked look from his eyes. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III + </h2> + <p> + The Lords of Dunseveric once lived in a castle perched on the edge of a + cliff, a place inferior to the neighbouring Dunluce as a stronghold, but + equally uncomfortable as a residence. The walls were thick, the rooms + little larger than prison cells, and the windows very small and narrow, + but they were wide enough to let the wind whistle through them and the + rain trickle over their sills to the stone floors inside. The doctor of a + modern sanatorium for consumptive people would have been well satisfied + with the ventilation of Dunseveric Castle. On stormy days in winter it + must have been most unsafe to venture out of doors. The worst winds, + fortunately, always blow inwards from the sea, but there are eddies round + buildings, and with precipices on three sides of him, the ancient lord of + Dunseveric had need to walk cautiously and provide himself, when possible, + with something to hold on to. Some time at the end of the seventeenth + century the reigning lord, giving up in despair the attempt to render + habitable a home more suited to a seagull than a nobleman, being also less + in dread than his ancestors of sea pirates and land marauders, determined + to build himself a house in which he could live comfortably. He selected a + site about a mile inland from the original castle, and laid the + foundations of Dunseveric House. Then, despairing perhaps of living to + complete his architect’s grandiose plans, he gave up the idea of building + and hired a house near Dublin. During the early part of the eighteenth + century he interested himself in Irish politics, and succeeded, as + influential politicians did in those days, in providing comfortably for + outlying members of his family from the public purse. His son, when it + came to his turn to reign, ignored the foundations which his father had + laid, and erected a mansion such as Irish gentlemen delighted in at the + time—a Square block of grey masonry with small windows to light + large rooms, a huge basement storey, and an impressive flight of stone + steps leading up to the front door. He also enclosed several acres of land + with a stone wall, called the space a garden and planted it with some + fruit trees which did not flourish. + </p> + <p> + His son, the Lord Dunseveric of 1798, having little left him to do in the + way of building, devoted his early years to planting and laying out + pleasure grounds round the new house. His wife, a French woman of Irish + extraction, brought a cultivated taste to his aid. No doubt her ideas and + her husband’s energy would in the end have created a beautiful and + satisfying demesne round Dunseveric House if it had not been for the north + wind and the sea spray. These were hard enemies for a landscape gardener + to fight, and when Lady Dunseveric died her husband gave up the struggle, + having nothing better to show for his time and money than some fringes of + dejected-looking alders and a few groves of stunted Scotch firs. He even + neglected the glass houses which his wife had built. Irish politics became + extremely interesting just after Lady Dunseveric died, and an Irish + gentleman might well be forgiven for neglecting the culture of his demesne + when his time was occupied with drilling Volunteers, passing Grand Jury + resolutions in support of the use of Irish manufactured goods, and + subsequently preparing schemes for the internal development of Ireland. + </p> + <p> + Thus Dunseveric House was by no means an attractive place to Estelle, + Comtesse de Tour-neville, when she first visited it. Accustomed to the + scenery round her dead husband’s château in the valley of the Loire, and + attached to the life of the French Court, the appearance of Dunseveric + House struck her as utterly dismal. She had every reason beforehand to + suppose that it would be dismal, and was quite convinced that it would not + suit her as a place of residence. Forced to flee from France in 1793, she + put off taking refuge in her brother-in-law’s house as long as possible, + and only arrived there after spending three years among hospitable friends + in England. + </p> + <p> + “The poor Marie, my poor sister,” she said, when Lord Dunseveric, at the + end of the long drive from Ballymoney, turned the horses up the bare + avenue. + </p> + <p> + To her maid, in the privacy of her bedroom, she opened her grief more + fully. + </p> + <p> + “I remember very well when my sister married, though I was but a little + girl at the time, eight or perhaps nine years old. I remember that all the + world talked of her handsome Irish husband. He was a fine man then. He is + a fine man still, and has the grand manner. Oh, yes, he is very well. And + my nephew. He is well made, big and strong like all the men of his race + and blood. But he has no manner—none. If only my sister had lived + she might have formed him. But—poor Marie!” + </p> + <p> + She sighed. The maid hazarded a suggestion that Lady Dunseveric had found + life <i>triste</i>, too <i>triste</i> to be endurable. + </p> + <p> + “You are right,” said the Comtesse, “she must have died of sheer dulness. + She had two children. That was occupation for a while, no doubt. But, <i>mon + dieu</i>, a lady cannot go on having children every year like a woman of + the <i>bourgeoisie</i>. It would be too tedious. She died. She was right. + And now I am here in her place. I am here with my lord, who has good + manners but does not care about me, wishes me anywhere but in his house; a + nephew who has no manners and a great deal of stupidity, and a niece who + is much too old to be my niece, and who is too like me in face and figure + for us to get on well together. Otherwise, truly, she is not like me. She + is content to spend all day in a boat on the sea catching fish. Conceive + it yourself, Susanne, she was catching fish, and her companion was the son + of the <i>curé</i>, a man of some altogether impossible Protestant sect.” + </p> + <p> + But the Comtesse had the good manners or the good sense not to grumble + about her surroundings to anyone except her maid. She so far understood + the philosophy of a happy life as to know that pleasure awaits those only + who succeed in making themselves pleasant. + </p> + <p> + She came down the morning after she arrived in time for breakfast, + although the English breakfast was a meal she had learned to detest, and + the North of Ireland families have made an even more serious business of + it. She expressed a delight which she cannot be supposed to have felt at + the sight of salmon, fried, cold, kippered; ham, eggs, fowl, farles of + home-made bread, oat-cake, honey, jam, butter. To the secret amusement of + Lord Dun-severic she even accepted a bowl of porridge which her nephew + offered her, and then, to the astonishment of Maurice, asked if she might + eat honey with it. She was delightfully optimistic about the prospects of + amusement for the day. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going to take me, Una? There are so many things that I want + to see. I recall the letters which Marie, your mother, used to write to me + about wonderful cliffs and gloomy caves and white rocks and long strands. + Of course you have all the business of the house to attend to. I quite + understand. I will wait. But afterwards, where will you take me?” + </p> + <p> + Una glanced out of the window. The south wind of the day before had + brought, as south winds usually do in County Antrim, abundant rain. + Maurice, appealed to, gave it as his opinion that there was no chance of + the weather improving until three o’clock, and that there wasn’t much + chance of sunshine even then. + </p> + <p> + “But, at least,” said the Comtesse, “I shall be able to see your old + castle? I have heard so much about the castle. Could we not even go + there?” + </p> + <p> + “We might,” said Una dubiously, “but you will have to walk across two + fields, and the grass is long at this time of year. I don’t mind getting + wet, of course, but you——” + </p> + <p> + “I think, Estelle,” said Lord Dunseveric, “that you had better give up the + idea of any expedition out of doors. Una will have a good fire lighted for + you in the morning-room, and you must make yourself as comfortable as you + can.” + </p> + <p> + When breakfast was over, Lord Dunseveric himself conducted his sister to + the morning-room. He selected a chair for her. He placed a small table + beside her. He stirred the fire into a fair blaze. He even fetched some + books for her from the library. But the Comtesse was not content. + </p> + <p> + “Please sit down,” she said, “and talk with me.” + </p> + <p> + The prospect of a long morning spent sitting on a chair talking to a woman + was not one which pleased Lord Dunseveric very greatly, but his manners + were, as his sister-in-law had observed, excellent. He had letters to + write and an important communication from the general in command of the + troops in Belfast to consider. But he sat down beside his sister-in-law as + if he were really pleased at having the chance of a long chat with her, as + if she did him a favour in granting him the privilege of keeping her + company. + </p> + <p> + “What shall we talk about?” she said. “About dear Marie? About old times? + That would be too sad. About Maurice and Una? What is Maurice to do? Have + you obtained for him—how do you say it?—a commission in the + army? There is nothing better for a young man than to spend a short time + in the army. He sees the world. He learns manners and how to bear himself + and speak to a woman. And Una? We must have Una presented at Court. Will + you take her to Dublin this year? I think that you ought to. It is not + good for a girl to grow up all alone here.” + </p> + <p> + “I fear it will hardly be possible for me to go to Dublin either this year + or next.” + </p> + <p> + “But why? Surely you would be well received? Or is it not so? I suppose + that you are one of the <i>grands seigneurs</i> of Ireland, one of the + leaders of your aristocracy. Besides, <i>mon frère</i>, your appearance, + your manner——. There cannot be many of your Irish gentry——.” + </p> + <p> + She paused and smiled on him most pleasantly. Lord Dunseveric was + sufficiently a man of the world to understand that this pretty lady was + flattering him. He even thought that she was not doing it very well, that + her methods were too obvious to be really artistic. Nevertheless, he liked + it. We most of us enjoy being flattered very much, especially by pretty + women, though we take a great deal of trouble to persuade ourselves that + we despise the flatterer and her ways. The Comtesse would have said + similar things to any man whom she wanted to please, and Lord Dunseveric + was quite aware of the fact. Still he was pleased. It was a long time + since a woman in a pretty dress, a woman who knew how to assume a graceful + attitude, had taken the trouble to flatter him. He smiled response to her + smile. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve no doubt that I should be, as you put it, well received. I’m not + afraid that His Excellency would show me the cold shoulder, but the + present condition of the country is critical. I think it my duty to stay + at home. I am afraid that we are on the brink of an attempt at + revolution.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mon dieu!</i> And have you Jacobins, too? I thought there were no such + things in Ireland. Tell me about your Jacobins.” + </p> + <p> + Again Lord Dunseveric was conscious that the Comtesse was trying to please + him, was displaying an interest, which did not seem wholly natural, in a + subject on which he would like to talk. + </p> + <p> + “I’m afraid, Estelle, that an account of our Irish politics would weary + you. Politics are dull. You would send me away if I talked about + politics.” + </p> + <p> + “I assure you, no,” she said. “In France we found politics most exciting. + The poor Comte, my husband, found them altogether too exciting. Do tell me + about your Irish Jacobins. Are they also <i>sans-culottes?</i>” + </p> + <p> + “They are mostly Presbyterians, dour, pigheaded, fanatical Republicans, + who want to get an army of your French friends over to help them.” + </p> + <p> + “Presbyterians! How droll! I thought Presbyterians were——But + is not Maurice’s friend, the young man who goes out fishing in the sea + with Una, is not he a Presbyterian? I think they said last night that he + was the son of a <i>curé</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he is. His father has the reputation of being one of the most + fanatical of the whole lot. But the young fellow is all right, so far as I + know.” + </p> + <p> + The Comtesse was silent for a minute or two. She appeared to be + considering Lord Dunseveric’s last remark. When she spoke again it was + evident that her thoughts had wandered from Neal Ward’s politics to + another subject. + </p> + <p> + “Is it right, do you think, that this young man should be so intimate with + Una? She is a very attractive girl, and at a very dangerous age.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, they’ve played together since they were children. Young Ward is a + nice boy and a good sportsman.” + </p> + <p> + “Still, he would not be suitable. Am I right?” + </p> + <p> + “If you mean that he wouldn’t do as a husband for Una, you are right, but + I don’t think for a moment that any such nonsensical idea ever crossed + their minds. I like Neal. He’s a fine, straightforward boy, and a good + sportsman.” + </p> + <p> + “I should like to see this model young man. Perhaps you English—pardon + me, my dear brother, you Irish—are differently made; but with us the + nicer a young man is the more dangerous we reckon him.” + </p> + <p> + “There’s no difficulty about your meeting him. I’ll ask him to dinner + to-day if you like. I’m sure Maurice will be pleased to ride over with the + invitation.” + </p> + <p> + “Charming,” said the Comtesse. “Then I shall judge for myself.” + </p> + <p> + Neal Ward accepted the invitation when he received it. Perhaps he would + not have been able to do so had he been obliged to submit it to his father + and his uncle; but they had gone out together early in the day. Neal + understood that his uncle was to be introduced to several people of + importance, members of his father’s congregation, men who were deeply + involved in the plans of the United Irishmen. He was left alone with a + task to perform. He was not now transcribing passages from Josephus. His + uncle had decided that he was to be trusted, and, as a proof of + confidence, he was set to compile from various papers a list of those in + the neighbourhood who could be relied on to take up arms when the day of + the contemplated outbreak arrived. The work interested Neal greatly. He + knew most of the men whose names he copied. Some of them he knew + intimately. Now and then he was surprised to find that some well-to-do and + apparently well contented farmer was a member of the society. Once he + paused and hesitated about going on with his work. He came to a statement + of the fact that one, James Finlay, had been enrolled as a United Irishman + and admitted to the councils of the local committee. Neal knew James + Finlay, and disliked him. Once he had caught him at night in the act of + netting salmon in the river. Neal had threatened to hand him over to Lord + Dunseveric. The poacher blustered, threatened, and even attempted an + attack upon Neal. He got the worst of the encounter, and after vague + threats of future vengeance, relapsed into whining supplication. Neal + spared him, considering that the man had been well thrashed, and having + the dislike, common to all generous-minded Irishmen, of bringing to + justice a delinquent of any kind. But he disliked and distrusted James + Finlay, and he did not understand how his father and the others came to + trust such a man. He wrote the name, reflecting that Finlay had left the + neighbourhood some weeks before in order to seek employment in Belfast. + Shortly afterwards he completed his task. Maurice St. Clair arrived with + Lord Dunseveric’s invitation. Neal locked up his papers, changed his + clothes, and went through the rain to Dunseveric House. He was not + comfortable or easy in his mind. Yesterday it was natural and pleasant to + spend the day with Maurice and Una. To-day he knew things of which he had + been entirely ignorant before. He knew that he himself was committed to a + share in a desperate struggle, in what might well become a civil war, and + that he would be fighting against Lord Dunseveric and against his friend + Maurice. It did not seem to him to be a fair and honourable thing to eat + the bread of unsuspecting enemies. Twice, as he tramped through the rain + to Dunseveric House, he stopped and almost decided to turn back. Twice he + succeeded in silencing his scruples and quieting the complaints of his + conscience. Each time it was the thought of Una which decided him. There + was in him a hunger to see the girl, to be near her, to touch her hand, to + hear her voice. Since his uncle had spoken to him about her on the evening + of his arrival Neal had become acutely and painfully conscious of his love + for her. Long ago he had loved her. Looking back he thought that he had + always loved her. Now he knew that he loved her. That made a great + difference. + </p> + <p> + He was welcomed when he arrived by Lord Dun-severic with friendly courtesy—by + Una shyly. Her manner was not as it had been the day before. The frank + friendliness was gone. There was something else in its place, something + which thrilled Neal with hope and fear. Perhaps the girl felt + instinctively the change in Neal. Perhaps she was conscious of her aunt’s + keen laughing eyes. Who can tell how a girl first becomes conscious of the + fact that a young man loves her? The Comtesse also welcomed Neal. She set + herself to please and flatter him. At dinner she talked brightly and + amusingly. It seemed to Neal that she talked brilliantly. She told stories + of the old French life. She related her recent experiences of English + society. She rallied Lord Dunseveric on his grave dignity of manner. She + drew laughter again and again from Una and Maurice. But she addressed + herself most to Neal. He was intoxicated with her vivacity, the swift + gleams of her wit, her delicate beauty, her exquisite dress. He had never + seen, never even imagined, the existence of such a woman. Lord Dunseveric + watched her and listened to her with quiet amusement. It seemed to him + that his sister-in-law meant not only to rescue Una from an undesirable + lover, but to attach a handsome, gauche youth to herself. He understood + that a woman like Estelle de Tourneville might find the attentions of Neal + Ward vastly diverting in a place like Dunseveric, where nothing better in + the way of a flirtation was to be looked for. + </p> + <p> + The wine and fruit were placed on the table and the servants withdrew. The + Comtesse, with her wine-glass in her hand, stood up. + </p> + <p> + “It is not at all the fashion,” she said, “for a lady to make a speech. I + shall shock you, my lord, but you will forgive me, for you know the world. + I shall shock my sweet Una, but she will forgive me because her heart has + no room in it for unkind thoughts of anyone. I shall shock my nephew and + the solemn Mr. Neal Ward, and they will not forgive me because they are + young and, therefore, have very strict ideas of how a woman ought to + behave herself. Nevertheless, I am going to make a speech and propose a + toast. I am Irish. Long ago my fathers lived in Ireland and were <i>grands + seigneurs</i> as my good brother, Lord Dunseveric, is to-day. They left + Ireland for the sake of their faith and their king. They went to France; + but I am not, therefore, French. I am Irish. Now that the French people + have turned against us, have even wished to cut off my head, which I think + is much more ornamental on my shoulders than it would be anywhere else—now + I have returned to Ireland, I ask you all to drink my toast with me. I + propose—‘Ireland.’ I, who am loyal to the old faith and the memory + of the legitimate king, I will drink it. My lord, who is of another faith + and loyal to another king, will drink it also. Mr. Neal, who has a third + kind of faith, and is, I understand, not loyal to any king, will, no + doubt, drink it. My friends—‘Ireland.’!” + </p> + <p> + She raised her glass to her lips and sipped the wine. All the four + listeners stood and raised their glasses. + </p> + <p> + “‘Ireland,’” said Lord Dunseveric gravely. “I drink to Ireland.” + </p> + <p> + Then, with the glass at his lips, he paused. There was a noise of horse + hoofs on the gravel outside. A horseman, in military uniform, cantered by. + He was followed by another, a trooper. The little company in the + diningroom stood still and silent. The bell at the door of the house was + rung violently. Its sound reached them. A vague uneasiness came upon them. + One by one they sat down and laid their glasses—the wine untasted—on + the table before them. A servant entered the room. + </p> + <p> + “Captain Twinely, my lord, of the Killulta Company of Yeomanry, wishes to + see your lordship on important business.” + </p> + <p> + “Ask him to come in here,” said Lord Dunseveric. + </p> + <p> + Una rose as if to leave the room. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Lord Dunseveric, “stay where you are, and do you stay, too, + Estelle. This Captain Twinely must drink a glass of wine with us. He + passes for a gentleman. Then if he has business with me I shall take him + away. I must not break up our little party. It is not every day that we + have the pleasure of listening to such charming speeches as your’s, + Estelle.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Twinely entered the room with a swagger. He made a great noise + with his heavy boots and with his spurs as he crossed the polished floor. + </p> + <p> + “I ask your pardon, my lord. I ask the ladies’ pardon. I am not fit for + your company. I have ridden far today, and the roads are bad, damned bad. + I rode on the king’s business.” + </p> + <p> + “The ladies,” said Lord Dunseveric, “will be pleased if you will drink a + glass of wine with them. Are you alone?” + </p> + <p> + “I left my troop in Ballintoy. The sergeant will see that they obtain + refreshment. My servant holds my horse outside.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall send him some refreshment,” said Lord Dunseveric. “And your + horses must be stabled here till you have told me how I can serve you.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Twinely drank his wine, bowed to the ladies, and then said— + </p> + <p> + “I come at an inconvenient hour, my lord. You have just dined and you have + pleasant company, but I must crave your attention for a letter which I + bring you. The king’s business, my lord.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Dunseveric rose, and led the way to the library. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t doubt,” said Captain Twinely, “no one could be such a fool as to + doubt the loyalty of every member of your lordship’s household and of + every guest in your lordship’s house; but in deliver-ing my letter and my + message I prefer to be where there is no chance of eavesdropping. Will you + allow me to make sure that we are not overheard?” + </p> + <p> + Lord Dunseveric himself shut the door of the room and drew a bolt across + it. Captain Twinely took a sealed packet from his breast. Lord Dunseveric + looked carefully at the address, broke the seal, and read the contents of + the paper within. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know the contents of this paper, Captain Twinely?” + </p> + <p> + “My orders are to solicit your lordship’s assistance, as a Justice of the + Peace for the county, in arresting certain persons and taking possession + of some arms concealed in the neighbourhood. I do not know the names of + the persons or the place where the arms are concealed. I have not been + treated with confidence. I’m a loyal man, but I’m only a plain gentleman. + I may say that I feel aggrieved. I deserved more confidence.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Dunseveric read the letter again before he answered. + </p> + <p> + “I am directed here to arrest, with your assistance, five persons. All of + them are men who are well known and respected in this neighbourhood. I + know nothing of the evidence against them, beyond the mere fact, stated + here, that from information received they are believed to be engaged in a + plot for an armed rebellion. Captain Twinely, I have not a very high + opinion of the men from whom the Government receives information, and I + have reason to believe that the information is not always trustworthy. + There have been recently—— but I need not go into that. I am a + loyal man. I am willing to assist the Government in any way in my power, + but my loyalty has limits. Two of the persons named in this letter I shall + not arrest. One of them I believe to be innocent of all designs against + the Government; the other is a very feeble old man, who will not in any + case be dangerous as a rebel, and whom I have private reasons for not + wishing to arrest. I am willing to go with you to the houses of the other + three and arrest them. As for the concealed arms—cannon it is stated + here—I do not believe they exist, but I shall take you to the place + named, and let you see for yourself. Will this satisfy you?” + </p> + <p> + “Your lordship has to consider whether it will satisfy my commanding + officer. I should have thought it better, more advisable, more prudent, + for your lordship to obey the orders you have received exactly.” + </p> + <p> + The man’s words were perfectly civil, but his manner and tone suggested a + threat. Lord Dun-severic stiffened suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “I shall consider your commanding officer,” he said, “when I am shown that + he has any right to command me.” + </p> + <p> + “Your loyalty——,” began Captain Twinely. + </p> + <p> + “My loyalty to the king and the Irish constitution is not to be suspected + or impugned by Mr. Twinely, of Killulta.” + </p> + <p> + “My lord, I consider that an unhandsome speech. I am only a plain + gentleman, but I am loyal. We county gentlemen ought to stand together. I + expected more consideration from you, my lord. I do not like your sneering + tone. By God, if it were not that I am on the king’s busi—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, if you were not on the king’s business——” + </p> + <p> + But Captain Twinely did not finish his speech. + </p> + <p> + “I shall have some refreshment brought in here to you, Captain Twinely,” + said Lord Dunseveric. “I shall, with your permission, order a servant to + ride to Ballintoy and bring your troop here. When they arrive I shall be + ready to go with you. In the meanwhile, I beg you to excuse my leaving + you. I have some private matters to arrange before we start.” + </p> + <p> + He walked to the door, drew back the bolt, bowed, and left the room. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV + </h2> + <p> + Lord Dunseveric returned to the dining-room. He found the Comtesse seated + on a chair which had been placed on the table to give dignity to her + position. On the floor, beneath this lofty throne, knelt Neal Ward, his + hands tied behind him with a dinner napkin. Maurice, with a carving-knife + in his hand, stood on guard over the prisoner. Una, her eyes shining with + laughter, was making a speech. + </p> + <p> + “Please, don’t interrupt,” said the Comtesse, “we are holding a + courtmartial on Mr. Neal. Una is acting as prosecutor; I am the judge. In + a few minutes, when I have delivered my sentence, Maurice will flog the + prisoner, and afterwards hang him with one of the bell ropes.” + </p> + <p> + “I want to speak to you, Neal,” said Lord Dunseveric, gravely. + </p> + <p> + Neal pulled his hands from their bandage, and rose, blinking and + uncomfortable, to his feet. + </p> + <p> + “How solemn you are!” said the Comtesse. “What has that very boorish + Captain Twinely been telling you? Has a rebellion broken out? Is there + going to be a battle? Have they come to arrest Mr. Neal in real earnest? I + believe they have. Never mind, Mr. Neal, we will organise a rescue party. + They are not real soldiers, you know—only—-only—what do + you call them?—ah, yes, yeomen. We will fall upon these yeomen after + dark and carry you off to safety.” + </p> + <p> + “Maurice,” said Lord Dunseveric, “have two horses saddled, and get on your + boots. I shall want you to ride along with me. Come, Neal.” + </p> + <p> + The three men left the room. + </p> + <p> + “Una,” said the Comtesse, “come quick and change your dress. We will go + and see what is happening. Oh, this is most exciting, and the day has been + so dull and long. Come, Una, come; we will not let anyone see us. We will + take the most delightful short cuts. We will lie hidden in ditches while + they pass. We must see everything. Come, come, come.” + </p> + <p> + “But—my father——” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you dear dutiful child! Just for once don’t mind about your father. I + am sure something thrilling is going to happen. Haven’t you a duty of + obedience towards your aunt? I cannot go without you, for I should + certainly lose my way.” + </p> + <p> + The arrival of Captain Twinely, Lord Dun-severic’s grave face, and his + summons to Neal had filled Una’s mind with an undefined dread of some + threatening evil. She was nearly as anxious as her aunt to know what was + to happen. The prospect of a scamper across country through the rain + daunted her very little. She had no doubt of her ability to keep in touch + with the horsemen without being discovered. They would keep to the high + road. To her every short cut was known, every hill for observation, and + every possible hiding-place were as familiar to her as the lawn of + Dunseveric House. + </p> + <p> + Lord Dunseveric led the way to his own dressing-room, beckoning Neal to + follow him. + </p> + <p> + “Sit down, Neal,” he said, “and listen. I must talk while I boot and + change my coat. This Twinely, who takes rank as a captain of yeomen, and + has, as I suppose, a following of blackguards, brings me orders which I + cannot disobey—at least which I mean to disobey in only one + particular. I am bidden to search your father’s meeting-house for cannon + supposed to be concealed there. I am going to search, and search + thoroughly. Your answer will make no difference to my action; but I should + like you to tell me, are the cannon there?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not believe there are any cannon,” said Neal; “I never heard of + them, or had any reason to suspect their existence.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Dunseveric watched him keenly as he replied. Then he said— + </p> + <p> + “I believe what you say, of course. If there are cannon there you know + nothing of it. Now, another question. I am to arrest several persons whose + names have been sent to me; your name stands second on the list. Are you a + United Irishman? Have you sworn the oath?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Neal, without hesitation. “I have not sworn. I have not been + enrolled as one of the society.” + </p> + <p> + “I may take it that the Government has acted on false information in + ordering your arrest?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. The man who gave that information certainly lied. I knew nothing of + the plans of the United Irishmen yesterday, but it is right that I should + tell you——” + </p> + <p> + “It is not right that you should tell me anything more. You have answered + my two questions. I have your word for it that you are not a United + Irishman, and I have your word that the information received by the + Government is false. I want to hear no more on that subject. I shall take + the responsibility of refusing to arrest you. I am also bidden to arrest + your father. I ask you no questions about him. I simply inform you that I + am not going to arrest him either. I do not believe in his innocence. I + think it likely that he is implicated in the conspiracy, but I am not + going to arrest him. He is too old to fight, and when the other three men + on my list are in prison he will have ceased to be dangerous. Further, + your father, in his writings, has attacked, and, in my opinion, slandered + me personally.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean in the <i>Northern Star?</i>” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. In the series of articles called ‘<i>Letters of a Democrat,</i>’ + which are attributed, I think rightly, to your father.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Dunseveric paused. Neal remained silent. He had not read the + articles, but he believed his father had attacked the landlord aristocracy + with great bitterness, and he thought it likely that Lord Dunseveric had + cause for complaint. + </p> + <p> + “I do not choose,” said Lord Dunseveric, “to take part in the arrest of a + man who may be regarded as my personal enemy. You may tell your father + this, and you may tell him further that if he is a wise man he will leave + the country at once. The next magistrate charged with his arrest may not + have my scruples or my reasons for hesitating. Now, listen to me, Neal, + before I leave you, and mark what I say. I admit, and I always have + admitted, the justice of the claims which your people make. There ought to + be equality, full and complete, for you and the Catholics. There ought to + be an end to the tyranny under which you suffer, but you are going the + wrong way about getting your wrongs righted. Your rebellion, if there is + to be a rebellion, can’t succeed. You will be crushed. And Neal, lad, that + crushing will be an evil business. It will be evil for you and your + friends, but that’s not all. It will be made an excuse for taking away the + hard won liberty of Ireland. Keep out of it, Neal. Take my advice, and + keep out of it, for your own sake and for Ireland’s.” + </p> + <p> + He took the young man’s hand, wrung it, and then turned and left the room. + Neal stood for a while dazed and bewildered. He had known before that his + father was a supporter of the United Irishmen. He had guessed, though + until that morning he had not actually known, how deeply he was versed in + the secrets of the society. He had never imagined that the doings and + sayings of an obscure Presbyterian minister were being watched and noted + by Government spies. He found it hard to realise that the eyes of remote + authorities, of secretaries of state, of generals of armies, were fixed on + the wind-swept, desolate, northern parish, on the gaunt, grey manse he + called his home. Yet the evidence of this incredible surveillance was + plain and unmistakable. Men of his father’s congregation, men whom he + supposed he knew personally, were to be seized and marched off, to be + flogged perhaps as others had been, to be imprisoned certainly, to be + hanged very likely, in the end. His father was a marked man, with the + choice before him of exile or imprisonment, perhaps death. He himself was + suspected, had been informed against, lied about, by someone. His mind + flew back to the list of names he had copied out that morning, to the one + name which had arrested his attention especially. He remembered that James + Finlay owed him a grudge, desired revenge; he felt sure that James Finlay + was the informer. Others might have betrayed the secrets of the society. + James Finlay alone, so far as he could recollect, had any motive for + incriminating him, an entirely innocent man. + </p> + <p> + He was roused from his thoughts by the sound of horses trampling on the + gravel sweep outside. The yeomen, summoned from Ballintoy, had arrived at + Dunseveric House. They were laughing, talking, and singing as they rode, a + disorderly mob of horsemen rather than a troop of soldiers. After a few + minutes they rode past the window again. Captain Twinely was at their + head. Ten or twelve yards in front of him, as if disdainful of his + company, rode Lord Dunseveric and Maurice. + </p> + <p> + They were wrapped in long horsemen’s cloaks, for the rain beat down on + them. The wind was rising, and blew in strong gusts. The sun had set and + the evening was beginning to darken. Neal ran down to the hall, seized his + coat and stick, and went out. The horsemen moved along the avenue at a + steady trot. Neal saw them turn to the right and go along the road which + led to the manse and the meeting-house. He started to run across the + fields. He hoped to reach the manse and warn his father before the + soldiers arrived at the meeting-house. He ran fast, choosing the shortest + and easiest way, avoiding boggy patches of ground which would have checked + his progress. After a while, from a point of vantage, he was able to catch + a glimpse of the road. He noted that he was level with the yeomen, and he + knew that from the point where he saw them the road took a wide curve + inland. He calculated that by running fast he would be able to cross it in + front of the troop, and by keeping along the cliffs would be able to reach + the manse before the soldiers did. He sped forward. Suddenly, as he + descended the hill to the road, he became aware of two figures crouching + behind the bank which divided the road from the field. He was dimly aware + that they were women. He did not look carefully at them. His eyes were + fixed on the horsemen against whom he was racing. He gained the edge of + the field and sprang upon the bank. He heard his name called softly. + </p> + <p> + “Neal, Neal, Neal Ward.” + </p> + <p> + Then somewhat louder by another voice. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Neal, come and help us.” + </p> + <p> + He recognised Una’s voice and then that of the Comtesse. He had no time to + think what they wanted or how they came to be crouching in a damp ditch in + the rain while the evening darkened over them. He leaped from the bank, + crossed the road, and raced off again towards his father’s house. + </p> + <p> + He arrived at the door, breathless, but sure that he was in good time. He + burst into the sitting-room and found his father and uncle, their lamp + already lighted, bending over a pile of papers which lay before them on + the table. + </p> + <p> + “The soldiers, the yeomen, are on their way here,” he gasped. + </p> + <p> + Micah Ward started to his feet. + </p> + <p> + “What do you say?” + </p> + <p> + “The yeomen are on their way to the meetinghouse. They are going to search + for arms, for cannon, which they say are concealed there.” + </p> + <p> + Micah Ward stood stock still. His body seemed to have become suddenly + rigid. His face grew quite white. Donald, leaning back in his chair, + smiled slightly. + </p> + <p> + “So,” he said, “they have begun. Are there cannon there, brother?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, there are,” said Micah, slowly. “Four six-pounders. They belonged to + the Volunteers. We kept them. We thought they might be useful some day.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said Donald, “it’s a pity. We shall have the trouble of re-capturing + them. Come, let us go down to the meeting-house. I should like to see + these terrible yeomen.” + </p> + <p> + “Some one has given them information,” said Micah. He was silent for a + minute. Then he muttered as if to himself— + </p> + <p> + “Some one has informed against us. Some one has brought this evil upon us. + Who has done this thing? Who is our secret enemy?” + </p> + <p> + “Come,” said Donald, “don’t stand muttering there.” + </p> + <p> + But Micah did not heed him. Raising both hands above his head, and looking + upward, he spoke slowly, clearly— + </p> + <p> + “May the curse of the Lord God of Israel light on the man who has informed + against us. May he be smitten with madness and blindness and astonishment + of heart. May he grope at the noonday as the blind gropeth in the + darkness. May his life hang in doubt before him. May he fear day and + night, and have none assurance of his life. May he say in the morning—‘Would + God it were even! And at even—‘Would God it were morning!’ for the + fear of his heart wherewith he shall fear and the sight of his eyes which + he shall see.” + </p> + <p> + “That,” said Donald, “is a mighty fine curse. I’m darned if I ever heard a + more comprehensive kind of curse. We had a God-forsaken half-breed in our + company, under General Greene, who could curse quite a bit, and he never + came near that curse. But I reckon that a good deal of it will have to be + wasted. There isn’t a man living who could stand it for long. Still, if + you name the man for us, I’ll do the best I can with him. I may not be + able to work the blindness and the groping just as you’d wish, but I’ll + undertake that his life hangs in doubt before him for a bit.” + </p> + <p> + Micah Ward, without seeming to hear his brother’s speech, stalked + bare-headed from the room and led the way to the meeting-house. + </p> + <p> + The yeomen were marching up the hill from the main road. They sang a song + with a ribald chorus, such as men sing in a tavern when they have drunk + deep. Lord Dunseveric and Maurice had already reached the door of the + meeting-house, and sat silent on their horses. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Ward,” said Lord Dunseveric, “will you give me the keys and save me + from the necessity of breaking open the door? I see Neal with you. I + suppose he has told you what we have come to do?” + </p> + <p> + “I shall never render the keys to you,” said Micah Ward. “Do the work of + scorn and oppression that you intend, but do not ask me to aid you.” + </p> + <p> + The yeomen, still singing, straggled up while Lord Dunseveric and Micah + Ward spoke. Suddenly their song ceased, and they listened in a silence of + sheer amazement while Donald Ward addressed their captain. + </p> + <p> + “Say”—his voice was cold, clear, and contemptuous—“do you call + yourself a captain? And is this your notion of discipline? I guess, young + fellow, if we’d had you with General Greene in Carolina we’d have combed + you out and flogged the drunken ragamuffins you’re supposed to be + commanding. But I reckon you’re just the meanest kind of Britisher there + is, that kind that swaggers and runs away.” + </p> + <p> + “Seize that man,” said Captain Twinely. “Tie him up. Flog him. Cut the + life out of him.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Dunseveric touched his horse with the spur and rode forward. “Captain + Twinely, I told you I should have no flogging here. I mean to be obeyed. + And you, sir, you are a stranger here. Who are you?” + </p> + <p> + “This,” said Micah Ward, laying his hand on his brother’s arm, “is my + brother.” + </p> + <p> + “Captain Twinely, dismount two of your men. Let them conduct Mr. Ward and + his brother back to the manse and mount guard at the door. Maurice, tie + your horse to the tree yonder, and go with them. See that no incivility is + used. When they are safe in the manse you can return here.” + </p> + <p> + Neal walked to the rear of the troop, and stood at the side of the road + near the wall, while his father and uncle were marched away under charge + of two troopers and Maurice St. Clair. + </p> + <p> + “Sergeant,” said Captain Twinely, “take four men and force this door.” + </p> + <p> + Neal heard his name called in a low voice by some one near him. + </p> + <p> + “Neal, Neal, Neal Ward.” + </p> + <p> + It was Una’s voice. His father and uncle had passed down the road. The + yeomen were eagerly watching their comrades’ attempts to force the door. + </p> + <p> + Neal stepped over the low stone wall. He felt a hand grasp his and heard + Una speak again. + </p> + <p> + “Neal, stay with us. I’m frightened.” + </p> + <p> + A low musical laugh followed, and then the voice of the Comtesse— + </p> + <p> + “You are a most ungallant cavalier, Mr. Neal. You left us alone in one + ditch this evening already. You really must not leave us in another.” + </p> + <p> + The effort to force the door of the meeting-house was unsuccessful. + </p> + <p> + “Put a musket to the key-hole,” said Captain Twinely, “and blow off the + lock.” + </p> + <p> + There was an explosion. The woodwork was splintered and shattered. A + single push opened the door. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said Captain Twinely, “come in and search.” + </p> + <p> + The little meeting-house was scantily furnished. A high, octangular wooden + pulpit with a precentor’s pew in front of it stood at the far end. The + place was bare of hanging or cupboard which could have been used as a + hiding-place. The men tramped about, upsetting the benches and cursing as + they tripped upon them. + </p> + <p> + “It’s as dark as hell,” said Captain Twinely. “Send a man down to the + minister’s house and let him fetch up a bundle of bogwood to serve us for + torches. I must have light.” + </p> + <p> + One of the men departed on the errand. The sergeant, mounted on the + pulpit, rapped on the desk in front of him to secure silence, and said in + a high-pitched, drawling voice— + </p> + <p> + “Beloved! Brands snatched from the burning! Sanctified vessels! Let us, in + this hour of trial and tribulation, when the ungodly triumph and prosper + in their way, let us sing the Ould Hunderd to the comfort of our souls.” + </p> + <p> + At the sound of his voice the troopers who remained outside crowded into + the building, leaving two or three of their number to take care of the + horses. Well satisfied with his congregation, the sergeant sang to the + tune sanctified by two centuries of Puritan worship:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “There was a Presbyterian cat + Who loved her neighbour’s cream to sup; + She sanctified her theft with prayer + Before she dared to lap it up.” + </pre> + <p> + A burst of applause greeted the performance of this ribald parody. There + were calls for more such psalmody. “Give us another verse, Sergeant.” + “Tune up again, Dick.” “Goon, goon.” Lord Dunseveric, who had remained + outside, dismounted and stalked through the door. He had caught the tune, + though not the words of the sergeant’s song. He guessed at some ribald + irreverence within. His face was white with anger. + </p> + <p> + “Silence,” he cried. + </p> + <p> + The sergeant, half drunk, looked at him with an insolent grin. + </p> + <p> + “Your lordship will like the second verse better— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “There was a Presbyterian wife—” + </pre> + <p> + Lord Dunseveric forced his way through the soldiers who stood between him + and the singer, and approached the pulpit with clenched fists and lips + pressed close together. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Who found her husband growing old; + She sanctified——-” + </pre> + <p> + sang the sergeant, leering at Lord Dunseveric, but before he got any + further a woman’s shriek rang through the building. The sergeant stopped + abruptly. The men crowded through the door, eager for some new excitement. + Lord Dunseveric and Captain Twinely followed as quickly as they could. + There was another shriek, a sound of blows and cursing. Then men’s voices + rose above the tumult. “Down with the damned croppy.” “Throttle him.” + “Knife him.” “Hold him now you’ve got him.” “Take a belt for his arms.” + “Ah, here’s Tarn with the torches.” “Strike a light, one of you.” “There’s + two of them, two wenches, by God, and young ones.” “Fetch them into the + meeting-house and make them dance.” “Ay, by God, we’ll tie their + petticoats round their necks and then make them dance.” + </p> + <p> + There was a rush of men to the door of the meeting-house. Lord Dunseveric + and Captain Twinely were borne back before they could see what was going + on. Some one struck a light and illuminated a branch of bogwood which he + held above his head as a torch. + </p> + <p> + “Drag in the prisoner,” yelled a voice. “We’ll give him a place in the + front and let him see his wenches dance.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Dunseveric, unable to make his voice heard above the tumult, saw Neal + Ward, his arms bound to his sides by a belt strapped round him, dragged + into the meeting-house. His face was cut and bleeding slightly. His coat + was rent from collar to skirt. + </p> + <p> + “Make way, make way, for the ladies.” + </p> + <p> + A trooper entered with two women. He had an arm clasped round each. Lord + Dunseveric recognised with amazement and horror his daughter and + sister-in-law. Una made no resistance. She was terrified into a state of + helplessness. The Comtesse struggled desperately, tearing with her hands + at the trooper’s face. Captain Twinely recognised the ladies almost + immediately, and strove to reach them. Before he could make his way Lord + Dun-severic’s voice rang out above the tumult. + </p> + <p> + “Maurice, are you there? Come in here at once.” + </p> + <p> + There was something in his voice, a tone of authority, a note of grim + determination, which cowed the rabble of men for an instant. Maurice St. + Clair pushed his way through the door in silence. + </p> + <p> + “Maurice,” said Lord Dunseveric, this time in quiet, even tones, “take + that scoundrel by the throat, and if he offers any resistance choke him.” + </p> + <p> + The man loosed his hold of the two women, and his hand flew to his sword + hilt, but before he could draw it, Maurice bounded upon him and flung him + to the ground. Once, twice, thrice, as the trooper strove to raise + himself, his head was dashed down on the hard earthen floor of the + meeting-house. + </p> + <p> + After the third time he lay still. Maurice rose and stood over him. + </p> + <p> + “Captain Twinely,” said Lord Dunseveric, “loose the belt from your + prisoner’s arms at once.” + </p> + <p> + The order was obeyed, and Neal stood free. “Bid your men leave the + meeting-house, all but the man who holds the torch and the one who lies + there on the floor.” + </p> + <p> + The men, cowed and sullen, went out. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said Lord Dunseveric, “I will have this matter cleared up and I + will have justice done.” He turned to Neal. + </p> + <p> + “How came you here with my daughter and the Comtesse de Tourneville?” + </p> + <p> + Neal stood silent. + </p> + <p> + “It was my fault,” said the Comtesse. “I brought Una. I wanted to see what + was going on. Mr. Neal had nothing to do with it. He tried to save us + when, when that man”—she pointed to the soldier on the floor—“found + us.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that so?” asked Lord Dunseveric of Neal. + </p> + <p> + “It is.” + </p> + <p> + “Maurice,” said Lord Dunseveric, “take your sister and your aunt home, and + when you get them there see that they do not leave the house again. Stay. + Take Neal with you. Those ruffians outside will scarcely venture to molest + you, but, in case any of them are drunk enough to try, you will be the + better of having Neal beside you. Captain Twinely, you will kindly give + orders to your men that my son and his party are to be allowed to pass.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Dunseveric was left alone in the meeting-house save for the man who + held the torch and the trooper who lay unconscious on the floor. + </p> + <p> + “Give me the light,” he said, “and go you over to your comrade. Loose his + tunic and feel if his heart still beats.” + </p> + <p> + The man did as he was bidden, and reported that the trooper whom Maurice + had stunned was still alive. Lord Dunseveric walked to the door of the + meeting-house and said— + </p> + <p> + “Captain Twinely, you will now be so good as to take the man who lies here + on the floor and hang him at once. We are not well off for trees in this + country, but there is at least one at the back of the meeting-house tall + enough for the purpose.” + </p> + <p> + There was a threatening growl from the men outside. They drew together. + Their hands were on their swords. Captain Twinely stood a little apart + from them. His eyes were fixed on the ground. He made no motion, and + showed no sign of obeying the orders he was given. Lord Dunseveric looked + first at him and then at the group of angry troopers. He stepped out of + the meeting-house and faced them. He took out his watch and looked at it. + </p> + <p> + “I give you ten minutes,” he said, “in which to obey my order. If that man + is not hanged in ten minutes I shall march you back to Dunseveric House, + where there are trees enough, and hang every one of you there.” + </p> + <p> + They could have killed him easily as he stood there. They probably would + have killed him if he had shown the smallest sign of fear. They knew + perfectly well that he could not have marched them to Dunseveric House or + anywhere else if they had chosen to resist. Nevertheless, they obeyed him. + A rope was fetched from the saddle of one of the troopers. In those days + the yeomen carried ropes fit for hanging men as they went through the + country. The unconscious man was carried from the meeting-house and hung + up on the only tree large enough to bear his weight. Lord Dunseveric, with + his watch in his hand, saw the thing done with a quiet smile. Then he + spoke again to Captain Twinely. + </p> + <p> + “You had better proceed with your search for the cannon. It is getting + late, and you have already wasted a great deal of time.” + </p> + <p> + More torches were lit. The men, now thoroughly cowed, dragged down the + pulpit and the precentor’s pew. The earth under them was not beaten hard + as was the earth of the rest of the floor. Captain Twinely took a torch + and peered at it. + </p> + <p> + “Fetch a spade,” he said. + </p> + <p> + They shovelled the earth into a heap against the wall and uncovered four + cannons. They were wrapped in oily rags, and well preserved, in spite of + their damp hiding-place. Lord Dunseveric looked at them carefully. