The Wild Geese

by Stanley John Weyman

  CHAPTER XVI

  THE MARPLOT

  If, after that, Colonel Sullivan's life had depended on his courage orthe vigilance of his servant, it is certain that, tried as was the oneand unwinking as was the other, Flavia's prophecy would have beenquickly fulfilled. He would not have seen another moon, perhaps hewould not have seen another dawn. The part which he had played in theevents at the Carraghalin was known to few; but the hundred tongues ofrumour were already abroad, carrying as many versions, and in all hewas the marplot. His traffic with the Old Fox had spirited away theHoly Father in God--whom the saints preserve!--and swept off also,probably on a broom-stick, the doughty champion whose sole desire itwas to lead the hosts of Ireland to victory. In the eyes of some tenscore persons, scattered over half a dozen leagues of country, wild,and beyond the pale of law--persons who valued an informer's life nohigher than a wolf's--he wore the ugly shape of one. And the logicalconsequence was certain. That the man who had done these things shouldcontinue to walk the sod, that the man who had these things on hisblack heretic conscience should continue to haunt the scene of hiscrimes and lord it over those whom his misdeeds had sullied, was to thecommon mind unthinkable--nay, incredible: a blot on God's good day. Toevery potato-setter who, out of the corner of his eye, watched hispassage, to every beggar by the road whose whine masked heart-feltcurses, to the very children who fell back from the cabin door toescape his evil eye, this was plain and known, and the man already asthe dead. For if the cotters by the lakeside were not men enough, thenights being at present moonlit, was there not Roaring Andy's band inthe hills, not seven miles away, who would cut any man's throat for asilver doubloon, and a Protestant's for the "trate it would be, andsorra a bit of pay at all, the good men!"

  Beyond doubt the Colonel's boldness, and the nerve which enabled him totake his place as if nothing threatened him, went for something; andfor something the sinister prestige which the disappearance ofO'Sullivan Og and his whole party cast about him. For there was wailingin the house by the jetty: the rising had cost some lives though nippedin the bud. The evening tide had cast the body of one of the men uponthe shore, where it had been found among the sea-wrack; and, though thefate of the others remained a mystery, the messenger who had sped afterOg with the counter-order told the story as he knew it. The means bywhich the two prisoners, in face of odds so great, had destroyed theircaptors, were still a secret; but the worst was feared. The Irish areever open to superstitious beliefs, and the man who singlehanded couldwreak such a vengeance, who poured death as it were from a horn, wenthis way by road and bog, shrouded in a gloomy fame that might provokethe bold, but kept the timid at bay. Before night it was known in adozen lonely cabins that the Colonel might be shot from behind witha silver bullet: or stabbed, if a man were bold enough, with across-handled knife, blest and sprinkled. But woe to him whose aimproved faulty or his hand uncertain! His chance in the grasp of theFather of ill, or of the mis-shapen Trolls, _revenants_ of a heathenrace, who yearly profaned the Carraghalin with their orgies, had notbeen worse!

  But this reputation alone, seeing that reckless spirits were notwanting, nor in the recesses of the hills those whose lives wereforfeit, would have availed him little if the protection of TheMcMurrough had not been cast over him. Why it was cast over him, sothat he went to and fro in safety--men scarcely dared to guess; it wasa dark thing into which it were ill to peer too closely. But the factwas certain; so certain that the anxiety of the young man that theColonel might meet with no hurt was plain and notorious, a thingobserved stealthily and with wonder. Did Colonel John saunter acrossthe court to the gateway, to look on the lake, The McMurrough was athis shoulder in a twinkling, and thence, with a haggard eye, searchedthe furze-bush for the glint of a gun-barrel, and the angle of the wallfor a lurking foe. It was the same if the Colonel, who seemed himselfunconscious of danger, fared as far as the ruined tower, or stretchedhis legs on the road by the shore. The McMurrough could not be too nearhim, walked with his hand on his arm, cast from time to time vigilantlooks to the rear. A score of times between rising and sleeping ColonelJohn smiled at the care that forewent his steps and covered hisretreat; nor perhaps had the contempt in which he held James McMurroughever reached a higher pitch than while he thus stood from hour to hourindebted to that young man for his life.

  What Uncle Ulick, if he held the key to the matter, thought of it, orhow he explained it, if he had not, did not appear; nor, certain thatthe big man would favour a course of action that made for peace, wasColonel John overcurious to know. But what Flavia thought of theposition was a point which aroused his most lively curiosity. He gaveher credit for feelings so deep and for a nature so downright, thattime-serving or paltering were the last faults he looked to find inher. He could hardly believe that she would consent to sit at meat withhim after what had happened; and possibly--for men are strange, and themotives of the best are mixed--a desire to see how she would behave andhow she would bear herself in the circumstances had something to dowith the course he was taking.

