CHAPTER X.
THE BIRD AND THE FOWLER.
The three allies retired to Cassidy's chambers, to laugh at their easeover Lord Clare's discomfiture.
'Bedad! he's losing his nerve,' Cassidy asserted, as he poured a rubybumper down his throat. 'Did ye see how wild he aimed--like a gossoonthat had never blazed? Maybe he's of the same kidney as the spalpeenin the play who betune the sheets is frighted by the Banshees.'
'Richard the Third at Bosworth?' suggested Mr. Curran. 'If he gets hisdeserts the chancellor's death-bed will be a fearsome spectacle.'
'It must be an awful thing to have innocent blood upon yourconscience,' Terence mused. 'Yet how many are there among us now whosearms are steeped in it to the shoulder! Is it not strange thatconfessions of murder are nearly always of some single case? Wholesalemurderers don't seem to be so troubled. The heart must be callous, Isuppose, before it becomes capable of wholesale murder. HenceShakespeare was wrong as to his ghosts on Bosworth Field. Richardslept undisturbed the sleep of the infantine and just.'
Cassidy seized the bottle, and poured himself out another bumper. 'Ihate this city at night!' he said. 'Since General Lake's curfew order,it is like a sepulchre. I vow it's pleasant to hear the patrol, or thejolly sodger-boys returning home. What, Mr. Curran, are you off? Theseare ticklish times for night-journeys. Be not too venturesome. Betterstop here. Sure I'll be glad to give you hospitality till morning.'
'And leave my Primrose to fret alone at home? No, thank you. She'll bedying to hear how her favourite is going on. I must say I'm asrelieved as she can be that he should leave for England. Onehalf-fledged victim saved at any rate out of the nest from the maw ofMoiley.'
'What was Lord Clare talking of when I came up?' asked the giant,abruptly.
'He was advising this imprudent young gentleman to make for othershores,' grunted Curran, strapping on spatterdashes for his ride; 'andhe was right.'
'You know you don't think so in your heart,' Terence retorted. 'WithTom Emmett and others at Kilmainham, it is more necessary than everthat Cassidy here and I should be vigilant. We've put our hands to therudder, you know. We must summon hither some of the head men fromCork, at once. If Cassidy agrees with me, we'll write the lettersbefore morning. It is essential that the gaps in the central committeeshould be filled up.'
'Can't you see how you are playing into their hands? Poor flies, whosefeet stick in the web!' Curran sneered. 'You break from one mesh tocatch in the next. Each time you break away, the struggle becomesharder; because the spider gums his lines, and your legs are stickywith the gluten! Little by little, by small crafty hawls, theexecutive are draining the society of all its master-minds. When theyshall be safely snared; when no leaders with any pretension to worthare left, then they'll bring about a rising. The plan shows intimateknowledge of Irish nature capped by British phlegm. It's enough tomake a man with his wits about him pitch himself headlong down thenearest well.'
'We will be very prudent,' Terence said. 'Yet of what avail isprudence with secret sleuthhounds on our track?'
Honest Phil, who had been squatting in a corner on the floor, with hisgaze fixed upon his master, could bear this talk no longer.
'Faix! it's meeself that knows who 'tis. Ochone! sad's the day, I knowit,' he murmured in the voice of tribulation.
The three turned eagerly round. 'You know who 'tis!' they cried out inchorus.
Then Phil related all he knew of Biddy--interlarding the narrativewith many groans, in that the golden-tressed darling of his heartshould, by turning out such a shocking monster, seem to impugn histaste.
Cassidy emptied the claret bottle, then flung it on the ground in hisboisterous way--swearing, with ogrish snapping of the jaws, that he'dbe even with the traitress; that he would throttle her with his ownbig fingers.
Knitting his brows Mr. Curran walked up and down, his hands behind hisback. Terence stared at his henchman, bewildered by this new light.
After a pause Mr. Curran spoke. 'Phil's right and wrong,' he said.'The woman may have betrayed much. But now her teeth are drawn--that'sas regards the present, I mean. What a labyrinth it is! She may rakeup old stories of the past, of which "juries of the right sort" willmake the properest use--but she can tell nothing that has happenedsince the "Irish Slave" was burnt.'