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” he said. “Four of the six-pounders which I bought for my company of + volunteer artillery in 1778. I often wondered what had become of them. + Now, Captain Twinely, you have got the cannon, you had better go on to + arrest your prisoners. I shall go with you, and remember I shall permit no + violence unless resistance is offered. I have given your men one lesson + to-night already. I am quite prepared to give them another if necessary.” + </p> + <p> + The rain had ceased when Maurice and Neal, with their charge, left the + meeting-house. The direction of the wind had changed since sunset. It blew + in from the north and was sweeping the clouds away. The moon, then in its + first quarter, seemed to be racing across the sky among the torn fragments + of black cloud. Now and then it reached an open space and shed a pale, + white light over the landscape. Again, it was hidden and the night was + very dark. Already the wind had aroused the sea to its old warfare against + the rocks and strands. Its hollow roaring was borne far inland. For a time + the little party walked in silence. The Comtesse was the first to speak. + </p> + <p> + “If that is the way your loyal troops behave, Maurice, I think that I + prefer the <i>sans culottes</i>. Ugh! my clothes are half torn off my + back. I shall never be able to wear this dress again. It will smell, + positively smell, of the grimy hands of that drunken wretch.” + </p> + <p> + “What brought you out?” asked Maurice. “If you had stayed at home nothing + would have happened to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said the Comtesse, “if you begin to lecture me, to preach sermons + to me, I shall sit down and cry. I could scream and kick at this moment + with the greatest ease and pleasure. Then what would you do, my nephew?” + </p> + <p> + “Maurice,” said Una, “let us go home across the fields. Don’t let us go by + the road. I’m afraid of meeting those men again. They will be coming after + us.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense, Una,” said the Comtesse, “we have climbed walls enough + to-night; we have lain in ditches enough. For my part, if there is a road + I shall go along it. Come, Maurice.” + </p> + <p> + She walked quickly on, and Maurice, puzzled and uncomfortable, followed + her. Then Neal laid his hand on Una’s arm. + </p> + <p> + “This way,” he said. “I will take you home by the fields.” + </p> + <p> + He sprang across the ditch and stretched out his hand to the girl. Without + a word she took it and followed him. They walked in silence over the rough + ground. They crossed a wall, and then another, and each time Neal thrilled + at the touch of her hand as he turned to help her. + </p> + <p> + “You were very brave, Neal,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “It’s not much to be brave for you, Una. Oh, I wish I could have saved + you.” + </p> + <p> + He had her hand in his again, and this time it seemed as if it lingered in + his clasp. + </p> + <p> + “Una,” he said. “Una.” + </p> + <p> + But her face was turned away from him, and she made no answer. The tone of + his voice set her pulses beating with a strong excitement, so that she + could not look at him or speak. He was silent again. They reached the high + wall which bounded the demesne of Dunseveric House. Once more, as they + climbed, her hand was in his. + </p> + <p> + This time he held it fast. It seemed to him that he was doing something + that would call down on him swift rebuke and angry reproach. He expected + to have the hand snatched from him. Then, with wonder and a glow of + rapturous delight, he felt it lie passive in his. He realised that he was + being swept beyond his self-control; that his desire for the girl beside + him was stronger than his reason. He yielded to an impulse of sheer + passion, clasped Una in his arms, and kissed her face. Again and again he + kissed her. He felt her arms tighten round him, knew that she was clinging + to him. Then suddenly he let her go and stood back from her, + terror-stricken. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Una, what have I done? I am mad.” + </p> + <p> + She stood before him, her face covered with her hands. + </p> + <p> + “Una, speak to me. Can you ever forgive me? My love made me mad.” + </p> + <p> + She raised her face and looked at him. In the dim moonlight he saw in her + eyes a look of wonderful tenderness. He realised without a word from her + that she loved him, too. + </p> + <p> + “Una—I ought never—I was wrong. But I love you more than my + life. Una, you are too far above me. You are a great man’s daughter. How + did I dare?” + </p> + <p> + She came close to him and spoke. + </p> + <p> + “There is no above or below, Neal, when we love each other. How can I be + far above the man who loves me?” + </p> + <p> + “But there is no hope for us, none at all anywhere. Even to-morrow I may + have to go—Una, I may have to fight——” + </p> + <p> + “Whatever comes, Neal, I know that you will be brave and good. Be brave + and good, dear Neal, and then God will give us our hearts’ desire. I am + not afraid of the future. Why should you be afraid? If you do what is + right and honourable what is there to fear? God is good.” + </p> + <p> + They walked together to the house. Then Neal turned and went home. The + future, so far as he could see into it, was dark enough. His love seemed + utterly hopeless, yet his heart was full of unspeakable joy. He knew, + beyond all possibility of doubt, that Una loved him and would love him + whatever happened. Her strangely simple faith seemed to make all things + plain before him. Una loved him and God was good. It was enough. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V + </h2> + <p> + When Neal arrived at the Manse he found that the sentries who had stood on + guard at the door were gone. The yeomen had disappeared from before the + meeting-house. The broken door, the fragments of the wrecked pulpit, and + the figure of the dead trooper swinging from the branch on which he had + been hanged were left as witnesses of the Government’s methods of keeping + the peace in Ireland. + </p> + <p> + Inside the house Micah Ward paced restlessly up and down the floor of his + study. Donald, his pipe in his mouth, sat on a chair tilted back till its + front legs were six inches off the floor, and watched his brother. His + attitude was precarious, but he seemed comfortable. Micah paused in his + rapid walking as Neal entered the room. + </p> + <p> + “What have you been doing, Neal?” he said. “Your face is cut, your clothes + are torn; you look strangely excited.” + </p> + <p> + “I have been fighting,” said Neal. He did not think it necessary to add + that he had also been love-making, though it was the interview with Una, + far more than the struggle with the yeoman, which was accountable for the + gleaming eyes and exalted expression which his father noticed. + </p> + <p> + “I trust you were victorious,” said his father, “that your foot has been + dipped in the blood of your enemies, that you have broken their bonds + asunder, and cast away their cords from you.” + </p> + <p> + “I was beaten,” said Neal, smiling. It did not just then seem to matter in + the least whether he got the better or the worse in any fight. + </p> + <p> + “You take it easily,” said Donald. “That’s right. You’re blooded now, my + boy. You’ll fight all the better in the future for tasting your own blood + to-night. I’m glad you are back with us. Your father has been giving out + the most terrific curses against Lord Dunseveric for having brought the + yeomen down on us and taken away his little cannons. I tell him he ought + to be thankful they went into the meeting-house instead of coming here. + They’d have made a fine haul if they’d walked in and taken the papers he + and I had before us when you came here. They’d have had the name of every + United Irishman in the district, and could have picked them out and hanged + them one by one just as they wanted them.” + </p> + <p> + “They’ve got as much information, pretty near, as they want,” said Neal. + “They are going to arrest three men to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “God’s curse on Eustace St. Clair, him whom men call the Lord of + Dunseveric,” said Micah Ward. + </p> + <p> + “Spare your curse,” said Neal. “It wasn’t Lord Dunseveric who brought the + yeomen on us, and what’s more, only for Lord Dunseveric you’d be arrested + yourself along with the others.” + </p> + <p> + “What’s that you are saying, Neal?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m saying that the yeomen brought orders from Belfast to arrest you, and + me, too, and that Lord Dunseveric refused to execute them.” + </p> + <p> + “And so I owe my liberty to him! I must thank him for sparing me. I must + fawn on him as my benefactor, I suppose. But I will not. I refuse his + mercy. I scorn it. I cast it from me. I shall go out and offer myself to + the yeomen. They are to take my friends, my people, and spare me. I will + not be spared. Am I the hireling who fleeth when the wolf cometh? I go to + deliver myself into their hands.” + </p> + <p> + “You’ll be a bigger fool than I take you for if you do,” said Donald. + “Listen to me now. From what Neal has told us it’s evident that you’re + wrong about Lord Dunseveric. It wasn’t he who brought the yeomen on us. + There is someone else giving information, and it’s someone who knows a + good deal. Come now, brother Micah, cudgel your brains; think, man, think, + who is it?” + </p> + <p> + Micah sat down at his writing-table and passed his hand over his forehead. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot think,” he said. “I cannot, I will not believe that any of our + people are traitors.” + </p> + <p> + “These orders which Neal speaks of came from Belfast,” said Donald. “Who + has lately left this place and gone to Belfast?” + </p> + <p> + “I can tell you,” said Neal. “James Finlay. And James Finlay had a grudge + against me. The others whom he denounced were United Irishmen, perhaps, I + was not. Why was I marked down, unless it was out of private revenge? And + there is nobody, nobody in the world, I believe, who has cause to wish for + vengeance on me but only James Finlay.” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot believe it of him,” said Micah. “He came to me himself and asked + to be sworn. He was a member of the committee.” + </p> + <p> + “If you ask me,” said Donald, “I think the case looks pretty black against + James Finlay. I think, if things are to go on as they ought to, it will be + better to cut the throat of James Finlay. I don’t know him myself. Perhaps + you do, Neal.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Neal, “I know him.” + </p> + <p> + “And he is in Belfast,” said Donald. “Now, what was his reason for going + to Belfast?” + </p> + <p> + “He went to obtain employment there,” said Micah. “He took letters from me + to some of our leaders. He went as my agent, properly accredited. My God! + If he is a traitor!” + </p> + <p> + “I think, Neal,” said Donald, slowly, “that you and I will take a little + trip to Belfast. I should like to see Belfast. They tell me it’s a rising + town. I should also very much like to see our friend, James Finlay. I + suppose we shall be able to get horses to-morrow. Oh, yes, I’ve money to + pay for them. I didn’t come over here with an empty purse. Anyway, I think + Belfast would suit me better than this place. Your people, Micah, don’t + seem very fond of fighting.” + </p> + <p> + “You are wrong, brother. They will lay down their lives right willingly + when the hour comes.” + </p> + <p> + Donald shrugged his shoulders. “Their meeting-house has been sacked, their + minister has been insulted, three of their members are to be arrested, and + they haven’t offered to strike a blow. If they had the courage of doe + rabbits they’d have chopped up those yeomen into little bits and then + scattered them for dung over the fields. I reckon that unless the Belfast + people are better than these men of yours I’d be better back in the + States. We knew how to fight for our liberty there.” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t understand, Donald. Believe me, you do not understand. We must + wait for orders before we strike.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, orders. Waiting for orders. I know the meaning of that. It means + waiting till the English have picked off your leaders one by one. I know, + I know.” + </p> + <p> + Donald knocked the ashes out of his pipe, filled it, and lit it again, and + puffed slowly. Micah sat at the table, his head resting in his hands. Neal + sat down and waited. There was silence in the room for a long time. + Donald’s pipe was smoked out and lit again before he spoke. Then he said— + </p> + <p> + “I’m sorry, brother, that I spoke as I did. I don’t doubt but that your + men are brave enough. They would have fought if they had known what was + going on.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” said Micah. “You were right. I ought to have fought if there + were no one else. I ought to have died. I would to God that I had died + before our meeting-house was pillaged, before my people, the men who + trusted me, were taken captive. I was a coward. I am a coward.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I am a coward, too,” said Donald, “and no man ever called me that + before. But I’m not, and you’re not. We were two unarmed men against + fifty. I’m fond enough of fighting, and I take on a job with long odds + against me, but not such long odds as that. Rouse yourself, brother. Neal + and I are going to Belfast. We shall want letters from you. We must be + accredited like Mr. James Finlay, whom we hope to meet. Stir yourself now + and write for us.” + </p> + <p> + “I will, I will. Neal, there is no ink here. I remember that I used all my + ink yesterday. Neal, fetch me ink from the shelf beside the window.” + </p> + <p> + In a few minutes Micah’s pen was travelling slowly over the paper. Neal + could hear its spluttering and scratching. Suddenly, there was a noise of + loud knocking at the door of the house. Donald started and laid down his + pipe. Neal rose to his feet, and stood waiting for some order from his + father. Micah stopped writing, and turned in his chair. All trace of + nervousness and agitation had vanished from his face. His expression was + gentle and joyous. He smiled. + </p> + <p> + “They have come to take me also,” he said. “I am right glad. I shall not + be indebted to the oppressor for my liberty. I shall be where a shepherd + ought to be—with the sheep whom the wolf attacks.” + </p> + <p> + Again came the noise of knocking, heavy, authoritative, threatening. + </p> + <p> + “Be quick, my son, and open the door. Bid those who enter welcome.” + </p> + <p> + Neal went to the door, and opened it. Lord Dunseveric stood outside, the + reins of his horse’s bridle thrown over his arm, his riding whip in his + hand. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose your father is within, Neal. I want to speak to him. Will you + ask him if I may enter?” + </p> + <p> + “He bid me say that you were welcome,” said Neal. + </p> + <p> + Lord Dunseveric stared at him in surprise. “How did he know who was at the + door? But it does not matter. Show me where to tie my horse, Neal, and I + will enter.” + </p> + <p> + Neal led the way into the room where his father and his uncle sat. Lord + Dunseveric bowed to Micah Ward, and then, with a glance at Donald, said— + </p> + <p> + “The matter on which I wish to speak to you, sir, is somewhat private. Is + it your wish that this gentleman be present?” + </p> + <p> + “It is my brother, Donald Ward,” said Micah. “He knows my mind. I have no + secrets from him.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Dunseveric bowed again, and said, with a slight smile— + </p> + <p> + “It is possible that Mr. Donald Ward may find some of your secrets rather + embarrassing to keep.” + </p> + <p> + “I can take care of myself, master,” said Donald, “or, maybe, I ought to + say, my lord. But your lordships and dukeships, and countships and + kingships stick somewhat in my throat. I come from America, where we hold + one man the equal of another.” + </p> + <p> + “You are a young nation,” said Lord Dunseveric. “In time you will perhaps + learn courtesy. But I did not come here to-night to teach manners to + vagrant Yankees. I came to tell Mr. Ward that he has been denounced to the + Government as a seditious person, and that I received orders to-night to + arrest him.” + </p> + <p> + “And why did you not execute them?” said Micah Ward. “Did I ask you to + spare me? Have you come here to be thanked for your mercy? I wish to God + you had arrested me.” + </p> + <p> + “I assure you,” said Lord Dunseveric, “that I expect no thanks, nor do I + claim any credit for being merciful. You owe your escape solely to the + fact that I happen to be a gentleman. It did not consist with my honour to + arrest a man who was my personal enemy.” + </p> + <p> + “Then,” said Micah Ward, “what have you come here for now?” + </p> + <p> + “I have come, Mr. Ward, to warn you, if you will accept my warning, that + you are in great danger, that the ramifications of your conspiracy are + known to the Government, that your society is honeycombed with treachery, + that your roll of membership contains the names of many spies.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that all?” said Micah. + </p> + <p> + “No, sir, that is not all. I have a regard for your son. He has been the + companion of my children. He has grown up at my feet. He has eaten at my + table. I like him and I respect him. I beg of you to consider what the + consequences will be for him if you drag him into this insane conspiracy. + His name was along with yours on the list of seditious persons placed in + my hands to-night. He has an hour or two ago incurred the anger—the + dangerous anger—of a body of yeomen and their commander. I beg that + you will consider his safety, and not take him with you on the way on + which you are going.” + </p> + <p> + “Neal,” said Micah Ward, “is no more than a boy. He knows nothing about + politics. What has my action to do with Neal?” + </p> + <p> + “His name,” said Lord Dunseveric, “stood next to yours on the list of + suspected persons which was put into my hands to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “So be it,” said Micah, solemnly! “if my son is to suffer, if he is to + die, he can die no better than fighting for liberty against oppression.” + </p> + <p> + “And I’m thinking,” said Donald, “that you are going a bit too fast with + your talk about dying. I’ve fought just such a fight as my brother is + thinking of. I’m through with it now, and I’m not dead. By God, we saw to + it that it was the other men who died. We won, sir. Mark my words, we won. + It was the people that carried the day in America. They carried the day in + France. What’s to hinder us from carrying the day in Ireland, too?” + </p> + <p> + Lord Dunseveric looked at Donald during this speech and kept his eyes + fixed upon him for some minutes afterwards. He was considering whether it + was worth while replying to this boastful American Irishman. At last he + turned again to Micah Ward. + </p> + <p> + “I have still one more appeal to make to you, Mr. Ward. You care for + Ireland. Is it not so? I believe you do. Believe, me, I care for Ireland, + too.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Micah, “you care for Ireland, but what do you mean by Ireland? + You mean a bloodthirsty, supercilious, unprincipled ascendancy, for whom + the public exists only as a prey to be destroyed, who keep themselves + close and mark men’s steps that they may lay in wait for them; who forge + chains for their country, who distrust and belie the people, who scoff at + the complaints of the poor and needy, and who impudently call themselves + Ireland. You have made the sick and the lame to go out of their way. You + have eaten the good pastures and trodden down the residue with your feet. + You care for Ireland, and you mean by Ireland the powers and privileges of + a class. I care for Ireland, but I mean Ireland, not for certain noblemen + and gentlemen, but Ireland for the Irish people, for the poor as well as + the rich, for the Protestant, Dissenter, and Roman Catholic alike.” + </p> + <p> + “I have never denied, nor do I wish to deny, the need of reform,” said + Lord Dunseveric, “but I see before all the necessity of loyalty to the + constitution.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, to the constitution which gives the whole power of the country to a + few proud aristocrats, which excludes three-fourths of the people from its + benefits, which allows eight hundred thousand Northerns to be insulted and + trampled on because they speak of emancipation, which uses forced oaths, + overflowing Bastilles and foreign troops for extorting the loyalty of the + Irish people.” + </p> + <p> + “I will not argue these things with you now,” said Lord Dunseveric, “my + time is short. I would rather pray you to consider what the end of your + conspiracy must be. If you succeed, and I do not believe you can succeed, + you will deluge the country in blood. If your best hopes are realised, and + you receive the help you hope for from abroad, you will make Ireland the + cockpit of a European war. Our commerce and manufactures, reviving under + the fostering care of our own Irish Parliament, will be destroyed. Our + fields, which none will dare to till, will be fouled with the dead bodies + of our sons and daughters. But why should I complete the picture? If you + fail—and you must fail—you will fling the country into the + arms of England. Our gentry will be terrified, our commons will be cowed. + Designing Englishmen will make an easy prey of us. They will take from us + even the hard-earned measure of independence we already possess. We shall + become, and we shall remain, a contemptible province of their Empire + instead of a sovereign and independent nation. The English are wise enough + to see this, though you cannot see it. Man, <i>they want you to rebel</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that all you have to say?” said Micah. + </p> + <p> + “That is all.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I bid you farewell, Eustace St. Clair, Lord of Dunseveric. You have + spoken well and pleaded speciously for yourself and your class. I might + listen to you if I had not seen your armed ruffians break into our + meeting-houses; if I had not in memory stories of burnt homesteads, + outraged women, tortured men; you might persuade me if I did not know that + to-night you have taken my friends, that you will drag them before unjust + judges, and condemn them on the evidence of perjured informers, as you + condemned William Orr. Human endurance can bear no more. Patience is a + virtue of the Gospel, but it becomes cowardice in the face of certain + wrongs. Go, I have done with you. Go, torture, burn, shed innocent blood, + and then, like the adulterous woman, eat and wipe your mouth, and say ‘I + have done no wickedness.’” + </p> + <p> + “I came into your house on a mission of friendliness and mercy,” said Lord + Dunseveric. “I have been met with insults and lies, lies known to be lies + to you who speak them. I go, and I pray that we shall meet no more until + the day when, in the light of God’s judgment, you will be able to see what + is in my heart and understand what is in your own.” + </p> + <p> + “Amen,” said Micah Ward, “I bide the test.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Dunseveric bowed and walked to the door of the room. Then he paused, + turned, and held out his hand to Neal. + </p> + <p> + “You will stay with your father, Neal,” he said. “I do not deny that you + are right, but I will not part from you in unfriendliness. God keep you, + boy, and remember, for old time’s sake, for the sake of the days when you + stood by my knee with my own children, you have always—whatever + happens—always a friend in me.” + </p> + <p> + Neal’s eyes filled with tears. He could not speak. He carried Lord + Dunseveric’s hand to his lips, and then let it go reluctantly. He heard + the door shut, the trampling of the horse’s hoofs on the gravel outside. + Then, with a sudden sob, which he could not repress, went across the room + and sat down beside his father. + </p> + <p> + Donald alone remained cheerful and unimpressed. + </p> + <p> + “I know that kind of man,” he said. “A fine kind it is. We had some of the + same sort in America. They crossed the border afterwards to Canada. I + suppose you mean to ship your aristocracy to England, Micah? From all I + hear they like lords over there. But now to work. We can’t afford to sit + still while Master James Finlay is loose about the country with your + letters in his pocket. We must get on his trail, Neal, you and I. We must + hinder him from doing more mischief. The first thing we want is horses. + Micah, where are we to get horses—two strong nags, fit for the + road?” + </p> + <p> + Micah Ward sat silent and absorbed. His eyes were fixed on the wall in + front of him. His lips moved, as if he were speaking, but no sound passed + them. His hands on the table in front of him twitched. He was a prey to + some violent emotion. Donald called him again, and again failed to arouse + his attention. Then he turned to Neal. + </p> + <p> + “There’s no use in trying to rouse your father, Neal. He will not hear us. + Do you know anyone who will sell or hire us horses?” + </p> + <p> + “Rab MacClure has horses,” said Neal. “He has two, I know. He lives not + far from this, about a mile along the road towards Ballintoy.” + </p> + <p> + “Come, then,” said Donald, “I suppose the family will be all abed by this + time. We must rouse them. There’s Scripture warrant for it. ‘Friend, lend + me three loaves.’ We must imitate the man in the Gospel. If he won’t give + us the horses for the asking we must weary him with importunity.” + </p> + <p> + It was ten o’clock when Donald and his nephew set out. The clouds were + blown away, and the sky clear. The moon rode high, and by its light they + caught glimpses from the road of the white foam of the sea breaking on the + dark strand below them. The roar of the waves came loud to them as they + walked. A quarter of an hour’s quick walking brought them to their + destination. + </p> + <p> + “There’s the house,” said Neal. + </p> + <p> + “They are not in bed,” said Donald, “I can see lights in the windows.” + </p> + <p> + Neal led the way across a stile and over a field. Lights moved from one + window to another in the house. A sound of wailing rose! and fell, + mingling with the monotonous roar of the waves. The door stood wide open. + Within, a woman rocked herself to and fro on a low stool. Three children + clung to her petticoats and cried piteously. A farm labourer stood, + stupidly motionless, beside the dresser. A maid servant, with a light in + her hand, flitted restlessly in and out of the kitchen. Her hair hung + loose about her shoulders. She was but half dressed, like one aroused + suddenly from bed. A rush-light burned in an iron stand on the floor, + shedding a feeble light. Donald and Neal stood at the door astonished. + </p> + <p> + “Our friends the yeomen have been here,” said Donald. “I guess they have + taken the man of the house away with them. We’ve another account to settle + with James Finlay when we get him.” + </p> + <p> + “Mistress MacClure,” said Neal, “I’ve come to know if you will hire or + sell us two horses. We must be travelling to-morrow morn.” + </p> + <p> + “Horses,” cried the woman. “Who speaks o’ horses? I wouldna care if ye + were to rive horse and beast and a’ from me now. My man’s gone. Oh, my + weans, my weans, who’ll care for you now when they’ve kilt your da? Oh, + the bonny man, and the kind!” + </p> + <p> + “Is it you, Master Neal?” said the farm servant. “Will you no fetch the + minister till her?” + </p> + <p> + “I will, I will,” said Neal, conscience-stricken at having mentioned his + own need in a home so sorely stricken with grief. He ran from the house + back to the manse. + </p> + <p> + Donald took the labourer outside the door and spoke to him. He explained + that he was the minister’s brother. He said that he had pressing need of + the horses. He offered money. The man shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “They are no mine, and the mistress is in no way to bargain with you the + night.” + </p> + <p> + “I want the horses,” said Donald, “to ride after the villain who betrayed + your master.” + </p> + <p> + The man’s face brightened suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “Aye, and is that so? Why couldn’t ye have tell’t me that afore? Keep your + money in your pouch. You’ll have the horses in the morn. I’ll take it on + myself to give them to you. I’d like fine to be going along. But there’s + the mistress and the weans. I darena leave them, and I willna. There’s na + yin only me and the God that’s above us all for her to look to now.” + </p> + <p> + Micah Ward, followed by his son, hastened to the MacClure’s house. He + stood for a moment on the threshold, lifted his hat solemnly from his + head, and invoked a blessing on the building and all in it. Then he went + to the woman, took one of her hands in his, and spoke to her with + wonderful tenderness. + </p> + <p> + “Bessie, my poor bairn. Hearken to me, Bessie. Quit crying now, quit + crying. Do you mind, Bessie, the day I was in with you and Rab away at + Ballymoney? Do you mind how you said to me that every day you thanked God + for the good husband he had given you? Do you mind that? Ah, woman, you + mind it well. And you know rightly what the blessed book says to you—’ + The Lord gave and the Lord hath taken away. Blessed be the name of the + Lord.’ Are you to receive good at the Lord’s hand, my bairn, and not evil, + too?” + </p> + <p> + He laid his hand upon her head and prayed aloud. The terrified maid stood + still, her light in her hand, her hair in tangled strings, half covering + her face. The labourer, Donald, and Neal stood together near the door. The + children buried their heads in their mother’s lap. Micah Ward poured out + his very soul in supplication. Very literally it might be said that he + wrestled with his God in prayer. It was in some such terms that he himself + would have described the spiritual effort which he made. More than once, + after a pause in his outpouring he repeated, in tones which were almost + fierce in their determination, the words of Jacob to the angel—“I + will not let you go until you bless me.” For a long time he continued to + pray, interrupted by no sound except an occasional bitter cry from Bessie + MacClune. One after another the feeble lights flickered, guttered and went + out. The room was in darkness. Through the open door came the long roaring + of the sea. Within, Micah Ward’s voice rose to passionate cries or sank to + a tender whisper. Bessie MacClure’s grief found utterance now only in + half-choked sobs. At last even these ceased. Her hands ceased wandering + over the curly heads of the children, asleep now with her lap for their + pillow. She felt upwards along Micah Ward’s coat. Her fingers crept along + his sleeve, found his hand, pulled it down to her, and laid her cheek + against it. He ceased to pray. The victory was won. He had, by sheer + violence, dragged peace for a stricken soul from the closely-guarded + treasury of the Lord of Sabaoth. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI + </h2> + <p> + Early next morning Donald Ward and Neal set forth on their journey. Rab + MacClure’s horses served them well. By breakfast time they reached + Ballymoney. They sat in the inn kitchen while the woman of the house + broiled salmon for them. She was full of excitement, and very ready to + talk. The yeomen had ridden through the town the day before. They had + stopped at her house to drink. The officer and some of the men had paid + their score and ridden on. Ten of them remained behind, and demanded more + drink. Tumblers were brought to them as they sat in their saddles. One of + them had proposed a toast—“To hell with all Papists and + Presbyterians.” + </p> + <p> + “And that was no civil talk to use to me, when all the town knows that my + man is an elder in the kirk.” + </p> + <p> + But there was more to follow. The troopers had flung down the tumblers—“the + bonny cut glasses that were fetched from Wexford”—and shattered them + on the pavement of the courtyard. Then they rode off without paying a + penny, and when the mistress cried after them one man came back with his + sword drawn in his hand, and she was fain to flee and hide herself. But + the story of her own wrongs did not quench the good dame’s curiosity. She + recognised Neal as the son of the minister in Dunseveric. It was towards + Dunseveric that the yeomen had ridden. What did they do there? Had there + been hanging work or burning—the like of what went on in other + parts? Had they visited the minister’s house? Did Neal see them? + </p> + <p> + Donald Ward was a talkative man, and somewhat given to boasting; but, + apart from the fact that the business of the night before gave him little + excuse for glorying, he had plenty of sound sense—too much sense to + gossip with the mistresses of inns about serious business. He signed to + Neal to keep silent, and himself parried the shower of questions so + adroitly that his hostess got no information from him. She tired at last, + and with a show of disappointed temper, put the salmon on the table. + </p> + <p> + “There’s your fish for you,” she said, “and fadge and oaten farles, and if + you want more you’d better show some civility to the woman that does for + you.” + </p> + <p> + She left the room, and stood, her hands on her hips, staring into the + street. + </p> + <p> + “We’re well rid of her tongue,” said Donald. + </p> + <p> + Before the travellers’ appetites were half satisfied she was with them + again. She ran into the kitchen with every sign of terror in her face. + </p> + <p> + “They’re coming,” she said. “I seen them coming round MacCance’s corner, + and they have men with them and led horses. I seen them plain, and one of + them is Rab MacClure, of Ballintoy. Away with you, Neal Ward, away with + you. I’m thinking that them that has Rab MacClure and his feet tied under + the horse’s belly will be no friends of your father’s or yours.” + </p> + <p> + Donald Ward rose to his feet and stretched himself. + </p> + <p> + “The woman’s right, Neal.” He showed no signs of hurry in his speech. “I’m + thinking it will be safer for us to be out of this. Here, mistress, what’s + the reckoning?” + </p> + <p> + “Not a penny, not a penny, will I take. Are them murdering devils to drink + without paying and me taking money from the son of Micah Ward or any + friend of his? But for God’s sake get you gone. I’ll keep them dandering + about the door for a while, and do you get your horses and out by the back + way into the field. You can strike the road again lower down.” + </p> + <p> + It was late in the evening when Donald and Neal, with weary horses and + wearier limbs, came close to Antrim. Neal was unused to riding long + distances, and Donald complained that a voyage across the Atlantic left a + man unfit for land travelling. They accosted a stranger on the road and + asked his guidance to the best inn. The man answered them in a civil way. + He spoke with a northern accent, but his voice was singularly sweet and + gentle, and his words were those of a cultured man. + </p> + <p> + “I am on my way to the Massereene Arms,” he said. “I think you will find + the accommodation good both for yourselves and your horses.” + </p> + <p> + He walked with them, chatting about the weather and the condition of the + roads. He said that he himself had that day walked from Ballymena, and + intended to spend the night in Antrim. He asked no questions and seemed in + no way concerned with the affairs of his chance acquaintances. + </p> + <p> + Donald and Neal took their horses to the inn yard and saw them rubbed + down, stabled, and fed. Then they entered the public room of the inn, sat + down, and ordered their supper. The man who had guided them to the door + sat at a corner of the table eating a frugal meal of bread and cheese. + Beside his tumbler stood a large jug of buttermilk. In a few minutes he + rose from the table and took his seat on a bench near the fire, where the + light from a lamp, which hung on the wall, fell on him. He drew a notebook + from his pocket, and proceeded to write in it, referring from time to time + to scraps of paper, of which he seemed to have a large number. He was a + man of middle height, of a spare frame, which showed no sign of great + personal strength, but was well knit, and might easily have been capable + of great endurance. His face was thin and narrow. He had very dark hair, + and dark, gentle eyes. There was a suggestion about the mouth of the kind + of strength which often goes with gentleness. + </p> + <p> + To Neal the appearance of the man was not very interesting. He watched him + in mere idleness while waiting for the girl to bring the supper Donald had + ordered. If there had been anyone else in the room Neal would not have + wasted a second glance on the unobtrusive stranger. Yet, as he watched the + man he became aware of something about him which was attractive. There was + a dignity in his movements quite different from Donald Ward’s habitual + self-assertion, different, too, from the stately confidence of Lord + Dunseveric. There was a quiet seriousness in the way he set to work at his + writing, and a methodical carefulness in his sorting of the scraps of + paper which he drew one by one from his pocket. The maid entered with the + wine and food which Donald had ordered. + </p> + <p> + “You’ll be for beds, the night,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Ay,” said Donald, “and do you see that the feathers are well shaken and + the beds soft. If you’d ridden all the miles I’ve ridden to-day, my girl, + after not being on the back of a horse for three months, you’d want a soft + bed to lie on.” + </p> + <p> + The stranger looked up from his notebook. There was laughter in his dark + eyes, but it went no further than his eyes. His lips showed no inclination + to smile. + </p> + <p> + Another man entered the room—a burly, strong man. He wore top boots, + as if he had been riding. He looked like a well-to-do farmer. He gave no + order to the girl, but walked straight to where the dark-eyed stranger + sat. Greetings passed between them, and then talk in a low voice. Both of + them looked at Donald and Neal. Then, beckoning to the girl, the stranger + asked if he could be accommodated with a private room. The girl nodded, + and went to prepare one. Donald Ward finished his supper, rose, stretched + himself, yawned, and then drawing a stool near the fire, sat down and + filled his pipe. Neal, interested to watch the evening street traffic in a + strange town, climbed on to the deep sill of the window and pushed the + lattice open. A blind piper sat on a stone bench outside the inn and + played a reel for some boys and girls who danced on the road. A horseman—a + handsomely-dressed man and well mounted—rode slowly up the street + towards Lord Massereene’s demesne. One of the dancers crossed his way and + caused the horse to shy. The rider cut at the girl with his whip. An angry + growl followed the retreating figure. The piper stopped playing for a + minute and listened. His face wore that eager look of strained attention + which is seen often on the faces of the blind. He began to play again, and + this time his tune was the “Ça Ira.” It was well-known to his audience and + its significance was understood. Several voices began to hum it in unison + with the pipes. More voices joined, and in a minute or two the little + crowd was shouting the tune. A grave, elderly man, in the dark dress and + white bands of a clergyman, stepped out of a house opposite the inn and + approached the piper. The dancers and the onlookers stopped singing and + saluted him respectfully. He spoke to the piper. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be playing that tune, Phelim. Play your reel again. There’s trouble + where those French tunes are played. It was so in Belfast a while ago. We + want no riot in Antrim nor dragoons in our streets.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m thinking,” said the blind man, “that it’s the voice of Mr. Macartney, + the Rector of Antrim, that I’m listening to. Well, reverend sir, I’ll stop + my tune at your bidding. Not because you’re a magistrate, nor yet because + you’re a great man, but just for the sake of the letter you wrote to save + William Orr from being hanged.” + </p> + <p> + The pipes gave a long wail and were silent. Then another man came up the + street. Neal could not see his face, for his hat was slouched over it, but + the sound of his voice reached the open window. + </p> + <p> + “What’s this, boys? What’s this? Which of you is it bids the piper stop + his tune? It’s only cowards and Orangemen that don’t like that tune.” + </p> + <p> + The voice struck Neal as one that he had heard before, but he could not + recollect where he had heard it. He leaned out of the window to hear + better. + </p> + <p> + The clergyman stepped out into the road and confronted the newcomer. + </p> + <p> + “It was I who bid the piper stop that tune. What have you to say to me?” + </p> + <p> + The other approached him swaggering, then hesitated, stood still, took off + his hat, and held it in his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, nothing to you, nothing at all, Mr. Macartney. I did not know you + were here. Indeed, you were quite right to stop the man. As for what I + said, I beg you to forget it. It was nothing but a joke, a little joke of + mine.” + </p> + <p> + He bowed and cringed. He spoke in a deprecating whine, very different from + the blustering tone he had used before. Neal’s interest in the scene + before him became suddenly very acute. He was almost certain now that he + recognised the voice. The whining tone brought back to him the night when + he had interfered with James Finlay’s salmon poaching. The voice was, he + felt sure of it, Finlay’s voice. He drew back quickly, and from within the + window watched Finlay pass through the inn door. He heard his steps in the + passage, heard him open the door of the room in which the travellers were + gathered. Neal shrank back into the shadow of the window seat and watched. + </p> + <p> + Finlay swaggered across the floor and then paused and looked at Donald + Ward, who smoked his pipe in the chimney corner. Then he turned to the + other two. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know this gentleman,” he said. “Is he——?” + </p> + <p> + He paused, his eyebrows elevated, his face expressing significant + interrogation. Neal saw him plainly in the lamp light. He had not been + mistaken in the voice. It was James Finlay. The man who had guided them to + the inn rose without speaking and led the way to the private room which + the maid had prepared for his reception. Neal jumped down from his seat + and approached his uncle. + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Donald,” he said, “that was James Finlay, the man we are looking + for.” + </p> + <p> + Donald took his pipe out of his mouth and looked hard at Neal. + </p> + <p> + “Are you quite sure?” he said. “It won’t do to be making a mistake in a + job of this sort.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m quite sure.” + </p> + <p> + Donald replaced his pipe in his mouth and puffed hard at it for some + minutes. Then he said— + </p> + <p> + “You don’t know either of the other two, I suppose? No. Well it can’t be + helped. It would have been convenient if we had known. They may be honest + men or they may be another pair of spies. I think I’ll try and find out + something about them. Do you stay here, Neal, and watch. Let me know if + any of the three of them leave the house. I’ll go down the passage to the + tap-room. I’ll drink a glass or two, and I’ll see what information I can + pick up. You see, my boy, if the other two are honest men we ought to warn + them of our suspicions about Finlay. If they are spies we ought to know + their names and warn somebody else. Any way, keep your eye on Finlay, and + let me know if he stirs.” + </p> + <p> + A sensation of horror crept over Neal when his uncle left him. He realised + that he was hunting a fellow-creature, that the hunt might end at any + moment in the taking of human life. In Dunseveric Manse, while the anger + which the yeomen’s blows and bonds had raised in him was awake, while the + enormity of Finlay’s treachery was still fresh in his mind, it seemed + natural and right that the spy should be killed. Now, when he had seen the + man swagger down the street, when he had just watched him cringe and + apologize, when he had sat within a few feet of him, it seemed a ghastly + and horrible thing to track and pursue him for his life. A cold sweat + bathed his limbs. His hands trembled. He sat on the stool near the fire + shivering with cold and fear. He listened intently. It was growing late, + and the piper had stopped playing in the street. The boys and girls who + danced had gone home. There were voices of passers by, but these grew + rarer. Now and then there was the trampling of a horse’s hoofs on the road + as some belated traveller from Belfast pushed fast for home. A murmur of + voices came to him from the interior of the inn, he supposed from the + tap-room to which his uncle had gone, but he could hear nothing of what + was said. Once the girl who had served his supper came in and told him + that his bed was ready if he cared to go to it. Neal shook his head. + Gradually he became drowsy. His eyes closed. He nodded. Then the very act + of nodding awoke him with a start. He blamed himself for having gone near + to sleeping at his post, for being neglectful of the very first duty + imposed on him. The horror of the watch he was keeping returned on him. He + felt that he was like a murderer lurking in the dark for some unsuspecting + victim. For Finlay had no thought that he was distrusted, discovered, + tracked. Then, to steel himself against pity, he let his mind go back over + the events of the previous night. He thought of the scene in the + MacClures’ cottage, of the heart-broken woman, of her husband riding with + the brutal troopers to a trial without justice and a death without pity. + He felt with his hand the blood caked on his own cheek, the scab on the + cut where the yeoman had struck him. He remembered Una’s shriek and the + Comtesse’s frantic struggles as the soldiers dragged them from their + hiding-place. Of his own rush to their rescue he remembered little save + the momentary delight of feeling his fists get home on the men’s faces. + </p> + <p> + He had nerved himself now with memories and conquered his qualms. He felt + that it would be easy work and pleasant to drag James Finlay to earth and + trample the life out of him. The thought of the insults of the brutal men + who held Una and his own impotent struggles with the belt which bound him + made him fierce enough. But the mood passed. His mind reverted to the + subject which had never, all day, been far from his thoughts. He recalled + each detail of his walk back to Dun-severic with Una, her words of praise + for his bravery, the resting of her hand in his as they crossed stiles and + ditches, the times when it rested in his hand longer than it need have + rested, the great moment when he had ventured to clasp and keep it fast. + He thrilled as he recollected holding her in his arms, the telling of his + love, and Una’s wonderful reply to him. Emotion flooded him. Una loved him + as he loved her. The future was impossible, unthinkable. At the best of + times he could not hope that proud Lord Dunseveric would consent to let + him marry Una; and now, of all times, now, when he was engaged in a + dangerous conspiracy, pledged to a fight which he felt already to be + hopeless; when he had the hangman’s ladder to look forward to, or, at + best, the life of a hunted outlaw and exile to some foreign land; what + could he expect now to come of his love for Una? His mind refused to dwell + on such thoughts for long. It went back to the simple fact, the glorious, + incredible thing which he had learned. Una loved him. That was sufficient + for him then. He was happy. + </p> + <p> + The door of a room somewhere within the house closed noisily. There were + footsteps on the stairs and then in the passage. Neal was alert. He + quenched the light which hung on the wall and stood in the darkness + looking out of the door. He saw three men pass him—James Finlay and + the other two. They stood at the street door speaking last words in low + voices. Neal sped down the passage to the tap-room. His uncle sat in a + cloud of tobacco smoke, with a tumbler in his hand. Round him was gathered + a knot of admirers, most of them somewhat tipsy. Donald was telling them + stories of the American war. At the sight of Neal he rose quickly and laid + down his tumbler. It was evident that he, at least, had drunk no more than + he could stand. + </p> + <p> + “Well, has he moved?” he whispered. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Neal. “He and the second man are going. They had their hats on + and were bidding good night to the first, the man who brought us here.” + </p> + <p> + Donald left the tap-room quickly. The street door closed, and in the + passage he found himself face to face with the gentle-mannered traveller + whom he had accosted in the street. + </p> + <p> + “I think,” said Donald, “that I have the honour of addressing Mr. Hope.” + </p> + <p> + “James Hope,” said the other, “or Jemmy Hope. I am but a weaver, a simple + man. I take no pride in the titles men give each other.” + </p> + <p> + “James Hope,” said Donald, “I’ve heard of you, and I’ve heard of you as an + honest man. I reckon there’s no title higher than that one. I think, sir, + that you have a room at your disposal in this house. May I speak with you + there? I have matters of some importance.” + </p> + <p> + James Hope turned without a word and led the way upstairs to a small room. + Three candles stood on the table. There were also tumblers and an empty + whisky bottle. It was noticeable that there were only two tumblers. James + Hope had not been drinking. Donald walked over to the table and blew out + one of the candles. + </p> + <p> + “I’m not more superstitious than other men,” he said, “but I won’t sit in + the room with three candles burning. It’s damned unlucky.” + </p> + <p> + Again, as earlier in the public room, Neal thought that James Hope was + going to laugh. But again the laughter got no further than his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said Donald, “if you’ve no objection, I’ll have a fresh bottle on + the table and some clean glasses. You know this inn, James Hope, what’s + their best drink?” + </p> + <p> + “I have but a poor head,” said Hope. “I drink nothing but water. But I + believe that the whisky is good enough.” + </p> + <p> + “Neal, my boy,” said Donald, “the wench that bought us our supper is gone + to bed, and the landlord’s too drunk to carry anything upstairs. You go + and fill the jug there with hot water in the kitchen, and I’ll get some + whisky from the taproom.” + </p> + <p> + Donald filled himself a glass with a generous proportion of spirit, and + lit his pipe again. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve a letter here, addressed to you,” he said. + </p> + <p> + He fumbled in his breast pocket, drew forth a leather case, and took from + it one of the letters which Micah Ward had written. James Hope read it + carefully. + </p> + <p> + “You are,” he said, “the Donald Ward mentioned in this letter, and you are + Neal Ward, the son of a man whom we all respect and admire. I bid you + welcome.” + </p> + <p> + He held out his hand, first to Donald, who shook it heartily, and then to + Neal. He fixed his dark eyes on the young man’s face, and looked long and + steadily at him. Neal’s eyes wavered and dropped before this earnest + scrutiny, which seemed to read his very thoughts. + </p> + <p> + “God bless you and keep you, my boy,” said James Hope. “You are the son of + a brave man. I doubt not that you will be a brave man, too, brave in a + good cause.” + </p> + <p> + Donald Ward seemed a little impatient at this long scrutiny of Neal and + the speech which followed. He took several gulps of whisky and water and + blew clouds of tobacco smoke. He cleared his throat noisily and said. + </p> + <p> + “You’ll be satisfied, James Hope, by the letter I’ve given you that we are + men to be trusted?” + </p> + <p> + “God forbid else,” said Hope. “Whom should we trust if not the brother and + son of Micah Ward?” + </p> + <p> + “Then I’ll come straight to the point,” said Donald. “Who were the two men + that were with you just now?” + </p> + <p> + “The one of them,” said Hope, “was Aeneas Moylin, a Catholic, and a friend + of Charlie Teeling. He’s a man that has done much to bring the Defender + boys from County Down and Armagh into the society. He has a good farm of + land near by Donegore.” + </p> + <p> + “And the other?” + </p> + <p> + “The other you ought to know, Neal Ward. He’s from Dunseveric. His name’s + James Finlay.” + </p> + <p> + “I do know him,” said Neal, “but I don’t trust him.” + </p> + <p> + “He came to me,” said Hope, “with a letter from your father, like the + letter you bring yourself. I have trusted him a great deal.” + </p> + <p> + “Trust him no more, then,” said Donald, “the man’s a spy. My brother was + deceived in him.” + </p> + <p> + “These are grave words you speak,” said Hope. “Can you make them good?” + </p> + <p> + Donald told the story of the raid on the Dunseveric meeting-house. He + dwelt on the fact that only five or six people knew of the buried cannon, + that of these, only one, James Finlay, had left Dunseveric, that Neal + Ward’s name had appeared on the list of suspected persons, though Neal had + hitherto taken no part and had no knowledge of the doings of the United + Irishmen; that his name must have been given to the authorities by some + one who had a private spite against him; that James Finlay, and he alone + of the people of Dunseveric, had any cause to seek revenge on Neal. + </p> + <p> + “It’s a case of suspicion,” said James Hope, “of heavy suspicion, but + you’ve not proven that the man’s a traitor.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Donald, “it’s not proven. I know that well, but the man ought + to be trusted no more until his character is cleared. He ought to be tried + and given a chance of defending himself.” + </p> + <p> + James Hope sat silent. His fingers pushed back the lock of dark hair which + hung over his forehead. His face grew stern, and there was a look of + determination in his dark eyes. A frown gathered in deep wrinkles on his + forehead. At last he spoke. + </p> + <p> + “You are on your way to Belfast. I shall give you a letter to Felix + Matier, who keeps the inn with the sign of Dumouriez in North Street. You + will find him easily. His house is a common meeting-place for members of + the society. I shall tell him to have a careful watch kept on Finlay, and + to communicate with you.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll deal with the man,” said Donald, “as soon as I have anything more + than suspicion to go on.” + </p> + <p> + “Deal uprightly, deal justly,” said Hope. “Ours is a sacred cause. It may + be God’s will that we are to be victorious, or it may be written in His + book that we shall fail. He alone knows the issue. But, either way, our + hands must not be stained with crime. We must do justly, aye, and love + mercy when mercy can be shown without imperilling the lives of innocent + men.” + </p> + <p> + “Traitors must be dealt with as traitors are in all civilised States,” + said Donald. + </p> + <p> + “Ay, truly, when we are sure that they are traitors.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall make sure,” said Donald, “and then——” + </p> + <p> + “Then———,” Hope sighed deeply. “Then—— you + are right. There is no help for it. But remember, Donald Ward, that you + and I must answer for our actions before the judgment seat of God. + Remember, also, that our names and our deeds will be judged by posterity. + We must not shrink from stern necessities laid upon us. But let us not + give the enemy an excuse to brand us as assassins in the time to come.” + </p> + <p> + “God damn it, man, you speak to me as if you thought me a hired murderer. + I take such language from no man living, and from you no more than + another, James Hope. You shall answer for your words and your + insinuations.” + </p> + <p> + Donald stood up as he spoke. His face was deeply flushed. He had drunk + heavily during the evening. Even the best men, the leaders of every class + and section of society drank heavily in those days. He was an exceptional + man who always went to bed in full possession of his senses. Donald Ward + was no worse than his fellows. But the man whom he challenged was one of + the few for whom the wine bottle had no attractions. He was also one of + those—rare in any age—who had learnt the mastery of self, whom + no words, even insulting words, can drive beyond the limits of their + patience. + </p> + <p> + “If I have spoken anything which hurts or vexes you, Donald Ward, I am + sorry for it. I had no wish to do so. Comrades in a great enterprise must + not quarrel with each other. I offer you my hand in token that I do not + think of you as anything but an honourable man.” + </p> + <p> + “Spoken like a gentleman,” said Donald, grasping the outstretched hand. + “Enough said, you have satisfied me that you meant no insult. A gentleman + can do no more.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not what they call a gentleman,” said James Hope, “I am only a poor + weaver with no claim to any such title.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII + </h2> + <p> + At breakfast the next morning James Hope spoke again about Finlay. + </p> + <p> + “The man went home last night with Aeneas Moylin. I think that I ought to + go to Donegore to-day and tell Aeneas of our suspicions. I had intended to + go straight to Templepatrick, and I might have had your company so far, + but it will certainly be better for me to go round by Donegore.” + </p> + <p> + Donald Ward nodded. + </p> + <p> + “I shall not see Finlay himself,” said Hope. “He was to leave early this + morning for Belfast. You must ride fast to be there before him.” + </p> + <p> + He paused. Then, after a moment’s thought, he said: + </p> + <p> + “I should like to have Neal with me, if you can spare him, Donald Ward, if + you do not object to riding alone.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure,” said Donald, “that Neal will benefit much more by your + company than mine. He can join me in Belfast this evening.” + </p> + <p> + This was Donald’s apology, his confession of contrition for the rough + language of the night before; his confession that in James Hope he had met + a man who was his superior. + </p> + <p> + “So be it,” said Hope. “I shall not propose to you, Neal, that we ride and + tie as the custom of the country is for travellers who have only one horse + between them. You shall lead the horse, and so we shall be able to talk to + each other.” + </p> + <p> + Neal agreed to the plan gladly. He was greatly attracted by James Hope, + and glad to spend some hours with him. + </p> + <p> + The girl came running into the room, her face flushed with excitement. + </p> + <p> + “Come, come,” she cried, “the soldiers are riding down the street in their + braw red coats. Oh, the bonny men and the bonny horses!” + </p> + <p> + The three travellers went to the door of the inn. Four companies of + dragoons were passing through the town at a trot. It was Neal’s first view + of any considerable body of troops. He stared at them, fascinated by the + jingling and clattering of their accoutrements. These were very different + from the yeomen he had seen at Dunseveric. Everything about them, the + uniformity of their appearance, the condition of their arms and horses, + the regularity of their march, expressed the fact that they were highly + disciplined men. Donald Ward smiled grimly as he watched them. + </p> + <p> + “There are the men we’ve got to beat,” he said. “Fine fellows, eh, Neal? + They look as if they could sweep you and me and Jemmy Hope here, and a + crowd like us, out of their way; but I’ve seen men in those same pretty + clothes glad enough to turn their backs on troops no better organised nor + drilled than ours will be.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor fellows!” said Hope “poor fellows! Paid to fight and die in quarrels + which are not their own. To fight for their masters, that their masters + may grow rich and great. And yet they are of the people, too. It is just + starvation, or the fear of it, that led them to enlist.” + </p> + <p> + “Where are they going now?” asked Neal. + </p> + <p> + “To Belfast,” said Hope. “I heard that the garrison there was deemed + insufficient and that a fresh regiment of dragoons had been ordered in + from Derry.” + </p> + <p> + “Look at them well, Neal,” said Donald. “Look at them so that you’ll know + them when you next see them. You’ll meet them again before long.” + </p> + <p> + James Hope and Neal started on their walk soon after the dragoons had + passed. Just outside the town they turned aside to view the round tower, + the most famous of the buildings of its kind in the north. + </p> + <p> + “None knows,” said Hope, “who built these towers, or why, but it seems + certain to me that they were built by men with lofty thoughts, by men who + looked upward rather than to the earth. Some say that it was to other gods + they looked up and not to the true God. What does it matter? Their hearts, + like their towers, rose clear of earthly hamperings and reached towards + heaven.” + </p> + <p> + He asked Neal many questions about his way of life and education, about + the books he had read, and the periods of history he found specially + interesting. + </p> + <p> + “I had no such opportunities when a boy,” said Hope, “as you have had. I + am a self-educated man. I never had but fifteen months of schooling in my + life. What little knowledge I have I gained with great difficulty.” + </p> + <p> + This surprised Neal, for it seemed to him that he had never talked to + anyone who possessed more of that sweetness and wide reasonableness of + outlook upon life which ought to be the end of education. He tried to + express something of what he felt, but Hope stopped him and turned the + talk into other channels. + </p> + <p> + At Farranshane Hope bade him stand still and look at a farmhouse which + stood a little back from the road. + </p> + <p> + “It was there,” he said, “that William Orr lived. His widow and weans are + there now. You know the story, Neal?” + </p> + <p> + “I know it; yes, I know the outlines of it. Do you tell it to me again.” + </p> + <p> + Hope repeated the story, which in those days hardly needed telling among + the Antrim peasants, of the man whose name had become a watchword; so that + men, seeking to revive failing enthusiasms, said to each other—“Remember + Orr.” It was a pitiful tale; a man marked down as odious by a powerful + faction, spied upon, informed against, tried by prejudiced judges, + condemned on the word of false witnesses, hanged. The same tale might have + been told of many another then, but William Orr came first on the list of + such martyrs, and even now his name is not wholly forgotten. + </p> + <p> + They reached Donegore. Moylin’s house—a comfortable, two-storeyed + building, built of large blocks of stone—stood on the side of the + steep hill, near the old church and the graveyard. Hope, bidding Neal wait + for him on the roadside, entered the house. In about a quarter of an hour + he returned. + </p> + <p> + “It is as I thought,” he said. “Finlay left early this morning after + arranging for a meeting of the United Irishmen here next week. Well, there + is no more to be done for the present. I have warned Moylin to be careful. + Come and let me show you the ancient fort from which the parish takes its + name and the view from it.” + </p> + <p> + “This,” said Hope, when they stood at last on the top of the great rath, + “is my Pisgah. From this I have looked many a time over the land. See, + west, south, east of you, how it spreads, rich, beautiful, from the shores + of Lough Neagh to the shores of Belfast Lough and the sea of Moyle. Here + great men, warriors of the past, had their hill-top burial, and it may be + fixed their fortress home. From this they looked over the country which + they took and held by strength of arm and courage of soul. Are we a meaner + race, men of a poorer spirit? Shall we not enter in and possess the land + in our turn? All over the world the voice of liberty is heard now, clear + and strong, bidding the people assert themselves and claim right and + justice. Are our ears alone deaf to the high call? Has the pursuit of + riches dulled our souls? Is the clink of gold and silver so loud in our + ears that we can hear nothing else?” + </p> + <p> + They descended the grassy sides of the old fort, walked down the steep + lane from Moylin’s house, and joined the road again. Turning to the right, + they went under the shade of fine trees which reached their branches over + the road from the demesne in which they grew. + </p> + <p> + “The big house in there,” said Hope, “belongs to one of the landlord + families of this county. It has been their’s for generations. On the lawn + in front of that house a company of Volunteers used to meet for drill. The + owner of the house, the lord of the soil, was their captain. In those days + we had all Ireland united—the landlords, the merchants, and the + farming people. Now it is not so. Our landlords won then what they wanted—freedom + and power. They have ruled Ireland since 1782. The merchants and + manufacturers also won what they chiefly wanted—the opportunity of + fair and free trade. They have grown rich, and are every year growing + richer. They bid fair to make Ireland a great commercial nation—what + she ought to be, the link between the Old World and the New. But both the + landlords and the traders have been selfish. Having gained the object of + their desires, they are unwilling to share either power or riches with the + people. They have refused to consider reasonable measures of reform. They + have goaded and harried us until——” + </p> + <p> + He ceased speaking and sighed. + </p> + <p> + “But,” he went on, “they will not be able to keep either their power or + their riches. In refusing to trust the people they are ensuring their own + doom. They forget that there is a power greater than theirs—that + England is continually on the watch to win back again her sovereignty over + Ireland. Our upper class and our middle class are too jealous of their + privileges to share them with us. They will give England the opportunity + she wants. Then Ireland will be brought into the old subjection, and her + advance towards prosperity will be checked again as it was checked before. + She will become a country of haughty squireens—the most contemptible + class of all, men of blackened honour and broken faith, men proud, but + with nothing to be proud of—and of ruined traders; a land of + ill-cultivated fields and ruined mills; a nation crushed by her + conqueror.” + </p> + <p> + Neal listened attentively. It was curious that the fear to which James + Hope gave expression was the very same which he had heard from Lord + Dun-severic. Each dreaded England. Each saw that out of the turmoil of + contemporary politics would come the restoration of the English power over + Ireland. But Lord Dunseveric blamed the schemes of the United Irishmen. + James Hope blamed the selfishness of the upper classes. Neal tried to + explain to his companion what he understood of Lord Dunseveric’s opinions. + </p> + <p> + James Hope broke in on him, interrupting him. + </p> + <p> + “But the people are slaves, actually slaves, not a whit better. Are + nine-tenths of the people to be slaves to one-tenth? The thing is + unendurable. Look at the Catholics in the south, men without + representation, without power, without direct influence; men marked with a + brand of inferiority because of their religion. Look at the men of our own + faith here in the north. Our case is not wholly so bad, but it is bad + enough. We have asked, petitioned, begged, implored, for the removal of + our grievances. If we are men we must do more—we must strike for + them. Else we confess ourselves unworthy of the freedom which we claim. + They alone are fit for liberty who dare to fight for liberty. Think of it, + Neal Ward, think. It is we, the people, digging in the fields, toiling at + the looms, it is we who make the riches, who win the good fruit from the + hard ground, who weave the thread into the precious fabric. And we are + denied a share in what we create. It is from us in the last resort that + the power of the governing classes comes. If we had not taken arms in our + hands at their bidding, if we had not stood by them, no English Minister + would ever have yielded to their demands, and given them the power which + they enjoy. And they will not give us the smallest part of what we won for + them. ‘What inheritance have we in Judah? Now see to thine own house, + David. To your tents, O Israel!’” + </p> + <p> + James Hope’s voice rose. His eyes flashed. His whole face was enlightened + with enthusiasm as he spoke. Neal listened, awed. Here was the devotion to + the cause of suffering and oppressed men, the spirit which had produced + revolution, which had begotten from the womb of humanity pure and noble + men, which had, in the violence of its self-assertion, deluged cities with + blood and defiled a great cause with dreadful deeds. He had no answer to + make, and for a long while they walked in silence. + </p> + <p> + Reaching Templepatrick, Hope took Neal to the house of John Birnie, a + hand-loom weaver, a cousin of his own. They were welcomed by the woman of + the house and given a share of a meal which even to Neal, brought up as he + had been without luxury in his father’s manse, seemed poor and meagre. But + no thought of the hardness of their fare seemed to trouble the mind of the + weaver and his wife. Theirs was the kind of hospitality which disdains + apology or pretence. They gave of their best. There was no more that they + could do. Also, it was evident that the tickling of the palate with food, + or the filling of the belly with delicate things was not a matter of much + importance to these people. Living hard and toilsome lives, they had the + constant companionship of lofty thoughts. They felt as James Hope did, and + spoke like him. + </p> + <p> + Neal lingered so long in the company of these new friends that it was far + on in the afternoon when he started on his ride, and late in the evening + when he arrived in the outskirts of Belfast. It was his first visit to the + town, and he approached it with feelings of interest and curiosity. Riding + down the long hill by which the road from Templepatrick approaches + Greencastle on the way to the town, he was able to gaze over the waters of + the lough which lay stretched beneath him on his left. In the + Carrickfergus roads several ships lay at anchor, among them a frigate of + the English navy. Pinnaces and small craft plied between them and the + shore, or headed for the entrance of Belfast Harbour by the tortuous + channel worn through mud and sand by the Lagan. Below him, by the sea, + were the handsome houses which the richer class of merchants were already + beginning to build for themselves on the shores of the lough. Between + Carnmoney and Belfast he passed the bleach greens of the linen weavers, + where the long webs of the cloth, for which Belfast was afterwards to + become famous, lay white or yellow on the grass. On his right rose the + rugged sides of the Cave Hill. High above its rocks towered MacArt’s fort, + where Wolfe Tone, M’Cracken, Samuel Neilson, and his new friend, James + Hope, with others, had sworn the oath of the United Irishmen. They had + separated far from each other since the day of their swearing, but each in + his own way—Tone among the intrigues of Continental politics, + M’Cracken in Belfast, Neilson and Hope among the Antrim peasantry—had + kept the oath and would keep it until the end. + </p> + <p> + Entering the town, he passed the recently-erected poorhouse and infirmary, + a building designed with a curious spacious generosity, as were the + buildings in Dublin and elsewhere which Irishmen erected during the short + day of their national independence. In Donegall Street he saw the new + church—Ann’s Church, as the people called it—-thinking rather + of the lady of Lord Donegall, who interested herself in its building, than + the Mother of the Virgin in whose honour good Protestants were little + likely to build a church. But the classic portico and tall tower did not + hold his attention long. He could not but notice that there was an air of + anxious excitement in the demeanour of the citizens who passed him in the + street. They were all hurrying one way, making from one direction or + another for the side street whose entrance faced the church. Neal accosted + one or two, but received either no answer or words uttered so hurriedly + that he could not catch their import. Determined at length to get some + intelligible reply to his questions, he pulled his horse across the path + of an elderly gentleman of respectable appearance. + </p> + <p> + “Will you tell me,” he said, “the way to North Street? I am a stranger in + your town.” + </p> + <p> + “And if you are a stranger you will do well to keep out of North Street + the night.” + </p> + <p> + “But I seek a house of entertainment to which I have been directed—Felix + Matier’s inn at the sign of Dumouriez.” + </p> + <p> + “Who are you, young man, who seek that house? They say——. But + let me pass, let me pass. I am the secretary of William Bristow, the + sovereign of Belfast, and I must see for myself, I must see for myself + what these incarnate devils of dragoons are doing in our streets.” + </p> + <p> + “I will not let you pass,” said Neal, “till you give me a civil answer to + my question. I think you citizens of Belfast are as uncivil as men say you + are, and are all gone mad to-night that you will not direct a stranger on + his way.” + </p> + <p> + “A wilful man, a wilful man. Follow me. Or, let me lay my hand on your + bridle. The crowd gathers fast. It may be that your horse, if I keep by + it, will enable me to push my way through. But blame me not if you come by + a broken head through your wilfulness.” + </p> + <p> + Neal’s guide, the sovereign’s pursy and excited secretary, led the horse + down the side street, along which the people were hurrying. Suddenly the + crowd hesitated, stopped, began to surge back again. Neal, standing up in + his stirrups, saw that the end of the narrow street along which he rode + was blocked by another crowd, which fled into it from a larger + thoroughfare beyond. There was much trampling and pushing and shouting. + Neal’s guide, clinging desperately to the horse’s bridle, was borne back. + The horse began to plunge. This was too much for the old gentleman. He + loosed his grip. + </p> + <p> + “Go on,” he said, “go on if you can, young man. That’s the North Street in + front of you.” + </p> + <p> + The reason for the crowd’s flight became obvious. A number of dragoons, + dismounted, half-clothed, and apparently free from all discipline, came + rushing down North Street. As they swept past the entrance of the side + street Neal had a clear view of them over the heads of the crowd. In a + moment they had passed out of sight again, but the moment was enough. + Running with the soldiers, his arm gripped by a dragoon, but running with + his own free will, was James Finlay. Neal was stung to fury by the sight + of this man. He had no doubt at all now that he had to do with a traitor. + He drove his heels against his horse’s side, lashed at the creature’s + flanks with his rod, and fairly forced his way through the cursing, + shouting crowd into North Street. + </p> + <p> + At the far end of the street he saw the dragoons raging and rioting round + a house which stood a storey higher than any other near it. The whole + length of the street lay almost empty before him. The soldiers had + effectually cleared a way for themselves. He rode towards the scene of the + riot. He saw that two civilians were defending the front of the house + against the soldiers. They fought with sticks, and Neal recognised one of + them as his uncle, Donald Ward. Before he could reach them they were + forced into the house, and followed indoors by some of the dragoons. James + Finlay had disappeared. Neal hesitated and stopped, uncertain what to do. + Some of the soldiers placed a ladder against the wall. One of them + mounted, with a sledge hammer in his hand, and battered at the iron + supports which held a signboard to the wall. The iron bars bent under his + blows, the holdfasts were torn from the wall, and the painted board fell + into the street. A yell of triumph greeted the fall. The soldiers stamped + on the board with their heavy boots and hacked at it with their swords. + Then another man mounted the ladder with a splintered fragment in his + hand. He whirled it round his head, and flung it far down the street. + </p> + <p> + “There’s for the rebelly sign,” he shouted. “There’s for Dumouriez! + There’s the way we treat damned French and Irish croppies.” + </p> + <p> + The crowd, which had gathered courage and followed Neal down the street, + answered him with a groan and a volley of stones. The man sprang from the + ladder, called to his comrades, and in a moment the dragoons drew together + and, their swords in their hands, charged the crowd. Neal’s horse, + terrified by the shouting, became unmanageable. Neal flung himself to the + ground, staggered, was knocked down and trampled on, first by the flying + people, then by the soldiers who pursued them. He rose when the rush was + over. The street around him was empty again. The fragments of the + shattered signboard lay around. The windows of the house that had been + attacked were all broken, either by the stones of the people or the blows + of the soldiers. There was a sound of fighting within the house. Neal ran + towards the door. A woman’s shriek reached him, and a moment later a + soldier came out of the door dragging a girl with him. He had a wisp of + her hair gathered in his hand, and he pulled at it savagely. The girl + stumbled on the doorstep, fell, was dragged a pace or two, staggered to + her feet, clutched at the soldier’s hand and fastened her teeth in his + wrist. Neal sprang forward at the man’s throat, grasped it, and, by the + sheer impetus of his spring, bore the dragoon to the ground. He was + conscious of being uppermost in the fall, of the fierce struggling of the + man he held, of the girl tearing with her hands and writhing in the effort + to free her hair, of shouting near at hand, of a rush of men from the + house. Then he received a blow on the head which stunned him. He awoke to + consciousness a few minutes later, and heard his uncle’s voice. + </p> + <p> + “Is the girl inside and the man? Have you got him? Then for the door. + They’ll hardly venture into the house again after the reception we gave + them. It was a mighty nice fight while it lasted. Now a light, a light. + Let us see if anyone’s hurt.” + </p> + <p> + Someone brought a light. Neal tried to rise, but was too giddy. The girl + whom the soldier had dragged into the street stood beside him. Her hair—bright + red hair—hung about her shoulders. Her dress was in tatters, she was + spitting blood, and wiping it off her mouth with the back of her hand. + </p> + <p> + “Hullo, Meg, Peg, whatever your name is,” said Donald Ward, “you’re + bleeding. Where are you cut? Let me see to it?” + </p> + <p> + “Thon’s no my blood,” said the girl. “It’s his. I got my teeth intil him. + Ay, faith, it’s his blood that I’m spitting out of my mouth. I did hear + tell that it was black blood was in the likes of him, but I see now it’s + red enough. I’m glad of it, for I’ve swallowed a gill of it since I + gripped his wrist, and I wouldna’ like to swallow poison.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, Peg, my wench, since you’re not hurt, let’s take a look at + the man that helped you. He’s lying there mighty quiet. I’m afraid there’s + some harm done to him.” + </p> + <p> + Donald Ward took the light and bent over Neal. + </p> + <p> + “By God,” he said, “it’s Neal, and he’s hurt or killed.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s all right,” said Neal, feebly, “I’m only dizzy. I got a bang on the + head. I’ll be all right in a minute.” + </p> + <p> + “Matier,” said Donald, “come and help me with the boy. I must get him to + bed. Where can I put him?” + </p> + <p> + “There’s not a room in the house with a whole pane of glass in the + window,” said Felix Matier, “except my own. It looks out on the back, and + the villains never came at it. We’ll take him there. I’ll lift his + shoulders, and go first.” + </p> + <p> + He approached Neal and was about to lift him when the girl pushed him + aside and stooped over Neal herself. + </p> + <p> + “Come now, what’s the meaning of this, Peg Macllrea? Are you so daft with + your fighting that you hustle your master aside?” + </p> + <p> + “Master or no master,” said Peg, “you’ll not carry him. It was for me that + he got hurted, and it’s me that’ll carry him.” + </p> + <p> + She put her arms under Neal and lifted him. He was a big man, but she + carried him up a flight of stairs and laid him on her master’s bed. The + long matted tresses of her red hair hung over his face, and an occasional + drop of the blood which still dripped from her fell on him. Donald Ward + and Matier followed her. + </p> + <p> + “Let’s have a look at him,” said Donald. “Ah! here’s a scalp wound and a + cut on the head the length of my finger. This must be seen to. Run, Peg, + get me linen and a basin of cold water. It must have been a boot did this. + A kick from one of the rascally dragoons as they passed over him when we + chased them. Now, Neal, are you hurt anywhere else?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m bruises from head to foot. Half the people in Belfast have trampled + over me this night, and when they wear boots they wear mighty heavy ones.” + </p> + <p> + Donald, with wonderful gentleness, took Neal’ clothes off him, put on him + a night shirt of Felix Matier’s, and laid him between cool sheets. + </p> + <p> + “Sit you here, Peg,” he said, when he had bandaged the cut head, “with the + jug of water beside you, and keep the bandage wet. The other bruises are + nothing, but a broken head needs to be minded. Now, Neal, don’t you talk.” + </p> + <p> + Matier fetched a bottle of wine and set it with the light on the table + which stood near the window. + </p> + <p> + “We’ll have to sit here,” he said, “if we don’t disturb your nephew. Every + other room in the house is in a state of scatteration. I have set the + girls to clean up a bit, and after a while they’ll have beds for us to + sleep in. It’s a devil of a business, but as poor Tone used to say when + things went wrong with him— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘Tis but in vain + For soldiers to complain.’” + </pre> + <p> + “What started the riot?” asked Donald. “The Lord knows. Those dragoons + only marched into the town this afternoon. I suppose the devil entered + into them, if the devil’s ever out of them at all.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess,” said Donald, “those were the lads that marched through Antrim + this morning.” + </p> + <p> + “The very same.” + </p> + <p> + “They’re strangers to the town, then?” + </p> + <p> + “Ay; I don’t suppose one of them ever saw Belfast before.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me this, then. How did they know what house to attack? They came + straight here.” + </p> + <p> + “It was my sign angered them. They couldn’t abide the sight of Dumouriez’ + honest face in a Belfast street. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Then let us fight about, Dumouriez; + Then let us fight about, Dumouriez; + Then let us fight about, + Till freedom’s spark is out, + Then we’ll be damned no doubt—Dumouriez.” + </pre> + <p> + “You miss the point, man; you miss my point. How did they know about your + sign or you either, unless someone told them?” + </p> + <p> + There was a knocking, gentle at first, and then more confident, at the + street door. Donald looked inquiringly at his host. + </p> + <p> + “It’s all right,” said Matlier, “I know that knock. It’s James Bigger, a + safe man.” + </p> + <p> + He left the room and returned with a young man whom he introduced to + Donald Ward. + </p> + <p> + “We were just talking about the riot,” said Donald. “What’s your opinion + about it, Mr. Bigger?” + </p> + <p> + “There are five houses wrecked,” said Bigger, “and every one of them the + house of a man in sympathy with reform and liberty and the Union.” + </p> + <p> + Donald and Matier exchanged glances. + </p> + <p> + “They were well informed,” said Donald. “They knew what they were at, and + where to go.” + </p> + <p> + “They say,” said Bigger, “that the leaders of the different parties had + papers in their hands with directions on them. They were seen looking at + them in the streets.” + </p> + <p> + “I’d like to put my hand on one of those papers,” said Donald. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Zipperty, zipperty, zand,” + </pre> + <p> + quoted Matier, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “I wish I’d a bit of that in my hand.” + </pre> + <p> + “You know the old rhyme.” + </p> + <p> + Neal lay quiet, but wide awake. The conversation interested him too much + to allow him to sleep. Twice he tried to speak, but each time Peg + Macllrea, determined now that he was under her care to keep him quiet, put + her hand over his mouth. At last he succeeded in asserting himself in + spite of her. + </p> + <p> + “I saw James Finlay,” he said, “along with a party of the soldiers going + up this street.” + </p> + <p> + The three men at the table turned to him. Donald seemed about to + cross-question him when Peg Macllrea spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Is it a bit of the soger’s paper you’re wantin’? Here’s for you.” + </p> + <p> + She fumbled in the pocket of her skirt and drew out a crumpled scrap of + paper. + </p> + <p> + “I snapped it out of his hand in the kitchen. It was for grabbing it that + he catched me by the hair o’ the head. I saw him glowerin’ at it as soon + as ever he came intil the light.” + </p> + <p> + Donald Ward took it from her hand and read— + </p> + <p> + “The house of Felix Matier, an inn at the far end of North Street, to be + known easily by the sign of Dumouriez which hangs before the door. Felix + Matier is + + +.” + </p> + <p> + He passed it without comment to Matier, who read it and laughed. + </p> + <p> + “They have me marked with three crosses,” he said. “I’m dangerous. But + what do they mean by it. How do they come to know so much about me? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘Ken ye aught of Captain Grose Igo and ago. + Is he amang friends or foes? Iram, coram, dago.’ +</pre> + <p> + “Who set the dragoons on you?” said Donald. “That’s the question.” + </p> + <p> + “By God, then, it’s easily answered,” said Matier. “I’ll give it to you in + the words of the poet— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘Letters four do form his name. + He let them loose and cried Halloo! + To him alone the praise is due.’ +</pre> + <p> + “P.I.T.T. Does that content you?” + </p> + <p> + “Pitt,” said Donald. “Oh, I see. That’s true, no doubt. But I want some + one nearer hand than Pitt. Who gave them this paper? Whose is the writing + on it?” + </p> + <p> + “I can tell you that,” said James Bigger. “I have a note in my pocket this + minute from the man who wrote that. It’s a summons to a meeting for + important business at the house of Aeneas Moylin, on the hill of Donegore, + next week.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you?” said Donald. + </p> + <p> + “Ay, and the man’s name is James Finlay.” + </p> + <p> + A dead silence followed the statement. It was Donald who broke it. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon, friend Bigger, that I’ll go with you to that meeting. We’ll + take Neal here along, too. He knows the man. There’ll be some important + business done that night, though maybe not quite the same as what James + Finlay has planned.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII + </h2> + <p> + Neal Ward was awakened next morning by the noise which Peg Macllrea made + sweeping and tidying the room where he slept. He lay for a few minutes + watching the girl. Her red hair was coiled up now in a neat roll at the + back of her head. Her freckled face was clean, and had apparently escaped + bruising in her conflict with the dragoon. She wore a short grey skirt of + woollen homespun. The sleeves of her bodice were rolled up, and displayed + a pair of muscular red arms. The girl was more than commonly tall, and + anyone listening to her heavy footfall, and noting her thick figure and + broad shoulders, would have understood that she was well able to carry a + young man, even of Neal’s height, up a flight of stairs. The dragoon might + easily have come to the worst in single combat with such a maiden if he + had not obtained an advantage over her at the start by twisting her hair + round his hand. + </p> + <p> + It was not very long before she noticed that Neal was awake. She came over + to him smiling. + </p> + <p> + “You’ve had a brave sleep,” she said. “It’s nigh on eleven o’clock. The + master and Mr. Ward are out this twa hours. They bid me not stir you. I + was just readying up the room a bit, and I went about it as mim as a + mouse.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m thinking,” said Neal, “that I’ll be getting up now.” + </p> + <p> + “‘Deed, then, and you’ll no. The last word the master said was just that + you were to lie in the day. I’m to give you tea and toasted bread, and an + egg if you fancy it.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” said Neal, “I can’t lie here in bed all day.” + </p> + <p> + “Whisht, now, whisht. Be good and I’ll get you them twa graven images the + master’s so set on and let you glower at them. Maybe you never seen the + like.” + </p> + <p> + She spoke precisely as if she had a sick child to humour; as if she were + the nurse in charge, determined at any sacrifice to keep the peevish + little one from crying. She crossed the room to a book-case and took down + two bronze busts. With the utmost care she carried them over and laid them + on the bed in front of Neal. + </p> + <p> + “The master’s one of them that goes neither to church nor mass nor + meeting,” she said. “If ever he says his prayers at all, at all, it’s to + them twa graven images he says them, and the dear knows they’re no so + eye-sweet.” + </p> + <p> + She left the room, well satisfied apparently that she had provided her + patient with playthings which would keep him good till she returned with + his breakfast. Neal took up the busts and examined them. He would not have + known whose faces were represented had not an inscription on the pedestal + of each informed him. “Voltaire,” he read on one, “Rousseau” on the other. + These were strange household gods for a Belfast innkeeper to revere. Neal, + gazing at them, slowly grasped their significance. He had heard talk of + French ideas, had seen his father shake his head over the works of certain + philosophers. He knew that there was an intellectual freedom claimed by + many of those who were most enthusiastic in the cause of political reform. + He had not previously met anyone who was likely to accept the teaching of + either Voltaire or Rousseau. His eyes wandered from the busts to the + book-case on which they had stood. It was well filled, crammed with books. + Neal could see them standing in close rows, books of all sizes and + thicknesses, but he could not read the names on their backs. Peg Macllrea + returned with his breakfast on a wooden tray. She put it down in front of + him and then set herself to entertain him while he ate. + </p> + <p> + “Thon was a brave coup you gave the soger in the street,” she said. “You + gripped him fine, the ugly devil. But you did na hurt him much. He was up + and off when they got us dragged from him, as hard as ever he could lift a + foot. You’ll be fond of fighting?” + </p> + <p> + “So far,” said Neal, “I have generally got the worst of it when I have + fought.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, you would. Your way of fighting is no just the canniest, but I like + you no the worse for it. You might have got off without thon bloody clout + on the top of your head if ye’d just clodded stones and then run like the + rest of them. But that’s no your way of fightin’. Did ye ever fight + afore?” + </p> + <p> + “Just two nights ago,” said Neal, “and I got the scrape on the side of my + face then.” + </p> + <p> + “And was it for a lassie you were fightin’ thon time? I see well by the + face of you that it was. And she liked you for it. Did she no? She’d be a + quare one that didna. Did she give you a kiss to make the scrab on your + face better? I wouldna think twice about giving you one myself only you + wouldn’t have kisses from the likes of me. Be quiet now, and sup up your + tea. I willna have you offering to slabber ower my hand if that’s what + you’re after.” + </p> + <p> + Neal, who had felt himself goaded to some act of gallantry, returned + sheepishly to his tea and toast. + </p> + <p> + “You’re no a Belfast boy?” said Peg. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Neal, “I’m from Dunseveric, right away in the north of the + county.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, are you? Do you mind the old rhyme— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘County Antrim, men and horses, + County Down for bonny lasses.’ +</pre> + <p> + Maybe your lassie, the one that kissed you, was out of the County Down?” + </p> + <p> + “She was not,” said Neal, unguardedly. + </p> + <p> + Peg Macllrea laughed with delight and clapped her hands. + </p> + <p> + “I knew rightly there was a lassie, and that she kissed you. Now you’ve + tellt me yourself. But I willna split on you, nor I willna let on that you + tellt on her. But I hope she’s bonny, though she does not come from the + County Down.” + </p> + <p> + Neal grew angry. It did not seem fitting that this red-haired, freckled + servant, with her bold tongue and red arms, should make game of Una St. + Clair’s kisses. They were sacred things in his memory. + </p> + <p> + “Now you’re getting vexed,” she said. “You’re as cross as twa sticks. I + can see it in your eyes. Well, I’ve more to do than to be coaxing you.” + </p> + <p> + She turned her back on him and began to sing— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “I would I were in Ballinderry, + I would I were in Aghalee, + I would I were on bonny Ram’s Island, + Sitting under an ivy tree. + Ochone! Ochone!” + </pre> + <p> + “Peg,” said Neal, “Peg Macllrea, don’t you be cross with me.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “I would I were in Ballinderry,” + </pre> + <p> + she began again. + </p> + <p> + “Peg,” said Neal, “I’ve finished my tea, and I wish you’d turn round. + Please do, please.” + </p> + <p> + She turned to him at last with a broad smile on her face. + </p> + <p> + “Is that the way you wheedled the poor lassie out of the kiss? But there + now, I’ll no say a word more about her if it makes you sore. But I can’t + sit here crackin’ all day. I’ve the dinner to get ready, and the master’ll + be quare and angry if it’s no ready against he’s home.” + </p> + <p> + She picked up the tray as she spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Would you like me to leave you them twa graven images?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I’d like you to take them away,” said Neal, “and then get me a book out + of the case.” + </p> + <p> + “I will, surely. What sort of a book would you like? A big one or a wee + one. There’s one here in a braw red cover with pictures of ships in it. + Maybe it might content you.” + </p> + <p> + “Read me a few of their names,” said Neal, “and I’ll tell you which to + bring.” + </p> + <p> + “Faith, if you wait for me to read you the names you’ll wait till the + crack of doom. Nobody ever learned me readin’, writin’, or ‘rithmetic.” + </p> + <p> + “Bring me three or four,” said Neal, “and I’ll choose the one I like + best.” + </p> + <p> + She deposited half a dozen volumes on the chair beside him and left the + room. Neal took them up one by one. There was a volume of “Voltaire,” Tom + Paine’s “Rights of Man,” “The Vindiciæ Gallicæ,” by Mackintosh, Godwin’s + “Political Justice,” Montesquieu’s “Esprit des Lois,” and a volume of + Burns’ poetry, not long out from a Belfast printer. Neal already knew + Godwin’s works and the “Esprit des Lois.” They stood on his father’s + bookshelves. He glanced at the pages of the others, and finally settled + down to read Burns’ poetry. The Scottish dialect presents little + difficulty to a man bred among County Antrim people. The love songs, with + their extraordinary freshness and vivid emotion, delighted Neal. Like many + lovers of poetry, he tasted the full pleasure of verse best when he read + it aloud. One after another he declaimed the marvellous songs, returning + again and again to one which seemed peculiarly suited to his circumstances— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “It’s not the roar o’ sea or shore + Wad make me longer wish to tarry; + Nor shouts o’ war that’s heard afar— + It’s leaving thee, my bonny Mary.” + </pre> + <p> + He read the song aloud for the fourth time. As he uttered the last words + he heard a laugh, and, looking up, saw his host, Felix Matier, standing at + the door of the room. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Neal, good morrow to you. You’re well enough in body, to judge by + your voice. But if that poem’s a measure of the state of your mind you’re + sick at heart. Never mind Mary, man. There’s better stuff in Burns than + that. He’s no bad poet, is Rabbie Burns. Listen to this now. Here’s one + I’m fond of.” + </p> + <p> + He took the book out of Neal’s hand, and read him “Holy Willie’s Prayer.” + His dry intonation’, his perfect rendering of the dialect of the poem, the + sly twinkle of his eyes as he read, added exquisite malice to the satire. + </p> + <p> + “But maybe,” he said, “I oughtn’t to be reading the like of that to you + that’s the son of the Manse, though nobody would think of Holy Willie and + your father together. I’m not very fond of the clergy myself, Neal, either + of your Church or another. I’m much of John Milton’s opinion that new + presbyter is just old priest writ large, but if there’s one kind of + minister that’s not so bad as the rest it’s the New Light men of the + Ulster Synod, and your father’s one of the best of them. But here’s + something now that Micah Ward would approve of. Just let me read you this. + I’ll have time enough before your uncle comes in. He’s not a man of books, + that uncle of yours, and I’d be ashamed if he caught me reading at this + hour of the day. But listen to me now.” + </p> + <p> + He took up the volume of “Voltaire” and read— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + L’âme des grands travaux, l’objet des nobles voeux, + Que tout mortel embrasse, ou désire, ou rapelle, + Qui vit dans tous les coeurs, et dont le nom sacré + Dans les cours des tyrans est tout bas adoré, La Liberté! + J’ai vu cette déesse altière + Avec égalité répandant tous les biens, + Descendre de Morat en habit de guerrière, + Les mains teintes du sang des fiers Autrichiens + Et de Charles le Téméraire.” + </pre> + <p> + Felix Matier’s manner of pronouncing French was somewhat painful to listen + to. Voltaire would probably have failed to recognise his solitary lyric if + he had heard it read by Mr. Matier. But if the poet had discovered that + the verses were his own and had got over his shudder at a mangling of + French sounds worse than the worst he can have heard at Potsdam from the + courtiers of Frederick William, he would probably have been well enough + satisfied with the spirit of the rendering. Mr. Matier, of the North + Street, Belfast, was obviously a sincere worshipper of the <i>déesse + altière</i>, and would have been delighted to see her hands <i>teintes du + sang</i> of the men who had torn down his sign the night before. Neal, + though he could read French easily, did not understand a single word he + heard. He took the book from his host to see what the poem was about. Mr. + Matier did not seem the least vexed, although he understood what Neal was + doing. + </p> + <p> + “The French are a great people,” he said. “Europe owes them all the ideas + that are worth having. I’d be the last man to breathe a word against them, + but I must say that it requires some sort of a twisted jaw to pronounce + their language properly. I understand it all right when it’s printed, but + as for Speaking it or following it when a Frenchman speaks it——” + </p> + <p> + He shrugged his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “But it’s time I stopped moidering you with poetry. I hope you’re really + feeling better. I hope Peg took good care of you, and brought you your + breakfast.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed she did. She took rather too good care of me. I thought one time + she was going to kiss me. + </p> + <p> + “Did she make to do that? Well, now, just think of it! Isn’t she the + brazen hussy? And I’m sure her breath reeked of onions or some such like.