  That she consented to the plan was soon made clear. She even took partin it. James could not be always at his elbow. The young man mustsometimes retire, it might be to vent his spleen in curses he dared notutter openly, it might be to take other measures for his safety. Whenthis happened, the girl took her brother's place, stooped to dog theColonel's footsteps, and for a day or two, while the danger hung mostimminent, and every ditch to James's fancy held a lurking foe, cast themantle of her presence over the man she hated.

  But stoop as she might, she never for a moment stooped to mask herhate. In her incomings and her outgoings, in her risings-up and attable with him, every movement of her body, the carriage of her head,the glance of her eye, showed that she despised him; that she who nowsuffered him was the same woman who had struck at his life, and,failing, repented only the failure. In all she did, in parleying withhim, in bearing with his presence, in suffering his gaze, she made itplain that she did it against her will; as the captive endures perforcethe company of the brigand in whose power he lies, but whom, whenopportunity offers, he will deliver with avidity to the cord or thegarotte. Because she must, and for her brother's sake, for the sake ofhis name and pride and home, she was willing to do this, though sheabhorred it; and though every time that she broke bread with theintruder, met his eyes, or breathed the air that he breathed, she toldherself that it was intolerable, that it must end.

  Once or twice, feeling the humiliation more than she could bear, shedeclared to her brother that the man must go. "Let him go!" she cried,in uncontrollable excitement. "Let him go!"

  "But he will not be going, Flavvy."

  "He must go!" she replied.

  "And Morristown his?" James would answer. "Ye are forgetting! Over andabove that, he's not one to do my bidding, nor yours!"

  That was true. He would not go; he persisted in remaining and beingmaster. But it was not there the difficulty lay. If he had not made awill before he came, a will that doubtless set the property of thefamily for ever beyond James's reach, the thing had been simple andColonel John's shrift had been short. But now, to rid the earth of himwas to place the power in the hands of an unknown person, a stranger,an alien, for whom the ties of family and honour would have nostringency. True, the law was weak in Kerry. A writ was one thing, andpossession another. Whatever right a stranger might gain, it could onlybe with difficulty and after the lapse of years that he would make itgood against the old family, or plant those about him who would ensurehis safety. But it did not do to depend on this. Within the lastgeneration, the McCarthys, a clan more powerful than the McMurroughs,had been driven from the greater part of their lands; and on every sideEnglish settlers were impinging on the old Irish families. A bold manmight indeed keep the forces of law at bay for a time; but JamesMcMurrough, notwithstanding the folly into which he had been led, wasno desperado. He had no desire to live with a rope round his neck, toflee to the bog on the least alarm, and, in the issue, to give his nameto an Irish Glencoe.


  A stranger position it had been hard to conceive; or one morehumiliating to a proud and untamed spirit such as Flavia's. Whatarguments, what prayers, what threats The McMurrough used to bring herto it, Colonel Sullivan could not guess. But though she consented, hershame, her resentment, her hostility, were so patent that the effectwas to pair off Colonel John and herself, to pit them one against theother, to match them one to one. The McMurrough, supple and insincere,found little difficulty in subduing his temper to his interests, thoughnow and again his churlishness broke out. For Uncle Ulick, his habitwas to be easy and to bid others be easy; the dawn and dark of a dayreconciled him to most things. The O'Beirnes, sullen and distrustful,were still glad to escape present peril. Looking for a better time tocome, they took their orders, helped to shield the common enemy,supposed it policy, and felt no shame. Flavia alone, in presence of theman who had announced that he meant to be master, writhed in helplessrevolt, swore that he should never be her master, swore that whoeverbowed the head she never would.

  And Colonel Sullivan, seated, apparently at his ease, on the steep lapof danger, found that this hostility and the hostile person held histhoughts. A man may be an enthusiast in the cause of duty, he may haveplucked from the hideous slough of war the rare blue flower ofloving-kindness, he may in the strength of his convictions seemsufficient to himself; he will still feel a craving for sympathy.Colonel Sullivan was no exception. He found his thoughts dwelling onthe one untamable person, on the one enemy who would not stoop, andwhose submission seemed valuable. The others took up, in a greater orless degree, the positions he assigned to them, gave him lip-service,pretended that they were as they had been, and he as he had been. Shedid not; she would not.

  Presently he discovered with surprise that her attitude rendered himunhappy. Secure in his sense of right, certain that he was acting forthe best, looking from a height of experience on that lowland in whichshe toiled forward, following will-of-the-wisps, he should have beenindifferent. But he was not indifferent.