'Her mother Jug Coyle's still living at the Little House,' Cassidysuggested; 'maybe she----'
'Impossible. We know now that after the destruction of the shebeenthis precious young lady went to live in barracks with the soldiers.'
'Murther! and I've kissed her often,' the giant sighed withcontrition, as though by that unlucky fact virtue must have gone outof him.
'Anyways,' added Terence, 'she could never have had a hand in thearrest at Cutpurse Row. Somebody supplied a list of delegates. Who wasit? It's terrible not to know!'
'Therein lies the hopelessness of the whole affair,' declared Mr.Curran, preparing to depart. 'Blindman's-buff's nothing to it. Withsuch wriggling in the grass it's simply putting honest heads into thewild beast's mouth for nothing. I won't say what I should think aboutit were circumstances otherwise. But as the wretched case stands, itwould be a great load off my mind, my dear boy, if you were out of the_bagarre_.'
Cassidy scrutinised the face of Terence narrowly, who wore a look ofmoody uncertainty. 'Councillor Curran's right,' he said at length.'Better show a clean pair of heels, and save your neck.'
The young man glanced up in anger, and the other smiled with agood-humoured nod.
'It was kind of Lord Clare,' Curran went on, walking hither andthither, much perturbed--'it certainly was kind of him to speak as hedid. Maybe he's not so bad as I think. If so, the Lord forgive me!That there should be a warrant for you ready signed is not surprising.Warrants are pretty nearly dead letters just now, but it would not doto kidnap the brother of Lord Glandore without proper authority; andthis secret foe that he spoke about is too sharp to do thingsunwarily. Once taken, your life's not worth a pin's fee with theStaghouse crew, ready to swear anything, and some one prepared todictate. Who have ye ever injured, Terence?--think.'
'My Lord Clare said all that!' exclaimed Cassidy, disconcerted.Plunging his hands deep in his breeches-pockets, he whistled 'TheSword' softly to himself, while an expression of concern puckered hisjolly lineaments.
'The hopes of the society will centre on you now,' the giant observedpresently. 'As it is, the peculiarity of the attitude ye have takenthese several months past, combined with your exalted rank, makes yourposition dangerous. The society'll look to you, now that Emmett andthe rest are gone. Though all my heart's with it, it's little real usemyself'll be, worse luck--I'm stupid. Theobald told me so. TomEmmett's often called me a blundering booby.'
This confession was made with such deprecating humility that Terencewas touched, and held out his hand.
'You wrong yourself,' he said. 'Cheer up. We'll stand by each other.But I'm not above taking good advice.'
'Ye'll go?' his two friends said, in different cadence.
'No, no!' replied Terence. 'That may not be. It's plain my duty'shere, and here I'll remain. But Emmett and the others were foolhardy;for the future I'll keep myself concealed. We'll knead together a newdirectory at once. A great responsibility has fallen on my shouldersfor which I am not fitted; yet I'll do my best, and play my part asothers do. It is possible, as you say, that the delegates will look upto me. They'll want to be kept together--no easy task. Would that MissWolfe were here to help!' he concluded, sighing.
A malignant shadow flitted across the giant's face, and faded. 'Hide!'he echoed, with a bluntness which sounded a little like a taunt.'Where can ye hide, and Sirr not find ye?'
'I'll go home to Strogue to-morrow, and then----'
'The first place they would go to if you were wanted,' objectedCurran.
'Only to look over some papers and destroy them. I know of a safeplace where they'll not find me.'
'Ah!' exclaimed the giant, with a
tinge of curiosity, 'and you'vepapers to destroy at Strogue?'
'Here is a scheme I've drawn out for the capture of Dublin. The lordsof the Privy Council----'
'Put it away!' roared the choleric little lawyer. 'Is it the back ofme ye want to see? I won't know these things, since I still wear theKing's silk gown, yet ye're for ever flourishing them under my nose!'
In a tantrum Mr. Curran departed, like a small snuff-scentedwhirlwind, accompanied by Phil, who went to fetch his horse.
Terence and Cassidy exchanged glances, and burst into peals oflaughter.
'What a character it is!' Cassidy declared, as he busied himself withthe brewing of cold punch--a grave matter, in which his companion toowas soon equally engrossed.