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said Neal, “we didn’t get as far as that. Her breath may be roses + for all I know.” + </p> + <p> + “You kept her at arm’s length. Serve her well right. I never heard of such + impudence. But these red-haired ones are the devil. It’s the same with + horses. I had a chestnut filly one time—a neat little tit in her way—but + she’d kick the weathercock off the top of the church steeple whenever she + was a bit fresh. Never trust anything red. A red dog will bite you, a red + horse will kick you, a red wench will kiss you, besides being a damned + unlucky thing to meet first thing in the morning, a red soldier will hang + you. There’s only one good thing in the world that’s red, and that’s a red + cap—the red cap of Liberty, Neal, and may we soon have all the red + coats in the country cut up into such head-gear.” + </p> + <p> + It was fortunate for Neal that he found Felix Matier’s conversation + amusing and Felix Matier’s books interesting. He had ample opportunity of + enjoying them during the week which followed the dragoons’ riot. Donald + Ward refused, as long as possible to allow him to get out of bed, and even + when Neal was up and dressed, peremptorily forbade him to leave the house. + He spoke weighty words about his experience of wounds, of frightful + consequences which followed cuts on the head when the cold of the outer + air got at them, of men who had died of lockjaw because they would not + take care of scalp wounds, of burning eruptions which broke out on the + unwary, of desperate fevers threatening life and reason. + </p> + <p> + Neal was puzzled. He had tumbled about among the rocks at Ballintoy a good + deal during his boyhood, cutting and bruising most parts of his body. Even + his head had not escaped. There was a deep scar under his hair which he + had come by in the course of an attempt to enter a long fissure among the + rocks of the Skerries, off Port-rush. But such wounds had troubled him + very little. He had never made a fuss about them or taken any special + precautions on account of them, neither knowing nor caring anything about + the evils which may follow wounds, which do follow wounds, in pampered + bodies. He could not understand why his uncle, who was certainly not + otherwise given to morbid coddling, should insist upon such excessive care + of a cut which was healing rapidly. + </p> + <p> + The fact was that Donald Ward was nervous about Neal, not at all on + account of his cut head, which was nothing, but because Captain Twinely + and his yeomen had returned to Belfast. It leaked out that the military + authorities were not pleased with Captain Twinely. He had brought back + three prisoners and the cannon, but he had not brought back Micah Ward, + who was particularly wanted. Captain Twinely, angry at his cold reception, + and furious at the hanging of his trooper, was anxious to revenge himself + upon some one. Lord Dun-severic was too great a man to be attacked. The + Government could not afford to interfere with his methods of executing + justice in North Antrim. Captain Twinely was given a broad hint that he + must hawk at lower game, and keep his mouth shut about the hanging of his + trooper. There was no objection to the yeomen outraging women so long as + they confined themselves to farmers’ wives, but an insult offered to Lord + Dunseveric’s sister and daughter, under Lord Dunseveric’s own eyes, was a + different matter. The less said the better about the hanging of the man + who had distinguished himself by that exploit. Captain Twinely, growing + savage at this second snub, and afraid lest perhaps he himself might be + sacrificed when Lord Dunseveric’s story of his raid came to be told, + sought to ingratiate himself with the authorities by offering them a fresh + victim. He gave an exaggerated version of Neal Ward’s attack on the + troopers outside the meeting-house, and drew an imaginary picture of the + young man as a deep and dangerous conspirator. He even managed to shift + the responsibility for the hanging of the trooper from Lord Dunseveric’s + shoulders to Neal’s. He knew that Neal had left Dunseveric, and he assured + Major Fox, the town major, that Neal was at that moment in Belfast + arranging for the outbreak of the rebellion. Major Fox was worried by the + complaints which respectable citizens were making about the dragoons’ + riot. He was anxious to prove, if possible, that the soldiers’ conduct had + been provoked by the violence of the United Irishmen. He produced the man + whom Peg Macllrea and Neal had mangled and set him before the public as an + object of pity, his wrist tied up and his head elaborately bandaged. A + great idea flashed on him. He allowed it to be understood that he was on + the track of a most dangerous rebel—a young man who had hanged a + yeoman in Dunseveric and nearly murdered a dragoon in Belfast. In reality + he was too busy just then with more important matters to make any real + search for Neal Ward. But a week later he offered a reward of fifty pounds + for such information as would lead to his apprehension. + </p> + <p> + But the rumours of Captain Twinely’s sayings were sufficient to frighten + Donald Ward. He did not shrink from danger himself, and, had his own life + been threatened, would have taken measures to protect himself without any + feeling of panic, but his apprehension of peril for Neal was a different + matter. He felt responsible for his nephew, and did not intend to allow + him to be captured if caution could save him. Therefore, he insisted on + Neal’s remaining indoors, and plied him with the most alarming accounts of + the danger of his wound. He hoped in a few days to get Neal out of Belfast + to the comparative safety of some farmhouse. He was particularly anxious + that Finlay, who would certainly recognise the young man, should not see + him. + </p> + <p> + News reached Belfast that the United Irishmen in Wexford were in arms and + had taken the field against the English forces. The northern leaders + became eager to move at once and to strike vigorously. Everything seemed + to depend on their obtaining the command of Antrim and Down, and opening + communications with the south. James Hope arrived in Belfast. Henry Joy + M’Cracken was there. Henry Monro rode in every day from Lisburn. Meeting + after meeting was held in M’Cracken’s house in Rosemary Lane, in Bigger’s + house in the High Street, in Felix Matier’s shattered inn, or in Peggy + Barclay’s. Robert Simms, the general of the northern United Irishmen, + resigned his position. His heart failed him at the critical moment, and + when pressed by braver men to take the field at once he hung back and gave + up his command. He forgot his oath on MacArt’s Fort, where he stood side + by side with Wolfe Tone. Henry Joy M’Cracken, a man of another spirit, was + appointed in his place. With extreme rapidity and an insight into the + conditions of the struggle, marvellous in a man with no military training, + he laid his plans for simultaneous attacks upon a number of places in Down + and Antrim. + </p> + <p> + The Government was not idle. The northern United Irishmen were the best + organised and most formidable body to be dealt with. During the pause + before the outbreak of hostilities spies went busily to and fro. Reports + were carried to the authorities of every movement made, of almost every + meeting held. Men were arrested, imprisoned, flogged in the streets of + Belfast. Information was forced from prisoners under the lash. Parties of + yeomen rode through the country burning, ravishing, and hanging as they + went. + </p> + <p> + James Finlay earned his pay with the best of his kind, denouncing men whom + he knew to be United Irishmen, and giving information about their + whereabouts. He was settled in Bridge Street, and, strangely blind to the + fact that he was no longer trusted, invited the leaders to confer with + him, and allowed his house to be used as a store for ammunition. Donald + Ward, grimly determined that this man should get his deserts, insisted + that nothing should be said or done to alarm him. + </p> + <p> + “We can’t deal with him here,” he said. “Wait, wait till we get him down + to Donegore next week. If we frighten him now he won’t go.” + </p> + <p> + Of all these doings Neal heard only vague rumours. Sometimes Peg Macllrea, + crimson with horror and rage, came to him and told him of a flogging, + sparing him no details of the brutality. Sometimes his uncle sat an hour + with him and talked of the fight that was coming. He seemed neither + impatient nor excited. He looked forward with calm satisfaction to the day + when he would have a gun in his hand and an opportunity of shooting at the + men who were harrying the country. + </p> + <p> + “We have a couple of brass cannons, Neal. They’re not much to boast of, + but if they are properly served they will do some mischief. I have a + little experience of artillery, though it wasn’t in my regular line of + fighting. I think I’ll perhaps get charge of one of them.” + </p> + <p> + Felix Matier came often to see Neal. As things grew darker outside he + became more and more extravagantly cheerful. His talk was all of liberty, + of the dawn of the new era, of the breaking of old chains, and the rising + of the peoples of the world in unconquerable might. + </p> + <p> + “We’re to do our share in the grand work, Neal Ward, you and me; we’ll + have our hands in it in a day or two now. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘May liberty meet with success! + May prudence protect her from evil! + May tyrants and tyranny tine in the midst + And wander their way to the devil.’ +</pre> + <p> + “Ora, but fighting’s the work for a man after all. Here am I that have + spent my life making up reckonings and seeing to drink and men’s dinners + and the beds they were to sleep in. But I never was contented with such + things, and the money I made didn’t content me a bit more. <i>They</i> + taught me better, boy.” He put his hand on the pile of books which lay on + the table in front of Neal. “They taught me that there was something + better than making money and eating full and living soft, something in the + world a man might fight for. Eh, but I wasn’t meant for an innkeeper—I + was meant for a fighter. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘I’d fight at land, I’d fight at sea; + At hame I’d fight my auntie, O! + I’d meet the devil and Dundee + On the braes o’ Killiecrankie, O!’” + </pre> + <p> + James Hope also came to see Neal. His talk was very different from the + flamboyant exultation of Felix Matier; very different also from Donald + Ward’s cool delight in the prospect of battle. James Hope seemed to + realise the awful gravity of taking up arms against established + government. He alone understood the very small chance there was of victory + for the United Irishmen. Yet Neal never for an instant doubted Hope’s + courage. He felt that this man had argued out the whole matter with + himself and thought deeply and prayed earnestly and had made up his mind. + </p> + <p> + “I do not think that we are sure to win, Neal, but I hope that our + fighting will enable those coming after us to obtain by other means the + liberty and security which will surely be withheld from them unless we + fight. I do not say these things to every one, but I feel safe in saying + them to you. You will not fear to die, if death is to be the end of it for + us.” + </p> + <p> + Neal felt convinced that Hope himself would go calmly, steadfastly on if + he were quite sure that the gallows waited for him. It was to Hope, more + than to either of the others, that he complained about his confinement in + Matier’s house. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot bear,” he said, “to be shut up here. I am not ill. The cut on my + head is cured now. There must be some other reason for keeping me here. Am + I not to be trusted? You say that you believe I will not shrink. Why keep + me here as if you were all afraid of my turning coward or traitor?” + </p> + <p> + Hope parried these complaints as well as he could, telling Neal that a + soldier’s first duty was obedience, that in good time he would be given + something to do; that in the meanwhile he must show himself brave by being + patient! + </p> + <p> + “It is harder,” he said, “to conquer yourself than to conquer your enemy.” + </p> + <p> + One day, when Neal had been a week in captivity, he broke out passionately + to Hope— + </p> + <p> + “I cannot bear this any longer. I hear of you and my uncle and the others + risking your lives. I hear of the brutality of the soldiers. I hear of + great plans on foot. I claim my share of the danger that surrounds us. I + understand now why you all combine to keep me here. You are afraid of my + running risks. I claim, I claim as a right, that I be allowed to take the + same risks as the rest.” + </p> + <p> + James Hope sat silent. His fingers played with the dark lock of hair which + hung over his forehead. Neal knew the gesture well. It was common with + Hope when he thought deeply and painfully. His fine dark eyes were fixed + on Neal’s, and there was the same curiously gentle expression in them + which had attracted Neal the first time he noticed it. + </p> + <p> + “I admit your claim,” said Hope, slowly, at last. “I shall speak to your + uncle. To-morrow, I think I may promise this; to-morrow you shall come + with me, and we shall do something which will be difficult, and I think a + little dangerous too.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX + </h2> + <p> + James Hope kept his promise. About noon the next day he came to the inn + and found Neal waiting for him impatiently. + </p> + <p> + “We are going,” he said, “to James Finlay’s house. Before we start I think + I ought to tell you that in any case you could not stay here any longer. I + saw this morning a proclamation offering a reward of fifty pounds for your + capture, and I have no doubt that Finlay will earn it if he can, even if + the soldier you mauled does not trace you here.” + </p> + <p> + “I am ready,” said Neal. + </p> + <p> + “You are not afraid? I see you are not, and we are not going to run into + any unnecessary danger. Finlay will not betray you at once. He will not + run out and call soldiers to take you the moment he sees you. He has a + deeper plan. He has arranged that a meeting of our leaders will be held in + Aeneas Moylin’s house to-morrow night. He is to be there himself, and he + has received assurance that most of our chief men will be there. We have + little doubt that he has given information about the meeting, and made his + arrangements for capturing us all. We shall tell him that you are to be + there, too. Then he will not want to risk exposing himself by betraying + you at once. He will wait for you till to-morrow. But when to-morrow comes + he will not find our leaders at Donegore. I have not asked, and I do not + wish to know, what he will find when he gets there.” + </p> + <p> + “I understand,” said Neal. “When we meet I am to pretend that I trust him + thoroughly.” + </p> + <p> + Hope smiled. + </p> + <p> + “You are a good soldier. You are prepared to obey, and you do not ask too + many questions. But I am going to trust you fully, and tell you why we are + going to Finlay’s house to-day. Some time ago we stored some cases of ball + cartridges there. They are in a cellar, and I have no doubt that Major Fox + knows all about them, and thinks them as safe as if they were in the + munition room of the barrack. You and I are going to carry off those + cases. We want the cartridges badly, and we cannot wait for them. We shall + be using them, I hope, the day after to-morrow, and if we leave them there + till Finlay goes to Donegore to-morrow evening I fear they may be seized + by the soldiers. We must take them at once, and it seems to me that our + best chance will be to walk off with them in broad daylight without an + attempt at concealment. We shall bring them here.” + </p> + <p> + “How many cases are there?” asked Neal. + </p> + <p> + “Eight,” said Hope. “We must manage to carry four each, but the distance + is not very great.” + </p> + <p> + Neal drew a deep breath of relief when he reached the street. Any service, + however dangerous, any form of activity in the open air, was a joy to him + after his long confinement in the house. + </p> + <p> + The streets, as he and Hope passed through them, were full of soldiers. + Companies of yeomen marched and countermarched in indifferent order + through every thoroughfare. Pickets of regulars, their bayonets fixed, + stood at the street corners and in front of the principal buildings. + Troops of dragoons, rattling and jingling, trotted briskly in one + direction or another. Orderlies cantered their horses from place to place. + Business in the town was almost suspended. Many of the shops were shut. + Grave citizens, engaged in pressing affairs, hurried, with downcast eyes, + along the causeways, seldom stopping to speak to each other, greeting + acquaintances with hasty nods. Women of the better sort, if they ventured + out at all, walked quickly, heavily cloaked and veiled. The trollops and + street walkers of a garrison town emerged from their lairs even at midday, + and stood in little groups at the corners exchanging jests with the + soldiers on picket duty, or shouted ribaldries to the yeomen and dragoons + who passed them. Idle maid servants, sluttish and dishevelled, leaned far + out of the upper windows of the houses to gaze at the pageant beneath + them. In the High Street a crowd of loafers—coarse women and + soldiers off duty—was gathered in front of an iron triangle where, + it was understood, some prisoners were to be flogged. Town, Major Fox, + Major Barber, and some other officers in uniform, strolled up and down in + front of the Exchange, rudely jostling such merchants as ventured to enter + or leave the building. + </p> + <p> + James Hope walked slowly through the streets, chatting cheerfully to Neal + as he went. Now and then he even stopped to watch a troop of dragoons go + by or to gaze at the uniforms of the soldiers who stood on guard. In + crowded places he waited quietly until he saw a way of passing on without + pushing or attracting attention to his movements. The trial was a severe + one for Neal’s nerves. It was hard to pose as a curious sightseer within a + few feet of men who could have earned fifty pounds by arresting him. + </p> + <p> + At last, after many pauses, and what seemed an interminable walk, Hope + stopped at the door of a respectable looking house and knocked. A woman + half opened the door and eyed them suspiciously. Then, recognising a + whispered pass-word of some sort from Hope, she admitted them and ushered + them into a room on the ground floor. James Finlay sat at a table with + writing materials spread before him. He started slightly when he saw Neal, + but recovered himself instantly. He came forward, shook hands with Hope, + and then said to Neal— + </p> + <p> + “You and I know each other, Mr. Ward. I trust your father is in good + health, and that all is well at Dunseveric?” + </p> + <p> + Neal, though he had schooled himself beforehand to greet Finlay cordially, + shrank back. He felt a violent loathing for the man. It became physically + impossible for him to take Finlay’s hand in his, to speak smooth words to + this hypocrite who inquired of the good health of the very people he had + betrayed. Hope saw the hesitation and tried to cover it with a casual + remark. Finlay also saw it and misinterpreted it. + </p> + <p> + “I hope,” he said, “that you do not bear me any malice on account of the + little trouble there was between us long ago in the north. You ought to + forgive and forget, Mr. Ward. We are both workers in the same cause now. + At least, I suppose you are a United Irishman like your father or you + wouldn’t come here with James Hope to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “Neal Ward,” said Hope, “is going to the meeting at Donegore to-morrow + evening.” + </p> + <p> + Neal recovered himself and held out his hand to Finlay. + </p> + <p> + There was another knock at the door of the house. Finlay started violently + and ran to the window. + </p> + <p> + “It’s all right,” he said, “it’s only a lad I keep employed. I sent him + out an hour ago to find out what was going on in the streets and to bring + me word.” + </p> + <p> + He returned to Hope with a smile on his face, but he had grown very white, + and his hands were trembling slightly. A boy burst into the room, followed + by the woman who had opened the door for Hope and Neal. + </p> + <p> + “Master,” he cried, “they’ve brought out Kelso into the High Street. The + soldiers are dragging him along. They are going to flog him.” + </p> + <p> + The boy’s eyes were wide with excitement. Having delivered his message, he + turned and fled. A flogging was too great a treat for Finlay’s boy to + miss. The woman, without staying to don hat or shawl, went after him. + Finlay called to her to stay. She shouted her answer from the threshold. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think I’m daft to be sitting my lone in your kitchen and them + flogging a clever young man in the next street?” + </p> + <p> + Then the hall-door slammed. Finlay turned to Hope. He was whiter than + ever, and his whole body shook as if with an ague. + </p> + <p> + “Kelso will tell,” he said. “Kelso knows, and they’ll flog the secret out + of him. He’ll tell, I know he will. He must tell; no man could help it.” + </p> + <p> + If Finlay was pretending to be terrified he acted marvellously well. It + seemed to Neal that he really was afraid of something, perhaps of some + sudden betrayal of his treachery, of vengeance taken speedily by Hope. + </p> + <p> + “What ails you?” said Hope. “You needn’t be frightened.” + </p> + <p> + “The cartridges, the cartridges,” wailed Finlay. “Kelso knows they are + here.” + </p> + <p> + “If that’s all,” said Hope, “Neal Ward and I will ease you of them. We + came here to take them away.” + </p> + <p> + “You can’t, you can’t, you mustn’t. They’d hang you on the nearest lamp + iron if they saw you with the cartridges.” + </p> + <p> + There was a bang on the door and a moment later a knocking on the window + of the room, and then a woman’s fate was pressed against the glass. Hope + sprang across the room and flung open the window. The servant woman who + had gone to see the flogging pushed her head into the room and said— + </p> + <p> + “They’re taking down Kelso, and he’s telling all he knows. Major Barber + and the soldiers are getting ready to march. It’s down here they’ll be + coming.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s time for us to be off, then,” said Hope. + </p> + <p> + “Come along, Neal, down to the cellar, and let us get the cartridges.” + </p> + <p> + James Finlay followed them downstairs, begging them not to attempt to + carry off the cartridges. He held Hope by the arm as he spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t do it,” he said, “for God’s sake don’t do it. The soldiers are + coming. They will be here in a minute. They will meet you. They will hang + you. I know they will hang you. Oh! for God’s sake go away at once while + you have time. Leave the cartridges.” + </p> + <p> + Hope shook off the grip on his arm with a gesture of impatience. He pushed + open the cellar door. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Neal,” he said, “pick up as many of the cases as you think you can + carry.” + </p> + <p> + James Finlay turned from Hope and seized Neal by the hands. The man was + trembling from head to foot; his face was deadly white; the sweat was + trickling down his cheeks in little streams. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t let him. Oh! don’t let him. He won’t listen to me. Stop him. Make + him fly.” + </p> + <p> + He fell on his knees on the floor and clasped Neal’s legs. He grovelled. + There was no possibility of doubting the reality of his emotion. This was + not acting. The terror was genuine. James Finlay was desperately + frightened. + </p> + <p> + “Get out of my way. No one is going to hurt you in any case.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s not that,” he said. “Believe me if you can. Believe me as you hope + to be saved. I can’t, I won’t see <i>him</i> hanged. I can’t bear it.” + </p> + <p> + He was speaking the literal truth. He believed that James Hope would be + caught and would then and there be hanged. Finlay had betrayed many men, + had earned the basest wages a man can earn—the wages of a spy. He + knew that his victims went to flogging and death, but he never watched + them flogged, he never saw them die. He even bargained never to stand in a + witness box. The results, the inevitable issues of his betrayals, were + never immediately before his eyes. Between him and the punishment of his + victims there was always some space of time spent in prison, some + appearance of a legal trial, some pretence of a just judgment. He was + able, with that strange power of self-deception which most men possess, to + conceal from himself that it was his information which led to the + brutalities which followed it. If James Finlay had been obliged himself to + execute the men whose execution his testimony secured; if he had been + forced to lay the lash on quivering flesh or fit the noose round the necks + of living men; it is likely that no bribe would have bought him, that + sheer cowardice and an instinctive horror of death and pain would have + saved him, as no consideration of honour and truth did, from the extreme + baseness of an informer’s trade. Here lay part of the meaning of his + terrified desire for Hope’s escape. He could not bear to see men hanged + before the door of his own house, or hear with his ears their shrieks + under the lash. + </p> + <p> + But there was more behind this feeling than utter cowardice. He knew James + Hope, knew him intimately, though he had known him only for a short time. + Like Neal Ward he had walked with Hope along the roads and lanes of County + Antrim, had heard him talking, had seen—as no man, even the basest, + could fail to see—the wonderful purity and unselfishness of Hope’s + character. James Finlay had sold his own honour, but there remained this + much good in him, he refused to sell Hope’s life. God, reckoning all the + evil and baseness of James Finlay’s treachery and greed, will no doubt set + on the other side of the account the fact that even Finlay recognised high + goodness when he saw it, that he did not betray Hope, that he grovelled on + the floor before a man whom he hated for the chance of saving Hope from + what seemed certain death. + </p> + <p> + Neal pushed Finlay aside and stepped forward. He took five of the cases of + cartridges—three under his right arm two under his left. Hope raised + the other three. Then, picking up a bundle from a corner, he said— + </p> + <p> + “There is more gear here, which we may as well take with us. There is a + green jacket which some of our young fellows may like to wear, and a flag; + we ought to have a flag to fight under.” + </p> + <p> + They turned to leave the house. Neal cast one glance behind him and saw + Finlay lying curled up on the ground, his face covered with his hands, as + if he were already trying to shut away from his eyes the sight of Hope’s + body dangling from a lamp iron. + </p> + <p> + Reaching the street, Hope stood for a moment and glanced up and down it. A + party of soldiers was marching towards them. Hope looked at them + carefully. + </p> + <p> + “These are not the men whom the woman warned us of. Major Barber, if he + were coming here from High Street, would be marching the opposite way. + This is some company of yeomen.” + </p> + <p> + A band played at the head of the approaching company, and the men stepped + out briskly to the tune of “Croppies Lie Down.” Their uniforms were gay, + their arms and accoutrements in good order, the officer in command was + well mounted; a crowd of idle young men and some women were walking beside + and behind the soldiers, attracted by the music and the unusually smart + appearance of the men. + </p> + <p> + “I know these,” said Hope, “they are the County Down Yeomanry. They have + just marched in, and are no doubt going to report themselves. Come, Neal, + this is our chance.” + </p> + <p> + He joined the crowd which walked with the soldiers. Neal followed him + closely. Hope, as if feeling the weight of the boxes he carried, walked + slowly until he found himself in that part of the crowd which followed the + regiment. Then, pushing forward briskly, he and Neal came close behind the + last soldiers. The ranks were not well kept, nor the march orderly. Hope + made his way forward until he and Neal were walking amongst the yeomen. As + they swung out of the street they were met by another body of troops. + </p> + <p> + “These are regulars,” whispered Hope, “and Major Barber is in command of + them. That is he.” + </p> + <p> + The two bodies of troops halted. There was a brief conversation between + their commanding officers. Then an order was given. The yeomen, their band + playing briskly again, marched on. Hope and Neal, now in the very middle + of the ranks, marched with them. The royal troops presented arms as they + passed. Major Barber watched them critically. + </p> + <p> + “It’s a pity these volunteers won’t learn their drill,” he said to a young + officer beside him. “Look at that for marching. The ranks are as ragged as + the shirt of the fellow we’ve just been flogging; but they’re fine men and + well armed. By Jove, they have two country fellows with them carrying + spare ammunition. I’ll bet you a bottle of claret there are cartridges in + those cases.” + </p> + <p> + He pointed to Hope and Neal. + </p> + <p> + “Ought to have a baggage waggon,” said the officer, “or ought to put the + fellows into uniform. They might be damned rebels for all any one could + tell by looking at them.” + </p> + <p> + “I’d expect to meet a rebel pretty near anywhere,” said Major Barber, + “but, by God, I would not expect to find one marching in the middle of a + company of yeomen.” + </p> + <p> + The yeomen passed and the infantry marched again towards Finlay’s house. + Hope turned to Neal. Laughter was dancing in his eyes, but, except for his + eyes, his face was grave. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” he whispered, “we’ve got to slip out of the ranks and make our way + into North Street.” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke he lurched against the yeoman next to him and allowed the + bundle he carried to slip from his arm. The soldier cursed him for a + clumsy drunkard. Hope, in return, abused the soldier for knocking the + parcel out of his arms, and then called to Neal— + </p> + <p> + “Wait for me, mate, wait till I gather up my goods again.” + </p> + <p> + He deposited his cartridge cases on the ground, went after the bundle + which had rolled into the gutter, and then, arranging his load slowly, + allowed the yeomen to march past. + </p> + <p> + “Did you hear Major Barber say that he’d be ready to bet that these cases + held cartridges? A sharp man, Major Barber! But there are more men than + him about with eyes in their heads. The next officer we meet will be + wanting to know where we are taking the cartridges. We won’t have another + company of yeomen to vouch for our characters. I think, Neal, we’d better + get something to cover these up. There’s a man here in charge of a + carman’s yard who is sure to have a couple of sacks which will suit us + very well.” + </p> + <p> + He passed under an archway, followed by Neal, and entered a small yard. + </p> + <p> + “Charlie,” he cried, “are you there, Charlie?” + </p> + <p> + A young man emerged from one of the stables. He started at the sight of + Hope. + </p> + <p> + “Are you mad, Jemmy Hope?” he said. “Are you mad, that you come here, and + every stable full of dragoons’ horses? They have them billeted on us, + curse them, and the villains are in the coachhouse polishing their bits + and stirrup irons. Hark to them.” + </p> + <p> + “I hear them,” said Hope. “Get me two of your oat sacks, Charlie, good + strong ones. I have goods here that want protecting from the sunlight.” + </p> + <p> + The man cast a swift glance round, ran to one of the stables, and fetched + the sacks. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Neal, pack up, pack up.” + </p> + <p> + He pushed his own cases into one of the sacks. Neal followed his example. + </p> + <p> + “It won’t do,” said Hope, “the sacks don’t look natural. There are too + many sharp corners bulging out. Charlie, lad, fetch us some straw—a + good armful.” + </p> + <p> + While they were stuffing the sacks with the straw one of the dragoons + swaggered across the yard. He stood watching Hope and Neal for a minute or + two, and then said. + </p> + <p> + “What have you there that you’re so mighty careful of?” + </p> + <p> + “Whisht, man, whisht,” said Hope, “it’s not safe to be talking of what’s + here.” + </p> + <p> + He winked at the soldier as he spoke—a sly, humorous wink—a + wink which hinted at a good joke to come. The dragoon, a fat, good-natured + man’, grinned in reply. + </p> + <p> + “I won’t split on you, you young thieves. I’ve taken my share of loot + before this, and I expect some pickings out of the croppies’ houses before + I’ve done. I won’t cry halvers on you. What’s yours is yours. But tell us + what it is.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s cases of cartridges,” said Hope, winking again. “We’re taking them + to the general in command of the rebel army, so don’t be interfering with + us or maybe they’ll hold a courtmartial on you.” + </p> + <p> + The fat dragoon laughed. The idea of packing up ammunition for the + croppies in the temporary barrack of a squadron of dragoons, and using His + Majesty’s straw to stuff the sacks, appealed to him as extremely comic. + Hope and Neal shouldered their bundles and left the yard. + </p> + <p> + “I’m afraid,” said Hope, “that we can’t store these in Matier’s house. + When Barber learns that the cases are gone he’ll search high and low for + them, and Matier’s will be just one of the places he’ll look sooner or + later. Are you good for a tramp, Neal, with that load on your back?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Neal, “I’ll carry mine for miles if you like.” + </p> + <p> + “Then,” said Hope-, “we’ll just look in at Matier’s as we pass, and if the + coast’s clear I’ll leave word where we’re going. I know a snug place on + the side of the Cave Hill where we can lie for the night. To-morrow you + can join your uncle at Donegore.” + </p> + <p> + There were no soldiers round the inn when they reached it. Felix Matier + and Donald Ward were both out. Hope left his message with Peg Macllrea, + who was sanding the parlour. + </p> + <p> + “So you’re going to sleep out the night on the Cave Hill?” she said to + Neal. “That’ll be queer and good for your clouted head I’m thinkin’.” + </p> + <p> + “It’ll do my head no harm,” said Neal. “You know well enough, Peg, that + there never was much the matter with it.” + </p> + <p> + They shouldered their loads again, walked up the street, and then, + quickening their pace, tramped along the Shore Road for about three miles. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said Hope, “turn to the left up that loaning, and we’ll strike for + the hill.” + </p> + <p> + They crossed the fields round the homesteads which lay between the hill + and the road, reached uncultivated and stony ground, and then commenced + their climb. Neal was strong, active, and accustomed to fatigue, but he + began to feel the weight of his sack of cartridge cases before he had + climbed five hundred feet. When Hope bade him halt he was glad enough to + lie panting on the springy heather. + </p> + <p> + “We’re safe now,” said Hope, “but we’ve got further to go before night. We + must make the place I named so that the men will be able to find me and + the cartridges to-morrow morn.” + </p> + <p> + Neal, ashamed of his weariness, bade Hope lead on. + </p> + <p> + “I might have trysted with them for Mac Art’s Fort,” said Hope. “It was + there that Neilson and Tone and M’Cracken swore the oath. That would have + been a brave romantic spot for you and me to spend the night. We might + have thought of great things there with the stars over us and nothing else + between us and God’s heaven. But it’s a draughty place, lad.” The laughter + came into his eyes as he spoke. “A draughty place and a stony, like Luz, + where Jacob lay, and maybe the angels wouldn’t come near the likes of us. + The place I have in my mind is warmer.” + </p> + <p> + They reached it at last—a little heathery hollow, lying under the + shelter of great rocks. + </p> + <p> + “You might sleep in a worse place, Neal. It was here that Wolfe Tone and + the men I told you of dined three years ago—and a merry day they had + of it. I could wish we had a few of the scraps they left. It’s cold work + sleeping in the open on an empty stomach, but we must just cheer each + other with Tone’s byword— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘’Tis but in vain + For soldiers to complain.’” + </pre> + <p> + Neal, lying full length on the heather in the warmth of the afternoon sun, + dropped off to sleep. He had undergone severe physical exertion, which + told on him. He had been through an hour and more of great excitement, + which exhausted him far more than the exertion. When he woke the sun had + sunk behind the hill, and the air was pleasantly cool. Hope sat beside + him, gazing out across the Lough and the town which lay below them. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve been thinking, Neal, of that man Finlay. He was frightened to-day + when we were in his house. Now what had he to be frightened about?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” said Neal, “but I agree with you. The man certainly wasn’t + play-acting. He was in real fear.” + </p> + <p> + “I think,” said Hope, “that he was afraid the soldiers would take us and + hang us.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” said Neal, “why should he fear that when he has betrayed us?” + </p> + <p> + “The human heart,” said Hope, after a pause, “is a strange thing. The Book + tells us that no man is altogether good; no, not one, and that’s true. + Never was a truer word. We try, lad, we try, and the grace of God works in + us, but there remains the old leaven of evil; ay, it’s there, even in the + heart of a saint. Now, it isn’t written, but I think it’s just as true + that there’s no man altogether bad. There’s a spark of good somewhere in + the worst of us, if we could but get at it. There’s a spark of good in + Finlay.” + </p> + <p> + “How can there be?” said Neal, angrily. “The man’s a spy, an informer, a + paid liar, a villain that takes gold and perjures himself.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s true, over true. And yet he wanted to save our lives to-day. I + tell you the man’s not all bad. There’s something of the grace of God left + in him after all.” + </p> + <p> + Neal was not inclined to argue about the matter. He sat silent, watching + star after star shine out of the moonless sky. After a long silence Hope + spoke again. + </p> + <p> + “There are men among us who mean to take Finlay’s life. I can’t altogether + blame them. He deserves to die. But Neal, lad, don’t you have act or part + in that. Remember the word,—‘Vengeance is mine and I will repay, + saith the Lord.’ If there’s a spark of good in him at all, who are we that + we should cut him off from the chance of repentance? ‘The bruised reed + shall he not break; the smoking flax shall he not quench.’ Remember that, + Neal.” + </p> + <p> + From far down the side of the hill the sound of a woman’s voice reached + them faintly. It drew nearer. + </p> + <p> + “That’s some slip of a lassie from off the farms below us,” said Hope. + “She’s looking out for some cow that’s strayed.” + </p> + <p> + “She’s singing,” said Neal. “I catch the fall of the tune now and then.” + </p> + <p> + “She’s coming nearer. It can’t be a cow she’s seeking. No beast would + stray that far up amongst the heather and the stones.” + </p> + <p> + The voice came more and more clearly. The words of the song reached them— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “I would I were in Ballinderry, + I would I were in Aghalee, + I would I were in bonny Ram’s Island + Sitting under an ivy tree. + Ochone, ochone!” + </pre> + <p> + “I know that song,” said Neal. + </p> + <p> + “Everybody knows that song. There isn’t a lass in Antrim or Down but sings + it.” + </p> + <p> + “But I know the singer too. I heard Peg Macllrea sing it once, Matier’s + Peg, and I’m not likely to forget her voice.” + </p> + <p> + “If you’re sure of that, Neal, I’ll let her know we’re here. Anyway it can + do no harm. There isn’t a farm lass in the whole country would betray us + to the soldiers. Wait now till she sings it again.” + </p> + <p> + By the firesides of Irish cottages when songs are sung during the long + winter evenings the listeners often “croon” an accompaniment, droning in + low voices over and over again a few simple notes which harmonise with the + singer’s voice. When the girl began her tune again Hope sang with her, + repeating “Ochone, ochone” down four notes from the octave of the keynote + through the mediate to the keynote again. When she reached the end of the + last line his voice rose suddenly to an unexpected seventh, which struck + sharply on the ear. Prolonging the note after the girl’s voice died away, + he rose to his feet and waved his arms. Soon Peg Macllrea was beside them. + </p> + <p> + “I tell’t the master where ye were,” she said, “and I tell’t Mr. Donald. + They couldn’t come theirsells, and they were afeard to let me out my lone. + But I knew finely I could find you. I knew Neal here would mind my song. I + brought you a bite and a sup so as you wouldn’t be famished out here on + the hillside.” + </p> + <p> + She took a basket from her arm and laid it at Neal’s feet. + </p> + <p> + “Sit down, Peg,” said Hope, “sit down and eat with us. You’re a good girl + to think of bringing us the food, and you’ll be wanting some yourself + after your walk.” + </p> + <p> + “I canna bide with you, and I ate my supper before I made out. I must be + gettin’ back now. But I’ve a word to give you from your uncle, Neal. He + bid me tell you that you’re trysted with him for Aeneas Moylin’s house the + morrow night at eight o’clock.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X + </h2> + <p> + Early next morning Neal bade farewell to Hope and started on his walk to + Donegore. For a while he kept along the side of the hill above the + homesteads that clustered on the lower slopes. Nearing Carnmoney he + descended and entered a small inn in order to obtain some breakfast. He + found the master and his wife in a state of great excitement at the news + which had just reached them that their son had been arrested in Belfast. + It was some time before Neal could persuade the poor people to attend to + his wants, and it was a wretched breakfast which he obtained in the end. + Leaving the inn, he walked along the high road through Molusk. He felt + tolerably safe, though bodies of troops and yeomen occasionally passed + him. His appearance was known to very few, and the people of the district + through which he was going were either United Irishmen or in strong + sympathy with the society. It was unlikely that any small body of troops + would venture to make an arrest unless the officer in command was + perfectly certain of the identity of his prisoner. So bold and determined + were the people that Neal, stopping opposite a forge, saw the smith + fashioning pike heads openly, and apparently fearlessly. A number of men + stood round the forge door talking earnestly together. Among them was + Phelim, the blind piper, whom Neal had seen in the street of Antrim. They + did not care to be silent or to lower their tones when Neal came within + earshot. + </p> + <p> + “The place of the muster,” said the piper, “is the Roughfort. Mind you + that now, and let them that has guns or pikes bring them.” + </p> + <p> + “And will M’Cracken be there?” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, he will. Did you no see the proclamation?” + </p> + <p> + “Will Kelso,” said some one to the smith, “are you working hard, man? + We’ll be needing a hundred more of them pike heads by the morrow’s morn.” + </p> + <p> + The smith let his hammer fall with a clang on the anvil, and wiped his + brow. + </p> + <p> + “If you do as good a day’s work the morrow with what I’m working on the + day there’ll be no cause to complain of you.” + </p> + <p> + For the first time since he left Dunseveric Neal felt a glow of hope for + the success of the movement. He knew what kind of men these farmers and + weavers of Carnmoney and Templepatrick were—austere, cold men, + difficult to stir to violent action; much more difficult to cow into + submission when once roused. And it appeared to him that they were + effectually roused now. He recalled his father’s fanciful application of + the verse from the prophet Jeremiah. He felt, as he listened to the men + round the forge, the hardness of “the northern iron and the steel.” Was + there among the blustering yeomen and the disciplined troops of the King + iron strong enough to break this iron? + </p> + <p> + He left the forge and passed on. His thoughts wandered from the enterprise + to which he had pledged himself, and went back, as time after time during + the last week they had gone back, to Una. He walked slowly, wrapped in a + delicious day dream. Neglecting all fact, driving from his mind the + pressing realities which separated him hopelessly from the girl he loved, + he imagined himself walking with her hand-in-hand in some fair place far + from strife and the oppression which engendered strife. A feeling of + fierce anger succeeded his day dream. The sun shone around him, the fields + were fair to see. Life ought to be like the sun and the fields—simple + and good and beautiful. Instead it was difficult and cruel. He was being + dragged into a vortex of hate and battle. He loathed the very thought of + it. He wanted peace and love. And yet, what escape was there for him? Did + he even want to escape if he could? The wrong and tyranny he was to resist + were real, insistent, horrible. He would be less than a man, unworthy of + the love and peace he longed for, if he failed to do his part in the + struggle for freedom and right. + </p> + <p> + At midday he reached Templepatrick village, and found the inn occupied by + a company of yeomen. He sought the house of the weaver with whom he had + dined, in company with James Hope, on his way to Belfast. The door was + closed, which struck Neal as strange, for the day was hot and bright. + Coming near, he was surprised not to hear the rattle of the loom. Birnie + was a diligent man; it was not like him to leave his loom idle. And the + house was not empty; he could hear a woman’s voice within. He tapped at + the door, intending to ask for a meal and for leave to rest awhile in the + kitchen. There was no answer, and yet he heard the woman still speaking in + low, even tones. He tapped again, and then, despairing of attracting + attention, raised the latch, half opened the door, and looked in. + </p> + <p> + In the centre of the room, before the table, a young woman knelt + motionless, her hands stretched out before her. Neal heard her words + distinctly. She was praying aloud, steadily, quietly, but with intense + earnestness, repeating petition after petition for her husband’s safety. + Very softly Neal withdrew, and closed the door. He might go dinner-less, + but he would not interrupt the woman’s prayer. He turned, to find a little + girl gazing at him. He recognised her as the Birnies’ child. + </p> + <p> + “Were you wanting my da?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, little girl, but I see he’s gone away.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, but if any stranger come for him I was to tell my mammy.” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind,” said Neal, “you mustn’t disturb her now.” + </p> + <p> + “Will I no, then, when I was bid? Mammy I Mammy!” + </p> + <p> + In answer to the child’s cry, the mother opened the door. + </p> + <p> + “What ails you, Jinny? I beg pardon, sir, were you waiting long on me?” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t know me, Mrs. Birnie. You don’t remember me, but I came here + one day before with James Hope.” + </p> + <p> + “I mind you rightly, now,” she said. “Come in and welcome, but if it’s my + Johnny you’re wanting to see, he’s abroad the day.” + </p> + <p> + “I won’t disturb you,” said Neal. + </p> + <p> + “You’ll come in. You’ll no be disturbing me. There’s time enough for me to + do what I was doing when the wean called me.” + </p> + <p> + Neal entered the house and sat down. + </p> + <p> + “You’ll be wanting a bite to eat,” said Mrs. Birnie. “It’s little I have + to set for you. The wee bit of meat we had I cooked for him to take with + him. It’s no much Jinny and I will be wanting while he’s awa from us. Ay, + and it’s no much Jinny and I will get if he doesna come back to us.” + </p> + <p> + “Where has he gone?” said Neal. + </p> + <p> + “He’s gone to the turn-out,” she said, “to the turn-out that’s to be the + morrow. It’s more goes to the like, I’m thinking, than comes back again. + He’s taken the pike with him that lay in the thatch over our bed this year + and more. But the will of the Lord be done.” + </p> + <p> + “May God bring him safe home to you,” said Neal. + </p> + <p> + “Ay, for God can do it, God can do it. I take no shame to tell you, young + as you are, that I was just beseeching the Lord to do that very thing the + now while you were standing at the door with Jinny. But the Lord’s ways + are not our ways.” + </p> + <p> + She set a plate of oatcake and a jug of buttermilk on the table before + Neal, and bade him eat. When he had finished, he sat and talked with her + awhile, trying to cheer her. But she was not a woman to whom it was easy + to speak comfortable platitudes. She knew the risks her husband ran—the + risk of battle, and the worse risks which would follow defeat. Neal rose + at last and bid her farewell. + </p> + <p> + “When you are saying a prayer for your husband,” he said, “say one for me; + I’ll be along with him. I’m going to fight, too.” + </p> + <p> + “And will you be for the turn-out, then, with the rest of them? Ay, I’ll + say a prayer for you, And—and, young man, will you mind this? When + you’re killing with your pike and your gun, even if it’s a yeo that’s + forninst you, gie a thought to the woman that’s waiting at home for him, + and, maybe, praying. What would hinder her to pray for her husband even if + he’s a yeoman itself?” + </p> + <p> + It was seven o’clock when Neal reached Aeneas Moylin’s house, after + climbing the steep lane that led to Donegore Hill. He found six men seated + in the kitchen—Donald Ward, Felix Matier, James Bigger, Moylin, and + two others whom he did not know. + </p> + <p> + “It’s Neal Ward,” said Donald. “It’s my nephew. Sit you down, Neal.” + </p> + <p> + No one else spoke, though all nodded a welcome to Neal, and room was made + for him at the table round which they sat. Aeneas Moylin rose and fetched + another chair from the next room. Neal noticed that all six men were armed + with swords and pistols. Donald Ward sat at the head of the table, and had + the air of presiding over the assembly. There was dead silence in the + room, save for the ticking of a clock which stood in a dark corner out of + reach of the rays of the lamp. No man looked at any of his fellows. They + stared fixedly at the ceil-ing, the table, or the walls of the room. After + about ten minutes, Felix Marier rose, crossed the room, and peered at the + face of the clock. He went to the door and looked down the lane. Then, + with a sharp in drawing of the breath, he took his seat again. The + movement roused Donald Ward. He fumbled in his pocket and took out his + tobacco box and pipe. He held up the box—a round metal one—between + his finger and thumb. Neal, watching, noticed with surprise that his + uncle’s hand trembled. Donald held the box without opening it for perhaps + two minutes. Then, when he was satisfied that his hand had become quite + steady, he filled his pipe. He rose, took a red peat from the hearth, and + pressed it into the bowl of the pipe. He did not sit down again, but stood + with his back to the fire, smoking slowly. + </p> + <p> + Aeneas Moylin spoke in a harsh, constrained voice. + </p> + <p> + “Would you like to drink while you wait? I have whisky in the house.