The Wild Geese

by Stanley John Weyman

  CHAPTER XII

  THE SEA MIST

  Father O'Hara looked at the two prisoners, and the tears ran down hisface. He was the man whom Colonel Sullivan and Bale had overtaken ontheir way to Tralee. In spite of his life and his wrongs, he was amerciful man, and with all his heart he wished that, if he could do nogood, God had been pleased to send him another way through the mist.Not that life was to him aught but a tragedy at any time, on whicheverroad he took. What but a tragedy could it be to a man bred at Douay andreared on Greek, and now condemned to live in loneliness and squaloramong unlettered, unwashed creatures; to one who, banned by the law,moved by night, and lurked in some hiding-place by day, and, waking orsleeping, was ever in contact with the lawless and the oppressed, thewretched and the starving--whose existence was spent in shriving,christening, burying among the hills and bogs?

  Yet, even in such a life this was a tragedy beyond the common. And--"Whatcan I do?" he cried. "_Non mihi, domine, culpa!_ Oh, what can I do?"

  "You can do nothing, father," O'Sullivan Og said grimly. "They'reheretics, no less! And we're wasting your time, blessed man." Hewhispered a few words in the priest's ear.

  The latter shuddered. "God forgive us all!" he wailed. "And most, thosewho need it most! God keep us from high place!"

  "Sure and we're in little peril!" O'Sullivan Og replied.

  Colonel John looked at the priest with solemn eyes. Nor did aught but atiny pulse beating in his cheek betray that every sense was on thestretch; that he was listening, watching, ready to seize the leastchance, that he might save, at any rate, poor Bale. Then, "You are aChristian, father," he said gravely. "I ask nothing for myself. Butthis is my servant. He has done nothing, he knows nothing. Prevail withthem to spare him!"

  Bale uttered a fierce remonstrance. No one understood it, or what hesaid, or meant. His eyes looked askance, like the eyes of a beast in asnare--seeking a weapon, or a throat! To be butchered thus! To bebutchered thus!

  Perhaps Colonel John, notwithstanding his calm courage, had the samethought, and found it bitter. Death had been good in the face of silentthousands, with pride and high resolve for cheer. Or in the heat of afight for the right, where it came unheeded and almost unfelt. But hereon the bog, in the mist, unknown, unnoticed, to perish and be forgottenin a week, even by the savage hands that took their breath! Perhaps toface this he too had need of all his Christian stoicism.

  "My God! My God!" the priest said. And he fell on his knees and raisedhis hands. "Have pity on these two, and soften the hearts of theirmurderers!"

  "Amen," said Colonel John quietly.

  "Faith, and 'tis idle, this," O'Sullivan Og cried irritably. He gave asecret sign to his men to draw to one side and be ready. "We've ourorders, and other work to do. Kneel aside, father, 'tis no harm we meanyou, God forbid! But you're wasting breath on these same. And you," hecontinued, addressing the two, "say what prayer you will, if you knowone, and then kneel or stand--it's all one to us--and, God willing,you'll be in purgatory and never a knowledge of it!"

  "One moment," Colonel John interposed, his face pale but composed, "Ihave something to say to my friend."

  "And you may, if you'll play no tricks."

  "If you would spare him----"

  "'Tis idle, I say! Sorra a bit of good is it! But there, ye shall behaving while the blessed man says three Paternosters, and not the leasttaste of time beyond! Devil a bit!"

  Colonel John made a sign to the priest, who, bowing himself on the wetsod, covered his eyes with his hand and began to pray. The men, at asign from O'Sullivan, had drawn to either side, and the firelock-menwere handling their pieces, with one eye on their leader and one on theprisoners.

  Colonel John took Bale's hand. "What matter, soon or late?" he saidgently "Here, or on our beds we die in our duty. Let us say, _Inmanus tuas_----"

  "Popish! Popish!" Bale muttered, shaking his head. He spoke hoarsely,his tongue cleaving to his mouth. His eyes were full of rage.