'A good brew,' Terence announced, presently, amid solemn silence.'We'll sit up all night, for there's much to be done. To-morrow Ishall vanish from the world--in the body.'
'It's curious that you should ever have turned Croppy, MasterTerence,' the giant mused, as with cuffs turned up he peeled thelemons. 'You--a member of the Englishry, who may become my LordGlandore to-morrow--fond as his lordship is of fighting. But then, ofcourse, ye'd change your politics. Sure your head'll come to be wortha big lot, if the rising doesn't succeed--a power of money, surelie!'
'But it _shall_ succeed!' returned Terence, cheerily, 'Then it will beour turn to offer rewards. What will Lord Clare be worth, think you?'
'He'll never fly,' asserted the giant, eyeing his punch with lazysatisfaction. 'When Ould Ireland's fought her fight and conquered,we'll find he's died game in the streets somewhere. His behaviour onthe Green to-night was quare, though--devilish quare!--It's absent inthe body ye say ye'll be?' he asked, after a pause; 'but present inthe spirit, I hope, for Erin's sake?'
'Never fear! One more glass of punch, and then to work. You thinkthe first place Sirr would look for me would be at Strogue? But if,seeing the danger, I had fled from Strogue? Where would he searchfor me then? In the liberties about St. Patrick's--the WicklowHills--anywhere but in the neighbourhood of Strogue. Yet noneighbourhood could be so convenient. Men go fishing there in littleboats, and may land from time to time without causing suspicion. Ifthere was an alarm, it would be strange if I could not conceal myselfamong the rocks, or get across to Ireland's Eye, and baffle pursuerssomehow till I was fetched away.'
'It's a pity, councillor, that the shebeen was burnt!'
'Better than the shebeen, old friend! Now I'll tell you a secret. Youcan keep a secret? Of course you can, for my sake and that of the goodcause. That old figure of fun, Mrs. Gillin--whom my mother hates, forsome odd reason--has, for some other odd reason, taken a fancy to me.That's funny, isn't it? She told me one day, that if ever I neededhelp which she could give, I might rely on her. Now where could Ibetter conceal myself than at the Little House? It's within easyaccess of Dublin. No one is aware that I even know her, for we haven'texchanged more than half a dozen words in our lives. Though she's aCatholic, her daughter isn't; and, being anxious to make that youngperson my Lady Glandore, she naturally is interested in thearistocratic party. At the same time she feels the position of herco-religionists. I've been credibly informed so. Isn't that a goodidea? Her place is in a manner sacred. She's a friend of all thejudges.'
Cassidy ruminated, and whistled a soft air.
'A capital idea indeed! Then ye'll disappear, and I'll not see ye,maybe, for months--that is, till the signal's given.'
'How so?'
'Madam Gillin and I aren't friends. She'd not like to see me hangingabout her doors. It wouldn't be prudent, neither. You'll be aftherplaying your big part while I play my little one. I'm right with theCastle people, as yourself knows well. Sirr likes me, so doesSecretary Cooke. I'll ingratiate myself still more wid 'em. When thesignal comes, maybe we might take the lord-lieutenant in his bed. It'sworth considering. Anyhow, I'd better seem cool with the society. Iwon't come to the Little House. Don't talk to her of me--'twould vexthe mistress.'
Terence trimmed the lamp, knitting his brows the while.
'I hardly like your intimacy with the Castle-folk,' he said. 'It seemsscarcely manly to worm out their secrets under a mask of friendship.'
Cassidy burst into one of his great laughs.
'Oh murther, Master Terence!' he cried, wiping the tears from hiseyes. 'Ye'll never win Erin's battles if ye're so lofty. We must fightmen wid their own weapons if we'd beat 'em. That's true generalship.They set their spies on us. We set ours on them. That's quits, I know,though I am a booby. Take your pen now. Here's a list of the countrydelegates: mark out who ye think'll be best, while I brew anotherbowl.'
'No more, Cassidy, my friend! Let's keep our heads clear forbusiness.'
'Be aisy! One more'll do neither of us harm.'
It was five o'clock before Terence was satisfied with his work. He hada task which was uncongenial to his habits, for he was more skilfulwith the rod or gun than with ink; and it was a matter of grievousslavery and toil to draw up a series of letters, such as shouldexplain clearly to the country leaders of the United Irishmen the fullbearing of the late disaster.