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Donald. + </p> + <p> + No one else spoke. Several of the men passed their tongues over their dry + lips. They would have liked to drink. Their mouths craved for moisture, + their nerves for stimulant, but they did not dispute Donald Ward’s + emphatic refusal of the offer. + </p> + <p> + THE NORTHERN IRON. 175 + </p> + <p> + Felix Matier rose again. Again he peered at the clock, again he opened the + door and looked down the lane. This time he turned almost immediately, and + said in a whisper— + </p> + <p> + “There’s a man coming up the lane, a single rider. I hear the tramp of his + horse.” + </p> + <p> + He hurried back to his seat, as if he were afraid of being found apart + from his comrades, as if he expected to discover safety in being just as + they were. Donald Ward took his seat at the head of the table. His pipe + was still between his teeth, but he ceased to puff at it. It went out. The + noise of the approaching horse was plainly audible in the room. Felix + Matier suddenly laughed aloud, and then, half chanting the words in a + cracked falsetto, quoted— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “What is right and what is wrang by the law? + What is right and what is wrang? + A short sword and a lang, + A stout arm and a Strang, + For to draw.” + </pre> + <p> + “Silence,” said Donald. + </p> + <p> + “It is the man,” said Aeneas Moylin, “I hear him putting his horse into + the shed. It must be he, for no stranger would know the ways of the + place.” + </p> + <p> + James Bigger drew a pistol from his pocket, looked carefully at the + priming, cocked it, and laid it on the table before him. He sat at the end + of the table opposite Donald Ward, and was nearest to the door. + </p> + <p> + The latch was lifted from without, and James Finlay entered the room. + </p> + <p> + “You are welcome,” said Donald, and every man at the table repeated the + words. + </p> + <p> + Something in the tone of the greeting, some sense of the feeling of those + who sat in the room, startled Finlay. He glanced quickly at the faces + before him, became deadly white, took a step forward, and then turned to + the door. It was shut, and James Bigger, pistol in hand, stood with his + back against it. Finlay stood stock still. Neal, looking at him, saw in + his eyes an expression of wild terror—an agonised appeal against the + horror of death. In a single instant the man had understood that he was to + die. Neal felt suddenly sick. Then a faintness overcame him. He leaned + back in his chair unable to move or speak. He heard, as if from a great + distance, as if out of some other world, his uncle’s voice— + </p> + <p> + “The men you expected are not here, friend Finlay. M’Cracken is busy + elsewhere, Munro has an engagement this evening, Hope, whom you let slip + through your fingers yesterday, is not here to meet you.” + </p> + <p> + “I wear to you,” said Finlay, “that I tried to save Hope yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + Donald took no notice of the words. He went on in a cool, not unfriendly + voice— + </p> + <p> + “We are here instead, and I think we are quite competent to conduct the + business for which we have met; but you will agree with us that this house + will not be a suitable place for our meeting. We think it possible that + Aeneas Moylin’s house may be honoured to-night by a visit from some + dragoons or yeomen. They will probably be here in half an hour or so. In + the meanwhile, we shall adjourn. There is near at hand a building in which + we may do our business with perfect safety. You have heard, no doubt, of + the custom of body-snatching. Certain men—resurrectioners, I think, + they are called—have of late been robbing the graves of the dead and + selling the bodies to the medical schools for the use of students. The + good people of Donegore have built in their churchyard a very strong vault + with an iron door, of which Aeneas Moylin keeps the key. Here they lock up + the bodies of their dead for some time before burying them—until, in + fact, the natural process of decay renders them unsuitable for dissection. + This is their plan for defeating the resurrectioners. There is no corpse + in the vault to-night. We shall adjourn to it for our meeting. The walls + are so thick, I am told, that remarks made even in a loud tone inside will + be perfectly inaudible to eavesdroppers. The door is very small, and we + can hang a cloak over it, so that our light will not be visible. It will + be quite safe, I think; besides, it will be very comforting to think that + if one of us should die suddenly his body will not become a prey to the + ghoulish people of whom we have been speaking.” + </p> + <p> + He paused. Then, changing his tone, gave a series of orders sharply— + </p> + <p> + “Bind his hands; gag him; bring a lantern and means of lighting it; bring + the key of the vault; leave the light burning in this room. Come.” + </p> + <p> + The orders were quickly obeyed. It was evident that every man had his part + assigned to him beforehand, and was ready to perform it. There was no + confusion, and no talking. + </p> + <p> + Aeneas Moylin led the way. Two others followed, holding Finlay, gagged and + bound, by the arms. Donald Ward, his sword drawn, brought up the rear. + They moved like shadows, silent as the prowling body-snatchers of whom + Donald had spoken. In front of them, a dark mass in the June twilight, + stood the church, and round it rows and rows of gravestones. Moylin + crossed the stile. Finlay sank helplessly in a heap in front of it. He + could not, or would not, put his feet on the stone steps. Without a word + his two guards lifted him over and set him down among the graves. Donald + crossed last. Moylin, skirting the north side and east end of the church, + led the way to a corner of the cemetery where as yet there were no graves. + Here, barely visible among the tangle of brambles, nettles, and high grass + which surrounded it, was the vault. Kneeling down, Moylin fumbled with the + lock, turned the key with a harsh, grating sound, and swung open the iron + door. It was so low that he had to crawl through. Once inside, he lit the + lantern which he carried, and set it on a projecting ledge of the rough + masonry. Finlay was dragged in. The others followed, until only Neal and + his uncle stood outside. + </p> + <p> + “Go next, Neal.” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot, uncle, I cannot. I am not able to bear this. Let me go away.” + </p> + <p> + “No. Go in, Neal. I want you. I shall let you go before the end.” + </p> + <p> + The vault was very small inside. It was hardly possible to stand upright, + and there was little room for moving. James Finlay, still bound and + gagged, lay at full length on the floor. Round him, their backs against + the walls, crouched the other men. Moylin’s lantern cast a feeble, smoky + light. The air was heavy and close. It was the air of a charnel house. + </p> + <p> + “Take from the prisoner the arms he has about him,” said Donald. “Search + his pockets, and hand me any papers you find. Now unbind his hands and + free his mouth. + </p> + <p> + “James Finlay, we are here to do strict justice. You shall have every + opportunity of making any defence you can when you hear the charges + against you. If you clear yourself you shall go free. If you fail to clear + yourself you must abide the sentence we shall pronounce on you.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean to murder me,” said Finlay. + </p> + <p> + “We do not mean to murder you. We mean to try you fairly, to acquit or + condemn you in strict justice. The first charge against you is this. + Having been sworn a member of the United Irishmen’s society in Dunseveric, + having been elected a member of the committee, you did in Belfast betray + the fact that there were cannons hidden in Dunseveric meeting-house, and + gave the names of your fellow-members to the military authorities.” + </p> + <p> + “I deny it,” said James Finlay. “You have no proof of what you assert. + Will you murder a man on suspicion?” + </p> + <p> + “Neal Ward,” said Donald, “is this the James Finlay who was sworn into the + society by your father?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Neal. + </p> + <p> + “Tell us what you know about the visit of the yeomen to Dunseveric.” + </p> + <p> + Neal repeated the story, telling how he knew that his own name was on the + list of persons to be arrested. There was a short silence when he had + finished. Then James Bigger said— + </p> + <p> + “You have not proved that charge. The circumstances are suspicious, but + you have proved nothing.” + </p> + <p> + Donald Ward bowed. Finlay raised his eyes for the first time since he had + been dragged into the vault, and looked round him. There had risen in him + a faint gleam of hope. + </p> + <p> + “You are charged,” said Donald again, “with having provided the dragoons + who rioted in Belfast last week with information which led them to attack + and wreck the houses of those who are in sympathy with the society.” + </p> + <p> + “I deny it. I was not in Belfast that day. I was here in Donegore with + Aeneas Moylin.” + </p> + <p> + “You were here the day before,” said Moylin. “You left me that day early. + You might have been in Belfast.” + </p> + <p> + “I was not,” said Finlay. + </p> + <p> + Donald Ward produced the scrap of paper which Peg Macllrea had taken from + the dragoon. + </p> + <p> + “Is that your handwriting?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + James Finlay looked at it. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “James Bigger, give me the last letter you had from Finlay. Now put the + lantern down on the floor.” + </p> + <p> + He looked steadily at the two papers, and then said— + </p> + <p> + “In my opinion these two are written in the same hand.” + </p> + <p> + He passed them to the man next him. They went from one to another, and the + lantern followed them on their round. Each man examined them, and each + nodded assent to Donald’s judgment. + </p> + <p> + “Let me see them,” said Finlay. + </p> + <p> + They were handed to him. + </p> + <p> + “I wrote neither of them,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Your name is signed to one,” said Donald. + </p> + <p> + “I did not write it. I had hurt my hand on the day that note was written. + I employed another man to write for me. The writing is his, not mine.” + </p> + <p> + “Name the man you employed.” + </p> + <p> + “Kelso, James Kelso.” + </p> + <p> + “Kelso was flogged yesterday,” said Donald, “and is in prison now. Do you + expect us to believe that he is an informer? Is flogging the wages the + Government pays to spies?” + </p> + <p> + “I tried to save Hope yesterday,” said Finlay. “Neal Ward, you have borne + witness against me, tell the truth in my favour now.” + </p> + <p> + “I believe,” said Neal, “that he did his best to save Hope and me + yesterday. I believe that he wanted to save us.” + </p> + <p> + He told his story, and he told of the conversation on the Cave Hill + afterwards. Again the flicker of hope crossed Finlay’s face. + </p> + <p> + “You hear,” he said. “Would I have done that if I had been a spy? Could I + not have handed them over to Major Barber if I had wished?” + </p> + <p> + “I shall give you credit for wishing to save Hope,” said Donald. “Now I + shall pass on to examine the papers found on your person to-night.” + </p> + <p> + Finlay protested eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “I beg that you do not examine the papers you have taken from me. They are + of a very private nature.” + </p> + <p> + “I can believe,” said Donald, “that they are of such a kind that you would + willingly keep them private.” + </p> + <p> + “I protest against your reading them. You have no right to read them. They + concern others besides myself. I give you my word.” Donald smiled + slightly. “I swear to you, I will take any oath you like that there is no + paper there concerned with politics. You will be sorry if you read them. I + assure you that you will repent it afterwards. You will be doing a base + action. You will pry into a woman’s secrets. You will bring dishonour on + the name of a lady, a noble lady.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you expect us to believe,” said Donald, “that any lady, noble or other—that + any woman, that any soldier’s drab even—has written love letters to + you?” + </p> + <p> + He opened the first which came to hand of the pile of papers which lay at + his feet on the ground. Finlay suddenly collapsed. His impudence, his + ready tongue, deserted him. He had fought hard for his life, had lied—though + he lied clumsily in his terror—had twisted, doubled, fought point + after point. Whatever the papers were that had been found on him, he + recognised that they condemned him utterly and hopelessly. The game was up + for him. He saw death near at hand, as he had seen it earlier when he + first realised that he was trapped in Moylin’s kitchen. Donald read paper + after paper silently. Some he laid aside, some he passed to the man next + him to read. Finlay rallied again. He made another effort to save himself. + </p> + <p> + “Listen,” he said, “I have influence with the Government. I don’t deny it. + Call me an informer, a spy, any name you like, but admit that I have + served my masters well. I can claim my reward from them. Let me go, and I + swear to obtain pardons for you. I can save you, and I will. I offer you + your lives as a ransom for mine.” + </p> + <p> + “Would you make us what you are?” said Donald, sternly. “Would you buy our + honour, you that have sold your own?” + </p> + <p> + Finlay, who had knelt during his last appeal, fell forward. He grasped + Neal with his hands. It was impossible in the dim light to see the faces + of the men around him, but some instinct told him that Neal alone felt any + pity for him, that from Neal alone he could look for mercy. + </p> + <p> + “Save me, Neal Ward,” he cried. “For God’s sake, save me. Plead for me. + They will listen to you. I am not fit to die. Grant me one day, only one + day. I will do anything you wish. I will—— Oh God, Oh Christ, + Oh save me, save me now.” + </p> + <p> + Neal felt drops fall on his hands, sweat from Finlay’s brow or tears from + his eyes. He spoke— + </p> + <p> + “Spare him,” he said. “Who are we to judge and to slay? James Hope said to + me last night that we should refrain from taking vengeance. I ask you to + respect what he said. Think of it. This man’s case to-day may be your’s + to-morrow. Remember you may take life, but you cannot give it back again. + Oh, this is too horrible—to kill him now, like this.” + </p> + <p> + He felt, while he spoke, Finlay’s clasp tighten on him. He felt the + wretched man cover his hands with kisses, mumble, and slobber over them. + There was silence for a while when Neal ceased speaking. Then Donald Ward + said— + </p> + <p> + “Neal, you had better go outside. This is no work for a boy. It is, as you + say, horrible. To inflict death is horrible, but it is sometimes just. If + ever it is just for man to shed the blood of his brother man it is just to + shed James Finlay’s. He has broken oaths, has brought death on men, has + made women widows and children fatherless; has wrecked the happiness of + homes. He has done these things for the sake of gain, for money counted + out to him as the priests counted money out to Judas.” + </p> + <p> + It was impossible to plead his cause any more. Moylin pushed open the iron + door of the vault. Neal dragged his hands from Finlay’s grasp, and crawled + out. He heard the door clang behind him, shut fast again upon the broken, + terrified wretch and his judges—relentless men of iron, the northern + iron. + </p> + <p> + No sound reached him from the vault. Save for the occasional belated + cawing of some rooks in the trees which shadowed the graveyard, no sound + reached him at all. He sat down among the nettles, the brambles, and the + rank grass and burst into tears. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI + </h2> + <p> + The paroxysm of tears swept Neal as the Atlantic waves sweep foaming and + furious over Rackle Roy. Then it passed and left him panting, shaking with + recurrent sobs, and a prey to an hysterical dread of hearing some sound + from the vault beside him. He sat absolutely motionless. He hardly dared + to breathe. He waited in horrible expectation of hearing something. He + listened intent, agonised, feeling that if a sound reached him he would + cry aloud and on the instant become a raving madman. The scene inside the + vault rose to his imagination. Far more really than he saw the dim church + and the trees, he saw Finlay grovelling on the ground and the stern men + crouching over him. He saw a knife gleam in the lantern’s light. He shut + his eyes, as if by shutting them he could blot out the pictures of his + imagination. He waited to hear a shriek, a smothered cry, a groan, the + laboured breath of struggling men, the splash of blood. The suspense + became an agony. He rose to his feet and fled. + </p> + <p> + He stumbled over a grave, and fell headlong, bruising his outstretched + hands against a tombstone. He rose instantly and fled again. Stumbling + again, he struck his head against the wall of the church. Dizzy and + bewildered, he hastened on, driven forward by the terror of hearing some + death noise from the vault. Tripping, staggering, rushing blindly, he + reached the stile at last, and stood beyond it on the road. Before him was + Moylin’s house. The window was lighted up, the door was open. He saw men + seated within, and heard them laugh aloud. They seemed to him not men, but + fiends making merry over murder, and the winning for their hell of a new + damned soul. He fled from them as he had fled from the sound he dreaded. + He rushed down the steep lane. Loose stones rolled under his feet. Sparks + started into sudden brightness where the nails in his boot soles struck + flints. The hedges rose high on each side of him, making the lane, even in + the pale June night, intolerably dark. He fled on, blind, reckless, for + the moment mad. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly he was stopped short. Strong arms were round him. He was flung to + the ground. A man knelt on his chest. Rough hands grasped his throat. + </p> + <p> + “Who have you there, Tarn?” + </p> + <p> + “A damned fool for certain, whoever he is. What brings him down a hill + like this in the dark, as if the devil was after him?” + </p> + <p> + “Loose his throat; do you want to choke him. Let him speak. Now, then, + man, tell us who you are, and what you’re doing here.” + </p> + <p> + Neal’s powers of reasoning and thought returned to him. With the presence + of real danger his fear vanished. He saw the forms of the men above him, + discerned against the dull grey of the sky that they were armed and in + uniform. He understood at once that he had fallen into the hands of + soldiers, perhaps of yeomen. + </p> + <p> + “Who are you?” said the voice again. + </p> + <p> + Then the man who knelt on him added a word of warning— + </p> + <p> + “If you won’t speak, we’re the boys who know how to loose your tongue. + We’ve made many a damned croppy glad to speak when we’d dealt with him.” + </p> + <p> + Neal remained silent. + </p> + <p> + “Get him on his feet, Tam, and we’ll take him to the Captain. If he’s not + a rebel himself he’ll know where the rebels are hid.” + </p> + <p> + Neal was pulled up by the arms and marched along the lane again to + Moylin’s house. He was led into the kitchen. Two men sat at the table + drinking. They were in uniform. Neal recognised it as that of the Kilulta + yeomen, the men who had raided his father’s meeting-house. He recognised + one of the officers—Captain Twinely. The sergeant made his report. + He and his men had been patrolling the lane as they had been ordered. They + had heard a man running fast towards them, had stopped him, and arrested + him. + </p> + <p> + “Who are you, and what are you doing here?” asked Captain Twinely. + </p> + <p> + Neal made no answer. The sergeant peered closely at his face. + </p> + <p> + “I think I know the man, sir. He’s the young fellow that was with the + women at the meetinghouse in the north. The man the old lord made us loose + when we had him. What do you say, Tarn?” + </p> + <p> + “You’re right as hell,” said the trooper who stood by Neal. “I’d know the + young cub in a thousand.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Twinely rose, tools the lamp from the hook where it hung, held it + close to Neat’s face, and looked at him. + </p> + <p> + “I believe you’re right,” he said. “Now, young man, we know who you are; + You’re Neal Ward.” He drew a paper from his pocket and looked it over. + “Yes, that’s the name, ‘Neal Ward, son of the Reverend Micah Ward, + Presbyterian minister of Dunseveric. A young man, about six foot high, + well built, fair hair, grey eyes, active, strong.’ Yes, the description + fits all right. Now, Mr. Neal Ward, since I’ve answered my first question + myself, perhaps you’ll be so good as to answer my second for me. Where are + your fellow-rebels?” + </p> + <p> + Neal was silent. + </p> + <p> + “Come now, that won’t do. We know there’s a meeting of United Irishmen + here to-night. We know that the leaders, M’Cracken, Monro, Hope, and the + rest are somewhere about. Where are they?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” said Neal, “and if I did I wouldn’t tell you.” + </p> + <p> + The sergeant struck him sharply across the mouth with the back of his + hand. + </p> + <p> + “Take that for your insolence. I’ll learn ye to say ‘sir’ when ye speak to + a gentleman.” + </p> + <p> + “Answer my question,” said Captain Twinely, “or, by God, I’ll make you.” + </p> + <p> + “Try him with half hanging,” said the other officer, speaking for the + first time. “I’ve known a tongue wag freely enough after it’s been + sticking black out of a man’s mouth for a couple of minutes.” + </p> + <p> + “Too risky, Jack. The last fellow you half hanged wouldn’t come to life + again; turned out to be whole hanged, by gad.” He laughed. “There’s fifty + pounds on the head of this young cock, and it’s ten to one but the + rascally Government would back out of their promise if we brought them + nothing but a damned corpse. Besides, I want the information. The vermin’s + nest must be somewhere round. I want to get the lot of them. No, no; + there’s more ways of making a croppy speak than half hanging him. We’ll + try the strap first, any way. Now, Mr. Neal Ward, will you speak or will + you not?” + </p> + <p> + “I will not.” + </p> + <p> + “Hell to your soul! but I’m glad to hear it. I owe you something, young + man, and I like to pay my debts. If you’d spoken without flogging I might + have had to bring you into Belfast with a whole skin. Now I’ll have you + flogged, and you’ll speak afterwards. Tam, give the sergeant your belt. + Sergeant, there’s a tree outside. Tie the prisoner up and flog him till he + speaks, but don’t kill him. Leave enough life in him to last till we get + him to Belfast, unless he speaks at once.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir, but if your orders are so particular I’d rather you’d be + present yourself to see how much he can stand.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m not going to leave my bottle,” said Captain Twinely, “to stand sentry + over croppy carrion. Flog him till you lay his liver bare, sergeant, but + don’t cut it out of him.” + </p> + <p> + The sergeant saluted, and marched Neal out of the house. His coat was + dragged off him, his shirt stripped from his back, his hands tied to the + tree which stood before Moylin’s house. He set his teeth and waited. The + predominating feeling in his mind at first was not fear but furious anger. + He had shrunk in terror from the near prospect of seeing Finlay die. He + felt nothing now except a passionate desire for revenge. + </p> + <p> + The sergeant swung the trooper’s belt round his head, making it whistle + through the air. Neal shivered and shrank, but the blow did not fall. The + sergeant was in no hurry. + </p> + <p> + “You hear that,” he said, swinging the belt again. “Will you speak before + I lay it on you? You shall have time to consider. Nobody shall say I + hurried a prisoner. We’ll sing you a psalm, my dearly beloved, a sweet + psalm to a most comfortable tune. At the end of the first verse I’ll give + you another chance. If you don’t speak then——. Now Tarn, now + lads all, tune up to the Ould Hunderd, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘There was a Presbyterian cat + Who loved her neighbour’s cream to sup; + She sanctified her theft with prayer + Before she went to drink it up.’” + </pre> + <p> + The troopers, who appeared to have learned both tune and words since the + night when the sergeant sang them in Dunseveric meeting-house, shouted + lustily. Following their sergeant, they drawled the last line until it + seemed to Neal as if they would never reach the end of it. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Mr. Neal Ward,” said the sergeant, “you’ve had a most comfortable + and cheering psalm for the hour of your affliction. Will you speak, or——. + Damn your soul, Tam, what are you at?” + </p> + <p> + The man next him lurched suddenly forward, clutching at the sergeant. In + another instant there was a dull thud, and Donald Ward stood over the + sergeant with a pistol, grasped by its barrel, in his hand. He had brought + the butt of it down on the man’s skull. Two more of the yeomen fell almost + at the same instant. The rest, three of them with wounds, fled, yelling, + down the lane. + </p> + <p> + “The croppies are on us! Hell and murder! We’re dead men!” + </p> + <p> + There were about twenty of them, all well armed, but a night surprise has + a tendency to shake the firmest nerves. Captain Twinely and his + fellow-officer played no very heroic part. At the first sound of the + shouting and the footsteps of the flying troopers they rushed into the + inner room and crawled under the bed, fighting desperately with each other + for the place nearest the wall, but Donald Ward had no time to go after + them. + </p> + <p> + “Cut the boy down,” he said. + </p> + <p> + It was Felix Matier who set Neal free. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, whistle and I will come to you, my lad,” he quoted, as he hustled the + shirt over Neal’s shoulders. “Why didn’t you whistle, Neal, or shout, or + something? Only for that devil’s song we’d never have found you. I guessed + he was at some mischief when I heard him begin it.” + </p> + <p> + “Silence,” said Donald, “and let us get out of this. The place must be + swarming with troops, and those yelling cowards will arouse every soldier + within a mite of us. It may not be so easy to chase the next lot. Over + into the churchyard again, and then, Moylin, we must trust to you. You + know the country, or you ought to, and I don’t.” + </p> + <p> + Aeneas Moylin led the way into the churchyard again, and across the wall + at the lower end of it. The noise of many horsemen riding fast reached + them from the lane they had left. The frightened yeomen had gathered + troops to aid them, dragoons who had been posted on the main road down + below. From the top of the rath, which rose dark above even the tower of + the church, there came shouts. Men had been placed there, too, and were + gathering to their comrades opposite Moylin’s house. The hunt would begin + in earnest soon. Donald called a halt and, cowering under the shadow of a + thick hedge, the little party of fugitives held a consultation. + </p> + <p> + “We might go back to the vault,” said James Bigger. “They would find it + hard to get at us there, even if they discovered us. They couldn’t burn us + out, for the walls are solid stone and four foot thick at least.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m not going to spend the night with—— with what’s there,” + said Felix Matier. “I’m not a coward, but I won’t sit in the dark all + night with my knees up against—ugh!” + </p> + <p> + “James Finlay?” said Bigger. “He won’t hurt you now.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m for getting away if possible,” said Donald. “I’m not frightened of + dead men, but I want to be at the fight tomorrow. If we stay here all + night we’ll miss it.” + </p> + <p> + “Hark!” said Moylin, “they’re in the churchyard. I hear them stumbling + about among the graves. We can’t get back now, even if we want to. Follow + me.” + </p> + <p> + Creeping along the side of the hedge, they crossed the field they were in, + another, and another after that. They came upon a by-road. + </p> + <p> + “We must cross this,” said Moylin, “and I think there are soldiers nigh at + hand.” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly the sky behind them grew strangely bright. A flame, which cast + black shadows from hedge and tree and wall, which lit up every open space + of ground, shot up. + </p> + <p> + “Down,” said Donald, “down for your lives, lie flat. Where the devil have + they got the fire?” + </p> + <p> + “It’s my house,” said Moylin, quietly, “the roof is thatched. It burns + well, but it won’t burn for long.” + </p> + <p> + The shouts of the soldiers round the burning homestead reached them + plainly. A body of horsemen cantered along the lane in front of them. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said Donald, “now, while their backs are turned, get across.” + </p> + <p> + They crossed unseen, and gained the shelter of the ditch at the far side. + They crept along it, seeking some boundary wall or hedge running at right + angles which would cast a shadow over them. The horsemen passed again, but + this time the risk of discovery was less. The thatch of Moylin’s house had + almost burned itself out. Only a red glow remained, casting little shadow, + lighting the land dimly. They crossed the field in safety and reached a + grove of trees. + </p> + <p> + “We’re right now,” said Moylin. “We can take it easy from this on.” + </p> + <p> + “Neal Ward,” said Felix Matier, “next time you get yourself into a scrape + I’ll leave you there. I haven’t been as nervous since I played ‘I spy’ + twenty years ago among the whins round the Giant’s Ring. Fighting’s no + test of courage. It’s running away that tries a man.” + </p> + <p> + “Phew!” said Donald, wiping his brow. Even he seemed to have felt the + strain of the last half-hour. “I did some scouting work for General Greene + in the Carolinas. I’ve lain low in sight of the watch-fires of Cornwallis’ + cavalry, but I’m damned if I ever had as close a shave as that. I felt + jumpy, and that’s a fact. I think it was the sight of your bare back, + Neal, and that blackguard brandishing his belt over you that played up + with my nerves.” + </p> + <p> + “Let’s be getting on,” said Moylin, “my house is ashes now, the house I + built with my own hands, the room my wife died in, the bed my girl was + born in. She’s safe out of this, thank God. I want to be getting on. I + want to be in Antrim to-morrow with a pike in my hand and a regiment of + dragoons in front of me.” + </p> + <p> + Under Moylin’s guidance they travelled across country through the night. + About three in the morning, when the east was beginning to grow bright + with the coming dawn, they reached a substantial farmhouse and climbed + into the haggard. + </p> + <p> + “We’re within twenty yards of the main road now,” said Moylin, “about a + mile and a half outside the town of Antrim. We can lie here till morning. + It’s a safe place. The man that owns it won’t betray us if he does find us + here.” + </p> + <p> + At six o’clock Donald Ward awoke. The rest of the party lay stretched + around him, sleeping as men do after severe physical exertion and mental + strain. He sat still for a while, and then crept out of the barn where + they slept, and reconnoitered the farmhouse. He was surprised to find no + sign of life about it. Doors and windows were fast shut. No dog barked at + him. No cattle lowed. Not even a hen pecked or cackled in the yard. He + returned to the barn and roused the rest of the party. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve been looking round,” he said, “to see what chance we have of getting + breakfast. As far as I can make out the place is deserted.” + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn’t wonder,” said Moylin, “if the man that owns it has cleared + out. He’s a bit of a coward, and he’s not much liked in the country + because he tries to please both parties.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought you said last night,” said Donald, “that he wouldn’t betray + us.” + </p> + <p> + “No more he would,” said Moylin, “he’d be afraid of what might happen him + after, but I never said he’d help us. It’s my belief he’s gone off out of + this in dread of what may happen in Antrim to-day. He’ll be at his + brother’s farm away down the Six Mile Water.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Donald, “it doesn’t matter about him. The question is, how + are we to get something to eat?” + </p> + <p> + A long consultation followed. There were serious difficulties. The amount + of food required for seven hungry men was considerable, and Donald Ward + insisted strongly on the necessity of having a good meal. It was decided + at last that two of the party should venture into Antrim to buy bread and + wine. No one knew what troops there might be in the town. It would not be + safe to count on the support of the inhabitants if they happened to have + soldiers in their houses. The inns might be full of officers. The shops + might be in the hands of the royal troops. + </p> + <p> + “It’s no use discussing the difficulties and dangers,” said Donald at + last. “We’ve got to risk it. We can’t fight all day on empty stomachs. + We’d fight badly if we did. I and Neal here will go into Antrim, we’re the + least likely to be recognised. The rest of you are known men. We’ll bring + you back something to eat.” + </p> + <p> + At eight o’clock they set out, and reached the town just as the people + were beginning to open their doors. Donald Ward pressed some money into + Neal’s hand. + </p> + <p> + “Go into the inn where we stopped,” he said. “Get a couple of bottles of + wine and some cold meat if you can. I’ll go on to the baker’s. We’ll meet + again opposite the church. If I’m not there in twenty minutes go back + without me; I’ll wait that long for you. Walk in as if you owned the + shanty. There’s nothing starts suspicion as quick as looking frightened. + Bluster a bit if they look crooked at you, and answer no questions for + anybody.” + </p> + <p> + Neal did his best to follow the advice. But it is not easy for a man who + has slept two successive nights in the open, who has had no opportunity of + shaving, and who has crawled in ditches for several miles, to assume the + airs of an opulent and self-contented tourist. Neal was painfully + conscious that he must look like a disreputable tramp. Nevertheless he + squared his shoulders, held up his head, and jingled his money in his + pocket as he passed through the door. He called valiantly for the master. + A girl, tousle-headed and heavy-eyed, looking as if she, too, had slept on + a hillside or slept very little in bed, came to him. He recognised her as + the same who had waited on him and Donald when they spent the night in the + inn. She was sharp-sighted in spite of her sleeplessness. She knew Neal. + </p> + <p> + “In there with you,” she said, pointing to a door, “I’ll get you what + you’re after wanting. The dear knows there’s broken meat in plenty here + the morn.” + </p> + <p> + Neal entered the room. The table was littered with the remains of + breakfast. A large party had evidently been there and had gone. Neal + guessed that at least a dozen people had sat at the table. With his back + to the room, looking out of the window, stood a young man, booted and + spurred for riding, well dressed, well groomed, a sword by his side. His + figure struck Neal as being familiar. A second glance made him sure that + this was Maurice St. Clair. For a moment he hesitated. Then he said— + </p> + <p> + “Maurice.” + </p> + <p> + “Neal,” said the other, turning quickly. “What brings you here? God, man, + you mustn’t stay. My father is in the house and Lord O’Neill. Thank God + the rest of them are gone.” + </p> + <p> + “What brings you and your father to Antrim, Maurice?” + </p> + <p> + “There was to have been a meeting of the magistrates of the county here + to-day. My father rode in last night and brought me with him, but there + came an orderly from Belfast this morning with news which fluttered our + company. The rebels are to attack the town to-day. Oh, Neal, but it was + fun to see the hurry the worshipful justices were in to get home this + morning. There were a round dozen of them here last night drinking death + and damnation to the croppies till the small hours. This morning it was + who would get his breakfast and his horse first. You never saw such + scrambling.” + </p> + <p> + “You and your father stayed,” said Neal. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Is it likely my lord would ride away from danger? You know him, + Neal.” + </p> + <p> + The girl entered with a basket on her arm. With a glance at Maurice St. + Clair she came close to Neal and whispered— + </p> + <p> + “There’s for you. There’s plenty wine and cold meat for half a score. I’ll + be tongued by the master after, it’s like, but I’ll give it for the sake + of Jemmy Hope, who’s a better gentleman than them that wears finer coats, + that never said a hard word or did an uncivil thing to a poor serving + wench no more than if she’d been the first lady in the land.” + </p> + <p> + Neal took the basket and bade farewell to Maurice, but as he turned to + leave the room Lord Dunseveric and another gentleman entered. Neal stood + back, hoping to escape notice, but Lord Dunseveric saw and recognised him. + </p> + <p> + “O’Neill,” he said to his companion, “pardon me a moment. This is a young + friend of mine to whom I would speak a word.” + </p> + <p> + He led Neal to the window. + </p> + <p> + “Are you on your way home, Neal?” + </p> + <p> + “No, my lord.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose I must not ask where you are going or what you mean to do. I + don’t ask, but I advise you strongly to go home. The game is up, Neal. The + plans of your friends have been blown upon. Their secrets are known. See + here.” + </p> + <p> + He held out a printed paper. Neal took it and read— + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow we march on Antrim. Drive the garrison of Randalstown before + you, and haste to form a junction with the commander-in-chief.—Henry + Joy M’Cracken. First year of Liberty, 6th June, 1798.” + </p> + <p> + “That paper was handed to General Clavering last night,” said Lord + Dunseveric, “and half a dozen more copies were sent to other officers. Is + it any use going on now?” + </p> + <p> + “My lord,” said Neal, “I have heard things—I have seen things. Last + night I myself was stripped for flogging. They have set a price on my + head. I put it to you as a gentleman, as a just man and a brave, would it + be right to go back now?” + </p> + <p> + “It is no use going on.” + </p> + <p> + “But would you go back? Would you desert friends who did not desert you? + Would you leave them?” + </p> + <p> + “A wise man does not struggle against the inevitable, Neal.” + </p> + <p> + “But a man of honour, my lord. What would a man of honour do?” + </p> + <p> + “A man of honour,” said Lord Dunseveric, “would act as you are going to + do.” + </p> + <p> + “Farewell, my lord, I go with an easy mind now, if I go to my death, for I + have your approval.” + </p> + <p> + “Neal Ward,” said Lord Dunseveric, “I have known you since you were a boy, + and I’ve loved you next to my own children. I don’t say you are acting + wrongly or dishonourably, but you and your friends are acting foolishly. + You cannot win. You and hundreds of innocent people must suffer, and + Ireland, Neal, Ireland will come to the worse, to the old subjection, to + the old bondage, to the old misery, through your foolishness. I say this, + not to dissuade you from going on, for I think that you must go on now, + but in order that when you look back on it all afterwards you may remember + that there were true friends of Ireland who were not on your side.” + </p> + <p> + Neal bent over Lord Dunseveric’s hand and kissed it solemnly. + </p> + <p> + “I have known two great and good men,” he said. “You, my lord, and one + whose name you might count contemptible, James Hope, the weaver, of + Templepatrick. I think myself happy that I have had the goodwill of both. + And, my lord, I think Ireland the most unhappy country in the world + because to-day these two men will be in arms against each other.” + </p> + <p> + He sobbed. Then, lest he should betray more emotion, went quickly from the + inn. + </p> + <p> + He found his uncle waiting for him outside the church. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Neal,” he said, “how have you sped? You have a basket; I hope it is + full. See here, I have four loaves of bread. The baker man would have + denied me. He suspected me, but I had my answer for him. I told him I was + groom to a great lord who was staying in the inn. I made free with the + name of your friend, Lord Dunseveric. I told him that if he refused my + lord the bread he wanted he would hang him for his insolence. I got the + bread. For the first time and the last I have been a serving man. Now, + back, back as fast as we can go to our hungry comrades.” + </p> + <p> + After they left the town Donald Ward grew grave again. + </p> + <p> + “My lad,” he said, “we shall have a fight to-day—a fight worth + fighting. It won’t be the first time I’ve looked on bare steel or heard + the bullets sing. I know what fighting means, and I know this, that many + of us will lie low enough before the sun sets. It may be my luck to come + through or it may not. I have a sort of feeling that I am to fire my last + shots to-day. Don’t look at me like that, boy, I’m not frightened. I’ll + fight none the worse. But I want to settle a little bit of business with + you now that we are alone. I have a paper here, I wrote it last night + while you slept; I signed it this morning, and I have it witnessed. I got + a parson to witness it, a kind of curate man, a poor creature. I caught + him going into the church to say prayers, and made him witness my + signature. I had time enough, for you were longer at the inn than I was at + the baker’s. Here it is for you, Neal. In case of my death it makes you + owner of my share of a little business in the town of Boston. My partner + is managing it now. We own a few ships, and were making money when I left. + But it did not suit me. I got the fighting fever into my blood during the + war. I couldn’t settle down to books and figures. Maybe you’ll take to the + work. If you do you ought to stand a good chance of dying a rich man, and + you’ll be comfortably off the day you hand that paper to my partner. Not a + word now, not a word. I know what you want to say. Twist your lips into a + smile again. Look as if you were happy whatever you feel, and when all’s + said and done you ought to be happy. Whatever the end of it may be we’ll + get our bellies full of fighting to-day, and what has life got to give a + man better than that?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII + </h2> + <p> + After breakfast Donald Ward led his party along the road up which + M’Cracken’s force must march to reach Antrim. At about noon he met the + advance guard of United Irishmen. Several of Donald’s companions were + recognised by these men, and his party were led back to where M’Cracken + himself marched with the central division of his army. It was then that + Neal first saw this leader—a tall, fair-haired, gentle-faced man, + dressed in a white and green uniform, armed with a sword. He spoke to + Donald Ward, and then calling Neal, questioned him about the condition of + the town of Antrim. Neal repeated all that Lord Dunseveric had said, and + told how he had been shown a copy of the proclamation. + </p> + <p> + “You will not tell anyone else what you have told me, Mr. Ward,” said + M’Cracken, “the news that our plans are known to the enemy might be + discouraging to the men. It does not alter my determination to take Antrim + to-day. Now I must give you your orders and your posts.” He called Donald + Ward to him. “You will take charge of our two pieces of cannon,” he said. + “They are at the rear of the force. Neal Ward, you will join the first + division of the army—the musketeers—and place yourself under + James Hope’s command. I think this is what both you and he would wish. + Felix Matier and James Bigger will do likewise. Moylin, you and your two + friends will march with the pikemen, whom I lead myself. Some of the men + have arms for you.” + </p> + <p> + The party had fallen somewhat to the rear of the column during this + conversation with M’Cracken. Neal and his two companions hurried forward + at once in order to reach the division of musketeers which was in the van. + They had opportunity as they passed along to admire the steady march and + the determined bearing of the men. Green flags were everywhere displayed. + The long pikes, iron spear-heads fastened on stout poles, were formidable + weapons in the hands of strong men. An almost unbroken silence was + preserved in the ranks. The northern Irishmen are not great talkers at any + time. Set to work of deadly earnest, they become very silent, very grim. + </p> + <p> + There were men in the little army belonging to some of the finest fighting + stocks in the world. There were descendants of the fiery Celtic tribes to + whom Owen Roe O’Neill taught patience and discipline; who, under him, if + he had lived, might well have broken even Cromwell’s Ironsides and sent + the mighty Puritan back to his England a beaten man. Despised, degraded, + enslaved for more than a century, these had yet in them the capacity for + fighting. There were also the great-grandsons of the citizen soldiers of + Derry—of the men who stood at bay so doggedly behind their walls, + whom neither French military art nor Celtic valour, nor the long suffering + of famine and disease, could cow into surrender. There were others—newcomers + to the soil of Ireland—who brought with them to Ulster the + traditions of the Scottish Covenantors, memories of many a fierce struggle + against persecution, of conflict with the dragoons of Claverhouse. All + these, whose grandfathers had stood in arms for widely different causes, + marched together on Antrim, an embodiment of Wolfe Tone’s dream of a + united Ireland. Their flags were green, vividly symbolic of the blending + of the Protestant orange with the ancient Irish blue. M’Cracken, with such + troops behind him, might march hopefully, even though he knew that the + cavalry, infantry, and artillery were hurrying against him along the banks + of the Six Mile Water, from Blaris Camp and Carrickfergus. + </p> + <p> + James Hope greeted Neal warmly. + </p> + <p> + “There is a musket for you,” he said, “and your own share of the + cartridges you helped to save. There’s a lad here, a slip of a boy, who is + carrying them for you.” + </p> + <p> + He looked round and pointed out the boy to Neal. + </p> + <p> + “There he is; you may march in the ranks along with him.” + </p> + <p> + Neal took his place beside a boy with bright red hair and a pleasant + smiling face, who handed him a musket and a pouch of cartridges. + </p> + <p> + “Them’s yours, Neal Ward. Jemmy Hope bid me bring them for you.” + </p> + <p> + “But what are you to do?” said Neal. “You have no musket for yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Faith I couldn’t use it if I had. I never shot off one of them guns in my + life. I’d be as like to hit myself as any one. I’ll just go along with + you, I have a sword, and I’ll be able to use that if I get the chance.” + </p> + <p> + Neal looked at the lad beside him, noted his smooth face and sparkling + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “You must be very young,” he said, “too young for this work.” + </p> + <p> + “I might be older than you now, young as I look. But is thon Mr. Matier + coming till us? Go you and talk to him if you want. I won’t have him here, + marching along with me.” + </p> + <p> + At about half-past one Hope halted his musketeers. He was in sight of + Antrim, and he waited for orders. It was clear that the town was held by + English troops. Their red coats were visible in the main street, but, + without that, the houses which burnt here and there gave sufficient + evidence of the presence of a ravishing army. + </p> + <p> + M’Cracken made a speech to his men—an eloquent speech. Now-a-days we + are inclined to look with some contempt on men who make eloquent speeches. + We are so accustomed to the perpetual flow of our Sunday oratory that we + have come to think of speeches as mere preliminaries to copious draughts + of porter in public-houses—a sort of grace before drink, to which no + sensible man attaches any particular importance. But the orators of + M’Cracken’s day spoke seriously, with a sense of responsibility, because + all of them—Flood, Grattan, and the rest—spoke to armed men, + who might at any time draw swords to give effect to the speaker’s words. + M’Cracken spoke to men with swords already drawn and muskets loaded. + Therefore, he had some right to be eloquent, and his hearers had some + right to cheer. + </p> + <p> + Felix Matier had somehow laid hands on Phelim, the blind piper, and set + him playing. A hundred voices, voices of marching men, caught the tune, + whistled, and sang it. Matier’s own voice rang out clearest and loudest of + all. It was, the “Marseillaise” they sang—a not inappropriate anthem + for soldiers about to fight for the liberty of man. But James Hope had + something else in his mind besides the storming of a French Bastille and + the guillotining of a French aristocracy. He believed that he was + fighting: for Ireland, and the foreign tune was not to his mind. Laying + his hand on Matier’s shoulder he commanded silence. Then whispering to + Phelim, he set a fresh tune going on the pipes. An ancient Irish war march + shrilled through the ranks—a tune with a rush in it—a tune + which sends the battle fever through men’s veins. Now and then the passion + of it reaches a climax, and the listeners, almost in spite of themselves, + must shout aloud. It is called “Brian Boroimhe’s March,” and it may be + that his warriors shouted when the pipers played it marching on Clontarf + against the Danes. Hope’s musketeers heard it, whistled it as the piper + played, hummed it in deep voices, and always, when the moment came, + shouted aloud. + </p> + <p> + The musketeers halted, and the pikemen passed them by. The broad, straight + street lay before them, and at the end of it, half sheltered by the market + house, were the English infantry. Behind them, blocking the end of the + street, splitting it as it were into two roads, which run to the right and + left, was the wall of Lord Massereene’s demesne. Across the bridge the + English cannon, almost too late, were being hurried by an escort of + sweating dragoons. There was work with them for Hope’s musketeers and + Donald Ward’s two brass six-pounders. But between the infantry and + M’Cracken’s men was a body of cavalry, sitting in shelter behind the wall + which surrounded the church. These would cut the musketeers to pieces. The + pikemen must face them first. + </p> + <p> + The horsemen wheeled from their shelter and charged. The long pikes were + lowered, steadied, held in bristling line. There was trampling, shouting, + cursing, torn horses, wounded men, dust, and confusion. Then the horsemen + turned back, musket bullets followed them, men reeled from the saddles, + horses stumbled, the pikemen at the lower end of the street shook + themselves and cheered. They had tasted victory. A louder cheer followed. + Another body of pikemen, true almost to the moment of their time, marched + in along the Carrickfergus Road and joined M’Cracken. The whole body moved + forward together. Down the street to meet them thundered the dragoons who + had brought the cannon in across the bridge. Hope’s musketeers fired + again, but no bullets could stop the furious charge. The dragoons were on + the pikes—among the pike men, There was stabbing and cutting, pike + and sabre clashed. Again the cavalry were driven back, again the musket + bullets followed them—musket bullets fired by marksmen. M’Cracken, + at the head of his men, pushed forward. The dragoons took shelter, the + English artillery and infantry opened fire. The street was swept with + grape-shot and bullets. + </p> + <p> + Neal, in the front rank of Hope’s men, was loading and firing rapidly. He + heard a shout behind him. + </p> + <p> + “Way there, make way!” + </p> + <p> + He turned. Donald Ward and two men with him had got one of their + six-pounders mounted on a country cart. They dragged the gun to the middle + of the road. Donald, sweating and dusty, but calm and alert, with a grim + smile on his face, laid the gun, loaded, fired. Again he fired. The gun + was well aimed. His shot ploughed its way among the men who served the + English guns, but at the second discharge a round shot flung it from its + carriage and laid it useless on the road. The man who stood beside it + cursed and flung his hands up in despair. Donald Ward turned quickly. + </p> + <p> + “Back,” he said, “get the other gun.” + </p> + <p> + The pikemen pressed on against the storm of grape and cannister and + bullets. The guns ceased firing to let the dragoons charge. Again the + pikemen knelt to receive them, and flung them back. At last the wall of + the churchyard was reached. The pikemen leaped into the churchyard and + breathed in safety. A flag was raised above the wall, a green flag. A wild + cheer greeted it. Hope shouted an order to his men. They rushed forward + along the ground that had been so hardly won, and took their places with + their comrades behind the wall. Leaning over it, or finding loopholes in + the rough masonry, they opened fire on the infantry before them. A large + body of pikemen crossed the road and entered a lane. They pressed along + behind the houses of the street to turn the flank of the English infantry + who were drawn up against the demesne wall. The English commander saw his + danger, and sent dragoons charging down the street again. But Hope’s + musketeers were in the churchyard this time. They fired at close range. + The dragoons hesitated. The remaining pikemen rushed out on them. The + colonel reeled in his saddle, struck by a bullet. His men wavered. In one + instant the pikemen were among them. Three horsemen shouted to the men to + rally, and with the flats of their swords struck at those who were + retreating. But the dragoons had had too much of the pikes. They turned + and fled up the street. Sweeping to the left they galloped in confusion + from the battle. The three horsemen who did not fly were surrounded. The + main body of the pikemen pressed forward; the flanking party joined them. + The English infantry and gunners were driven through the gates and took + shelter behind the walls of the demesne. + </p> + <p> + In the middle of the street the three horsemen fought for their lives + against a handful of men who had held back from the main charge. Neal + recognised two of them—saw with horror Lord Dun-severic and Maurice + cutting at the pikes with their swords. He leaped the wall and rushed to + their help. The third horseman—the unfortunate Lord O’Neill—was + separated far from them. He fell from his saddle, ripped by a pike thrust. + Lord Dunseveric’s horse was stabbed, and threw its rider to the ground. + Maurice leaped down and raised his father. The two stood back to back + while the pikemen pressed on them. Then Neal reached them. With his musket + clubbed he beat down two of the pikes. The men cursed him, and, furious at + his interference, thrust at him. A sword flashed suddenly beside him, and + a pike, which would have pierced him, was turned aside. Neal saw that the + red-haired boy who marched with him in the morning had followed him from + the churchyard and was fighting fiercely by his side. The pikemen realised + that they were attacking their friends. Leaving Neal and his protector, + they ran to join their comrades. + </p> + <p> + “Yield yourselves,” shouted Neal. “You are my prisoners. Yield and you are + safe.