  "Into Thy hands!" Colonel John said. He stooped nearer to his man'sear. "When I shout, jump and run!" he breathed. "I will hold two."Again he lifted his head and looked calmly at the threatening figuresstanding about them, gaunt and dark, against the curtain of mist. Theywere waiting for the signal. The priest was half way through his secondPaternoster. His trembling tongue was stumbling, lagging more and more.As he ended it--the two men still standing hand in hand--Colonel Johngripped Bale's fingers hard, but held him.

  "What is that?" he cried, in a loud voice--but still he held Bale tightthat he might not move. "What is that?" he repeated. On the ear--on hisear first--had fallen the sound of hurrying feet.

  They strained their eyes through the mist.

  "And what'll this be?" O'Sullivan Og muttered suspiciously, lookingfirst in the direction of the sound, and then, still more suspiciously,at his prisoners. "If you budge a step," he growled, "I'll drive thispike----"

  "A messenger from The McMurrough," Colonel John said, speaking assternly as if he and not The McMurrough's henchman commanded the party.If he was human, as indeed he was, if his heart, at the hope ofrespite, beat upon his ribs as the heart of a worse man might havebeaten, he did not betray it save by a light in his eyes. "You will seeif I am not right," he added.

  They had not to wait. As he spoke a tall, lathy form emerged from themist. It advanced with long leaps, the way they had come. A moment, andthe messenger saw them--almost as soon as they had seen him. He pulledup, and walked the intervening distance, his arms drooping, and hisbreath coming in gasps. He had run apace, and he could not speak. Buthe nodded--as he wiped the saliva from his parted lips--to O'SullivanOg to come aside with him; and the two moved off a space. The otherseyed them while the message was given. The suspense was short. QuicklyO'Sullivan Og came back.

  "Ye may be thankful," he said drily. "Ye've cheated the pikes for thistime, no less. And 'tis safe ye are."

  "You have the greater reason to be thankful," Colonel John repliedsolemnly. "You have been spared a foul crime."

  "Faith, and I hope I may never do worse," Og answered hardily, "thanrid the world of two black Protestants, an' them with a priest to maketheir souls! Many's the honest man's closed his eyes without that same.But 'tis no time for prating! I wonder at your honour, and you no morethan out of the black water! Bring them along, boys," he continued,"we've work to do yet!"

  "_Laus Deo!_" the priest cried, lifting up his hands. "Give Him theglory!"

  "Amen," the Colonel said softly. And for a moment he shut his eyes andstood with clasped hands. Perhaps even his courage was hardly proofagainst so sudden, so late a respite. He looked with a hardly repressedshudder on the dreary face of the bog, on the gleaming water, on thedripping furze bushes. "I thank you kindly, father, for your prayers!"he said. "The words of a good man avail much!"

  No more was said. For a few yards Bale walked unsteadily, shaken by hisescape from a death the prospect of which had evoked as much rage asfear. But he recovered himself speedily, and, urged by O'Sullivan'scontinual injunctions to hasten, the party were not long in retracingtheir steps. They reached the road, and went along it, but in thedirection of the landing-place. In a few minutes they were threadingtheir way in single file across the saucer-like waste which lay tolandward of the hill overlooking the jetty and the inlet.

  "Are you taking us to the French sloop?" Colonel John asked.

  "You'll be as wise as the lave of us by-and-by!" Og answered sulkily.

  They crossed the shoulder near the tower, which loomed uncertainlythrough the fog, and they strode down the slope to the stone pier. Themist lay low on the water, and only the wet stones of the jetty, and aboat or two floating in the angle between the jetty and the shore, werevisible. The tide was almost at the flood. Og bade the men draw in oneof the boats, ordered Colonel Sullivan and Bale to go into the bow, andthe pikemen to take the oars. He and the two firelock-men--themessenger had vanished--took their seats in the stern.

  "Pull out, you cripples," he said. "And be pulling stout, a
nd there'llbe flood enough to be bringing us back."