  Meantime, she believed that there was no length to which she would notgo against him; she fancied that there was no weapon which she wouldnot stoop to pick up if it would hurt him. And presently she was tried.A week had passed since the great fiasco. Again it was the eve ofSunday, and in the usual course of things a priest would appear tocelebrate mass on the following day. This risk James was now unwillingto run. His fears painted that as dangerous which had been done safelySunday by Sunday for years; and in a hang-dog, hesitating way, he letFlavia know his doubts.

  "Devil take me if I think he'll suffer it!" he said, kicking up theturf with his toe. They were standing together by the waterside, Flaviarebelling against the consciousness that it was only outside their ownwalls that they could talk freely. "May be," he continued, "it will bebest to let Father O'Hara know--to let be for a week or two."

  The girl turned upon him, in passionate reprehension. "Why?" she cried,"Why?"

  "Why, is it you're asking?" James answered sullenly. "Well, isn't hemaster for the time, bad luck to him! And if he thinks we're beginningto draw the boys together, he'll maybe put his foot down! And I'drather be stopping it myself, I'm telling you, and it's the truth, too,just for a week or two, Flavvy, than be bidden by him."

  "Never!" she cried.

  "But----"

  "Never! Never! Never!" she repeated firmly. "Let us turn our back onour king by all means! But on our God, no! Let him do his worst!"

  He was ashamed to persist, and he took another line. "I'm thinking ofO'Hara," he said. "It'll be four walls for him, or worse, if he'staken."

  "There's no one will be taking him," she answered steadfastly.

  "But if he is?"

  "I'm saying there's no one will be taking him."

  James felt himself repulsed. He shrugged his shoulders and was silent.Presently, "Flavvy," he said in a low tone, "I've a notion, my girl.And it'll serve, I'm thinking. This can't be lasting."

  She looked at him without much hope.

  "Well?" she said coldly. She had begun to find him out.

  He looked at her cunningly. "We might put the boot on the other leg,"he said. "He's for informing. But what if we inform, my girl? It's thefirst in the field that's believed. He's his tale of the Spanish ship,and you know who. But what if we tell it first, and say that he camewith them and stayed behind to get us to move? Who's to say he didn'tland from the Spaniard, if we're all in a tale? And faith, he's nofriend here nor one that will open his mouth for him. A word at Traleewill do it, and Luke Asgill has friends there, that will be glad to setthe ball rolling at his bidding. Once clapped up John Sullivan may_squeal_, he'll not be the one to be believed, but those that put himthere. It'll be no more than to swear an information, and Luke Asgillwill do the rest."

  Flavia shuddered. "They won't take his life?" she asked.

  James frowned. "That would not suit us at all," he said. "Not at all!We could do that for ourselves. Faith," with a sudden laugh, "youdidn't lack much of doing it, Flavvy! No; but a stone box and a ringround his leg, and four walls to talk to--until such time as we have ause for him, would be mighty convenient for everybody. He'd haveleisure to think of his dear relations, and of the neat way heoutwitted them, the clever devil! But for taking his life--I'm seeingmy way there too," with a grin--"it was naming his dear relations mademe think of it. They'd not bear to be informing without surety for hislife, to be sure! No!" with a chuckle. "And very creditable to them!"

  Flavia stared across the water. She was very pale.

  "We'll be wanting one or two to swear to it," he continued, "and therest to be silent. Sorra a bit of difficulty will there be about it!"

  "But if," she said slowly, "he gets the first word? And tells thetruth?"

  "The truth?" James McMurrough replied scornfully. "The truth is whatwe'll make it! I'll see to that, my jewel."

  She shivered. "Still," she said, "it will not be truth."

  "What matter?" James answered. "It will cook his goose. Curse him," hecontinued with violence, "what right had he to come here and thrusthimself into other folks' affairs?"

  "I could have killed him," she said. "But----"

  "But you can't," he rejoined. "And you know why."

  "But this"--she continued with a shudder, "this is different."

  "What will you be after?" he cried impatiently. "You are not turningsheep-hearted at this time of day?"

  "I am not sheep-hearted."

  "What is it then, my girl?"

  "I can't do this," she said. She was still very pale. Something hadcome close to her, had touched her, that had never approached her sonearly before.

  He stared at her. "But he'll have his life," he said.

  "It's not that," she answered slowly. "It's the way. I can't!" sherepeated. "I've tried, and I can't! It sickens me."

  "And he's to do what he likes with us?" James cried.

  "No, no!"

  "And we're not to touch him without our gloves?"

  She did not answer, and twice her brother repeated the taunt--twiceasked her, with a confidence he did not feel, what was the matter withthe plan. At last, "It's too vile!" she cried passionately. "It's toohorrible! It's to sink to what he is, and worse!" Her voice trembledwith the intensity of her feelings--as a man, who has scaled a giddyheight without faltering, sometimes trembles when he reaches the solidground. "Worse!" she repeated.

