CHAPTER IV
"STOP THIEF!"
A candid Englishman must own, and deplore the fact, that FlaviaMcMurrough's tears were due to the wrongs of her country. Broken bythree great wars waged by three successive generations, defeated in thelast of three desperate struggles for liberty, Ireland at this periodlay like a woman swooning at the feet of her captors. Nor were theseminded that she should rise again quickly, or in her natural force. Themastery which they had won by the sword the English were resolved tokeep by the law.
They were determined that the Irishman of the old faith should ceaseto exist; or if he endured, should be _nemo_, no one. Confined to hellor Connaught, he must not even in the latter possess the ordinaryrights. He must not will his own lands or buy new lands. If his son,more sensible than he, "_went over_," the father sank into a merelife-tenant, bound to furnish a handsome allowance, and to leave allto the Protestant heir. He might not marry a Protestant, he might notkeep a school, nor follow the liberal professions. The priest whoconfessed him was banished if known, and hanged if he returned. In acountry of sportsmen he might not own a fowling-piece, nor a horseworth more than five pounds; and in days when every gentleman carrieda sword at his side, he must not wear one. Finally, his country grewbut one article of great value--wool: and that he must not make intocloth, but he must sell it to England at England's price--which wasone-fifth of the continental price. Was it wonderful that, such beingIreland's status, every Roman Catholic of spirit sought fortuneabroad; that the wild geese, as they were called, went and cameunchecked; or that every inlet in Galway, Clare, and Kerry swarmedwith smugglers, who ran in under the green flag with brandy andclaret, and, running out again with wool, laughed to scorn England'sboast that she ruled the waves?
Nor was it surprising that, spent and helpless as the land lay, somesanguine spirits still clung to visions of a change and of revenge. Afew men, living in the vague remotenesses beyond the bridling Shannonand its long string of lakes, or on the western shore where the longrollers broke in spume and the French and Spanish tongues were spokenmore freely than English, still hoped for the impossible. Passing theirlives far from the Castle and the Four Courts, far even from theprovincial capitals, they shut their eyes to facts and dreamed oftriumph. The Sullivans of Morristown and Skull were of these; as weresome of their neighbours. And Flavia was especially of these. As shelooked from her window a day or two after the Colonel's arrival, as shesniffed the peat reek and plumbed the soft distances beyond the lake,she was lost in such a dream; until her eyes fell on a man seatedcross-legged under a tree between herself and the shore. And shefrowned. The man sorted ill with her dream.
It was Bale, Colonel John's servant. He was mending some article takenfrom his master's wardrobe. His elbow went busily to and fro as heplied the needle, while sprawling on the sod about him half a dozengossoons watched him inquisitively.
Perhaps it was the suggestive contrast between his diligence and theiridleness which irritated Flavia; but she set down her annoyance toanother cause. The man was an Englishman, and therefore an enemy: andwhat did he there? Had the Colonel left him on guard?
Flavia's heart swelled at the thought. Here, at least, she and herswere masters. Here, three hours west of Tralee--and God help the horseon that road that was not a "lepper"--they brooked no rival. ColonelJohn had awakened mixed feelings in her. At times she admired him. But,admirable or not, he should rue his insolence, if he had it in his mindto push his authority, or interfere with her plans.
In the meantime she stood watching William Bale, and a desire to knowmore of the man, and through him of the master, rose within her. Thehouse was quiet. The McMurrough and his following had gone to acocking-match and race-meeting at Joyce's Corner. She went down thestairs, took her hood, and crossed the courtyard. Bale did not look upat her approach, but he saw her out of the corner of his eye, and whenshe paused before him he laid down his work and made as if he wouldrise.
She looked at him with a superciliousness not natural to her. "Are allthe men tailors where you come from?" she asked. "There, you need notrise."
"Where I came from last," he replied, "we were all trades, my lady."
"Where was that?"
"In the camp," he answered.
"In Sweden?"
"God knows," he replied. "They raise no landmarks there, betweencountry and country, or it might be all their work to move them."
For a moment she was silent. Then, "Have you been a soldier long?" sheasked, feeling herself rebuffed.
"Twenty-one years, my lady."
"And now you have done with it."
"It is as his honour pleases."
She frowned. He had a way of speaking that sounded uncivil to earsattuned to the soft Irish accent and the wheedling tone. Yet the maninterested her, and after a moment's silence she fixed her eyes moreintently on his work. "Did you lose your fingers in battle?" she asked.His right hand was maimed.