  The men bent to the clumsy oars, and the boat slid down the inlet, andpassed under the beam of the French sloop, which lay moored fartheralong the jetty. Not a sign of life appeared on deck as they passed;the ship seemed to be deserted. Half a dozen strokes carried the boatbeyond view of it, and the little party were alone on the bosom of thewater, that lay rocking smoothly between its unseen banks. Some minuteswere spent in stout rowing, and the oily swell began to grow longer andslower. They were near the mouth of the inlet, and abreast of theeast-and-west-running shore of the bay. Smoothly as the sea lapped thebeach under the mist, the boat began to rise and fall on the Atlanticrollers.

  "Tis more deceitful than a pretty colleen," O'Sullivan Og said, "is thesea-fog, bad cess to it! My own father was lost in it. Will you beseeing her, boys?"

  "Ye'll not see her till ye touch her!" one of the rowers answered.

  "And the tide running?" the other said. "Save us from that same!"

  "She's farther out by three gunshots!" struck in a firelock-man. "We'llbe drifting back, ye thieves of the world, if ye sit staring there!Pull, an' we'll be inshore an' ye know it."

  For some minutes the men pulled steadily onwards, while one of thepassengers, apprised that their destination was the Spanish war-vesselwhich had landed Cammock and the Bishop, felt anything but eager toreach it. A Spanish war-ship meant imprisonment and hardship withoutquestion, possibly the Inquisition, persecution, and death. When themen lay at last on their oars, and swore that they must have passed theship, and they would go no farther, he alone listened indifferently,nay, felt a faint hope born in him.

  "'Tis a black Protestant fog!" O'Sullivan cried. "Where'll we be, Iwonder?"

  "Sure, ye can make no mistake," one answered. "The wind's light off theland."

  "We'll be pulling back, lads."

  "That's the word."

  The men put the boat about, a little sulkily, and started on the returnjourney. The sound of barking dogs and crowing cocks came off the landwith that clearness which all sounds assume in a fog. Suddenly ColonelJohn, crouching in the bow, where was scant room for Bale and himself,saw a large shape loom before him. Involuntarily he uttered a warningcry, O'Sullivan echoed it, the men tried to hold the boat. In doingthis, however, one man was quicker than the other, the boat turnedbroadside on to her former course, and before the cry was well offO'Sullivan Og's lips, it swept violently athwart a cable hauled taut bythe weight of a vessel straining to the flow of the tide. In atwinkling the boat careened, throwing its occupants into the water.

  Colonel John and Bale were nearest to the hawser, and managed, suddenlyas the thing happened, to seize it and cling to it. But the first wavewashed over them, blinding them and choking them; and, warned by this,they worked themselves desperately along the rope until their shoulderswere clear of the water and they could twist a leg over their slendersupport.

  That effected, they could spit out the water, breathe again, and lookabout them. They shouted for help once, twice, thrice, thinking thatsome on the great ship looming dim and distant to shoreward of themmust hear. But their shouts were merged in the wail of despair, ofshrieks and cries that floated away into the mist. The boat, travellingwith the last of the tide, had struck the cable with force, and wasalready drifting a gunshot away. Whether any saved themselves on it,the two clinging to the hawser could not see.

  Bale, shivering and scared, would have shouted again, but Colonel Johnstayed him. "God rest their souls!" he said solemnly. "The men aboardcan do nothing. By the time they'll have lowered a boat it will be donewith these."

  "They can take us aboard," Bale said.

  "Ay, if we want to go to Cadiz gaol," Colonel John answered slowly. Hewas peering keenly towards the land.

  "But what can we do, your honour?" Bale asked with a shiver.

  "Swim ashore."

  "God forbid!"

  "But you can swim?"

  "Not that far. Not near that far, God knows!" Bale repeated withemphasis, his teeth chattering. "I'll go down like a stone."

  "Cadiz gaol! Cadiz gaol!" Colonel John muttered. "Isn't it worth a swimto escape that?"

  "Ay, ay, but----"

  "Do you see that oar drifting? In a twinkling it will be out of reach.Off with your boots, man, off with your clothes, and to it! That oar isfreedom! The tide is with us still, or it would not be moving that way.But let the tide turn and we cannot do it."