  To relieve his feelings, perhaps to hide his shame, he cursed his enemyanew. And "I wish I had never told you!" he added bitterly.

  "It's too late now," she replied.

  "Asgill could have managed it, and no one the wiser!"

  "I believe you!" she replied quickly. "But not you! Don't do it,James," she repeated, laying her hand on his arm and speaking withsudden heat. "Don't you do it! Don't!"

  "And we're to let the worst happen," he retorted, "and O'Hara perhapsbe seized----"

  "God forbid!"

  "That's rubbish! And this man be seized, and that man, as he pleases!We're to let him rule over us, a
nd we're to be good boys whateverhappens, and serve King George and turn Protestants, every man of us!"

  "God forbid!" she repeated strenuously.

  "As well turn," he retorted, "if we are to live slaves all our days! ByHeaven, Cammock was right when he said that he would let no woman knita halter for his throat!"

  She did not ask him who had been the life and soul of the movement,whose enthusiasm had set it going, and whose steadfastness maintainedit. She did not say that whatever the folly of the enterprise, andhowever ludicrous its failure, she had gone into it whole-hearted, andwith one end in view. She did not tell him that the issue was a hundredtimes more grievous and more galling to her than to him. Her eyes werebeginning to be opened to his failings, she was beginning to see thatall men did not override their womenfolk, or treat them roughly. Butthe habit of giving way to him was still strong; and when, with anothervolley of harsh, contemptuous words, he flung away from her, though herlast interjection was a prayer to him to refrain, she blamed herselfrather than him.

  Now that she was alone, too, the priest's safety weighed on her mind.If Colonel John betrayed him, she would never forgive herself.Certainly it was unlikely he would; for in that part priests movedfreely, the authorities winked at their presence, and it was onlywithin sight of the walls of Tralee or of Galway that the law whichproscribed them was enforced. But her experience of ColonelSullivan--of his activity, his determination, his devilishadroitness--made all things seem possible. He had been firm as fate inthe removal of the Bishop and Cammock; he had been turned no jot fromhis purpose by her prayers, her rage, her ineffectual struggles--shesickened at the remembrance of that moment. He was capable ofeverything, this man who had come suddenly into their lives out of thedarkness of far Scandinavia, himself dark and inscrutable. He wascapable of everything, and if he thought fit--but at that point hereyes alighted on a man who was approaching along the lake-road. It wasFather O'Hara himself. The priest was advancing as calmly and openly asif no law made his presence a felony, or as if no Protestant breathedthe soft Irish air for a dozen leagues about.

  Her brother's words had shaken Flavia's nerves. She was courageous, butshe was a woman. She flew to meet the priest, and with every step hisperil loomed larger before her fluttered spirits. The wretch had saidthat he would be master, and a master who was a Protestant, afanatic----

  She did not follow the thought to its conclusion. She waved a warningeven before she reached the Father. When she did, "Father!" she criedeagerly, "you must get away, and come back after dark!"

  The good man's jaw fell. He had been looking forward to good cheer anda good bed, to a rare oasis of comfort in his squalid life. He cast awary look round him. "What has happened, my daughter?" he stammered.

  "Colonel Sullivan!" Flavia gasped. "He is here, and he will certainlygive you up."

  "Colonel Sullivan?"

  "Yes. You were at the Carraghalin? You have heard what happened! Hewill surely give you up!"

  "Are the soldiers here?" the priest asked, with a blanched face.

  "No, but he is here! He is in the house, and may come out at anymoment," Flavia explained. "Don't you understand?"

  "Did he tell you----"

  "What?"

  "That he would inform?"

  "No!" Flavia replied, thinking the man very dull. "But you wouldn'ttrust him?"

  The priest looked round to assure himself that the landscape held noovert signs of danger. Then he brought back his eyes to the girl'sface, and he stroked his thin, brown cheek reflectively. He recalledthe scene in the bog, Colonel John's courage, and his thought for hisservant. And at last, "I am not thinking," he said coolly, "that hewill betray me. I am sure--I think I am sure," he continued, correctinghimself, "that he will not. He is a heretic, but he is a good man."

  Flavia's cheek flamed. She started back. "A good man!" she cried in avoice audible half a hundred yards away.

  Father O'Hara looked a little ashamed of himself; but he stood by hisguns. "A heretic, of course," he said. "But, I'm thinking, a good man.At any rate, I'm not believing that he will inform against me."

  As quickly as it had come, the colour fled from Flavia's face, and leftit cold and hard. She looked at the priest as she had never looked at apriest of her Church before. "You must take your own course then," shesaid. And with a gesture which he did not understand she turned fromhim, and leaving him, puzzled and disconcerted, she went away into thehouse.

  A good man! Heaven and earth and the sea besides! A good man! FatherO'Hara was a fool! A fool!