"No," he answered--grudgingly, as he seemed to answer all herquestions--"in prison."
"In prison?" she repeated; "where?"
He cast an upward look at his questioner. "In the Grand Turk's land,"he said. "Nearer than that, I can't say. I'm no scholar, my lady."
"But why?" she asked, puzzled. "I don't understand."
"Cut off," he said, stooping over his work.
Flavia turned a shade paler. "Why?" she repeated.
"'One God, and Mahomet His prophet'--couldn't swallow it. One finger!"the man answered jerkily. "Next week--same. Third week----"
"Third week?" she murmured, shuddering.
"Exchanged."
She lifted her eyes with an effort from his maimed hand. "How many wereyou?" she inquired.
"Thirty-four." He laughed drily. "We know one another when we meet," hesaid. He drew his waxed thread between his finger and thumb, held it upto the light, then looked askance at the gossoons about him, to whomwhat he said was gibberish. They knew only Erse.
The day was still, the mist lay on the lake, and under it the watergleamed, a smooth pale mirror. Flavia had seen it so a hundred times,and thought naught of it. But to-day, moved by what she had heard, theprospect spoke of a remoteness from the moving world which depressedher. Hitherto the quick pulse and the energy of youth had left her notime for melancholy, and not much for thought. If at rare intervals shehad felt herself lonely, if she had been tempted to think that thebrother in whom were centred her hopes, her affections, and her familypride was hard and selfish, rude and overbearing, she had told herselfthat all men were so; that all men rode rough-shod over their women.And that being so, who had a better right to hector it than the last ofthe McMurroughs, heir of the Wicklow kings, who in days far past haddealt on equal terms with Richard Plantagenet, and to whom, by virtueof that never-forgotten kingship, the Sullivans and Mahonies, some ofthe McCarthys, and all the O'Beirnes, paid rude homage? With suchfeelings Sir Michael's strange whim of disinheriting the heir of hisrace had but drawn her closer to her brother. To her loyalty the actwas abhorrent, was unnatural, was one that could only have sprung, shewas certain, from second childhood, the dotage of a man close onninety, whose early years had been steeped in trouble, and who lovedher so much that he was ready to do wrong for her sake.
Often she differed from her brother. But he was a man, she toldherself; and he must be right--a man's life could not be ruled by thelaws which a woman observed. For the rest, for herself, if her lifeseemed solitary she had the free air and the mountains; she had herdear land; above all, she had her dreams. Perhaps when these wererealised--and the time seemed very near now--and a new Ireland wascreated, to her too a brighter world would open.
She had forgotten Bale's presence, and was only recalled to every-daylife by the sound of voices. Four men were approaching the house. UncleUlick, Colonel John, and the French skipper were three of these; at thesight of the fourth Flavia's face fell. Luke Asgill of Batterstown wasthe nearest Justice, and of necessity he was a Protestant. But it wasnot this fact, nor the certainty that A
ugustin was pouring his wrongsinto his ears, that affected Flavia. Asgill was distasteful to her,because her brother affected him. For why should her brother haverelations with a Protestant? Why should he, a man of the oldest blood,stoop to intimacy with the son of a "middleman," the son of one ofthose who, taking a long lease of a great estate and under-letting atrack rents, made at this period huge fortunes? Finally, if he must haverelations with him, why did he not keep him at a distance from hishome--and his sister?
It was too late, or she would have slipped away. Not that Asgill--hewas a stout, dark, civil-spoken man of thirty-three or four--wore athreatening face. On the contrary, he listened to the Frenchman'scomplaint with a droll air; and if he had not known of the matterbefore, his smile betrayed him. He greeted Flavia with an excess ofpoliteness which she could have spared; and while Uncle Ulick andColonel John looked perturbed and ill at ease, he jested on the matter.
"The whole cargo?" he said, with one eye on the Frenchman and one onhis companions. "You're not for stating that, sir?"
"All the tubs," Augustin answered in a passion of earnestness. "Whatyou call, every tub! Every tub!"
"The saints be between us and harm!" Asgill responded. "Are you hearingthis, Miss Flavia? It's no less than felony that you're accused of, andI'm thinking, by rights, I must arrest you and carry you toBatterstown."
"I do not understand," she answered stiffly. "And The McMurrough is notat home."
"Gone out of the way, eh?" Asgill replied with a deprecatory grin. "Andthe whole cargo was it, Captain?"
"All the tubs, perfectly!"
"You'd paid your dues, of course?"
"Dues, _mon Dieu_! But they take the goods!"