  "It's too far!"

  "If you could see the shore," Colonel John argued, "you'd think nothingof it! With your chin on that oar, you can't sink. But it must be donebefore we are chilled."

  He was stripping himself to his underclothes while he talked: and inhaste, fearing that he might feel the hawser slacken and dip--a signthat the tide had turned. Or if the oar floated out of sight--then toothe worst might happen to them. Already Colonel John had plans andhopes, but freedom was needful if they were to come to anything.

  "Come!" he cried impulsively. "Man, you are not a coward, I know itwell! Come!"

  He let himself into the water as he spoke, and after a moment ofhesitation, and with a shiver of disgust, Bale followed his example,let the rope go, and with quick, nervous strokes bobbed after him inthe direction of the oar. Colonel John deserved the less credit, as hewas the better swimmer. He swam long and slow, with his head low: andhis eyes watched his follower. A half minute of violent exertion, andBale's outstretched hand clutched the oar. It was a thick, clumsyimplement, and it floated high. In curt, clipped sentences Colonel Johnbade him rest his hands on it, and thrust it before him lengthwise,swimming with his feet.

  For five minutes nothing was said, but they proceeded slowly andpatiently, rising a little above each wave and trusting--for they couldsee nothing, and the light wind was in their faces--that the tide wasstill seconding their efforts. Colonel John knew that if the shore lay,as he judged, about half a mile distant, he must, to reach it, swimslowly and reserve his strength. Though a natural desire to decide thequestion quickly would have impelled him to greater exertion, heresisted it as many a man has resisted it, and thereby has saved hislife. At the worst, he reflected that the oar would support them bothfor a short time. But that meant remaining stationary and becomingchilled.

  They had been swimming for ten minutes, as he calculated, when Bale,who floated higher, cried joyfully that he could see the land. ColonelJohn made no answer, he needed all his breath. But a minute later hetoo saw it loom low through the fog; and then, in some minutesafterwards, they felt bottom and waded on to a ledge of rocks whichprojected a hundred yards from the mainland eastward of the mouth ofthe inlet. The tide had served them well by carrying them a little tothe eastward. They sat a moment on the rocks to recover theirstrength--while the seagulls flew wailing over them--and for the firsttime they took in the full gravity of the catastrophe. Every other manin the boat had perished--so they judged, for there was no stir onshore. On that they uttered some expressions of pity and ofthankfulness; and then, stung to action by the chill wind, which settheir teeth chattering, they got to their feet and scrambled painfullyalong the rocks until they reached the marshy bank of the inlet. Thencea pilgrimage scarcely less painful, through gorse and rushes, broughtthem at the end of ten minutes to the jetty.

  Here, too, all was quiet. If any of O'Sullivan Og's party had savedthemselves they were not to be seen, nor was there any indication thatthe accident was known on shore. It was still early, but little aftersix, the day Sunday; and apart from the cackling of poultry, and thegrunting of hogs, no sound came from O'Sullivan's house or the hovelsabout it.

  While Colonel John had been picking his way over the rocks and betweenthe gorse bushes, his thoughts had not been idle; and now, withouthesitation, he made along the jetty until the masts of the French slooploomed beside it. He boarded the vessel by a plank and looked roundhim. There was no watch on deck, but a murmur of talk came from theforecastle and a melancholy voice piping a French song rose from thedepths of the cabin. Colonel Joh
n bade Bale follow him--they wereshivering from head to foot--and descended the companion.

  The singer was Captain Augustin. He lay on his back in his bunk, whilehis mate, between sleep and waking, formed an unwilling audience.

  Tout mal chausse, tout mal vetu,

  sang the Captain in a doleful voice,

  Pauvre marin, d'ou reviens-tu? Tout doux! Tout doux!

  With the last word on his lips, he called on the name of his Maker, forhe saw two half-naked, dripping figures peering at him through the opendoor. For the moment he took them, by the dim light, for the revenantsof drowned men; while his mate, a Breton, rose on his elbow andshrieked aloud.