Tom Emmett, Neilson, Russell, Bond, were in duress. A temporaryarrangement must be come to, lest the French should arrive and findthe patriots chaotic. No time was to be lost, for they might appear atany moment, when it would be above all things needful that French andIrish should be prepared to act in concert without loss of time. He,the writer (old college-friend as they knew of the incarceratedleaders, late special envoy also to France), was willing to co-operatewith the rest in forming a provisional committee, etc., etc.
Wearied and worn out with the unaccustomed mental effort, he droppedthe pen at last from his stiffened fingers, and, wrapping hisriding-cloak around him, sank well-nigh at once into deep slumber;while Cassidy, instead of following so good an example, placed thebundle of letters in his long-flapped pocket, and stood for a minutelooking down upon the sleeper.
'The dark colleen may never be mine,' he muttered between his teeth,while he wagged his bullet-head; 'but she'll not be yours neither, myfine fellar!' Then, peering out into the silent street which waspaling wan in the early dawn, he stole forth on tiptoe, over the bodyof Phil, lying prostrate across the passage, and opening the doorstealthily, made the best of his way towards the Castle.
The day was half spent before Terence woke. The giant, who could turnhis hand to most things, washed and aglow with health, was busilypreparing breakfast: broiling steaks over a fire, fussing hither andthither as merry as a grig, assisted by Phil, who was kept on thebroad grin by his lively sallies.
'The commander-in-chief of the national army is taking it out ofMurphy while he can!' he roared in his jolly voice. 'Well, let himlie, God bless him! By-and-by it's little he'll see of Murphy--ridingabout all night along the ranks to encourage his troops for thebattle. What! awake, Master Terence? I've bin up this long while. Yourletters are on the road. I've tidied up the room, and opened sometipple for your meal. What'll I get from ye, gineral? Is it your_eu-de-shamp_ that ye'll be making me? It's glad I'll be of theoffice. I've bad news, though, for ye too. I met Sirr just now, whowas on the prowl. The French expedition's come to grief again! Nomather! we'll fight now for ourselves--bad luck to the mounseers, theyare chicken-hearted! That at least is the official news, arrived fromLondon a few hours ago.'
Terence rubbed his eyes and stared, unable on first awaking to realisesuch disastrous intelligence. Then he dipped his head in a basin ofwater which Phil presented to him, tidied his dress, combed out hislong hair, and caught it back with a ribbon in the accustomed manner.After that he set to work upon a luscious steak with the energy ofyouth, and washed it down with claret, while Cassidy, too, made prettyplay with knife and fork--both of them too preoccupied for speech.
Another French fiasco! How strangely fortune favoured England! Thistime the fleets had remained weather-bound, unable to start at alluntil the golden moments were gone--till opportunity had slid into thepast. It was too bad. Terence's blood boiled whilst he assuaged
histremendous appetite--so did Cassidy's, finding vent as usual in loudoaths and noisy execrations.
After breakfast the two shook hands and parted--when to meetagain?--when and how?--under what strangely altered auspices? It wasagreed that the members of the new Directory should communicate in thefirst instance with Terence, in person, somewhere on the shore nearthe Little House where he was to hide. The letters would speedilyreach their destinations, Cassidy assured him. This new turn of eventsmight induce Government to take active measures of some kind. Whatwould they do? Repent them of their evil ways and take to leniency,or, thinking they had their victim quite at their mercy, still furthergoad and harass her? What would Terence's private enemy do--he of whommy Lord Clare so mysteriously spoke?
With so many spies about, it was almost inevitable that the activepart that the young councillor was playing would become known toGovernment. Would they wink at this backsliding of an aristocrat--orwould they make an example of him by putting a heavy price upon hishead? Be that as it might, it would never do, in Cassidy's opinion,for him to share the fate of Emmett and the others. The giant wasvehement on this point. He must go into hiding forthwith, and employthe most extreme precautions lest Sirr should discover his lair.Cassidy, being known as his friend, would make a point of never takingthe air in that direction. He would hang about the Castleostentatiously, and report what he might have to say to some prominentmember of the society, who would take up his abode in Dublin. Indeedhe thought it would be wise to abuse the society in public--to declarethat once he had been seduced by specious argument into joining it,but that now he saw the error of his ways, and sang 'Peccavi.'