"Had you paid your dues?"
"Not already, because----"
"That's unfortunate," Asgill answered in a tone of mock condolence."Mighty unfortunate!" He winked at Uncle Ulick. "Port dues, you know,Captain, must be paid before the ship slips her moorings."
"But----"
"Mighty unfortunate!"
"But what are the dues?" poor Augustin cried, dimly aware that he wasbeing baited.
"Ah, you're talking now," the magistrate answered glibly. "Unluckily,that's not in my province. I'm made aware that the goods are held underlien for dues, and I can do nothing. However, upon payment, ofcourse----"
"But how much? Eh, sir? How much? How much?"
Luke Asgill, who had two faces, and for once was minded to let both beseen, enjoyed the Frenchman's perplexity. He wished to stand well withFlavia, and here was a rare opportunity of exhibiting at once hisfriendliness and his powers of drollery. He was surprised, therefore,and taken aback, when a grave voice cut short his enjoyment.
"Still, if Captain Augustin," the voice interposed, "is willing to paya reasonable sum on account of dues?"
The magistrate turned about abruptly. "Eh?" he said. "Oh, ColonelSullivan, is it?"
"Then, doubtless, the goods will be released, so that he may performhis duty to his customer."
Asgill had only known the Colonel a few minutes, and, aware that he wasone of the family, he did not see how to take it. It was as if treasonlifted its head in the camp. He coughed.
"I'd not be denying it," he said. "But until The McMurroughreturns----"
"Such a matter is doubtless within Mr. Sullivan's authority," theColonel said, turning from him to Uncle Ulick.
Uncle Ulick showed his embarrassment. "Faith, I don't know that it is,"he said.
"If Captain Augustin paid, say, twenty per cent. on his bills oflading----"
"_Ma foi_, twenty per cent.!" the Captain exclaimed in astonishment."Twenty--but yes, I will pay it. I will pay even that. Of what use tothrow the handle after the hatchet?"
Luke Asgill thought the Colonel either a fool or very simple. "Well,I've nothing to say to this, at all!" he said, shrugging his shoulders."It's not within my province."
Colonel John looked at the girl in a way in which he had not looked ather before; and she found herself speaking before she knew it. "Yes,"she cried impulsively; "let that be done, and the goods be given up!"
"But The McMurrough?" Asgill began.
"I will answer for him," she said impulsively. "Uncle Ulick, go, I beg,and see it done."
"I will go with you," Colonel Sullivan said. "And doubtless Mr. Asgillwill accompany us, and lend the weight of his authority in the event ofany difficulty arising."
Asgill's countenance fell, and he looked the uncertainty he felt. Hewas between two stools, for he had no mind to displease Flavia orthwart her brother. At length, "No," he said, "I'll not be doinganything in The McMurrough's absence--no, I don't see that I can dothat!"
Colonel John looked in the same strange fashion at Flavia. "I havelegal power to act, sir," he said, "as I can prove to you in private.And that being so, I must certainly ask you to lend me the weight ofyour authority."
"And I will be d----d if I do!" Asgill cried. There was a change in histone, and the reason was not far to seek. "Here's The McMurrough," hecontinued, "and he'll say!"
They all turned and looked along the road which ran by the edge of thelake. With James McMurrough, who was still a furlong away, were the twoO'Beirnes. They came slowly, and something in their bearing, even atthat distance, awoke anxiety.
"They're early from the cocking," Uncle Ulick muttered doubtfully, "andsober as pigs! What's the meaning of that? There's something amiss, I'mfearing."
A cry from Flavia proved the keenness of her eyes. "Where is Giralda?"she exclaimed. "Where is the mare?"
"Ay, what have they done with the mare?" Uncle Ulick said in a tone ofconsternation. "Have they lamed her, I'm wondering? The garron Morty'sriding is none of ours."
"I begged him not to take her!" Flavia cried, anger contending with hergrief. Giralda, her grey mare, ascribed in sanguine moments to thestrain of the Darley Arabian, and as gentle as she was spirited, wasthe girl's dearest possession. "I begged him not to take her!" sherepeated, almost in tears. "I knew there was danger."
"James was wrong to take her up country," Uncle Ulick said sternly.
"They've claimed her!" Flavia wailed. "I know they have! And I shallnever recover her! I shall never see her again! Oh, I'd rather--I'd farrather she were dead!"
Uncle Ulick lifted up his powerful voice. "Where's the mare?" heshouted.