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Dunseveric bowed. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, Neal,” he said, quietly, “we yield to you.” + </p> + <p> + A bullet struck the ground at their feet, and then another. The soldiers + behind the demesne wall were firing at them. The boy who had saved Neal + from the pike thrust gave a sudden cry and sank on the ground. + </p> + <p> + “I think,” said Lord Dunseveric, “you had better pick up that boy and walk + in front of us. It is possible that our men will cease firing when they + see that Maurice and I are between them and you.” + </p> + <p> + Neal stooped and raised the boy. + </p> + <p> + “I can walk fine,” he said, “if you let me put my arm round your neck.” + </p> + <p> + There was a pause in the fighting. The English infantry drawn up on the + terrace behind the wall would not fire on Lord Dunseveric and his son. + Hope’s musketeers in the churchyard watched in silence while the little + procession approached them. Neal, with his arm round the wounded boy, + walked first. Lord Dunseveric, following, drew his snuff-box from his + pocket, tapped it, and took a pinch, drawing the powder into his nostrils + with deliberate enjoyment. + </p> + <p> + “It seems, Maurice,” he said, with a slight smile, “that we are people of + considerable importance. Two armies are looking on while we march to + captivity, and yet we do not appear in a very heroic light. We are the + prisoners of one badly-armed young man and a wounded boy.” + </p> + <p> + “Neal saved us,” said Maurice. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Lord Dunseveric, “that is, no doubt, the way to look at it. We + should certainly have been piked if it had not been for Neal.” + </p> + <p> + Neal lifted the wounded boy over the churchyard wall and knelt beside him + on the grass. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you hit?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “It’s my leg, the calf of my leg, but it’s no that bad, I could get along + a bit, yet.” + </p> + <p> + The English infantry opened a furious fire on M’Cracken’s pikemen, who + stood around the cannon they captured. Hope’s musketeers replied, firing + rapidly. Many of them had fallen. There were muskets to spare, and the + wounded men, crawling round their comrades, loaded for them, and passed + the guns up to those who still could shoot. The whole churchyard was full + of smoke, and a heavy cloud of it hung in the still air before the wall. + It became impossible to see plainly what was happening. Neal was aware + that Felix Matier stood beside him, and that Lord Dunseveric was somewhere + behind him watching, with cool interest, the progress of the fight. + Suddenly Felix Matier shouted— + </p> + <p> + “We’re blinded with this smoke. We must see to shoot. We must see to aim. + Follow me who dare!” + </p> + <p> + He leaped into the street, and knelt down. The air was clearer there than + in the churchyard. He aimed steadily, fired, loaded, and fired again. The + bullets of the infantry splashed on the ground around him like rain drops + in a heavy shower. His clothes were cut by them. It seemed a miracle that + he did not fall. He began to sing, and this time there was no one to + forbid his “Marseillaise.” Then, while his voice rose to its highest, + while he seemed, out there alone in the bullet-swept street, a very + incarnation of the battle spirit—the end came for him. He flung up + his arms, rose, staggered towards the shelter of the churchyard, turned + half round in the direction of the men who fired at him, and dropped dead. + </p> + <p> + Lord Dunseveric stepped forward and tapped Neal on the shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Listen,” he said. + </p> + <p> + From the Belfast Road, along which the United Irishmen had marched in the + morning, came the sound of drums. Through the smoke it was possible to + discern dimly that a large body of troops was approaching the town. There + could be no doubt as to who they were. No reinforcements for M’Cracken’s + army could be looked for from the south. Neal grasped the meaning of what + he saw. Hope’s men in the graveyard, which they had held so long, were + caught between the soldiers in the demesne and these fresh troops who + marched on them. Others besides Neal saw what was happening. The firing + slackened. Here and there a man dropped his musket and stared wildly + around. At the top of the street the dragoons who had fled appeared again. + They attacked M’Cracken’s pike-men once more, and this time victoriously. + Shaken by the fire of the soldiers behind the wall, disheartened by the + appearance of the enemy in their rear, these men, who had fought so well, + could fight no more. Some fled, some, with their leader, faced the + dragoons and, their pikes still forming a bristling hedge in front of + them, retired sullenly eastwards from the town. + </p> + <p> + The musketeers were left alone. Their position seemed desperate. Neal + stopped firing, and looked round. Hope stood bare-headed, his sword in his + hand. + </p> + <p> + “We have fought a good fight, men, and we’ll fight again, but we must get + out of this now. Load and reserve your fire till I give the order. Follow + me.” + </p> + <p> + He stepped into the street. His men, gaining courage from the cool + confidence of his voice, loaded their muskets and went after him. + </p> + <p> + “Neal,” said Lord Dunseveric, “this is madness. Stay. There are at least a + thousand men in front of you. You can’t cut your way through them.” + </p> + <p> + But Neal did not listen. To him, for the moment, it was enough that Hope + was leading. + </p> + <p> + “Neal, Neal, don’t leave me.” + </p> + <p> + It was the voice of the boy who had stood by him in the street and turned + the pikes aside. + </p> + <p> + “See, I have bound up my leg. I can walk.” + </p> + <p> + Neal took him by the arm, and together they joined the remnant of Hope’s + musketeers in their march against the fresh troops who approached them. + </p> + <p> + Lord Dunseveric, heedless of the bullets which still swept the street from + the demesne, stood on the graveyard wall. He was excited at last. + </p> + <p> + “Maurice,” he cried, “these men are going to certain destruction, but, by + God, their courage is glorious. Look, they are out of the town. They have + halted. They fire. Now, if the English officer has any horse he can cut + them to pieces. He should advance, cavalry or no cavalry. A charge with + the bayonets would settle it. See, Maurice, the red coats have halted. + They are forming a square; they expect to be charged. The rebels have + turned. They are satisfied with having checked the advance. They are + making back into the town. Are they mad? No, by God, they wheel to their + right. They are off. They have escaped.” + </p> + <p> + The meaning of Hope’s manoeuvre broke suddenly on Lord Dunseveric. There + was a road at the end of the town leading north-east to Done-gore. By + going along it Hope could join M’Cracken and the remains of the army. But + to keep it open he had to check the advance of the English reinforcements. + He feinted against them, calculating that their commander would not know + how the fight had gone in Antrim, and must of necessity move cautiously. + He risked the utter destruction of his little force in making his bid for + safety. He reaped the reward of courage and skill, extricating his + musketeers from what seemed an impossible position. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII + </h2> + <p> + General Clavering seemed in no way disconcerted by the escape of Hope’s + musketeers. He marched through the town with drums beating and colours + flying, having very much the air of a victorious general. Lord Dunseveric + stepped out of the graveyard and saluted him. + </p> + <p> + “Accept my congratulations,” he said, “on your timely arrival. You have + released me and my son from what might have been an unpleasant and + uncomfortable captivity.” + </p> + <p> + “I am glad,” said the general, “to have been of any service to your + lordship. I trust you suffered no ill-usage at the hands of the rebels. If + you did——-, well, we have an opportunity of settling our + scores with them now.” + </p> + <p> + He smiled, but the look on his face was by no means pleasant to see. + </p> + <p> + “I received no ill-usage at all,” said Lord Dunseveric. “On the contrary, + I was treated with as much courtesy as was possible under the + circumstances. I would ask your forbearance towards any prisoners you may + take, and your kindness to the wounded. There are many of them in the + churchyard.” + </p> + <p> + “You may be sure that your lordship’s recommendation shall have due weight + with me.” + </p> + <p> + The words were civil, but Lord Dunseveric detected a sneer in the voice + which uttered them. He was not well pleased. + </p> + <p> + “I trust, sir,” he said coldly, “that I am to take your words literally + and not interpret them in accordance with the tone in which they are + spoken.” + </p> + <p> + “If you want plain speaking, Lord Dunseveric,” said the general, “I shall + deal with the rebels, whole or wounded, as rebels deserve. I mean to make + these Antrim farmers as tame as gelt cats before I’ve done with them.” + </p> + <p> + He beckoned to an officer of his staff, and gave some orders. In a few + minutes several companies of mounted yeomen and dragoons trotted out of + the town. + </p> + <p> + “It is a good job,” said General Clavering, “that the rebels succeeded in + getting away. If we had cut off their retreat we might have had some hard + fighting. There is nothing nastier than tackling a rat in a corner. It is + a much simpler business to cut up flying men. All beaten troops straggle + and desert. Irregulars, operating in their own country, simply melt away + after a defeat. They sneak off home, hide their arms in hay stacks, and + pretend they never left their ploughs. I know their ways, and, by God, + I’ll track them. I’ll ferret them out.” + </p> + <p> + General Clavering’s estimate of the conduct of irregular troops had + something in it. Even James Hope’s influence failed to keep his men from + straggling. They had fought well while there was any chance of victory, + but war was strange to them. The horrors of wounds and death, the bitter + disappointment of defeat, the hopeless outlook of the future, depressed + them. Their homes were near at hand. Within a few miles of them were the + familiar cottages, the waiting, anxious wives, the little children with + eager faces. There was always the chance for each man that he might escape + unknown, that his share in the rising might be forgotten. One and another + dropped out of the ranks, slipped across the fields, sought to get home + again along by-paths. It was not possible for Hope to delay his march in + order to reason with his men—to hearten and steady them. He knew + that the enemy would be swift in pursuit, that he must press on if he were + to meet M’Cracken at Donegore. He did what he could. He went to and fro + through the ranks, speaking quiet, brave words. Donald Ward, cool and + determined as ever, talked of the American war. + </p> + <p> + “You’re young at the work, yet,” he said to the disheartened men. “Wait + till you’ve been beaten half a dozen times. It was only by being beaten, + and standing up to our beatings, that we won in the end. I remember when I + was with General Greene in the Carolinas——” + </p> + <p> + The men listened to him and listened to Hope. Their spirit began to return + to them. The ranks closed up. The march grew more regular, but the + straggling did not altogether cease. The lure of home, the thought of rest + after struggle, was too strong for some of them. Neal marched near the + rear of the column. He had no thought of deserting a beaten side, of + trying to save himself, but he knew that he could not go on for very long, + and that he would not be able to reach Donegore. The boy whom he supported + leaned heavily on him, until he almost had to carry him. The strain became + more and more severe. He gave his musket to a comrade to carry for him. He + lifted the boy upon his back and staggered on. + </p> + <p> + After nearly an hour’s march Hope called a halt. Half a mile behind them + on the road was a body of dragoons advancing rapidly. Hope drew his men up + across the road, the few pikemen who were with him kneeling in front, the + musketeers behind them. The dragoons came on at a trot. Then a word of + command was given by their officer, and they galloped forward. Hope + waited, and only at the last moment gave the word to fire. Horses and men + fell. The charge was checked. A few staggered forward against the pikes. + Most turned and fled. A wild cheer burst from Hope’s men. Without waiting + for orders they rushed after the retreating dragoons. The misery of defeat + was forgotten for a moment. They tasted the joy of victory again. But the + horsemen rallied, turned on their pursuers, and rode through them, cutting + with their sabres. Neal, who had sat down on the roadside after firing his + musket, saw Hope trying to recall his men, saw Donald Ward far down the + road gather a few pikemen round him and stand at bay. The dragoons, who + had had enough of charging pikes, dismounted, unslung their carbines, and + fired. Neal saw his uncle fall. Hope reformed his men and bade them load + again, but the dragoons had no taste for another charge. Their officer was + wounded. They turned and rode back towards Antrim. + </p> + <p> + Hope gave the word to march again, but Neal could carry the boy no more. + </p> + <p> + “I can’t do it,” he said. “We must stay here and take our chance.” + </p> + <p> + “Go on,” said the boy, “go you on. I’ve been a sore trouble to you the + day, have done with me now.” + </p> + <p> + “I will not leave you,” said Neal, “we’ll take our chance together.” + </p> + <p> + He watched Hope’s little force disappear up the road. Then he dragged the + boy through the hedge into the meadow beyond it, and lay down in the deep + grass. + </p> + <p> + “Is your leg very bad?” said Neal. + </p> + <p> + “It’s no that bad, only I canna walk. It’s bled a power, my stocking’s + soaked with the blood. Maybe if we could tie it up better we might stop it + and I’d get strength to go again.” + </p> + <p> + Neal dragged the lining from his coat, and tore it into strips. He cut the + stocking from the boy’s leg with his pocket-knife, and bandaged a long + flesh wound as best he could. + </p> + <p> + “Rest now,” he said, “and after a while we’ll try and get on a bit.” + </p> + <p> + They lay in the deep, cool grass. There was pure air round them, and they + drew deep breaths of it into throats and lungs parched by the fumes of + sulphurous smoke. A delicious silence wrapped them, folded them as if in a + tender, kind embrace. A faint breeze stirred the grass, waved the white + plumes of the meadow sweet, shook the blue vetch flowers and the purple + spears of lusmor. In the hedge the reddening blooms of faded hawthorn + still lingered. The honeysuckle fragrance filled the air. Groups of + merry-faced dog-daisies nodded in the ditch, and round their stalks were + buttercups, and beyond them the rich yellow of marsh marigolds. Neal + fancied himself awaking from some hideous nightmare. It became impossible + to believe in the reality of the battle, the fierce passion of it, the + smoke, the sweat, the wounds, the cries. He was lulled into delicious + ease. Rest was for the time the supreme good of life. His eyes closed + drowsily. He was back in Dunseveric again, and in his ears the noise of a + gentle summer sea. + </p> + <p> + He was roused by a touch of his companion’s hand. + </p> + <p> + “I’m afraid there’s a wheen o’ sogers coming up the road.” + </p> + <p> + Neal rose to his hands and knees and peered cautiously through the hedge. + He saw mounted men riding slowly along the road from the direction of + Antrim. They were still about half a mile off. Every now and then they + halted and peered about them. They rode as if they feared an ambush, or as + if they sought something or some one in the fields at each side of the + road. + </p> + <p> + “They’re yeomen,” said Neal, “and they’re coming towards us. We must lie + as still as we can. Perhaps they may pass without seeing us.” + </p> + <p> + “They willna,” said the boy, “they’ll see us. We’ll be kilt at last.” + </p> + <p> + Neal peered again. The yeomen had reached the spot where Donald and his + pikemen had made their stand. They halted and dismounted to examine, + perhaps to plunder, the bodies. Neal could see their uniforms plainly. He + shivered. They were men of the Kilulta yeomenry, of Captain Twinely’s + company. + </p> + <p> + “Neal Ward, there’s something I want to say to you before they catch us.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what is it? Speak at once. They’ll be coming on soon, and then it + won’t do to be talking.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, but you mustn’t look at me while I tell you.” + </p> + <p> + Neal turned away and waited. He was impatient of this making of mysteries + in a moment of extreme peril. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “I would I were in Ballinderry, + I would I were in Aghalee, + I would I were in bonny Ram’s Island + Trysting under an ivy tree— + Ochone, Ochone!” + </pre> + <p> + The words were sung very softly, but Neal recognised the voice at once. He + turned at the second line and gazed in open-eyed astonishment at the + singer. + </p> + <p> + “Ay, it’s just me, just Peg MacIlrea.” She smiled up at him as she spoke. + </p> + <p> + “But, Peg, how could you do it? Peg, if I’d only known. Why did you come?” + </p> + <p> + “It wasna right. It wasna maidenly. If that’s what you want to be saying + to me, Neal Ward. The other lassie wouldna have done it. Maybe not. But a’ + the lads I knew well were turning out and going to the fight, and what was + to hinder a poor, wild lassie, that nobody cared about, from going, too? + Ay, and being there at the break, the sore, sore break, in Antrim town?” + </p> + <p> + Neal heard the tramp of the yeomen’s horses on the road. He heard their + voices, their laughter, their oaths. + </p> + <p> + “Neal,” said Peg, “you’re a brave lad and a kind. I aye said it of ye from + thon night when you throttled the dragoon. Do you mind it? D’you mind how + I bit him?” + </p> + <p> + The yeomen were almost opposite their hiding-place now. + </p> + <p> + “Neal,” whispered Peg, “will ye no gie me a kiss? The other lassie wouldna + begrudge it to me now, I’m thinking.” + </p> + <p> + He bent over her, put his arms round her neck, raised her head, and kissed + her lips. + </p> + <p> + “Hush, Peg, hush,” he whispered. + </p> + <p> + “There’s a musket on the road in front of you, sergeant.” Neal recognised + Captain Twinely’s voice. “There might be some damned croppy lurking in the + meadow there. Dismount and beat him up. Hey! but we’ll have some sport + hunting him across country if he runs. The earths are all stopped. We’ll + have a fine burst, and kill the vermin in the end.” + </p> + <p> + Neal stood upright. + </p> + <p> + “I surrender to you, Captain Twinely. I surrender as a prisoner of war.” + </p> + <p> + It seemed to him the only chance of saving Peg MacIlrea. It was just + possible that the yeomen would be satisfied with one prisoner. + </p> + <p> + “By God,” said the captain, “if it isn’t that damned young Ward again. + Come, croppy, come, croppy, I’ll give you a run for your life. I’ll give + you two minutes start by my watch, and I’ll hunt you like a fox. It’s a + better offer than you deserve.” + </p> + <p> + Neal stood still, and made no answer. + </p> + <p> + “To him, sergeant, prick him with your sword. Set him running.” + </p> + <p> + The sergeant came blundering through the hedge. Neal stepped forward to + meet him, in the hope of keeping Peg concealed, but the sergeant caught + sight of her. + </p> + <p> + “There’s another of them, Captain, lying in the grass.” + </p> + <p> + “Rout him out, rout him out,” said Captain Twinely, “we’ll run the two. + We’ll have sport.” + </p> + <p> + The sergeant stepped forward and kicked Peg. Neal flew at the man and + knocked him down. + </p> + <p> + “Ho, ho,” laughed Captain Twinely, “he’s a game cub. Get through the + hedge, men, and take a hold of him. We’ll hunt the other fellow first.” + </p> + <p> + “The other seems to be wounded, sir,” said one of the men. “He has his leg + bandaged.” + </p> + <p> + “Then slit his throat,” said the captain, “he can’t run, and I’ve no use + for wounded men.” + </p> + <p> + Neal, his arms tightly gripped by two troopers, made a last appeal. + </p> + <p> + “It’s a girl,” he said, “would you murder a girl?” + </p> + <p> + Captain Twinely rolled in his saddle with mirth. + </p> + <p> + “A vixen,” he cried. “Damn your soul, Neal Ward, but you’re a sly one. To + think of a true blue Presbyterian like you, a minister’s son, God rot you, + lying and cuddling a girl in a field. A vixen, by God. Strip her, + sergeant, till we see if he’s telling the truth.” + </p> + <p> + Neal, with the strength of a furious man, tore himself from the grasp of + his guards. He plunged through the hedge and leaped at Captain Twinely. He + gripped the horse’s mane with his left hand, and made a wild snatch at the + throat of the man above him in the saddle. A blow on the face from the + hilt of Twinely’s sword threw him to the ground. He fell half stunned. He + heard Peg shriek wildly, and then lost consciousness of what was + happening. + </p> + <p> + He was roused again by a prod of a sword, and bidden to stand up. His + hands were tied and the end of the rope made fast to the stirrup iron of + one of the trooper’s horses. + </p> + <p> + “We’re going to take you back into Antrim,” said Captain Twinely. “I don’t + deny that I’d rather deal with you here myself, but you’re a + fifty-pounder, my lad, and my men won’t hear of losing their share of the + reward. It’ll come to the same thing in the end, any way. Clavering isn’t + the man to be squeamish about hanging a rebel. Mount men and march.” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe the young cub would like to see his lass before he leaves her. Her + face is a bonny one for kissing now.” + </p> + <p> + Neal shuddered, and turned sick. Beyond the hedge in the trampled grass, + among the meadow sweet and the loose strife, lay unnamable horror. He shut + his eyes, dreading lest he should be forced to look, but the suggestion + was too brutal even for Captain Twinely. + </p> + <p> + “Shut your devil’s mouth,” he said to the sergeant, “isn’t what you’ve + done enough for you? If the croppy that came on you at Donegore had broken + your skull, instead of just cracking it, he would have rid the country of + the biggest blackguard in it.” + </p> + <p> + “Thon’s fine talk,” growled the sergeant, “but who bid us strip the wench? + Is bloody Twinely turning chicken-hearted at the last?” + </p> + <p> + Captain Twinely did not choose to hear the sergeant’s words, or the + grumbling of the men around him. He put his troop in motion, and trotted + off towards Antrim. Neal, running and stumbling, dazed, utterly weary and + dejected, was dragged with them. + </p> + <p> + General Clavering sat at dinner in a private room of the Massereene Arms. + He had with him Colonel Durham and several of the officers who had + commanded troops during the battle. The landlord, obsequious and + frightened, waited on the party himself. He had the best food he could get + on the table, and the best wine from the cellar was ready for his guests. + In the public room a larger party was gathered—yeomanry officers, + captains, and lieutenants of the royal troops, and a few of the country + squires who had ridden into the town after the fighting was over. Lord + Dunseveric and Maurice were in the room where they had slept the night + before. Lord O’Neill lay on one of two beds. Life was in him still, but he + was mortally wounded. Lord Dunseveric sat beside him, holding his hand, + and speaking to him occasionally. Maurice was at the window. The laughter + of the party in the room below reached them, and the noisy talk of the + troops who thronged the streets. Jests, curses, snatches of song, and + calls for wine mingled with the groans which his extreme pain wrung from + the wounded man and the solemn, quiet words about strength and courage + which Lord Dunseveric spoke. + </p> + <p> + A party of horsemen clattered up the street, and halted at the inn door. + They had a prisoner with them—a wretched-looking man, with torn + clothes, a bruised, bloody face, and hair matted with sweat and grime. But + Maurice recognised him. It was Neal Ward. He turned to his father. + </p> + <p> + “A company of yeomen has just marched in and they have Neal Ward with + them. Their officer, I think it was that blackguard Twinely, has asked for + General Clavering, and entered the inn.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, Maurice.” Lord Dunseveric turned to the wounded man. “I must + leave you for a few minutes, my friend; keep quiet and be brave. I shall + be back again. Maurice will stay with you, and get you anything you want.” + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going, Eustace?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m going to the general, to this Clavering man. He has a prisoner now + whom I want to help if I can—the young man I told you about, who + saved me from being piked in the street to-day. I would to God he could + have saved you, too.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s past praying for now,” said Lord O’Neill, “but you’re right, + Eustace, you’re right. Save him from the hangman if you can. There’s been + blood enough shed to-day—Irish blood, Irish blood. There should be + no more of it.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Dunseveric entered the room where General Clavering and his officers + sat at dinner. Captain Twinely stood at the end of the table, and Lord + Dunseveric heard the orders he received. + </p> + <p> + “Put him into the market-house to-night. I’ll hang that fellow in the + morning, whatever I do with the rest.” + </p> + <p> + “The market-house is full, sir,” said Captain Twinely, “the officer in + command says he can receive no more prisoners.” + </p> + <p> + “Damn it, man, shut him up somewhere else, then, but don’t stand there + talking to me and interrupting my dinner. Here, landlord, have you an + empty cellar?” + </p> + <p> + “Your worship, my lord general, there’s only the wine cellar; but it’s + very nigh on empty now.” + </p> + <p> + A shout of laughter greeted the remark. + </p> + <p> + “Fetch out the rest of the wine that’s in it,” said the general, “we’ll + make a clean sweep of it. Or, stay, leave the poor devil one bottle of + decent claret. He’s to be hanged tomorrow morning. He may have a sup of + comfort to-night.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Twinely saluted and withdrew. + </p> + <p> + “General Clavering,” said Lord Dunseveric, “I ask you to spare this young + man’s life. I will make myself personally responsible for his safe + keeping, and undertake to send him out of the country at the first + opportunity.” + </p> + <p> + “It can’t be done, Lord Dunseveric. I am sorry to disoblige in a small + matter, but it can’t be done.” + </p> + <p> + “I ask it as a matter of justice,” said Lord Dunseveric. “The man saved my + life and my son’s life to-day in the street at the risk of his own. He + deserves to be spared.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve given my answer.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Dunseveric hesitated. For a moment it seemed as if he were about to + turn and leave the room. Then, with an evident effort, he spoke again. + </p> + <p> + “I ask this man’s life as a personal favour. I am not one who begs often + from the Government, or who asks favours easily, but I ask this.” + </p> + <p> + “Anything else, my lord, anything in reason, but this I will not grant. + This young man has a bad record—a damned bad record. He was mixed up + with the hanging of a yeoman in the north———” + </p> + <p> + “He was not,” said Lord Dunseveric. “I hanged that man.” + </p> + <p> + “You hanged him,” said General Clavering, Angrily, “and yet you come here + asking favours of me. But there’s more, plenty more, against this Neal + Ward. He tried to choke a dragoon in the street of Belfast, he took part + in a daring capture of some ammunition for the rebels’ use, he helped to + murder a loyal man at Donegore last night, he was in arms to-day. There’s + not half a dozen deserve hanging more richly than he does, and hanged + he’ll be. Never you fret yourself about him, Lord Dunseveric; sit down + here and drink a glass with us. We’re going to make a night of it.” + </p> + <p> + “I beg leave to decline your invitation,” said Lord Dunseveric, stiffly. + “I have asked for mercy and been refused. I have asked for justice and + been refused. I have begged a personal favour and been refused. I bid you + good night. If I thought you and your companions were capable of any + feeling of common decency I should request you to restrain your mirth a + little out of respect to Lord O’Neill, who lies dying within two doors of + you. But I should probably only provide you with fresh food for your + laughter if I did.” + </p> + <p> + He bowed coldly, and left the room. The company sat silent for a minute or + two. No man cared to look at his neighbour. Lord Dunseveric’s last words + had been unpleasant ones to listen to. Besides, Lord Dunseveric was a man + of some importance. It is impossible to tell how far the influence of a + great territorial lord may stretch. Promotion is sometimes stopped + mysteriously by influences which are not very easily baffled. There were + colonels at the table who wanted to be generals, and generals who wanted + commands. There was a feeling that it might have been wiser to speak more + civilly to Lord Dunseveric. + </p> + <p> + General Clavering himself broke the silence. + </p> + <p> + “These damned Irishmen are all rebels at heart,” he said. “The gentry want + their combs cut as much as the croppies. I’m not going to be insulted at + my own table by a cursed Irishman even if he does put lord before his + name. I’ll write a report about this Lord Dunseveric. I’ll make him smart + with a sharp fine. You heard him boast, gentlemen, boast before a company + of men holding His Majesty’s commission, that he hanged a soldier in + discharge of his duty.” + </p> + <p> + “A yeoman,” said Colonel Durham, “and some of the yeomen deserve hanging.” + </p> + <p> + “God Almighty!” said Clavering, “are you turning rebel, too? I don’t care + whether a man deserves it or not, I’ll not have the king’s troops hanged + by filthy Irishmen.” + </p> + <p> + He looked round the table for applause. He got none. General Clavering had + boasted too loudly—had gone too far. It was well known that in the + existing state of Irish politics Pitt and the English ministers would + probably prefer cashiering General Clavering to offending a man like Lord + Dunseveric. There were plenty of generals to be got. A great Irish + landowner, a man of ability, a peer who commanded the respect of all + classes in the country, might be a serious hindrance to the carrying out + of certain carefully-matured schemes. General Clavering attempted to laugh + the matter off. + </p> + <p> + “But this,” he said, “is over wine. Men say more than they mean when they + are engaged in emptying mine host’s cellar. Come, gentlemen, another + bottle. We must hang the damned young rebel, but we’ll do him this much + grace—we’ll drink a happy despatch to him, a short wriggle at the + end of his rope, and a pleasant journey to a warmer climate.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Dunseveric returned to his room and sat down again beside Lord + O’Neill. He said nothing to Maurice. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Lord O’Neill, “will they spare him?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “More blood, more blood. God help us, Eustace, our lot is cast in evil + times. Would it be any use if I spoke, if I wrote! I think I could manage + to write.” + </p> + <p> + “None, my friend, none. Keep quiet, you have enough to bear without taking + my troubles and my friend’s troubles on your shoulders.” + </p> + <p> + For a long time there was silence in the room, broken only by an + occasional groan from the wounded man and a word or two murmured low by + Lord Dunseveric. Maurice took his place at the window again. He understood + that his father’s intercession for Neal had failed, but he was not + hopeless. He did not know what was to be said or done next, but he waited + confidently. It was not often that Lord Dunseveric was turned back from + anything he set his hand to do. It was likely that if he wanted Neal + Ward’s release the release would be accomplished whatever General + Clavering might think or say. + </p> + <p> + The evening darkened slowly. Lord O’Neill dropped into an uneasy dose. + Lord Dunseveric rose, and crossed the room to Maurice. + </p> + <p> + “You heard what I said, son? They are to hang Neal Ward to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + Maurice nodded. + </p> + <p> + “I can do no more. Besides, I am tired. I want to rest.” + </p> + <p> + Maurice looked at his father in surprise. He could not recollect ever + having heard before of his being tired or wanting rest. + </p> + <p> + “I shall sleep here in your bed, Maurice, so as to be at hand if Lord + O’Neill wants me. You must go down to the public room of the inn or to the + tap-room. You can get James, the groom, to keep you company if you like. + You cannot go to bed to-night, you understand. You must sit by the fire + till those roisterers have drunk themselves to sleep. James will keep you + company, There will be sound sleep for many in this inn to-night, but none + for poor Neal, who’s down in some cellar, nor the sentry they post over + him, nor for you, Maurice, nor for James. Maybe after all Neal won’t be + hanged in the morning. That’s all I have to say to you, my son. A man in + my position can’t say more or do more. You understand?” + </p> + <p> + “I understand,” said Maurice, “and, by God, they’ll not hang——” + </p> + <p> + “Hush! hush! I don’t want to listen to you. I’m tired. I want to go to + sleep. Good night to you, Maurice.” + </p> + <p> + With a curious half smile on his face Lord Dun-severic shook his son’s + hand. It appeared that he had the same kind of confidence in Maurice that + Maurice had in him. Like father, like son. When these St. Clairs of + Dunseveric wanted anything they generally got it in the end. And none of + the race of them had ever been over-scrupulous in dealing with such + obstacles as stood in their way, or particularly careful about what those + glorified conventions that men call law might have to say about the + methods by which they achieved their ends. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV + </h2> + <p> + Men who have eaten sufficiently and drunk heavily are not anxious to admit + into their company any one who has not dined, and whose last glass of wine + was drunk the day before. The gentlemen in the public room of the + Massereene Arms were not, most of them, drunk when Maurice St. Clair came + among them, but they were gay. Their hearts, to use a Scripture phrase, + were made glad with wine. They were in the mood in which men crack jokes + and laugh loud at jokes which would not pass muster before dinner. They + were ready to sing out of time and tune or to applaud the songs of others + without criticising them. But they were, with the exception of one or two, + men of feeble capacity, sober enough to be conscious of the fact that they + were liable to make fools of themselves, and to resent the intrusion of a + cool-headed stranger. + </p> + <p> + They stared angrily at Maurice St. Clair. They said in audible tones + things which showed him plainly that his presence was most unwelcome, but + Maurice remained unabashed. He crossed the room and sat down on the window + seat—the same seat from which Neal had watched the piper and the + dancers a week or two before. He beckoned to the harassed and wearied girl + who waited on the party. + </p> + <p> + “Get me,” he said, “something to eat—anything. I do not mind what it + is, and bring a cup of milk. Then send my groom to me.” + </p> + <p> + “The gentleman,” said a young squire, who had certainly crossed the + undefined line which separates sobriety from drunkenness, “is going to + drink milk. Now, what I want to know is this—has any gentleman a + right to drink milk on an evening like this, after the glorious victory + which we have won?” + </p> + <p> + “It’s damned little you had to do with winning it,” said an officer who + sat beside him. “You can drink, but——” + </p> + <p> + “The man that says I can’t drink lies,” said the other. “No offence to + you, Captain; no offence meant or taken. I give you a toast, and I propose + that the milky gentleman in the window—the milk-and-water gentleman—drinks + it along with us. Here’s success to the loyalists and a long rope and + short shrift to the rebelly croppies. Now, Mr. Milk-and-Water——” + </p> + <p> + Maurice rose to his feet. + </p> + <p> + “I understand, gentlemen, that this is a public room in which any + traveller may be supplied with what he calls for. I have no wish to push + myself into your company. I trust that you will allow me to enjoy my own + unmolested.” + </p> + <p> + The intoxicated proposer of the toast laid his hand on his sword, + blustered out an oath or two, and was pulled down again into his seat. + There was good feeling enough left among the better class of his + companions to understand that a stranger should be treated with civility. + There was sense enough among the rest to recognise that Maurice was not + the kind of man whom it would be safe to bully. The girl returned and + informed Maurice that his groom was in the kitchen, but refused to attend + him. + </p> + <p> + Maurice rose and sought the man himself. The reason of the refusal was + sufficiently obvious. The kitchen was full of troopers who had advanced + much further on the way to absolute drunkenness than their officers. + James, Lord Dunseveric’s groom, was decidedly the most drunken of the + party, but Maurice wanted the man, and was prepared to take some trouble + to reduce him to a condition of serviceableness again. He grasped him by + the collar of the coat, and pushed him through the back door into the + yard. A delighted stable boy worked the pump handle while Maurice held the + groom under the stream of cold water. The cure was ineffective. Maurice + walked him up and down the yard for half an hour, and then put him under + the pump again. The man remained obstinately drunk. Maurice flung him down + in a corner of a stable and left him. + </p> + <p> + He returned to the room where the feasters sat, and looked in. The company + had advanced rapidly since he had seen them last. The squire who had + proposed the toast was under the table. Several others were lying back + helplessly in their chairs. Those who could talk were talking loud and all + together. The amount of liquor still to be consumed was considerable. + Maurice smiled. These officers and gentlemen were little likely to + interfere with anything he chose to do at midnight. He went out of doors + and sat on the stone bench in front of the inn. + </p> + <p> + He had no plan in his head for the rescue of Neal Ward, only he was quite + determined to accomplish it somehow before morning. He did not even know + where his friend was imprisoned, or how he was guarded. His father had + spoken of a cellar somewhere in the inn. He supposed that foe would sooner + or later be able to find it, overpower the sentry, and set Neal free. In + the meanwhile, he had nothing to do but wait. + </p> + <p> + He felt a touch on his shoulder, and looked round to see the girl, the inn + servant, standing beside him. + </p> + <p> + “You’re the gentleman,” she whispered, “that was speaking till the young + man here the morn—the young man that I give the basket to, that is a + friend o’ Jemmy Hope’s?” + </p> + <p> + Maurice recollected the incident very well. + </p> + <p> + “He’s here the now,” whispered the girl again. “He’s down in the wine + cellar, and the door’s locked on him, and there’s a man with a gun + forninst the door, and, the Lord save us, it’s goin’ to hang him they + are.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you show me where the cellar is?” said Maurice. + </p> + <p> + “Ay, will I no? I’ll be checked sore by the master, but I’ll show you, I + will.” + </p> + <p> + The girl led him down a long passage, which was nearly dark, opened a + door, and showed him a flight of stone steps. + </p> + <p> + “There’s three doors,” she said. “It’s the one at the end forninst you + that’s the cellar door. Are ye going down? It’s venturesome ye are. + Whisht, then, and go canny, and dinna go ayont the bottom of the steps.” + </p> + <p> + Maurice went cautiously. When he reached the bottom of the steps he saw + before him a long passage, stone-flagged, low-roofed, narrow. From an iron + hook at the far end hung a lamp. Beyond it stood a sentry, one of Captain + Twinely’s yeomen. The man was awake and alert. There was no sign of + drunkenness about him. He was well armed. The light from the lamp was dim + and feeble at Maurice’s end of the passage, but it shone brightly enough + for a space in front of the sentry. Maurice saw that it would be + impossible to approach the man unseen, impossible to steal on him or rush + at him without having a shot fired which would startle every one in the + inn. He crept up the stairs again. The girl was waiting for him. + </p> + <p> + “Is the door of the cellar locked?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Ay, it is, I fetched the last bottles of wine out mysel’, and I saw them + put the man in—sore draggled he was, and looking like a body in a + dwam. The master locked the door himsef, and the captain took the keys off + with him. But there’s no harm in that. There’s another key that the + mistress used to have afore she died, the creature. It’s in a drawer in + the master’s room, but it’s easy got at.” + </p> + <p> + “Get it for me,” said Maurice. + </p> + <p> + He looked into the public room again. The revel was far advanced now. It + was nearly midnight, and only three or four of the most seasoned drinkers + survived. Even they, as Maurice saw, were in no position to assert + themselves, or to understand anything that was going on. A few minutes + later even these veterans felt that they had had enough. Supporting each + other, reeling against tables and chairs, they staggered upstairs to their + beds. The greater part of the merry company lay on the floor in attitudes + which were neither dignified nor comfortable, and snored. The rest of the + inn was silent. From outside came the steady tramp of the soldiers who + patrolled the town, and from far off their challenges to the sentries on + watch at the ends of the streets. + </p> + <p> + The girl came back to Maurice with the key in her hand. + </p> + <p> + “I got it,” she said. “The master’s cocked up sleepin’ by the kitchen + fire. There was a man in his bed, or maybe twa, but I didna wake them.” + </p> + <p> + “Come back to me in half an hour,” said Maurice, “I may want your help. + And listen, my lass, if you stand by me to-night I’ll see you safe + afterwards. You shan’t want for a handful of silver or a bran new gown.” + </p> + <p> + “I want none of your siller nor your gowns,” said the girl. “I’ll lend ye + a han’ because you’re a friend of the lad that’s the friend of Jemmy + Hope.” + </p> + <p> + At about half-past twelve the sentry who stood in front of Neal’s cellar + heard some one descend the stairs into the passage with shuffling steps. A + slatternly girl with shoes so down at the heel that they clattered on the + stone flags every time she lifted her feet, approached him. She rubbed her + eyes and yawned like one lately wakened out of sleep. She carried a + lantern in her hand. + </p> + <p> + “What do you want here?” said the man. + </p> + <p> + “The master sent me, sir, with another lamp. He was afeard the yin ye had + would be out again the morn. There isna that much oil in it.” + </p> + <p> + “Your master’s civil,” said the man. “I’ve no fancy for standing sentry + here in the dark. He’s a civil man, and I’ll speak a good word for him + to-morrow to the captain. I hope you’re a civil wench like the man you + serve.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, amn’t I after fetchin’ the lamp till ye?” + </p> + <p> + “And a kiss along with it,” said the soldier. “Come now, you needn’t be + coy, there’s none to see you.” + </p> + <p> + He put his arms round her waist and pulled her towards him. + </p> + <p> + “Mind now, mind, will ye, have you neither sense nor shame? Ye’ll have the + lamp spilt and the house in a blaze this minute.” + </p> + <p> + She escaped from him, and, standing on tip-toe, reached the lamp which + hung from the roof and put it on the ground. The soldier caught her again, + and this time succeeded in kissing her. + </p> + <p> + “Ye may hang the fresh lamp up yourself,” said the girl. “I willna lay a + finger on it for ye now.” + </p> + <p> + Rubbing her mouth with her hand, as if to wipe away the kiss forced on + her, she shambled down the passage, taking the first lamp with her. The + sentry heard her shuffle up the stairs again, making a great deal of noise + with her clattering shoes. Then he hung the fresh lamp on his hook and + stood back again against the door of the cellar. + </p> + <p> + It was very dull work standing all night in the passage, but he was + determined to keep awake. Neal Ward had slipped through the fingers of + Captain Twinely’s men twice. There was not much chance of his escaping + this time, but the sentry, for the honour of his corps, and for the sake + of the personal ill-will that every member of it bore to the prisoner, was + not going to run the smallest risk. Earlier in the night he had amused + himself by shouting insults of various kinds through the door of the + cellar. Later on he had given the prisoner a vivid and realistic + description of the way in which men are hanged, but Neal had made no sign + of hearing a word that was said to him, so the occupation grew + uninteresting. Now he whistled a few of his favourite airs, speculating on + the amount of the fifty pounds reward offered for Neal’s capture which + would fall to his share, and estimating his chances of taking some of the + other United Irishmen for whom the Government had offered substantial + sums. Then he began to count the flagstones on the floor of the passage. + He had done this once or twice before, and had been able to distinguish as + many as twenty-five, which brought him more than half way to the + staircase, before the light failed him. This time he could only count + twenty. Beyond that the floor lay dimly visible, but it was impossible to + distinguish one stone from another. + </p> + <p> + “Damn it,” He growled, “this isn’t near as good a lamp as the first.” + </p> + <p> + He counted again, and only reached a total of eighteen slabs of stone. He + glanced down the passage, and found that he could not see the end of it. + He looked at the lamp. It was burning very low. It occurred to him as an + unpleasant possibility that the girl had taken away the wrong lamp—had + taken the one with the oil in it and left him the empty one. He reassured + himself. This lamp was a different shape from that which hung in the + passage when he first took his post as sentry. He made up his mind that + its wick must require to be turned up. Perhaps it had been badly trimmed. + The girl who brought it was evidently sleepy; she would be very likely to + forget to trim it. He stepped forward to where the lamp hung. He paused, + startled by a slight noise at the far end of the passage. He listened, but + heard nothing more. It was necessary to lift the lamp off the hook before + he could trim the wick. He laid his musket on the ground and reached up to + it. As he did so he heard swift steps, steps of heavy feet, on the flagged + passage. They were quite close to him. He looked round and caught a + glimpse of Maurice St. Clair in the act of springing on him. He was + grappled by strong arms and flung to the ground before he could do + anything to defend himself. Maurice, kneeling on him, put the point of a + knife to his throat. + </p> + <p> + “If you speak one word or utter the slightest sound I cut your throat at + once.” + </p> + <p> + The unfortunate soldier lay still. Maurice, the knife still pricking the + man’s throat, crept slowly off him and knelt on the floor. With his left + hand he unclasped the soldier’s belt. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” he said, “turn over on your face, and put your hands behind you.” + </p> + <p> + The man obeyed, and felt the sharp point of the knife slip slowly round + his neck until it rested behind his ear. + </p> + <p> + “‘Remember,” said Maurice, “one good cut downwards now and you are a dead + man. Put your hands together.” + </p> + <p> + He pulled the leather belt clear with his left hand, then, dropping the + knife, he knelt on the man’s back and gripped his wrists. + </p> + <p> + In a moment he had them securely strapped together with the leather belt. + Then he stuffed a cloth into the soldier’s mouth and bound it there with a + stout cord tied tight round his head. Another cord—Maurice had come + well supplied with what he was likely to want—was made fast round + the man’s legs. Then Maurice stood up and surveyed his handiwork. He + laughed softly, well satisfied. The lamp flickered and went out. + </p> + <p> + “It’s a good job for you,” said Maurice, “that the light lasted as long as + it did. I couldn’t have gagged and tied you in the dark. I should have + been obliged to kill you.” + </p> + <p> + He felt along the wall until he came to the cellar door and found the + keyhole. After much fumbling he got the key in, turned it, and pushed open + the door. + </p> + <p> + “Neal,” he called. “Neal, are you there?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Who is that? Is it you, Maurice? It’s like your voice.” + </p> + <p> + Stumbling forward through the pitch dark, Neal gripped Maurice at last. + Hand in hand they went cautiously along the passage and up the stairs. + </p> + <p> + “Come in here,” said Maurice. “There’s a light here, and I want to see if + it’s really you. Oh! you needn’t be afraid. There are plenty of soldiers, + but they won’t hurt you. They’re all dead drunk. Now, Neal, there’s lots + to eat and drink. Sit down and make the best of your time. You’ll want a + square meal. I’ll just take a light and go down to that fellow in the + passage. I’ve got a few fathom of good, stout rope—I’m not sure that + it isn’t the bit that they meant to hang you with in the morning—and + I’ll fix him up so that he’ll neither stir nor speak till some one lets + him loose.” + </p> + <p> + In a quarter of an hour Maurice returned. + </p> + <p> + “The next thing, Neal, is to get you out of this town. It’s full of + soldiers, and there are sentries at every turn, but I’ve got the word for + the night, and I think we’ll be able to manage.” + </p> + <p> + He walked round the room peering carefully at the drunken men who lay on + the floor. + </p> + <p> + “‘Here’s a fellow that’s about your size, Neal. He seems to be a captain + of some sort, a yeomanry captain by the look of him. I’m hanged if it + isn’t our friend Twinely again. We’ll take the liberty of borrowing his + uniform for you. There’ll be a poetic justice about that, and he’ll sleep + all the better for having these tight things off him.” + </p> + <p> + He knelt down and stripped Captain Twinely. + </p> + <p> + “Now then, quick, Neal. Don’t waste time. Daylight will be on us before we + know where we are. Take your own things with you in a bundle. Change again + somewhere when you get out of the town, you’ll be safer travelling in your + own clothes. Take some food with you. Here, I’ll make up a parcel while + you dress. I’ll stick in a bottle of wine. Now you’re right. Walk boldly + past the sentries. If you’re challenged curse the man that challenges you. + The word for the night is ‘Clavering.’ Travel by night as much as you can. + Keep off the main roads. Strike straight for home. It’ll be a queer thing + if you can’t lie safe round Dunseveric for a few days till we get you out + of the country.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV + </h2> + <p> + Lord Dunseveric and Maurice breakfasted together at eight o’clock on the + morning of Neal’s escape. They sat in the room where Lord O’Neill lay, and + had a table spread for them beside the window. It was impossible to eat a + meal in any comfort elsewhere in the inn. Indeed, but for the special + exertions of the master and his maid it would have been difficult to get + food at all. Maurice was triumphant and excited. Since Neal had not been + brought back it was reasonable to suppose that he had made good his escape + out of the town, and there was every hope that he would get safe to the + coast. Once there he had friends enough to feed him, and hiding-places + known to few, and almost inaccessible to soldiers or yeomen. + </p> + <p> + Lord Dunseveric asked no questions about Maurice’s doings in the night. He + felt perfectly confident that Neal had got off somehow. The details of the + business he would hear later on. For the present he preferred to know + nothing about them. + </p> + <p> + An officer entered the room and handed a letter to Lord Dunseveric. It was + a request, in civil language enough, that he would meet General Clavering + in the public room of the inn at nine o’clock, and that Maurice would + accompany his father. + </p> + <p> + General Clavering sat at the head of the table when Lord Dunseveric and + Maurice entered. Three or four of the senior officers of the regular + troops sat with him. Captain Twinely, in a suit of clothes he had borrowed + from the master of the inn, and one of his men, stood near the fireplace. + The room had been cleared of the drunken sleepers, but a good deal of the + <i>débris</i> of their revel—empty bottles, broken glasses, and + little pools of spilt wine—were still visible on the floor. + </p> + <p> + “I have to announce to you, Lord Dunseveric,” said the general, “that the + prisoner who was confined in the inn cellar last night, Neal Ward, has + escaped.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Dunseveric bowed, and smiled slightly. His eye lighted on Captain + Twinely, and his smile broadened. The landlord’s suit fitted the captain + extremely ill. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed,” he said, “Captain Twinely seems to be unfortunate with regard to + this particular prisoner. This is, let me see, the third time that Neal + Ward has—ah!—evaded his vigilance.” + </p> + <p> + “The sentry who guarded the door of the cellar,” said General Clavering, + “was attacked, overpowered, bound, and gagged.” + </p> + <p> + “By the prisoner?” + </p> + <p> + “No, my lord, by some one who assisted the prisoner to escape, who, after + dealing with the sentry as I have described, unlocked the door of the + cellar with a key, the duplicate of that which Captain Twinely had in his + pocket. This man and the prisoner subsequently stripped Captain Twinely of + his uniform, and, as I learn from my sentries, Neal Ward passed through + our lines in the disguise of a captain of yeomanry.” + </p> + <p> + “You surprise me,” said Lord Dunseveric, “a daring stratagem; a laughable + scheme, too. I trust you took no cold, Captain. I confess that I should + have liked to have seen you in your shirt tails this morning. You were, I + presume,” he stirred a little heap of broken glass with his foot as he + spoke, “<i>vino gravatus</i> when they relieved you of your tunic. But + what has all this to do with me?” + </p> + <p> + “Merely this,” said General Clavering, “that your son is accused of having + effected the prisoner’s escape.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Dunseveric looked at Maurice, looked him quietly up and down, as if + he saw him then for the first time. + </p> + <p> + “I can believe,” he said, “that my son might overpower the sentry. He is, + as you see, a young man of considerable personal strength, but I should be + surprised to learn that he dressed the prisoner in the captain’s uniform. + I may be misjudging my son, but I have hitherto regarded him as somewhat + deficient in humour. You must admit, General Clavering, that only a man + with a feeling for the ridiculous would have thought of——” + </p> + <p> + “It will be better for you to hear what the sentry has to say, my lord, + and I beg of you to regard the matter seriously. I assure you it will not + bear joking on. The rescue of a prisoner is a grave offence. Captain + Twinely, kindly order your man to tell his story.” + </p> + <p> + “Since I am not a prisoner at the bar,” said Lord Dunseveric, “I shall, + with your permission, sit down. As to the seriousness of the business in + hand, I confess that for the moment the thought of the worthy Twinely + waking this morning not only with a splitting headache but without a pair + of breeches on him keeps the humorous side of the situation prominent in + my mind.” + </p> + <p> + The sentry told his story. To Maurice’s great relief, he omitted all + mention of the girl who had supplied the lamp which so conveniently burnt + low, but he had recognised Maurice and was prepared to swear to his + identity. + </p> + <p> + “No doubt,” said General Clavering, “you will wish to cross-question this + man, my lord.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Dunseveric yawned. + </p> + <p> + “I think that quite unnecessary,” he said, “a much simpler way of arriving + at the truth of the story will be to ask my son whether he rescued the + prisoner or not. Maurice, did you bind and gag this excellent trooper?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you subsequently release Neal Ward from the cellar?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, Maurice, be careful about your answer to my next question. Did you + take the clothes off Captain Twinely?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “And was that part of the scheme entirely your own? Did the idea originate + with you or with the prisoner whom you helped to escape?” + </p> + <p> + “It was my idea.” + </p> + <p> + “I apologise to you, Maurice. I did you an injustice. You have a certain + sense of humour. It is not perhaps of the most refined kind, still you + have, no doubt, provided a joke which will appeal to the officers’ mess in + Belfast, Dublin, and elsewhere; which will be told after dinner in most + houses in the county for many a year to come. And now, General Clavering, + I presume there is no more to be said. I wish you good morning.” + </p> + <p> + “Stop a minute,” said General Clavering, “you cannot seriously suppose + that your son, simply because he is your son, is to be allowed to + interfere with the course of justice?” + </p> + <p> + “Of justice?” asked Lord Dunseveric in a tone of mild surprise. + </p> + <p> + “With His Majesty’s officers in the execution of their duty—that is, + to release prisoners whom I have condemned—I, the general in command + charged with the suppression of an infamous rebellion. Your son, my lord, + will have to abide the consequences of his acts.” + </p> + <p> + “Maurice,” said Lord Dunseveric, “it is evident that you are going to be + hanged. General Clavering is going to hang you. It is really providential + that you didn’t steal his breeches. He would probably have flogged you + first and hanged you afterwards if you had.” + </p> + <p> + “Damn your infernal insolence,” broke out General Clavering furiously, + “You think that because you happen to be a lord and own a few dirty acres + of land that you can sit there grinning like an ape and insulting me. I’ll + teach you, my lord, I’ll teach you. By God, I’ll teach you and every other + cursed Irishman to speak civil to an English officer. You shall know your + masters, by the Almighty, before I’ve done with you.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Dunseveric rose to his feet. He fixed his eyes on General Clavering, + and spoke slowly and deliberately. + </p> + <p> + “I ride at once to Dublin,” he said. “I shall lay an account of your + doings and the doings of your troops before His Majesty’s representative + there. I shall then cross to England, approach my Sovereign and yours, + General Clavering. I shall see that justice is done between you and the + people you have outraged and harried. As to my son, I have work for him to + do. I shall make myself responsible for his appearance before a court of + justice when he is summoned. In the meanwhile, I neither recognise you as + my master nor your will as my law. I appeal to the constitutional + liberties of this kingdom of Ireland and to the right of every citizen to + a fair trial before a jury of his fellow-countrymen. You shall not arrest, + try, or condemn my son otherwise than as the law allows.” + </p> + <p> + General Clavering grew purple in the face. He stuttered, cursed, laid his + hand on his sword, and took a step forward. Lord Dunseveric, his hands + behind his back, a sneer of contempt on his face, looked straight at the + furious man in front of him. + </p> + <p> + “Do you propose,” he said, “to stab me and then hang my son?” + </p> + <p> + This was precisely what General Clavering would have liked to do, but he + dared not. He turned instead on Captain Twinely. + </p> + <p> + “Let me tell you, sir, that you’re a damned idiot, an incompetent officer, + a besotted fool, and your men are a lot of cowardly loons. You had this + infernal young rebel safe and you let him go. You not only allowed him to + walk off, but you actually provided him with a suit of clothes to go in. + You’re the cause of all the trouble. Get your troop to horse. Scour the + country for him. Don’t leave a house that you don’t search, nor a bed that + you don’t run your sword through. Don’t leave a dung-heap without raking + it, or a haystack that you don’t scatter. Get that man back for me, + wherever he hides himself, or, by God, I’ll have you shot for neglect of + duty in time of war, and your damned yeomen buried alive in the same grave + with you.” + </p> + <p> + The general was still bent on teaching the Irish to know their masters and + making good his boast of reducing them to the tameness of “gelt cats.” + With Captain Twinely, at least, he seemed likely to succeed. + </p> + <p> + “I can imagine, Maurice,” said Lord Dun-severic, when they were alone + together again, “that Captain Twinely and his men have at last got a job + to suit them. Sticking swords through old wives feather beds is safer work + than sticking them through rebels. Scattering haystacks will be pleasanter + than scattering pikemen. Raking dung heaps will, I suppose, be an entirely + congenial occupation.” + </p> + <p> + His tone changed, He spoke rapidly and seriously. + </p> + <p> + “You will ride with me as far as Belfast. From there you must find some + means of communicating with the captain of that Yankee brig of which you + told me. If necessary, go yourself to Glasgow and find the man. Pay him + what he asks and arrange that he lies off Dunseveric and picks up Neal. + You must then go home and see to it yourself that Neal gets safe on board. + It may not be easy, for the yeomen will be after him; but it has got to be + done. I go to Dublin as I said. I shall have some trouble in settling this + business of yours. It really was an audacious proceeding—your rescue + of the prisoner. It will take me all my time to get it hushed up. Besides, + I must use my influence to prevent bad becoming worse in this unfortunate + country of ours. By the way, did you make any arrangement for the return + of Captain Twinely’s uniform when Neal had finished with it?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I never thought of that.” + </p> + <p> + “You ought to have thought of it. Poor Captain Twinely looks very odd in + the inn-keeper’s clothes, which do not fit him in the least.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI + </h2> + <p> + It was obvious to Captain Twinely that Neal Ward’s instinct would be to + make for Dunseveric. He spread the men under his command, and the members + of a couple of corps similar to his own, in bands of five or six, across a + broad belt of country. He arranged what he called a “drive,” and pushed + slowly northward, searching every possible hiding-place as he went. It + seemed to him totally impossible that Neal could escape. Sooner or later + he was sure to come on him, and then—Captain Twinely chuckled grimly + at the thought that he would leave no chance of a fourth escape. + </p> + <p> + This excellently-planned search resulted in the discovery of Captain + Twinely’s clothes, damp and somewhat muddy, in a ditch about a mile out of + the town. It did not end in the capture of the fugitive, because it was + founded on a miscalculation. Neal did not make straight for Dunseveric. + When he got out of the town and changed his clothes he went to Donegore + Hill. M’Cracken and Hope were there with the remains of their army, and + Neal was most anxious to join them. The murder of Peg MacIlrea had made + him so furiously angry that he cared nothing about his own safety. His + escape from Antrim was a matter of satisfaction mainly because it seemed + to afford him another opportunity for fighting. He neither attempted to + weigh the chances of success nor considered the uselessness of continuing + the struggle. He wanted vengeance taken on men whom he hated, and he + wanted to have some share himself in taking it. + </p> + <p> + He found the roads round Donegore Hill guarded by sentries. The camp on + the top of the old rath had all the appearance of being held by + disciplined troops. There was little sign of the disorganisation and panic + which often follow defeat. The men were calm, self-possessed, and + reasonable, but they were hopeless. Neal realised that this army, at + least, would do no more serious fighting. The men were anxious to make + terms for themselves and for their leaders. They were perfectly well aware + that they were beaten, and could not expect to make any head against their + enemies. + </p> + <p> + Neal found James Hope, and was warmly greeted by him. + </p> + <p> + “When I discovered that we’d left you behind,” said Hope, “I made up my + mind that you must have been shot down along with your uncle and the fine + fellows who made a stand with him. Ah, Neal, we’ve lost many—your + uncle, Felix Marier, poor Moylin, and many another. One killed here, + another there, but all of them in doing their duty. But we mustn’t talk of + these things, lad. Tell me, what brings you here?” + </p> + <p> + “Need you ask?” said Neal. “I am come to fight it out to the last.” + </p> + <p> + “Take my advice and slip off home. There’s no good to be done by stopping + with us. Things are desperate. Most of our people are going home to-day. + M’Cracken and a handful—not more than a hundred—are going to + Slievemis in the hope of being able to join Monro in County Down, or + perhaps to get through to the Wexford men.” + </p> + <p> + “I will go with you.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, lad, you’ve done enough. You’ve done a man’s part. Go home now.” + </p> + <p> + “What are you going to do?” + </p> + <p> + “I? Oh, I’m only a poor weaver. It doesn’t matter what I do. I’m going on + with M’Cracken.” + </p> + <p> + “So am I. Listen to me, James Hope, till I tell you what is in my mind—till + I tell you what has happened to me since yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + They sat on the grassy slope of the old rath. The wide plain stretched + before them—green, well wooded, beautiful. There lay Adair’s + plantations, the Six Mile Water winding like a serpent among the fields, + the woods of Castle Upton, and the young trees on Lyle Hill, with the + distant water of Lough Neagh glistening in the sunlight. Nearer at hand + thatched farmhouses smoked, signs that the yeomen were enjoying the fruits + of victory. Hope pointed to Farranshane, where William Orr’s house was + burning—a witness to a malignity so bitter that it wreaked the + vengeance from which the dead man was safe on his widow and his orphans. + </p> + <p> + Neal told his story, and spoke of the passionate desire for revenge which + burned in him. Hope listened patiently to every word. Then he spoke. + </p> + <p> + “If I were to tell you now, Neal, as I told you once before, that + vengeance belongeth only unto the Lord, you would turn away and listen to + me no more. Therefore, I shall not speak to you in that way at all, or + appeal to those higher feelings which the great God has planted in the + breasts of even the humblest of His servants. I will, instead, appeal to + that which is lower and smaller than the religion of Christ, and which yet + may be in its way a noble thing. I will speak to you as to a man of + honour. I am not fond of the title of gentleman, but I think I know what + is meant by honour. Sometimes it is no more than a fantastic image bred of + prejudice and pride; but sometimes it is high and holy, next to God. I + think, Neal, that you would like to reckon yourself a man of honour.” + </p> + <p> + Already James Hope’s words were producing an effect on Neal’s mind. The + extreme bitterness of his passion was dying away from him. + </p> + <p> + “You are right,” he said, “I wish to act always as a man of honour, but my + honour is engaged——” + </p> + <p> + “That is not what you said before. Before, you spoke of revenge and not of + honour. But let that pass. I will try to show you, as a truly noble man + would, as your friend, Lord Dunseveric, would if he were here to advise + you, how your honour really binds you. You were rescued from your + imprisonment last night and from death this morning by your friend, + Maurice St. Clair, and he bid you go home. He set you free in order that + you might go home. I think he would not have done what he did unless he + had believed that you would go home. You are in honour bound to him. You + are in reality still a prisoner—a prisoner released on parole, + although no formal promise was required of you. Do you understand what I + mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I understand; but you are advising me to do a cowardly thing—to + desert you, whom I reckon my friend, in the time of your extremity.” + </p> + <p> + “Maurice St. Clair was your friend before I was, Neal. You are bound to + him by earlier ties. Besides, he has given you your life.” + </p> + <p> + “But he is in no danger.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not sure of that. If it is discovered that he let you go last night + he will surely suffer for it. They have hanged men for less, and + imprisoned or exiled others.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said Neal, “I could find it in my heart to wish they would hang + Maurice. Hope, you know many men and many things, but you don’t know Lord + Dunseveric. Why, man, if they hanged Maurice the old lord would hang them—he + would hang them in batches of a score at a time. If any escaped him he + would wait for them till the resurrection morning. He would meet them as + they stepped out of their graves and hang them then. He would hang them if + there wasn’t another tree in the whole universe to put the rope round + except the tree of life which stands by the river in the New Jerusalem.” + </p> + <p> + He laughed exultingly. Hope looked at him with pitying tenderness. He + understood the hysterical passion which had dragged such words from him. + </p> + <p> + “I am glad,” he said, “that your friend is in no great danger, but that + does not alter the truth of what I say. You are his prisoner, released on + your parole, and you must present yourself to him when he calls for you at + Dunseveric. Besides, Neal, you owe a duty to your father and to those at + home who love you. For their sakes you must not throw your life away.” + </p> + <p> + The anger died out of Neal’s heart. This last appeal left him with no + feeling but tenderness. He thought of his father, a lone man, waiting for + news of him, of Donald, of the battle, and the cause. He thought of Una + St. Clair and the ever-new marvel of the love that she had confessed to + him. Still he hesitated. Brought up in the stern faith of the Puritans, he + believed that because a thing offered a prospect of great delight it must + somehow be wrong. The longing to see Una again came on him, sweeping over + all other thought and emotion as the flowing spring-tide in late September + sweeps over the broad sands of the northern coast. To see her, to hear + her, to touch her, perhaps to kiss her again, was the one thing supremely + desirable in life. Therefore, he felt instinctively that it must be a + tempter’s voice which showed him the way to the fulfilment of such desire. + </p> + <p> + “Are you sure,” he asked, “that you are not, out of love for me, advising + me to do wrong?” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure,” said Hope. + </p> + <p> + Afterwards they talked of how Neal might best accomplish his journey to + Dunseveric. It was clear to Hope, as it had been to Maurice St. Clair, + that the main roads must be avoided, and that all travelling must be done + by night; but it was not very easy to go through an unknown country by + night, and until Neal got as far as Ballymoney he could not be sure of + being able to find his way. + </p> + <p> + “I might manage it,” he said, “if I could keep to the main road. I have + travelled it once and I think I should not miss it even at night, but how + am I to get along lanes and across fields which I have never seen without + losing myself?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said Hope, “that is a difficulty, and yet there is a way out of it. + Phelim, the blind piper, is with us here. God knows how he got safe from + the battle yesterday, and found his way to us. He will be no use to us any + more, only a hindrance. We shall not march to battle again with our pipes + playing and our colours flying. I think I shall be able to persuade him to + act as your guide. The blind leading the ignorant, eh, Neal? But Phelim + knows every lane and path in the country. How he does I don’t know. + Perhaps some new sense is developed in the blind. Anyway, night and day + are alike to him. If he takes you as far as the neighbourhood of + Ballymoney you’ll be able to find the rest of the way afterwards + yourself.” + </p> + <p> + That night, while M’Cracken marched the remnant of his army to Slievemis, + Neal and blind Phelim set off on their journey north. They travelled + safely in the rear of the yeomen who were searching the country side. Neal + lay hid all one day in a little wood while Phelim, who seemed to want + little rest and no sleep, wandered in the neighbourhood and brought back + tidings of the doings of the yeomen who had passed. Before daybreak the + next morning Neal left his guide behind him and made his way to the + sandhills near Port Ballin-trae. He lay in a hollow near the mouth of the + river Bush. He understood from what Phelim had told him that Captain + Twinely and his men had pushed northwards in pursuit of him, and that he + had followed in their tracks. He realised that there must be a large force + gathered in Bushmills and Ballintoy, and that the whole country would be + scoured to find him. Therefore, though he was within a few miles of his + home, he dare not stir in the daytime. He lay in his sandy hollow through + the long hot day, with the sound of the sea in his ears. He slept for an + hour or two now and then. Once he crept among the dunes to a place where a + little stream trickled down, in order to get a drink, but he did not + venture to stay beside the stream. For some time he amused himself by + plaiting the spiked grass into stiff green rods, and then, from a razor + shell which he found in his hollow, he fashioned pike heads for the ends + of the rods. Afterwards he picked all the yellow crow-toes within reach, + and the broad mauve flowers of the wild convolvulus. He set them out in + gay beds, like flowers growing in gardens, and edged them round with + borders of wild thyme. Then, with great labour, he collected forty or + fifty snail shells and laid them in rows, making each row consist only of + those like each other in colouring. He had lines of dark brown shells, of + pale yellow, and of striped shells. These again he subdivided according to + the width and number of their stripes. Once he ventured to creep to a + place from which he could watch the sea. He saw that the tide was flowing. + Below him on the strand were a number of seagulls, strutting, fluttering, + shrieking, splashing with wing-tips and feet in the oncoming waves. He + supposed that the young fry of some fish must have drifted shorewards, and + that the birds were feasting on them. Then’, at the far end of the bay, he + saw men’s figures moving, near the Black Rock, among the boats hauled up + on the shore in the creek from which he and Maurice and Una had set out to + fish on Rackle Roy. A dread seized him that these might be yeomen. Since + he had come within reach of home, since he had seen and heard the sea, + since he had breathed the familiar salt-laden air, his courage had left + him. He felt a very coward, desperately anxious not to be caught and + dragged back again to the horror of death. He wanted to live now that he + was back at home and almost within reach of Una. He eyed the distant + figures anxiously, and then crept back and lay trembling in his hollow + among his ordered snail-shells and the flowers, already withered, which he + had plucked and planted in the sand. + </p> + <p> + At last the sun set. Neal waited for an hour while the June twilight + slowly faded. He watched the sandhills round his lair turn from bright + yellow to grey, watched them while they seemed in the fading light to grow + loftier, and assume a weird majesty which was not their’s in the daytime. + The objects near at hand, the faded flowers, and the snail-shells, and the + rods of woven bent, lost their bright colours and became almost invisible. + The eternal roaring of the sea seemed to be subdued, as if even it felt + awed by the stillness of the June night. The sand on which he lay was + damped with dew. Only the sharp cry of the corncrake broke the solemnity + of the night. + </p> + <p> + He rose, and, peering anxiously before him as each fresh stretch of his + way became visible, crossed the sandhills. Avoiding the stepping-stones + and the regular crossing-place, he waded through the brook which ran + gurgling between the sandhills and the rough track beyond them. He crossed + it, and, skirting the rear of a cottage, reached the top of the Runkerry + cliffs. Far below him the sea rushed, white-lipped, against the rocks. The + tide was almost full. The scene was as it had been ten days ago, ten years + ago, a whole lifetime ago, when he walked this same way with Donald Ward. + Still keeping close to the sea, he avoided the high road near the + Causeway, plodded along the stony track past the Rocking Stone and the + Wishing Well, climbed the Shepherd’s Path, and once more walked along the + verge of the cliff above Port na Spaniard and the Horse Shoe Bay and + Pleaskin Head. He reached Port Moon, and saw far below him the glimmer of + a light in the rude shelter where fishermen lodge in summer time. Avoiding + the farmhouse near him on his right, and the lane which led past it to the + high road, he went on, clinging close to the sea as if for safety. He + rested a while in the shelter of the ruins of Dun-severic Castle, and then + went on till his feet were stumbling among the graves of Templeastra, + where the dust of his mother lay. It was dark now. He guessed that he must + have been an hour and a half on his way. He came close to the manse—his + home. Below him lay Ballintoy Strand, with its sentinel white rocks which + keep eternal watch against invading seas. Between him and his home there + was the road to cross and the meadow to wade through. It must, as he + guessed, be eleven o’clock. His father and Hannah Macaulay would be in + bed. He would have to rouse them with cautious tapping upon window panes. + </p> + <p> + He reached the back of the house at last, and saw, to his amazement, that + a light burned in the kitchen, and that the door stood wide open. A dread + seized him. Perhaps the house was occupied by soldiers. For a moment he + thought of turning back again to the sea and the cliffs. But he wanted + food, and it was absolutely necessary for him to communicate with some + one. His plan was to lie hid in the Pigeon Cave, but he must have food + brought to him day by day, and he must let his father or Hannah know where + he was going. + </p> + <p> + Very cautiously he crept forward and peered through the window. There was + a candle in its tall iron stand on the floor, and the peat fire burned + brightly on the hearth. A row of brass candlesticks were on the + mantel-board. Hannah Macaulay sat on a chair near the door knitting. The + room, he saw, was neat and orderly as ever. + </p> + <p> + The lids of the pots and the metal dish-covers gleamed from the nails on + which they hung round the walls. The pewter plates, bronze jugs, and + upturned noggins stood in shining rows on the dresser shelves. Neal + waited. Not a sound reached him from the house. He took courage and + slipped through the open door. + </p> + <p> + “Is that you yoursel’, Master Neal?” said Hannah, quietly, “I ha’ your + supper ready for ye. I was sitting up for you. You’re late the night.” + </p> + <p> + She rose from her seat and, without a sign of surprise or excitement, + closed the door and bolted it. + </p> + <p> + “Hannah, how is it that you are expecting me? You can’t have known that I + was coming. How did you know?” + </p> + <p> + Hannah took plates from the dresser and food from the cupboard while she + answered him. + </p> + <p> + “Master Maurice’s groom, the lad they call James, rode in from Antrim the + day afore yesterday with a note for Miss Una ower by. She tellt me that + you’d be coming and that it was more nor like you’d travel by night. I’ve + had your supper ready, and I’ve sat waiting for you these two nights, I + knew rightly that it was here you’d come first.” + </p> + <p> + “Where is my father?” + </p> + <p> + “He’s gone, Master Neal. The sojers came and took him, but he bid me tell + you not to be afeard or taking on about him. He was thinking they’d send + him across the sea, maybe to Scotland, he said, but they wouldna hurt him. + So eat your bit and take your sup, my bairn. You must be sore troubled + with the hunger. How ever did ye thole?” + </p> + <p> + “I have your bed ready for you,” she said as Neal ate, “and it’s in it you + ought to be by right. I’m thinking it’s more than yin night since ye hae + lain atween the sheets, judging by the looks of ye.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s five, Hannah, and it will be twice five more before I sleep in a bed + again. I dare not stay here.” + </p> + <p> + “Thon’s what Miss Una said. But, faith, if it’s the yeomen you’re afeard + of, I’ll no let them near you.” + </p> + <p> + “I daren’t, Hannah; I daren’t do it. I must away to-night and lie in the + Pigeon Cave. I’ll be safe there, and you must manage somehow to get food + to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it me that you look to be climbing down them sliddery rocks and + swimming intil the cold sea among your caves and hiding holes? I’m too old + for the like, but there’s a lassie with bonny brown eyes that’ll do that + and more for ye. Don’t you be afeard, Master Neal. She’d climb the Causey + chimney pots and take the silver sixpence off the top if she thought you + were wanting it. Ay, or swim intil them caves, that God Almighty never + meant for man nor maid to enter, and if were waiting for her at the hinder + end of one of them. She’s been here an odd time or twa since ever she got + the letter that the groom lad fetched. I’ve seen the glint in her eyes at + the sound o’ your name, and the red go out of her cheek at word of them + dratted yeos, bad scran to them! I’m no so old yet, but I mind weel how a + young lassie feels for the lad she’s after. Ay, my bairn, it’s all yin, + gentle or simple, lord’s daughter or beggar’s wench, when the love of a + lad has got the grip o’ them. And there was yin with her—the foreign + lady with the lang name. For all that she mocks and fleers as if there was + nothing in the wide world but play-actin’ and gagin’ about. Faith, she’s + an artist, but she might be more help than Miss Una herself if it came to + a pinch. She’s a cunning one, that. I’m thinking that she’s no unlike the + serpent that’s more subtle than any beast of the field. She has a way of + glowerin’ a body and giving a bit of a girn to her mouth. Man or woman or + red-coated sojer itself, they’d need to be up gey an’ early that would get + the better o’ her. A bird might be lang afore it could find time to build + a nest in her ear, so it might. Eh! but, my poor lad, it’s a sorry thing + to think of ye lyin’ the night through among the hard stones and me in my + warm bed. Eh! but it grieves me sore—— whisht, boy, what’s + thon?” + </p> + <p> + Hannah started to her feet. Hand to ear, lips parted, with eager eyes and + head bent forward she listened. + </p> + <p> + “It’s the tread of horses; they’re coming up the loany.” + </p> + <p> + “I must run for it,” said Neal, “let me out of the door, Hannah.” + </p> + <p> + “Bide now, bide a wee, they’d see you if you went through the door.” + </p> + <p> + She put out the lamp as she spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Do you slip through to the master’s room and open the window. Go canny + now, and make no noise. Get through and off with ye into your cave as hard + as ever you can lift a foot, I’ll cap them at the door, lad. I’m the woman + can do it. Faith and I’ll sort them, be they who it may, so as they’ll no + be in too great a hurry to come ridin’ to this house again, the + black-hearted villains. But I’ll learn them manners or I’m done wi’ them + else my name’s no Hannah Macaulay.” + </p> + <p> + Neal, as he slipped silently from the room, was aware that Hannah + meditated a vigorous attack upon her midnight visitors. She took the long + kitchen poker in her hand, shook it with a grim smile, and thrust the end + of it into the heart of the fire. + </p> + <p> + There was a knock at the door. Hannah, standing in a corner of the room, + and hidden from any one looking in through the window, neither spoke nor + stirred. The knocking was repeated, and again repeated. Hannah remained + silent. + </p> + <p> + “Open the door,” shouted a voice from without, “open the door at once.” + </p> + <p> + Still there was no reply. + </p> + <p> + “We know you’re within, Hannah Macaulay, we saw the light before you put + it out. Open to us, or we’ll batter in the door, and then it will be the + worse for you.” + </p> + <p> + “And who may be you that come knocking and banging the door of a dacent + house at this time o’ night, making a hullabaloo fit for to wake the dead; + and it the blessed Sabbath too?” + </p> + <p> + “Sabbath be damned; it’s Thursday night.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it, then, is it? There’s them that wouldn’t know if it was Monday nor + Tuesday, nor yet Wednesday, nor the blessed Sabbath day itself, and, + what’s more, wouldn’t care if they did know. That just shows what like + lads you are. Away home out o’ this to your beds, if so be that you have + any beds to go to.” + </p> + <p> + In fact the men outside were perfectly right. The day was Thursday, though + it neared Friday. The Sabbath was a long way off yet, as Hannah knew quite + well. + </p> + <p> + “You doited old hag, open the door.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m a lone widow woman,” said Hannah, plaintively, “I canna be letting + the likes of ye in and me in my bed. It wouldna be dacent if I did. + Where’d my good name be if I did the like and me not know ye?” + </p> + <p> + A savage kick at the door shook it on its hinges. + </p> + <p> + “Bide quiet, now,” said Hannah, “and tell me who ye are afore I open to + you. Would you have me let robbers intil the house, and the master awa’?” + </p> + <p> + “We’re men of the Killulta yeomanry, we’re here to search the house by + order of Captain Twinely. Open in the King’s name.” + </p> + <p> + “Why couldn’t ye have tellt me that afore? There isn’t a woman living has + as much respect for the King as mysel’. Wait now, wait till I slip on my + petticoat. You wouldna have a woman come to the door to you in her shift, + would ye?” + </p> + <p> + There was a long pause—too long for the yeomen outside. Another + kick, and then another, shook the door. Hannah went over to it and began + to fumble with the bolt. + </p> + <p> + “I’m afeard,” she said, “that the lock’s hampered.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll soon cure that; stand clear of the keyhole till I fire.” + </p> + <p> + “For the Lord’s sake, man, dinna be shootin’ aff your guns, I canna abide + the sound o’ the like. It dizzens me. Dinna be hasty, fair and easy goes + far in the day. Who is it you said you were?” + </p> + <p> + “The yeomen, you deaf old hag.” + </p> + <p> + “The yeomen, God bless us, the yeomen. That’s the kind of lads that + dresses themselves up braw in sojers’ coats and then, when there’s any + fighting going on, let’s the real sojers do it, and they stand and look + round to see the gommerels admiring them. Faith I’ll let you in. There’s + no call even for a hirplin ould woman with one foot in the grave and the + ither out of it to be afeard of the likes of you.” + </p> + <p> + Hannah Macaulay’s description of her bodily condition erred on the side of + self-depreciation. The one foot which remained out of the grave carried + her across the kitchen floor with remarkable speed. She took the poker now + red, almost white, hot at the end, darted back to the door, and flung it + open. With a wild whoop she rushed at the two yeomen who stood on the + threshold. There were other yells besides her’s, a smell of burning cloth + and singed flesh, a hurried treading of feet, and a clattering of the + hoofs of frightened horses. Hannah sent into the night a peal of derisive + laughter, and then turned into the house and shut the door. + </p> + <p> + “I said I’d sort them,” she chuckled, “and I’ve sorted them rightly. Yin + o’ them will carry a mark on his mug to the day of his death, and lucky if + he hasn’t lost the sight of an eye. There’ll be a hole in the breeks of + the other that’ll tak a quare width of cloth to make a patch for it. And, + what’s more, thon man’ll no sit easy on his horse for a bit. They’ll not + be for chasing Master Neal the night any way. But, faith, this house will + be no place for me the morrow. I’ll just tak my wee bit duds under my arm + and away with me up to Dunseveric House. Miss Una’ll take me in when she + hears the tale I ha’ to tell. I’d like to see the yeos or the sojers + either that would fetch me out of the ould lord’s kitchen. If they tak to + ravishing and rieving the master’s plenishins I canna help it. Better a + ravished house nor a murdered woman.” + </p> + <p> + Neal got out of the window, and once more crossed the meadow. He lay for a + minute in the ditch beside the road listening intently. He feared that he + might have been tracked home, that the house might be surrounded, and that + escape might be difficult or impossible. But there was no sound of any + sort on the road—neither voices of men, treading of horses, or + jangling of accoutrements. Evidently the men at the door of the manse were + no more than a patrol. They were entering the house out of wanton desire + to annoy Hannah Macaulay or on the chance of discovering there something + which might give them a clue—not because they actually suspected + that he was within. He heard the crash of the first kick on the door, rose + from the ditch, crossed the road, and took to the edge of the cliffs + again. He walked quickly, frightened and shaken. He started into a + breathless run when Hannah’s battle whoop reached him on the still air. He + heard distinctly the men’s shrieks, and even the noise of the runaway + horses galloping on the hard road. He went the faster—a mad terror + driving him. + </p> + <p> + He passed Port Moon again, crossed the majestic brow of Pleaskin Head, + skirted the Causeway, and reached the Runkerry cliffs. He went more + slowly, ceased running, sat down, drawing deep laboured breaths. The food + he ate in the manse had strengthened him. The assurance of the care and + watchfulness of his friends cheered him, but his mind was like that of a + hunted animal. He had no courage left, nothing but an overmastering desire + to hide himself. + </p> + <p> + He rose, and went on again, reached the cliff above the Rock Pigeons’ + Cave, and found the place where descent to the sea was possible. There was + no path, just a precipitous grass slope, and then steep rocks, and below + them the dark, moaning sea. A timid man might shrink from the climb in + daylight, a bold man would be rash to attempt it at night, but of this + short, slippery grass and these sharp rocks Neal had no fear at all. He + knew them all too well to fear them. He let himself slide down, sure of + the resting-place his feet would find. With firm hand-grips and confident + steps he descended from rock to rock until he stood at last on a flat + shelf, a foot or two above the sea. He saw the long channel, rock-bounded, + narrow, dark, along which he and Maurice had piloted their boat. He saw + beyond it the mouth of the cave—a space of actual blackness on the + gloomy face of the cliff. He heard the water drop from the roof into the + sea with heavy splashes. At his feet the long swell writhed between the + walls of rock, reached up black lips and drew them down again with hollow, + sobbing sound. From the extreme darkness of the cave came the dull moaning + of the ocean, as of some inarticulate monster bowed with everlasting woe. + A swim through this cold, lonely water, between the smooth walls which + rose higher and higher on either side, into the impenetrable gloom of the + echoing cavern and on to the extreme end of it, was horrible to + contemplate. But for Neal there were worse horrors behind. His cowardice + made him brave. He stripped and stood shivering, though the night air was + warm enough. He wrapped his clothes into a bundle and, with his neck + scarf, bound them firmly on his head. He slipped without a splash into the + water and struck out towards the mouth of the cave. + </p> + <p> + The dull swell lifted him on its breast and drew him down again as if to + wrap him with huge cold hands. An undertow of receding water pulled him to + the rocks and he touched them with his hands. He reached the mouth of the + cave, and felt the splash of the drops which fell from it. He moved very + cautiously, fearing to strike suddenly on the sunken rocks. He felt for + them with his feet, reached them, stood upright waist-deep. Then, with + cold limbs and a numb terror in his heart, he plunged forward again into + the deep water within the cave. He swam on, with set teeth, close-pressed + lips, and eyes strained to see a foot in front of him into the blackness. + Once he turned and looked back. Through the mouth of the cave he saw the + dim grey of the June night—a framed space of sky which was not + actually black. He felt as if he were looking his last at the familiar + world of living things—as if he were on his way to some gloomy other + world of moaning, forlorn spirits, of desolate, disappointed loves, of + weary, spent souls floating aimlessly on chill, unfathomable sorrow. He + swam on, and heard at last the splash of the waves on the shore. His feet + touched bottom. He slipped and slid among large slimy stones, worn + incredibly smooth by their age-long washing in this sunless place. He + struggled forward breast-deep, waist-deep, knee-deep, in the black water. + He reached dry ground, crawled upwards till he felt the boulders no longer + damp, and knew that he lay above the reach of the tide. He unbound the + bundle from his head, clothed himself, and felt the blood steal warm + through his limbs again. He staggered further up, groped his way to the + side of the cave, as if the touch of solid rock would give him some sense + of companionship. Then, like a benediction from the God who watched over + him, sleep came. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII + </h2> + <p> + The next morning broke cloudless. As the day advanced the sun grew hot. + The land at noon seemed to gasp for breath. The sea lay glowing in the + light; the waves broke in slow rhythm on the sand and rocks, as if the + warmth had imposed even on the Atlantic a mood of luxurious laziness. + </p> + <p> + Una St. Clair and the Comtesse de Tourneville, attended by Hannah + Macaulay, walked shorewards from Dunseveric House. It appeared that they + were going to bathe, for they carried bundles of white sheets and coloured + garments, large bundles well wrapped together and strapped. Hannah + Macaulay had, besides, a little raft made of the flat corks which + fishermen use to mark the places where their lobster pots are sunk and to + float the tops of salmon nets. It seemed as if one of the party were no + great swimmer, and did not mean to venture into deep water without + something to which to cling. + </p> + <p> + A hundred yards from the gate were two yeomen on horseback. The Comtesse + greeted them cheerfully as she passed. The men followed the ladies along + the road. + </p> + <p> + “What are we to do?” said Una, “they mean to watch us.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps not,” said the Comtesse, “let us make sure.” + </p> + <p> + She motioned Una to stop, and sat down on the bank on the roadside. The + men halted and waited also. It became obvious that they intended to keep + the ladies in view. + </p> + <p> + “This is abominable,” said Una. “How dare they follow us when we are going + to bathe?” + </p> + <p> + “My dear,” said the Comtesse, laughing, “they very likely think that we + are not going to bathe. So far as I am concerned, their suspicions are + quite just. I am certainly not going to undress on a nasty rock which + would cut my feet, and then go into cold salt water to have my toes nipped + by crabs and lobsters. The worthy Hannah is not going to bathe either. She + has too much good sense. Even these stupid yeomen must guess that we are + carrying something else besides towels.” + </p> + <p> + “But I am going to bathe,” said Una, “and it is intolerable that I should + be spied upon and watched.” + </p> + <p> + The Comtesse rose and approached the men. + </p> + <p> + “Where is Captain Twinely this morning?” she asked, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “Here he is, coming along the road forninst you, Miss.” + </p> + <p> + The man spoke civilly enough. It was natural to be civil to the Comtesse + when she smiled. She had fine eyes, and was not too proud to use them in a + very delightful manner even when the man before her was no more than a + trooper in a company of yeomen. + </p> + <p> + “So he is!” she said. “And my good gentleman trooper, how nice your + manners are. I am, alas! no longer ‘Miss,’ though it pleases you to + flatter me. I am ‘Madam,’ a widow, quite an old woman.” + </p> + <p> + She left him and hurried forward to greet Captain Twinely. + </p> + <p> + “I am charmed to meet you, Captain Twinely. But why have you never been up + to call on us? We hear that you have been two whole days in our + neighbourhood and not even once have you come to see us. How rude and + unkind you are. I would not have believed it of you. But perhaps you have + been very busy chasing the odious rebels and had no time to visit us poor + ladies.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t think I was wanted at Dunseveric House, my lady,” said the + captain. + </p> + <p> + Like his trooper, he was aware that the Comtesse smiled at him, and that + she had beautiful eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I will not take that as an excuse,” she said. “Surely you must know, + Captain Twinely, that we are two lonely women, that my lord and my nephew + are away. You must have guessed that we should suffer, ah, so terribly, + from ‘ennui’. Is it not the first duty of an officer to pay his respects + to the ladies and to amuse them, especially in this terrible country where + it is only the military men who have any manners at all?” + </p> + <p> + Captain Twinely was delighted and embarrassed. He wished that he had + brushed his uniform more carefully in the morning, and that he had not + been too lazy to shave. He would gladly have been looking his best now + that the eyes of this elegant lady of title and fashion were on him. + </p> + <p> + “I am at your ladyship’s service,” he murmured. + </p> + <p> + “Now that is really kind of you. Please get down from your horse. How can + I talk to you when you are so high above me?” + </p> + <p> + The captain dismounted and gave his horse to one of the troopers. The + Comtesse laid her hand on his arm and smiled at him. + </p> + <p> + “We have a little <i>fête</i> planned for to-day,” she said. “We are going + to have a pic-nic by the sea. Will you not join us. It will be so kind of + you. My niece wishes also to bathe. But I—I am not very anxious to + go into the sea. Perhaps you and I might wait for her in some pleasant + spot and prepare the pic-nic while she and her maid go to the + bathing-place. What do you say, captain?” + </p> + <p> + “I shall be delighted,” he said, “quite delighted.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Twinely had never before been so smiled on by a pretty woman. + Never before had such fine eyes looked into his with such an unmistakable + challenge to flirtation. He was almost certain that he felt the Comtesse’s + hand press his arm slightly. He grew pink in the face with pleasure. + </p> + <p> + “We must tell my niece.” + </p> + <p> + She leaned towards Captain Twinely and whispered in his ear. Her breath + touched his cheek. The delicate, faint scent of her clothes reached him. + </p> + <p> + A confidence, entailing the close proximity of this desirable lady, was an + unlooked-for delight. + </p> + <p> + “My dear niece is very young—a mere child, you understand me, + unformed, gauche, what you call shy. You will make excuse for her want of + manner.” + </p> + <p> + The apology was necessary. In Una’s face, if he had eyes for it at all, + Captain Twinely might have seen something more than shyness. There was an + expression of loathing on the girl’s lips and in her eyes when he stepped + up to her, hat in hand. + </p> + <p> + “Una,” said the Comtesse, “the dear captain will take pity on us. He will + send one of his men back to the house to fetch a cold chicken and some + wine—and all the delightful things we are to eat and drink. Give him + a note to the butler, Una, we will go on with Captain Twinely.” + </p> + <p> + Una, puzzled, but obedient to a quick glance from her aunt, wrote the + note. The troopers, leading Captain Twinely’s horse, rode back to + Dunseveric House. The Comtesse, still leaning on the captain’s arm, picked + up her bundle of bathing clothes. + </p> + <p> + “Allow me to carry that for you,” said the captain, “allow me to carry all + the bundles.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but no. Have we got a cavalier with such trouble and shall we turn + him into a beast of burden, a—how do you say it?—a baggage + ass? The good Hannah will carry my bundle.’” + </p> + <p> + The good Hannah became a baggage animal, but she was not an ass. She was, + indeed, struggling with suppressed mirth. She was confirmed in her opinion + that the Comtesse possessed a subtlety not unlike that of the serpent in + Eden. + </p> + <p> + The Comtesse led the way, chatting to Captain Twinely, saying things more + charmingly provocative than any which poor Twinely had ever heard from a + woman’s lips. Her eyes flashed on him, drooped before his gaze, sought his + again with shy suggestiveness. She even succeeded, when his glance grew + very bold, in blushing. They reached the little cove where Maurice’s boat + lay. + </p> + <p> + The Comtesse sat down, and then lolled back on the short grass. Her + motions and her attitudes were the most easy and natural possible, yet her + pose was charming. There was not a fold of her skirt but fell round her + gracefully. From the challenging smile on her lips to the point of the + little shoe which peeped out beneath her petticoat, there came an + invitation to Captain Twinely—a suggestion that he, too, should sit + gracefully on the grass. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Una,” she said, “go and have your bathe, if you must do anything so + foolish. We will wait for you here, the captain will amuse me till you + return. Kiss me, child, before you go.” + </p> + <p> + Una bent over her. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll keep him,” whispered the Comtesse, “I’ll keep him, even if I have to + allow the animal to embrace me. But, dear Una, do not be very long.” + </p> + <p> + Una sped away. Hannah, heavily laden, and laughing now outright, followed + her. + </p> + <p> + “I never seen the like,” she said. “Didn’t I say to Master Neal last night + that she was an early one? Eh, Miss Una, did you no take notice of the + eyes of her? She’d wile the fishes out of the sea, or a bird off a bush, + so she would, just by looking sweet at them. It’s queer manners they have + where she comes from. I’m thinking that silly gowk of a captain’s no the + first man she’s beguiled. I was counted a braw lass myself in me day, and + one that could twine a lad round my thumb as fine as any, but I couldna + have done thon, Miss Una.” + </p> + <p> + Una gave a little shudder of disgust. + </p> + <p> + “How could she bear to? How could she touch such a man?” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, I was wondering that myself, her that’s so high falutin’ in her ways, + and no like a common lassie. Not but what thon captain’s a clever enough + cut of a man for them as thinks of nothing but a clean figure and a good + leg. He’s no that ill-looking; but, eh, there’s a glint in his eye I + wouldna trust. I pity the lassie that loves him. But there’s no fear of + thon lady falling into sic a snare. She can mine herself well, I’m + thinkin’.” + </p> + <p> + They reached the cliff above the Pigeon Cave, and Una began her downward + climb. Hannah stared at her in horror. + </p> + <p> + “Mind yourself, Miss Una. You’re never going down there, are ye? And you + expect me to break my old bones going after you, do ye? Faith and I willna + avaw, I’d rather be back rolling my eyes at the captain and letting on to + him that I wanted a kiss than go down yon cliff.” + </p> + <p> + “Come,” said Una, “it looks worse than it is. Come, Hannah, you must come. + Would you have the poor boy starve in the cave?” + </p> + <p> + The appeal was too strong to be resisted. Hannah, with much grumbling, + climbed down. Una carried the bundles one by one to the shelf of rock from + which Neal had slipped into the dark water the night before. She took the + straps from them, and unwound the sheets and bathing clothes. Within was + store of food—parcels of oatcake, baps, cold meat, butter, cheese, a + bottle of wine, a flask of whisky and water, a package of candles. She had + determined that Neal should feast royally in his hiding-place, and that he + should not sit in the dark, though he had to sit alone. She floated the + raft of corks, and very carefully loaded it with her good things. Then, + with a piece of cord, she moored it to the rock. + </p> + <p> + “Are ye no afeard, Miss Una?” said Hannah. “Eh, but it’s well to be young + and strong, I wouldna go in there, not for all the gold and silver and the + spices that King Solomon gave to the Queen of Sheba. I wouldna go in a + boat, let alone swimming. Miss Una, could you no shout, and let him come + for the food himself?” + </p> + <p> + Una looked at her with a wondering reproach in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Am I the only one that’s to do nothing for him? Didn’t Maurice get him + free in the town of Antrim? Didn’t you chase the yeomen from him last + night? Isn’t Aunt Estelle sitting with that Captain Twinely now? And may I + not do something, too? I think mine’s the easiest thing of the four.” + </p> + <p> + “You’re a venturesome lassie, so you are. I dinna like the looks of thon + water. It’s over green for me, so it is. I can see right down to the + bottom of it, and that’s no natural in the sea, and it so deep, too. And + thon cave, Miss Una, with the smooth, red, clampy sides to it. What call + has the rocks to be red? I’m thinking when God made the rocks black, and + maybe white, it’s black and white he meant them to be and no red. I + wouldna say but what there’s something no just canny about a cave with red + sides to it higher than a man can stretch. Eh, but you’ve the chiney white + feet, Miss Una. Mind now you dinna scrab them on the wee shells. Bide now, + bide like a good lassie, till I spread the sheet for you to tread on. You + will no be for going right intil the cave? Would it no do you to shout + when you got to the mouth of it? I dinna like that cave with the red sides + till it. I’m thinking maybe there was red sides to the cave where the + witch of Endor dweft. Are you no sure that there isna something of that + kind, something no right in the gloom beyond there?” + </p> + <p> + “Neal’s in it,” said Una, “what’s to frighten me?” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, sure enough, he’s there, the poor bairn. Lord save us, and keep us! + The lassie’s intil the water, and it up ower her head, and she’s drownded. + No, but she’s up again, and she’s swimmin’ along like as if she was a sea + maiden with hair all wet. Eh, but she swims fine, and she’s gotten hold of + the wee boatie wi’ the laddie’s dinner on it. Look at the white arms of + her moving through the water, they’re like the salmon fish slithering + along when the net is pulled in. She’s bonny, so she is. See till her now! + See till her if she hasna lighted on some kind of a rock. She’s standing + up on it, and the sea no more than up to the knees of her. The water is + running off her, and she’s shaking herself like a wee dog. She doesna mind + it. She’s waving her hand to me and her in the very mouth of thon awful + cave. Mine yourself, Miss Una, take heed now, like a good lass. Dinna go + further, you’re far enough. Bide where you are, and shout till him. Lord + save us, she’s off again, and the wee boatie in front of her. I’ve known a + wheen o’ lassies in my time that would do queer things for the lads they + had their hearts set on, but ne’er a one as venturesome as her. I’m + thinking Master Neal himself would look twice e’er he swam into thon dark + hole. Eh, poor laddie, but there’ll be light in his eyes when he sees the + white glint of her coming till him where he’s no expecting her or the like + of her.” + </p> + <p> + Indeed, Una was not so brave as she seemed. Her heart beat quicker as she + struck out into the gloom of the cave. The water was colder, or seemed + colder, than it had been outside. The splashing of drops from the roof, + and the echoing noise of the sea’s wash awed her. She felt a tightening in + her throat. She swam with faster and faster strokes. The sides of the cave + loomed huge about her. The roof seemed immensely, remotely, high. The + water was dark now. It was a solemn thing to swim through it. She began to + wonder how far it was to the end of the cave. A sudden terror seized her. + Suppose, after all, that Neal was not in the cave, suppose that she was + swimming in this awful place alone. She shouted aloud— + </p> + <p> + “Neal, Neal, Neal Ward, are you there?” + </p> + <p> + The cave echoed her cries. A thousand repetitions of the name she had + shouted came to her from above, from behind, from right, from left. The + rocks flung her words to each other, bandied them to and fro, turned them + into ridicule, turned them into thundering sounds of terror, turned them + into shrill shrieks. The frightened pigeons flew from their rocky perches; + their wings set new echoes going. Una swam forward, and, reckless with + fright now, shouted again. She heard some one rushing down to meet her + from the remote depths of the cave. The great stones rolled and crashed + under his feet with a noise like the firing of guns. Then, amid a babel of + echoes, came a shout answering her’s. + </p> + <p> + “I’m coming to you, Una.” + </p> + <p> + She felt the bottom with her feet. She stood upright. At the sound of + Neal’s voice all her fears vanished. She could see him now. He was + stumbling down over the slippery stones which the ebb tide left bare. He + reached the water and splashed in. + </p> + <p> + “Stay where you are, you must not come any further.” + </p> + <p> + “Una,” he said, “dear Una, you have come to me.” + </p> + <p> + She laughed merrily. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t think I’ve come to live with you here, Neal, like a seal or a + mermaid. No, no. I’ve brought you something to eat. Here, now, don’t upset + my little boat.” She pushed the raft towards him. “Isn’t it just like the + boats we used to make long ago when we were little? Oh! do you remember + how angry the salmon men were when you and Maurice stole all the corks off + their net? But I can’t stay talking here, I’m getting cold, and you, Neal, + go back to dry land. What’s the use of standing there up to your knees in + water? There’s no sun in here to dry your clothes afterwards. No, you must + not come to me, I won’t have it. You’d get wet up to your neck. Keep + quiet, now. I’ve something to say to you. Maurice has gone to Glasgow to + see that funny Captain Getty, who made you both so angry the day we took + your uncle from the brig. He is arranging for the brig to lie off here and + pick you up. Maurice and I will take you out in the boat. We will come in + to the mouth of the cave and shout to you unless it’s rough. If it’s + rough, Neal, you must swim out and hide somewhere among the rocks. But I + hope it will stay calm. Maurice may be back to-morrow or next day. I’ve + given you enough to eat for two days. I may not be able to come + to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Do come again, Una, it’s very lonely here.” + </p> + <p> + “I will if I can, Neal. Good-bye. Keep a good heart. Good-bye. Oh, but + it’s hard to be leaving you in this dark place, but I think it’s safe, and + the country is full of yeomen. Good-bye, Neal. God bless you.” + </p> + <p> + When Una and Hannah reached the little cove again, they found luncheon + spread out on the grass ready for them. The troopers who had brought the + baskets from Dunseveric House sat on their horses at the end of the rough + track which led to the strand. The Comtesse reclined on a cloak spread for + her on the grass. Captain Twinely, a worshipper with bold eyes and stupid + tongue, sat at her feet and gazed at her. He had ceased even to wonder at + his own good fortune in captivating so fair a lady. He had forgotten all + about the angular daughter of a neighbouring squire, who was waiting for + him to marry her. He was hopelessly, helplessly, fascinated by the woman + in front of him. Estelle de Tourneville had never made an easier conquest. + And she was already exceedingly weary of the flirtation. The man bored her + because he was dull. He disgusted her because he was amorous. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Una,” she cried, “how quick you’ve been! It hardly seems a moment + since you left. Captain Twinely and I have had such a delightful talk. I + was telling him about the Jacobins in Paris, and how they wanted to cut my + head off in the Terror. My dear, your hair is all wet. You look just like + a seal with your sleek head and your brown eyes. Just fancy, Una, Captain + Twinely thought that we were in sympathy with the rebels here. He had + actually told his men to watch us in case we should try to help some + horrid <i>sans-culotte</i> who is hiding somewhere. Just think of his + suspecting me—me, of all people.” + </p> + <p> + She cast a glance at Captain Twinely. Her eyes were full of half serious + reproach, of laughter and enticement. + </p> + <p> + “I’m very hungry after my swim,” said Una, “let us have our lunch.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Twinely, awkward but anxious to please, was on his feet in an + instant. He waited on the ladies, waited even on Hannah, whom he supposed + to be Una’s maid. He did not notice that Una shrank from him. He probably + would not have cared even if he had seen that she avoided touching his + hand as she might have avoided some loathsome reptile. His thoughts and + his eyes were all for the Comtesse. She did not shrink from him. Her + wonderful eyes thrilled him again and again. He touched her hand, her + hair, her clothes, as he handed her this or that to eat or drink. He grew + hot and cold in turns with the excitement of her nearness. He was + ecstatically, ridiculously happy. + </p> + <p> + He walked back to Dunseveric House with her. He promised to call on her + the next day. He promised to leave troopers on guard round the house all + night in case a fugitive rebel, wandering in the demesne, might frighten + the Comtesse. He suggested another pic-nic. At last, reluctantly, + lingeringly, he bade her farewell. + </p> + <p> + “Adieu, Monsieur le Capitaine,” said the Comtesse, “we shall expect you + to-morrow then.” + </p> + <p> + She stretched out her hand to him. He stooped and kissed it. Then she + turned from him and ran up the avenue after Una and Hannah. The captain + watched her. He pulled himself together, reassumed his habitual swagger, + tried to persuade himself that he looked on the Comtesse as he had long + been accustomed to look on other women. + </p> + <p> + “A damned fine woman,” he said, “and a bit smitten with me. Begad, these + French women have a great deal to recommend them. Thy catch fire at once. + A man does not have to spend a month dilly-dallying with them, dancing + attendance and looking like a fool while they are as cold as ice all the + time. Give me a good full-blooded filly like this one.” + </p> + <p> + “Una,” said the Comtesse, when she overtook her niece. “Una, I positively + can’t stand another day of that man. He’s odious. You’ll have to do him + yourself to-morrow, and let me go to the young man in the cave.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Aunt Estelle, I thought you—you liked it. You looked as if you + liked it.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mon dieu!</i>” said the Comtesse, laughing, “of course I looked as if + I liked it. If I had looked as if I disliked it I could not have kept him + for ten minutes, and then what would have happened to you, mademoiselle?” + </p> + <p> + “It was very, very good of you,” said Una, penitently. “I can never thank + you enough.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it wasn’t so very good of me, and I don’t want to be thanked at all. + I’ll tell you a secret, Una, and Hannah shall hear it too. I did like it. + Now, what do you think?” + </p> + <p> + “You would, my lady,” said Hannah. “I know that finely, I’d have liked it + myself when I was young and frisky like you.” + </p> + <p> + “What would you have liked, Hannah?” asked the Comtesse. + </p> + <p> + “Eh! just what you liked yourself, my lady; just seeing a man making + himself a bigger fool nor the Lord meant him to be for the sake of my + bonny face. I’m thinking you’re the same as another for a’ you’re a + countess and have a braw foreign name. You just like what I’d have liked, + and what all women ever I heard tell on liked in their hearts, though + maybe they wouldna own up till it, from thon wench, that might have been a + gran’ lady, too, for a’ I ken, who made the great silly gaby of a Samson + lie still while she clipped the seven locks off of his head. She liked + fine to see him sleeping there like the tap he was for all the strongness + of him.” + </p> + <p> + “You are right, Hannah, you are right. Oh, Una dear, if you could have + seen him—but you wouldn’t understand. What’s the good of telling + you? Hannah, if you’d seen him sitting there like a great woolly sheep, + with the silliest expression in his eyes; if you’d seen him putting out + his hand to touch me, pretending he did it by accident, and then pulling + it away again like one of those snails that crawl about in the sandhills + when you touch his horns with the end of a blade of grass. If you’d seen + him. Oh, I wish you’d seen him!” + </p> + <p> + “Faith, I seen plenty.” + </p> + <p> + “You did not, Hannah; you didn’t see half. He was far, far better before + you came back.” + </p> + <p> + She burst into a peal of half hysterical laughter. She may have enjoyed + the captain’s company, but he had evidently tried her nerves. + </p> + <p> + “But, Una dear,” she said, when she grew calm again, “I hope Maurice will + come soon, or that American ship, or something. I won’t be able to go on + very long.” + </p> + <p> + “There’s been an easterly breeze since noon,” said Una, “and there’s a + haze out at sea.” + </p> + <p> + “Do talk sense, Una. Here I’ve been sacrificing myself for you all day, + and when I ask you for a little sympathy you talk to me about an east + wind.” + </p> + <p> + “But the east wind will bring the brig, aunt. How could she get here from + Glasgow without the wind?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVIII + </h2> + <p> + The Comtesse underrated her powers of endurance. For two more whole days + she encouraged Captain Twinely to make love to her. She sat with him in + the sandhills, she walked with him along the strand, she flattered him, + ogled him, enticed him, till the man was beside himself with the desire of + her. But in private it was not safe to speak to her about the captain. Her + temper, when the hours of her love-making were over for the day, was + extremely bad. Even Hannah, who was a match for most women in the use of + her tongue, shrank from the sharp gibes of the Comtesse. Una tried in vain + to soothe the ruffled lady, and had to bear much from her, but Una could + have borne anything patiently. The east wind blew gently day and night, + bringing—surely bringing—the white sails of the brig. The sea + remained calm and she was able to go twice more to the cave. She saw the + yeomen spread over the country, searching everywhere, through fields and + hills and along the river banks, by the shore, among the rocks, over the + Causeway cliffs, through the sandhills, the ruins of Dunluce, among the + white cliffs of Port-rush Strand, at high tide and low tide, everywhere + except the one place—the nook where Una bathed. Estelle de + Tourneville secured that spot from the searchers’ gaze. No man dared go + there. Una could forgive the worst of tempers to the woman who purchased + such security. And the Comtesse was excusable. Doubtless, she paid a heavy + price for a delicately-nurtured and fastidious lady. No one ever knew what + she endured. Neither to Una nor any one else did she tell at the time or + afterwards the details of the captain’s courtship. + </p> + <p> + At last, one evening after dusk, Maurice rode in from Ballycastle. He + brought glorious news. Captain Getty was on his way. He might be expected + off the coast the next day. Maurice had left the brig at the quay at + Greenock ready to sail. Next morning he was up early. He took bread and + meat and went alone to Pleaskin Head, carrying his father’s long telescope + with him. All morning he lay on the edge of the cliff peering eastward + across the sea. He was strangely nervous now that the critical moment had + arrived. He understood that the coast was being carefully watched, that + the sight of a ship lying-to a mile or two from the shore, would certainly + excite suspicion; that it might be very difficult for him to take his boat + round to the cave where Neal lay hidden without being followed. It was + absolutely necessary for him to catch sight of the brig before any one + else did, to get off from the shore before the brig lay to, to be well on + his way to her before any other boat put out to chase him. He knew that + his own movements were watched. He was followed from the house to Pleaskin + Head by two yeomen. As he lay on the cliffs he saw them a few hundred + yards inland keeping guard on him. + </p> + <p> + At ten o’clock he caught sight of the topsails of a ship far east, beyond + the blue outline of the Rathlin hills. The wind, very feeble at dawn, was + freshening slightly. The lower sails of the vessel rose slowly into view. + Maurice guessed her to be a brig—to be the brig he looked for. He + lay still, watching her intently, till he was sure. Then he went home. He + found Una and the Comtesse in the breakfast room. Captain Twinely, on the + lawn outside, leaned on the window sill and talked to them. Maurice, + uncontrollably excited, whispered to Una— + </p> + <p> + “Now.” + </p> + <p> + She rose, and followed him from the room. Captain Twinely eyed them + sharply. He had ceased to distrust the Comtesse, but he was keenly + suspicious of Maurice. Since he had been robbed of his clothes in Antrim + he hated Maurice nearly as bitterly as he did Neal, and was determined to + have him strictly watched. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me, dear lady,” he said, “I must give some orders to the patrol.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be long, then,” she said, “I want you to-day, Captain Twinely. Come + back to me.” + </p> + <p> + Their eyes met, and the Comtesse felt certain that her victim would return + to her. She leaped from her chair the moment he left her and ran from the + room. + </p> + <p> + “Una,” she cried. “Una, Maurice, where are you?” + </p> + <p> + She found them; they were packing clothes in a hand-bag—clothes, she + supposed, for Neal. + </p> + <p> + “He’s gone to give orders to his men about you, Maurice. I know he has. I + haven’t a moment to explain. Leave everything to me. I’ll manage him, only + trust me and do what I say. Una, are you a born idiot? Take those things + out of the bag. How can you go about with that travelling-bag in your hand + and not excite suspicion? If you must have clothes wrap them in a + bathing-sheet. Oh, what a fool you are!” + </p> + <p> + She left them no time to answer her, but fled back to the breakfast-room. + A moment later Captain Twinely found her, lounging—a figure of + luxurious laziness—among the cushions of Lord Dunseveric’s easy + chair. + </p> + <p> + “We are going on the sea to-day,” she said, “my nephew, Maurice, has + promised to take us in a boat to the Skerries. I have never been there, + but I hear they are delightful. I hope you will come with us. Please say + yes. I should feel so much safer in a boat if you were there. My nephew is + very rash. He frightens me. I do not trust him. I shall not feel secure or + easy in my mind unless you come, too. Besides”—her voice sank to a + delicious whisper—“I shall not really enjoy myself unless you are + there.” + </p> + <p> + She stretched her hand out and laid it with the tenderest motion of caress + on his hand. Captain Twinely could not hesitate, he promised to go with + her. In the back of his mind was a feeling that if he were of the party + Maurice St. Clair could not attempt to communicate with the fugitive. + </p> + <p> + “Maurice,” said the Comtesse, “Maurice, are you ready? Captain Twinely is + coming with us to the Skerries for a pic-nic. Won’t that be nice? Come + along quickly, we are starting.” + </p> + <p> + She took the captain with her, and walked down to the cove where the boat + lay. Una and Maurice, with their bundles of clothes, followed. + </p> + <p> + “Una,” said Maurice, “what does she mean? I can’t take this man in the + boat, and I won’t. What does she mean by inviting him?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know, but we must trust her. We can trust her. She’s been + wonderful all these last three days. Only for her I could never have got + food to Neal.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Maurice, “I suppose if the worst comes to the worst it will + only be a matter of knocking him on the head with an oar. I don’t want to + do that if I can help it. My lord will be angry if he has to get me out of + a fresh scrape. It will be a serious matter to assault this captain in + cold blood. I’ll do it, of course, if necessary, but I would rather not.” + </p> + <p> + The boat was dragged down the beach. The Comtesse looked at it, and + protested. + </p> + <p> + “Maurice, surely you are not going in that little boat. It’s far too + small. It’s not safe.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it’s safe enough,” said Maurice, “and anyway there’s no other.” + </p> + <p> + “There is,” said the Comtesse. “There, look at that nice broad, flat boat. + I’ll go in that.” + </p> + <p> + “The cobble for lifting the salmon net!” said Maurice, with a laugh. “My + dear aunt, you couldn’t go to sea in that. She can’t sail, and it takes + four men to pull her as fast as a snail would crawl. Who ever heard of + going off to the Skerries in a salmon cobble?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the Comtesse, angrily, “I won’t go in the other. I know that + one is too small. Isn’t she too small, Captain Twinely? Look at the size + of the sea. Look how far off the island is! No, I won’t go. If you persist + in being disobliging, Maurice, you and Una can go by yourselves. Captain + Twinely and I will stay on shore.” + </p> + <p> + The boat was already in the water and Una sat in the stern. Maurice, ankle + deep in water, held her bow. Maurice laughed aloud. He began to understand + his aunt’s plan. + </p> + <p> + “Come, Captain Twinely, we will go for a walk along the cliffs.” + </p> + <p> + Her hand was on his arm. She held him. He looked at the boat. A swift + doubt shot through his mind. Something in the way Maurice laughed aroused + his suspicion. He took a step forward. The Comtesse clung tightly to his + arm. Maurice gave a vigorous shove and leapt forward over the bow. The + boat shot out and floated clear of the land. + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t he a disagreeable boy?” said the Comtesse. “You wouldn’t have + refused to do what I asked you, would you, Captain Twinely?” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes sought his, but he was watching the boat uneasily. Maurice had + the oars out, and was pulling round the Black Rock. + </p> + <p> + “He’s not going to the Skerries,” he said, “he’s going in the other + direction.” + </p> + <p> + “What does it matter where he goes? Besides, you know what stupid things + boats are. They always turn away from the place they want to go to. It’s + what they call tacking. Maurice must be tacking now. Let him manage his + horrid boat himself. We needn’t trouble ourselves about him. We will go + for a walk on the tops of the cliffs.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought you did not like walking on the cliffs, you never would walk + there with me before.” + </p> + <p> + “Please don’t be cross with me. May I not change my mind?” + </p> + <p> + She stroked his hand and looked up into his face with eyes which actually + had tears in them. “I shall be so miserable if you are cross. I shall feel + that I have spoiled your day. I wish now that I had gone in the little + boat. I wish I had been upset and drowned. Then perhaps you would have + been sorry for me.” + </p> + <p> + She was crying in earnest now. Captain Twinely yielded, yielded to her + tears, to the fascination of her presence, to the passion of his love for + her. Very tenderly and gently he led her up the steep path to the top of + the cliffs. Holding her hands in his he walked silently beside her. He was + a bad man, revengeful, cruel, cowardly, but he really loved the woman + beside him. His was no heroic, spiritual love, but it was the best, the + strongest, of which his nature was capable. He could never for her sake + have lived purely and nobly, or learned self-denial, but, cowardly as he + was, he would have died for her. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly she stood still, snatched her hand from his grasp, and stepped + away from him. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” she cried, “at last! at last! There, Captain Twinely, there is the + boat with the sail spread, shooting out to sea. Look at her; look + carefully; look well. How many people are there in her? Can you see? I can + see very well. There are three, and who is the third?” + </p> + <p> + The tears were gone out of her eyes now. They blazed with triumph and + satisfaction. She laughed aloud, exultingly, bitterly. + </p> + <p> + “Who is the third? Can you see? He is Neal Ward, the man you’ve chased, + the man you’ve been seeking day and night. There”—she pointed + further eastwards—“there is the American brig which will bear him + away from you. Do you understand?” + </p> + <p> + Captain Twinely followed her gaze and her pointing finger. He began to + understand. + </p> + <p> + “And I did it. I fooled you. I blinded your eyes while my niece fed him in + his hiding-place. I encouraged you to seek everywhere, and kept you back + from the place where he was. I—I made pretence of tolerating your + hateful presence. I made you think that I cared for you, loved you, you, + you—I would rather love a toad.” + </p> + <p> + “You have deceived me, then, all the time, played with me.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she laughed wildly, “deceived you, played with you, fooled you, + cheated you, and hated you—yes, hated, hated the very sight of you, + the abominable sound of your voice, the sickening touch of your hand.” + </p> + <p> + “And I loved you,” he said, simply. “I loved you so well that I think I + would have done anything for you. There was no need for you to fool me. I + would have let the man go if you had asked me. I would have let him go, + though I hate him, and I could not have asked leave even to kiss your hand + for my reward. I would have been content just to have pleased you. Why did + you cheat me?” + </p> + <p> + The Comtesse had no pity for him. The memory of the words he had spoken to + her, of his foolish face, of his amorous ways, of the touchings of his + hands which she had endured, thronged on her. Her lips curled back over + her teeth. Her eyes were hard like shining steel. + </p> + <p> + “I hate you,” she hissed at him. “I have always hated you since the night + when you seized me and dragged me into the meeting-house. I would have + revenged myself for that even if there had been no prisoner to save from + you.” + </p> + <p> + “I did not do that,” said Captain Twinely, “and I did not know who you + were at the time. Be just to me even if you hate me. God knows that I + would have died to save you from the smallest hurt.” + </p> + <p> + He fell on the ground before her. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” he cried, “have some pity for me. I love you with all my soul. Let + me serve you, let me wait on you. Let me see you sometimes and hear your + voice. Have you no pity for me? I do not ask for love, or friendship, or + the meanest gift. Only do not hate me. I have led an evil life, I know it, + but for your sake, for your sake, if you will pity me, I will do anything. + I will be anything you bid me. But do not hate me. For the love of God, by + the mercy of Christ the Saviour, do not cast me utterly away from you. Do + not hate me.” + </p> + <p> + He crawled forward, and clutched the bottom of her skirt with his hand. + With a swift movement she snatched it from his grasp. + </p> + <p> + “I do hate you,” she cried, “and I shall always hate you. From this out I + shall always hope and pray and strive to get to heaven when I die, not for + the love of the saints or because I think that I shall be happy there, but + just because I shall be safe from the sight of you, for you will surely be + in hell.” + </p> + <p> + She turned and walked down the path they had ascended together. She left + him grovelling on the ground, his face slobbered with tears and grimy with + the clay his hands rubbed over it. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIX + </h2> + <p> + The boat sped seawards. The wind had freshened since the morning, and + worked round after the sun, as the wind does in settled weather. It blew + now from the south-east, and the boat reached out with a free sheet. Una + sat in the stern and held the tiller. Her eyes glistened with excitement + and delight. At her feet, on the floor boards of the boat, sat Neal, + dripping after his swim out of the cave. The sun shone warm on him, and he + had Una close to him. He was safe at last, freed from the terrible anxiety + and fears. He had life before him—a glad, good thing, yet there was + more sorrow than joy in his face. In an hour, or less than an hour, he + must say farewell to Una. He felt that he would gladly have gone back to + the gloom of the cave for the sake of a brief visit from her every day. He + would have accepted the life of a hunted animal rather than part, for + years perhaps, from Una. He was sure that he had never known the fulness + of his love for her until this hour of parting. His eyes never left her + face. Now and then, when she could spare attention from her steering, she + answered his glances. In her face there was no sorrow at all, only merry + delight and the anticipation of more joy. “I have brought you a suit of my + clothes, and some change of linen,” said Maurice. “I have them in a bundle + here, done up in a great sheet. Hullo! there are two bundles. I didn’t + notice that you had brought a second one, Brown-Eye. You’ll not leave me a + rag to my back if you give Neal two suits.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s all right, Maurice,” said Una, “the second bundle has my clothes in + it.” + </p> + <p> + “Your clothes, Brown-Eyes! Why have you brought clothes?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m going with Neal, of course.” + </p> + <p> + Neal sat upright suddenly and stared at her with a new expression in his + eyes. He was the prey of sheer astonishment, then of a rapture which set + his heart beating tumultuously. + </p> + <p> + “You are going with Neal! Nonsense, Brown-Eyes. How can you?” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve money to pay my passage,” she said, “and if I hadn’t I’d go just the + same. I shall climb up into the brig, and I won’t be turned out of her.” + </p> + <p> + “You can’t,” said Maurice. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but I can, and I will. Do you think you and father are the only two + in the family that have wills of your own. You’ll take me, Neal, won’t + you? We’ll be married as soon as ever we get to America. I’m like the girl + in the song— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘I’ll dye my petticoat, I’ll dye it red, + And through the world I’ll beg my bread,’ + but I won’t leave you now, Neal.” + </pre> + <p> + She began to sing merrily, exultingly— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Though father and brother and a’ should go mad, + Just whistle and I’ll come to you, my lad.” + </pre> + <p> + “Well,” said Maurice, “if you go I may as well take my passage, too. I + daren’t go home and face my lord with the news that you’ve run off from + him. But steady, Brown-Eyes, watch what you’re doing. We’re close on the + brig now. We’ll neither go to America nor back home if you upset us now.” + </p> + <p> + He took in the sprit of the sail as Una rounded the boat under the brig’s + stern. A rope was flung to them and made fast. Another rope, a stouter + one, was lowered to Neal. Una seized it and climbed up. Willing hands + caught her, lifted her over the bulwarks, and set her on the deck. + </p> + <p> + “Am I to ferry you across, too, young lady?” asked Captain Getty. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Una, “I am going with you.” + </p> + <p> + Neal leaned across the thwarts of the boat to Maurice. + </p> + <p> + “Stay you here,” he said, “leave this to me.” + </p> + <p> + He gained the deck of the brig. Una met him with outstretched hands and + sparkling eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t this glorious?” she said. “You never guessed, Neal. Confess that + you never guessed.” + </p> + <p> + Then she shrank back from him, frightened by what she saw. His face was + ashy grey, save for two flaming spots on his cheek bones. His lips were + trembling. His eyes told her of some desperate resolution, of some counsel + adopted with intense pain. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter, Neal! Do you not want me after all? Will you not take + me?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I will not take you.” + </p> + <p> + It was all he succeeded in saying before a sob choked him. Una stared at + him in terrified surprise; but even then, even with his own words in her + ears, she did not doubt his love for her. She waited. + </p> + <p> + “Una,” he said at last, “I cannot take you with me.” + </p> + <p> + She gazed at him with wide, pitiful eyes, like the eyes of a little child + struck suddenly and inexplicably by the hand of some trusted friend. Neal + trembled and turned away from her. He could not look at her while he + spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Una, dearest, it is not that I do not love you. I love you. Oh, heart of + my heart, I love you. I would give——” + </p> + <p> + He sobbed again. Then, with an effort, he mastered himself, and spoke + slowly in low, tender tones. + </p> + <p> + “Una, your father has trusted me. He has helped me, saved me. He has been + my friend. I am bound in honour to him. I cannot take you from him like + this.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” she said. “Honour! Is your honour more than love?” + </p> + <p> + “Una, Una, can’t you understand? It’s because I love you so well that I + cannot do this. Wait, dearest, wait a little while. I shall come back to + you. The world is not so wide that it can keep me from you. The time will + not be long.” + </p> + <p> + He turned to her, and saw again the intolerable stricken sadness of her + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “My darling,” he said, “I cannot bear it. I will take you with me. Come. + What does it matter about honour or disgrace? What have we to do with + right or wrong? Will you come, Una?” + </p> + <p> + “Her eyes dropped before his gaze. Her hands clasped and unclasped, the + fingers of them sliding close-pressed against each other. She trembled. + </p> + <p> + “If it is wrong——,” she whispered. “Oh, Neal, I do not + understand, but what you think wrong is wrong for me, too. I will not do + what you say is wrong. But, oh! come back to me, come back to me soon. I + cannot bear to wait long for you.” + </p> + <p> + All the joy was gone from her. Forgetful of the strangers who stood round + her, she covered her face with her hands and wept bitterly. + </p> + <p> + Maurice’s voice reached them from the boat. + </p> + <p> + “Be quick, Neal. I must cast off and let you get under way. They’ve got + the old salmon cobble out, and they’re coming after us. Captain Twinely + must have managed to tear himself away from the Comtesse. They are pulling + six oars, and the cobble is full of men. Be quick.” + </p> + <p> + Una stopped crying on the instant. She cast a terrified glance at the + approaching boat. Then she ran across the deck to Captain Getty. She + seized his hand, and fell on her knees before him. + </p> + <p> + “Keep him safe, Captain Getty. Keep him safe. The soldiers, the yeomen, + are after him. Do not give him up to them. They will hang him if they get + him. Keep him safe. Do not let them take him.” + </p> + <p> + “Young lady, Miss,” said Captain Getty, “stand up and dry your eyes. Your + sweetheart’s safe while he stands on my deck. Safe from them. For tempests + and fire and the perils of the deep, and the act of God”—he lifted + his cap from his head—“I can’t swear, but as for darned British + soldiers of any kind—such scum set no foot on the deck of Captain + Hercules Getty’s brig—the <i>Saratoga</i>. You see that rag there, + young lady, that rag flying from the gaff of the spanker, it’s not much to + look at, maybe, not up to the high-toned level of the crosses and the + lions that spread themselves and ramp about on other flags, but I guess a + man’s free when that flies over him. You take my word for it, Miss—the + word of Captain Hercules Getty—the Britisher will knuckle under to + that rag. He’s seen the stars and stripes before now, and he knows he’s + just got to slip his tail in between his hind legs and scoot, scoot + tarnation quick from the place where that rag flutters on the breeze.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XX + </h2> + <p> + In the summer of 1800 the Act of Union was passed. The Irish Constitution + ceased to exist. The country lay torpid and apathetic under the blow. + Blood had been let in Antrim and Down, in Wexford and Wicklow. The society + of United Irishmen was broken. The Protestant gentry were frightened or + bribed. They, or the greater part of them, surrendered their birthright + without even Esau’s hunger for excuse. Roman Catholic ecclesiastics, + deluded by the promise of emancipation, which was not kept for many a long + year afterwards, offered a dubious welcome to the English power. The + people, cowed, helpless, expectant of little any way, waited in numb + indifference for what the new order was to bring. There was little joy and + little cause for joy in Ireland then. + </p> + <p> + From the gate of Dunseveric House, in the twilight of the short October + afternoon, came a young man who seemed to feel no sense of depression or + sadness. He strode briskly along the muddy road, swinging his stick in his + hand, whistling a merry tune. After a while, for very exuberance of + spirits, he broke into song. His voice rang clear through the damp, misty + air— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Oh, my love’s like a red, red rose, + That’s newly sprung in June: + Oh, my love’s like the melody + That’s sweetly played in tune.” + </pre> + <p> + A hundred yards or so further along the road walked another traveller. He + carried a knapsack on his shoulders and a stout staff in his hand. When + the song reached his ears he stopped, listened carefully, and then waited + for the singer to overtake him. It seemed as if the young man was too glad + at heart to sing through one song. He began again, and his voice was full + of passion, as if he had abandoned himself to the inspiration of his words— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Oh, wert thou in the cauld blast, + On yonder lea, on yonder lea, + My plaidie to the angry airt, + I’d shelter thee, I’d shelter thee.” + </pre> + <p> + “Neal Ward,” said the man who waited. + </p> + <p> + The singer paused. + </p> + <p> + “I’m Neal Ward, my friend, who ever are you? And I know your voice. I know + it. Let me see your face, man. You’re Jemmy Hope. As I’m a living man, + you’re Jemmy Hope. I couldn’t have asked a better meeting.” + </p> + <p> + He seized Hope’s hand and wrung it heartily. He held it firm. + </p> + <p> + “There’s no man in the world I’d rather have met to-night. But I might + have guessed I’d meet you. When a man’s happy every wish of his heart + comes to him. It’s only the poor devils who are sad that have to wait and + sigh for what they want and never get it.” + </p> + <p> + “So you are happy, Neal. I am right glad of it. It makes me happy, too, + for all that’s come and gone, to listen to your singing. Give me a share + of your good news, Neal. We want good news in Ireland now-a-days. What + makes you happy?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m to be married to-morrow, Jemmy Hope. To-morrow, to-morrow, man. Isn’t + that enough to make me happy?” + </p> + <p> + He put his arm round Hope, and led him along the road. He walked as if + there were music in his ears which made him want to dance. + </p> + <p> + “She’s the best girl in all the world,” he said, “the bravest and the + truest and the sweetest— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘Or were I a monarch o’ the globe, + With thee to reign, with thee to reign, + The brightest jewel in my crown + Wad be my queen, wad be my queen.’ +</pre> + <p> + Haven’t I the right to be happy, James Hope? Tell me that.” + </p> + <p> + “You have the best gift that God has got to give to man,” said Hope, “and + I that speak to you know. I have my own dear Rose. I have found that the + love of a good woman made all my trouble easy, turned sorrow of heart into + a kind of gladness, brought joy out of disappointment, made poverty sweet + to bear.” + </p> + <p> + “But I’m not poor,” said Neal, “I have a home to offer her, a home not + unworthy of her. I have money to give her what she wants. I shall take her + across the sea in a fine ship that I own myself, in a cabin I have fitted + out for her, fine enough for a crowned queen, but not fine enough for her— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘Blair in Athol’s mine lassie, + Fair Dunkeld is mine lassie, + St. Johnston’s bower and Hunting Tower, + And a’ that’s mine is thine, lassie.’ +</pre> + <p> + Oh, man, but I have cause for my happiness. I have the world before me, + good work to do, good money to earn, and her love like a “perpetual + sun-shine to make life fair to me.” + </p> + <p> + Then suddenly his voice changed. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, but my happiness is not complete. There are two things I want yet. I + want my father to come out with me, and I want you, too, my friend.” + </p> + <p> + “And will your father not go? I heard that they had released him at last + from the prison in Scotland, whew they kept him since the year of the + break at Antrim. He’s home again.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, he’s home, and it’s little cause he has to stay here. They have put a + new minister in his place. The Synod, the conscienceless villains, + declared it vacant. Castlereagh, through his satellite Black, has + corrupted them, too. He’ll preach no more in the old meeting-house, nor + sit over his bodes in the old manse. He’s at the Widow Maclure’s now, the + woman whose husband was hanged. He’ll not want his bit while I’ve money in + my pocket. But I’d like to bring him with me, to give him a better home.” + </p> + <p> + “And will he not go?” + </p> + <p> + “He will not. He says he’s too old to go to a new land now; but you’ll + help me to persuade him. I think, maybe, if you’d come with me that he’d + come, too. And you will come, won’t you?” + </p> + <p> + Hope shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t shake your head at me that way, James Hope. You don’t know what + you’re refusing. I can give you work to do out there, and money to earn, + and a fine house to live in. It’s a good land, so it is; it’s a land of + liberty. We’ve done with the tyrannies of this worn-out old world. A man + may speak his mind out there, and think his own thoughts and go his own + way. We doff our hats and make our bows to no man living, only to him who + shows himself by fine deeds to be our better. It’s the land for you and + the land for me, and the land for every man that loves freedom. Will you + not come?” + </p> + <p> + They reached the door of the Maclures’ house and entered. A bright fine + burned on the hearth. The Widow Maclure was busy spreading a white cloth + on the table. Her eldest girl, a child of twelve years old, stood near at + hand with a pile of wooden porridge bowls in her arms. The two other + children, holding by their mother’s skirts, followed, smiled on and + chidden as they impeded her work, and babbled questions about this or + that. Beside the fire, in the chair that had once belonged to the master + of the house, sat Micah Ward. He looked very old now and infirm. The + months in a prison hulk in Belfast Lough and the long weariness of his + confinement in bleak Fort George had set their mark upon him. On his knees + lay a Greek lexicon, but he was pursuing no word through its pages. It was + open at the fly-leaf inside the cover. He was reading lovingly for the + hundredth time an inscription written there— + </p> + <p> + “This book was given to Rev. Micah Ward by his fellow-prisoners in Fort + George, in witness of their gratitude to him for his ministrations during + their captivity, and as a token of their admiration for his fortitude, his + patience, and his unfailing charity.” + </p> + <p> + There followed a list of twenty names. Four of them belonged to men of the + Roman Catholic faith, six of them were the names of Presbyterians, ten + were of those who accepted the teaching of that other Church which, + trammelled for centuries by connection with the State, hampered with + riches secured to her by the bayonets of a foreign power, dragged down + very often by officials placed over her by Englishmen, has yet in spite of + all won glory. Out of her womb have come the men whose names shine + brightest on the melancholy roll of the Irish patriots of the last two + centuries. She has not cared to boast of them. She has hidden their names + from her children as if they were a shame to her, but they are hers. + </p> + <p> + Thus far off in a desolate Scottish fortress, after the total failure of + every plan, in the hour of Ireland’s most hopeless degradation, the great + dream which had fired the imagination of Tone and Neilson and the others, + the dream of all Irishmen uniting in a common love of their country, a + love which should transcend the differences of rival creeds, found a + realisation. The witness, written in crabbed characters on the fly-leaf of + a lexicon, lay on the knees of a broken old man in the cottage of a widow + within earshot of the perpetual clamour of the bleak northern sea. + </p> + <p> + “Well, father,” said Neal, “here I am back again. And here’s Jemmy Hope, + whom I picked up on the road. He’s come to see you. He’s going to persuade + you to cross the sea with me. You and I and he together, and Hannah + Macaulay, who’s coming, too. Una will make you all welcome on her sturdy + ship. It’s her ship now. All that I have is her’s.” + </p> + <p> + Micah Ward looked at his son with a gentle, sad smile on his face. Then he + turned to welcome his visitor. + </p> + <p> + “So you have come to see me, James Hope. It was good of you. Ah, man, + there’s not so many of us left now. Orr, they hanged him; M’Cracken, they + hanged him; Monro, they hanged him; Porter, they hanged him. And many + another, many another. And the rest are gone across the sea. You and I are + left, with one here and there besides—a very small remnant, a + cottage in a vineyard, a lodge in a garden of cucumbers, a besieged city.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s hard to tell,” said Hope, “why they did not hang me, too. There were + times when, only for my wife, who would have grieved after me, I could + have found it in my heart to wish they would.” + </p> + <p> + “Father,” said Neal, “Hope is coming to America with me.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, lad, nay. I was born in Ireland, I’ve lived my life in Ireland, I’ll + die in Ireland when my time comes. Maybe before the end I’ll find a chance + to strike another blow for her.” + </p> + <p> + “Doubtless,” said Micah Ward, “such a blow will be stricken, but not in + our time, James Hope. The fighting spirit is gone from us. The men are + laid low or scattered or broken. The people speak about the ‘break.’ They + call it well. ‘Shall iron break the northern iron and the steel?’ Yea, but + iron hath broken us. It hath entered into our souls. And if one look unto + the land, behold darkness and sorrow and the light is darkened in the + heavens thereof.” + </p> + <p> + “But there is another land,” said Neal, “where the sun shines, where + neither palaces of kings, nor haughty churches, nor the banners and cannon + smoke of England’s soldiers, nor yet the gallows, casting shadows over the + green fields, and overtopping every village, can come between the people + and the good light which the Lord God made for them. That’s the land for + you and me.” + </p> + <p> + “For you, Neal,” said Micah Ward, “and for the girl you love. But there is + no other land except only this lost land for me and him.” + </p> + <p> + He took Hope’s hand and held it. Then, with his other hand, he drew his + son down beside him. Neal knelt on the earthen floor of the cottage. He + felt hands laid upon his head—his father’s hands and James Hope’s. + The benediction came from both of them, though it was Micah Ward’s voice + which spoke the words— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “The Lord hear thee in the day of trouble, Neal; + The name of the God of Jacob defend thee; + Send thee help from the sanctuary, + And strengthen thee out of Zion; + Remember all thy offerings, + And accept thy burnt sacrifice; + Grant thee according to thine own heart, + And fulfil all thy counsel.” + </pre> + <p> + THE END <br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg’s The Northern Iron, by George A. 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