Much as he disliked his method, Terence was obliged to confess thatthe giant was right, and felt at the same time a small internalmarvelling in that he was really shrewd and rather astute--by no meansthe hopeless bungler that Emmett had considered him.
He took hearty leave of his friend, and, accompanied by Phil, made thebest of his way to Strogue. It was a gloomy place to live alone in, ashe had discovered since the departure of the family. Even hisbrother's sneers and his mother's coldness were better than thischilling solitude. He lived at this time in his own little chambers inthe 'young men's wing' under the armoury, gaining access to them byhis own private door, so that the Abbey was to all intents andpurposes shut up, being only inhabited by a few old retainers whodwelt away over the stable-yard at the other side of the house. To hisdismay his things had been disturbed--he detected the fact at once. Bywhom? How tiresome old family servants are! Disobeying orders, theywill rummage and clean by fits and starts, regardless of the havocthey innocently make. Then Terence remembered that neither old Kathynor her spouse, Tim the coachman, were more given to cleanliness thanIrish domestics usually are.
This must have been a sudden and most inconvenient gush of virtue! Hewould at once give Tim and Kathy a vigorous bit of his mind. Theyshould be convinced for ever after that obedience is the most cardinalof all the virtues as far as servants are concerned, standing indeedbefore cleanliness. They should shiver and quake in their shoes afterthe jobation their young master would administer. But instead ofquaking they both lifted up their voices and howled, swearing thatyoung masther was distraught. Go among his bits of things indeed! Notthey. Sorra a haporth of dusting had they done. Why should they, sincemaster agreed with them that it was waste of labour? Kathy had steppedin to make the bed, but finding it undisturbed, had stepped out againat once. Then somebody else must have been there. Who could have aninterest in the few scraps of property which were of no value at allexcept to their owner? The fishing-rods were overset--the cupboardshad been rifled--the precious collection of hackles (apple of Phil'seye) were strewn on the floor as if somebody had been in haste,searching for some special object which he could not find.
The owner of the treasures began to look grave. Who would steal histhings--things moreover which were not worth stealing? None of thepeasantry about. Irish peasants, though they will pick off their manblithely from behind a stone, are little given to petty pilfering.
Terence looked around, and his heart beat fast. Nothing had been takenexcept--his papers! Rough drafts of manifestoes, over which, in thehot zeal of youth, he had consumed the oil of midnight. Projects forthe capture of the gaols--rough plans; the very documents which, beingcompromising and not particularly useful, he had come hither todestroy. How silly and imprudent not to have destroyed them sooner!
Sirr for months past had been in the habit of making forcible entriesinto houses, on the chance of unearthing treason. What more likelythan that he should think of making a perquisition upon CouncillorCrosbie, who flaunted his opinions before the world in the outwardform of a green tabinet neckerchief? Fool--babyish dolt! Idiot! Everyone had spoken about that necktie. In a passion he tore it from histhroat, and hurled it out of the open window. Conduct more childishstill! The evil was done. Could it be remedied? His smooth foreheadpuckered itself into wrinkles as he strove to remember what the bundleof documents contained. Three forms of manifesto--to be printed andplacarded so soon as Dublin should be taken. The rules and regulationsof the society. A memorandum of prominent members--oh, horror! He knewhe had been suspected of treachery by some. This list, incautiouslykept, might bring about the death of many. Would he not be guilty, bygross carelessness, of their murder? Would they not have a right tocurse him as they swung?
For a while his spirit was invaded by the same rush of unworthinesswhich had so unnerved Tom Emmett when he was arrested. He too felt thebitter sense of upbraiding humiliation with which Tom had askedhimself what right had one, who was incapable of common prudence, totraffic thus rashly with the lives of other men? Do his duty! Was ithis duty to put himself forward in this affair, or was it merely aculpable personal vanity disguised as self-sacrifice? He stroveearnestly to settle that question--so earnestly that Phil, who watchedhim, was aghast at his distress, and endeavoured by humble barks andfrolicking: to cheer his master from the dumps. To no purpose. Withgrief be it admitted that his master cursed him roundly, abused himwith such unnecessary harshness that the poor fellow slunk away withtears in his eyes, under pretence of fetching the green kerchief. Bigdrops of sweat stood on the young man's brow. His brains had never inall his years been so tried as during the last few months. Only thoseusually unused to thought can tell of the dreadful addled feeling ofhelplessness which comes upon the muddled intellect during its firstfeeble struggles into work.