James McMurrough shrugged his shoulders, and a moment later the riderscame up and the tale was told. The three young men had halted at thehedge tavern at Brocktown, where their road ran out of the road toTralee. There were four men drinking in the house, who seemed to takeno notice of them. But when The McMurrough and his companions went tothe shed beside the house to draw out their horses, the men followed,challenged them for Papists, threw down five pounds in gold, and seizedthe mare. The four were armed, and resistance was useless.
The story was received with a volley of oaths and curses. "But by theHoly," Uncle Ulick flamed up, "I'd have hung on their heels and raisedthe country! By G--d, I would!"
"Ay, ay! The thieves of the world!"
"They took the big road by Tralee," James McMurrough explained sulkily."What was the use?"
"Were there no men working in the bogs?"
"There were none near by, to be sure," Morty said. "But I'd a notion ifwe followed them we might light on one friend or another--'twas inKerry, after all!"
"'Twas not more than nine miles English from here!" Uncle Ulick cried.
"That was just what I thought," Morty continued with some hesitation."Just that, but----" And his eye transferred the burden to TheMcMurrough.
James answered with an oath. "A nice time this to be bringing thesoldiers upon us," he cried, "when, bedad, if the time ever was, wewant no trouble with the Englishry! What's the use of crying over spiltmilk? I'll give you another mare."
"But it'll not be Giralda!" Flavia wailed.
"Sure it's the black shame, it is!" Uncle Ulick cried, his face dark."It's enough to raise the country! Ay, I say it, though you'relistening, Asgill. It's more t
han blood can stand!"
"No one is more sorry than myself," Asgill replied, with a look ofconcern. "I don't make the laws, or they'd be other than they are!"
"True for you," Uncle Ulick answered. "I'm allowing that. And it istrue, too, that to make a stir too early would ruin all. I'm afraid youmust be making the best of it, Flavvy! I'd go after them myself, butthe time's not convenient, as you know, and by this they're in Tralee,bad cess to it, where there's naught to be done. They'll be for sellingher to one of the garrison officers, I'm thinking; and may the littlegentleman in black velvet break his neck for him! Or they'll take herfarther up country, maybe to Dublin."
Flavia's last hopes died with this verdict. She could not control hertears, and she turned and went away in grief to the house.
Meantime the hangers-on and the beggars pressed upon the gentry,anxious to hear. The McMurrough, not sorry to find some one on whom tovent his temper, turned upon them and drove them away with blows of hiswhip. The movement brought him face to face with Captain Augustin. Thefiery little Frenchman disdained to give way, in a trice angry wordspassed, and--partly out of mischief, for the moment was certainly notpropitious--Asgill repeated the proposal which Colonel John had justmade. The Colonel had stood in the background during the debate aboutthe mare, but thus challenged he stood forward.
"It's a fair compromise," he argued. "And if Captain Augustin isprepared to pay twenty per cent----."
"He'll not have his cargo, nor yet a cask!" The McMurrough replied witha curt, angry laugh. "Loss and enough we've had to-day."
"But----"
"Get me back the mare," the young man cried, cutting the Colonel shortwith savage ridicule. "Get me back the mare, and I'll talk. That's allI have to say."
"It seems to me," Colonel John replied quietly, "that those who loseshould find. Still--still," checking the young man's anger by the verycalmness of his tone, "for Captain Augustin's sake, who can ill bearthe loss, and for your sister's sake, I will see what I can do."
The McMurrough stared. "You?" he cried. "You?"
"Yes, I."
"Heaven help us, and the pigs!" the young man exclaimed. And he laughedaloud in his scorn.
But Colonel John seemed no way moved. "Yes," he replied. "Only let usunderstand one another"--with a look at Uncle Ulick which made himparty to the bargain--"if I return to-morrow evening or on thefollowing day--or week--with your sister's mare----"
"Mounseer shall have his stuff again to the last pennyworth," youngMcMurrough returned with an ironical laugh, "and without payment atall! Or stay! Perhaps you'll buy the mare?"
"No, I shall not buy her," Colonel John answered, "except at the pricethe man gave you."
"Then you'll not get her. That's certain! But it's your concern."
The Colonel nodded, and, turning on his heels, went away towards thehouse, calling William Bale to him as he passed.
The McMurrough looked at the Frenchman. He had a taste for tormentingsome one. "Well, monsieur," he jeered, "how do you like your bargain?"
"I do not understand," the Frenchman answered. "But he is a man of hisword, _ma foi_! And they are not--of the common."
The Wild Geese Page 4