  It was only when Colonel John called them by name that they werereassured, lost their fears, and recognised in the pallid figuresbefore them their late passenger and his attendant. Then, as the twoFrenchmen sprang to their feet, the cabin rang with oaths andinvocations, with _Mon Dieu!_ and _Ma foi!_ Immediately clothes werefetched, and rough cloths to dry the visitors and restore warmth totheir limbs, and cognac and food--for the two were half starved.Meantime, and while these comforts were being administered, and halfthe crew, crouching about the companion, listened, and volleys ofquestions rained upon him, Colonel John told very shortly the tale oftheir adventures, of the fate that had menaced them, and their narrowescape. In return he learned that the Frenchmen were virtuallyprisoners.

  "They have taken our equipage, cursed dogs!" Augustin explained,refraining with difficulty from a dance of rage. "The rudder, thesails, they are not, see you! They have locked all in the house onshore, that we may not go by night, you understand. And by day the shipof war beyond, Spanish it is possible, pirate for certain, goes aboutto sink us if we move! Ah, _sacre nom_, that I had never seen this landof swine!"

  "Have they a guard over the rudder and the sails?" Colonel John asked,pausing to speak with the food half way to his mouth.

  "I know not. What matter?"

  "If not, it were not hard to regain them," Colonel John said, with anodd light in his eyes.

  "And the ship of war beyond? What would she be doing?"

  "While the fog lies?" Colonel John replied. "Nothing."

  "The fog?" Augustin exclaimed. He clapped his hand to his head, ran upthe companion and as quickly returned. A skipper is in a low way who,whatever his position, has no eye for the weather; and he felt thetacit reproach. "Name of Names!" he cried. "There is a fog like theinside of Jonah's whale! For the ship beyond I snap the finger at her!She is not! Then forward, _mes braves_! Yet tranquil! They have takenthe arms!"

  "Ay?" Colonel John said, still eating. "Is that so? Then it seems to mewe must retake them. That first."

  "What, you?" Augustin exclaimed.

  "Why not?" Colonel John responded, looking round him, a twinkle in hiseye. "The goods of his host are in a manner of speaking the house ofhis host. And it is the duty--as I said once before."

  "But is it not that they are--of your kin?"

  "That is the reason," Colonel John answered cryptically, and to theskipper's surprise. But that surprise lasted a very short time. "Listento me," the Colonel continued. "This goes farther than you think, andto cure it we must not stop short. Let me speak, and do you, myfriends, listen. Courage, and I will give you not only freedom but agood bargain."

  The skipper stared. "How so?" he asked.

  Then Colonel John unfolded the plan on which he had been meditatingwhile the waves lapped his smarting chin, while the gorse bushespricked his feet, and the stones gibed them. It was a great plan, andbefore all things a bold one; so bold that Augustin gasped as itunfolded itself, and the seamen, who, with the freedom of foreignsailors in a ship of fortune, crowded the foot of the companion, openedtheir eyes.

  Augustin smacked his lips. "It is what you call _magnifique_!" he said."But," he shrugged his shoulders, "it is not possible!"

  "If the fog holds?"

  "But if it--what you call--lifts? What then, eh?"

  "Through how many storms have you ridden?" the Colonel answered. "Yetif the mast had gone?"

  "We had gone! _Vraiment!_

  "That did not keep you ashore."

  Augustin cogitated over this for a while. Then, "But we are eightonly," he objected. "Myself, nine."

  "And two are eleven," Colonel John replied.

  "We do not know the ground."

  "I do."

  The skipper shrugged his shoulders.

  "And they have treated you--but you know how they have treated you,"Colonel John went on, appealing to the lower motive.

  The group of seamen who stood about the door growled seamen's oaths.

  "There are things that seem hard," the Colonel continued, "and beingbegun, pouf! they are done while you think of them!"

  Captain Augustin of Bordeaux swelled out his breast. "That is true," hesaid. "I have done things like that."

  "Then do one more!"

  The skipper's eyes surveyed the men's faces. He caught the spark intheir eyes. "I will do it," he cried.

  "Good!" Colonel John cried. "The arms first!"