After a time he grew calmer, as the one bright point stood outdistinctly. It was not the vanity of power--the attribute ofJack-in-office, which had galvanised his careless nature into seriouspurpose. Look at it how he would, he was clearly above such meanness.He had no personal ambition--that was what Doreen had constantlydinned into his ears with scorn--and he had wished that, to pleaseher, he could have become ambitious. But it was out of the question.He liked the world--its bright sun, its flowers, its myriad life--butwith no desire for exclusive possession of its delights. He was notdiscontented with his lot, even though his brother was rude sometimes,and his mother cold and unaffectionate. His only troubles had been histrivial debts; they alone had stirred his brains to scheming, and hehad borne them good-humouredly as his share of the ills of life. Hethought Doreen bewitching--deliriously delightful. Her he would fainpossess as his own--his very own. There was nothing speciallyambitious in that; for the lowly sparrow, as well as the stately fowlof Cochin, is justified in seeking out a mate--the best who willaccept him. No; he was indolently, comfortably content to take theworld as he found it, making excuses for its bumps, palliating itsdisagreeables--until that time when his eyes had been opened as thoughscales had fallen from them. Since then he was an altered man; soberedby the shock of suddenly perceiving the precipice on which his countrystood. At first he had refused to gauge the depth of the abyss; it wasso much pleasanter to turn aside to dally with the flowers. Then theupright courage which had hitherto lain dormant spoke, bidding himmark Erin's loveliness--commanding him to stretch out his hand to stayher
tottering form, whispering sternly that if she fell before hiseyes without an effort made to save, the guilt of her shattered limbswould haunt him for evermore.
No! His conscience absolved him of personal ambition. If Erin weresaved through his agency he would be content to retire again into thebackground--well-paid by her grateful smile. His error had been great,because its consequences might be serious. But humanity is prone toerror. Youth must learn experience by stumbling. A man must expect toreceive many stabs who fights with a concealed enemy. He must practiseprudence, make no movement without exceeding caution; but at the bestwhat a disheartening conflict--what a one-sided fight!
Terence had received two blows this very day. France could not bedepended on for help. Twice within less than a year had she madeherself a laughing-stock. And now--this capture of his papers, which,if the foe were relentless, would compromise him hopelessly. It wasmore than ever needful to conceal himself, if his life were to be ofreal use before he laid it down. Trouble seasons the characterquickly. The young man was already beginning to calculate expediencieswith gravity and precision. If he was spared, time might make of him avaluable champion.
He whistled Phil, who came up fawning like a hound that is forgiven.
'Follow me. And whatever you do, keep your tongue within your teeth,'he said. Then calling Kathy, he flung to her the key of his littledoor, remarking that he was called to Cork on business, and might belong detained. If my lady should write (alas! she never wrote) theletters might wait.
Then, followed by his faithful henchman who shouldered his fire-ironas though meaning business, he turned out of the great gate up theby-lane which led, before meandering elsewhere, to the back-entranceof the Little House; rung the bell, and waited to see the mistress.
Madam Gillin answered it in person, bedizened in a weird wrapper, awisp of soiled crape wound over the curl-papers about her head andunder her chin like a cerecloth. Her sleeves were tucked up above theelbow. In her hand she bore a rolling-pin; her fingers wore a cuticleof dough. Expressing no surprise, she remarked simply:
'I expected you before this. There is no one in the house but myself,Norah, and the collough, my ould nurse. She's to be trusted. Ye'rewelcome, and your man. Come here, Norah; kiss your brother-in-law aswill be some day. You may kiss me too, for I mean to be youraunt-in-law. Look me in the eyes. A handsome fellar! I know more ofyou than ye'll ever know yourself, unless the Holy Mother wills it.Come in, for we may be watched; and bar the door.'
My Lords of Strogue, Vol. 2 (of 3) Page 10
