CHAPTER X.
CONSIGNED TO MOILEY.
When the fatal moment arrived, Dublin was agog. The influence of thelords, so dearly purchased, was brought to bear with all its forceupon the members, for whose return to parliament they wereresponsible. Jupiter was showering gold on Danae, resolved toconsummate the sacrifice of her virtue. Debate followed debate withunequal success. First one side considered that the day was theirs;then the other triumphed; then the pistol-heroes rushed forth, andhowled and swaggered, and pinked their men, and returned to go on withthe argument which had been dropped in their excitement. In fact, bothparties seemed agreed as to one point only, viz., their determinationto behave in as undignified a manner as might be. It was the old storyof physical bullying doing its best to conceal moral cowardice andturpitude--a scene of hectoring and license and vulgar abuse anduproar, which shamed both parties in equal measure.
Lord Cornwallis had done his best. In the course of the year whichelapsed between the two attempts to carry the union he made two stateprogresses--one in the southern counties and the other in the north,and preached the millennium according to St. Pitt. Clare andCastlereagh both laboured on in town as sure no negro slaves everlaboured; and yet when the time came all was still provokinglyuncertain. This Irish senate was unutterably vile. Having surrenderedits scrap of virtue, it repudiated, like an irreclaimable strumpet,even the maxim of honour amongst thieves. It was clear that further.delay would only make matters worse by inducing senators to open theirmouths yet wider. Portentous debates occupied the Commons; the Housefrequently sat all night, breaking up only at midday. Members declaredthat they must give up the ghost or have a holiday; some sought refugeamong pillows and boluses from the Herculean labours of the House,while others dragged themselves, like martyrs to the stake, throughthe dense masses of the populace that had taken possession of CollegeGreen, to cheer non-unionists with vociferous shouts, and hurl mud andputrid eggs at unpopular legislators. On Lord Castlereagh fell theonus of wielding the thunderbolts of Jove, and he acquitted himself ofthe task most excellently. Like the chancellor, he had the 'gift ofthe gab;' was not particular as to the language he employed; was wellversed in forensic Billingsgate; could return anyone, in sledge-hammerfashion, a Roland for his Oliver. The modest were overwhelmed byflights of astounding rhapsody; the patriotic silenced by brazen lies;the uncertain routed by bewildering irony. As the dogmatic chancellor(now that he no longer feared the Viceroy) trampled the peerage underhis feet, so did the clever chief secretary discomfit the Commons.Money was poured forth lavishly; threats and promises were distributedwith profuse hands. The tussle was sharp, but none could doubt whichside would in the end prove victorious. Concerning Grattan (the man of'82), Lord Cornwallis wrote that he was no better than an old doll.The jaws of the ancient lion were toothless. 'Grattan,' he said,'degraded as he is in the opinion of the respectable portion of thecommunity, yet has a certain influence with the Roman Catholics ofDublin, who are disaffected, and hate British connection.' Of Curranalso he felt no dread, for the little man was no longer inparliament--his silver tongue was gagged; he was apparently worn outby his efforts on behalf of the state-prisoners--was sickening (as heput it) with a 'constitutional dejection of the heart, which couldfind no remedy in water or in wine.' No wonder if he felt unwell. Hesaw members moved, like beasts, in droves--a picture of humandegradation never equalled since Nebuchadnezzar went to grass.
Practically the question was already settled long before young Robertlooked out for the running up of the new flag. Not but what the Dublinpopulace were quite prepared for riot. They seized private carriagesand tossed them into the Liffey; marched about with politicaleffigies, and danced round the bonfires which consumed them. All thiswas very harmless vapouring in the eyes of those who yet heard theshrieks of the victims of '98--yet saw the Reign of Terror, with itspitch-caps, its cardings, its picketings, and triangles. No one tookheed of the street mobs, even though my Lord Clare himself, in hiscarelessness, came once quite near to danger. It was on the morning ofone of the last struggles. The debate had lasted, without a pause, foreighteen hours, and the members were wearily dispersing, when thecrowd manifested a desire to 'shilloo' the speaker, who had behavedwith refreshing patriotism. His horses were taken from his carriage, ahundred men dashed forward to seize the pole. At this moment the lordchancellor appeared upon the steps, with insolent chin in air, dressedin his great flapped wig and rustling laced robes. 'Harness him to thecarriage!' cried a wag. My Lord Clare started round with an indignantreprimand; but perceiving from his vantage-ground a sea of some tenthousand threatening heads, he retreated backwards with caution, as acountryman might do before a bull, flourishing a toy-pistol in hishand, with which he swore to blow out the brains of the first man whocame within six paces of him. The extraordinary pageant moved slowlyalong; so singular a spectacle that it tickled the humorous side ofthe Hibernian character--the lord chancellor of Ireland walkingbackwards through the mud, holding up his robes with one hand lest heshould trip over them, pointing with the other a tiny firearm at tenthousand enemies. Sure, this alone was a glorious triumph for KingMob. Choosing his moment, he whisked with a swift dash into a house,the door of which withstood the battering of myriad kicks until LordClare made good his escape by a back way. But there were mobs andmobs, in Dublin as elsewhere. This one happened to be a good-temperedmob, for the patriotic speaker had gained a point that day. But therewere other mobs abroad made up of desperate men--of men whose skinsbore the scars of the Riding-school, whose hearths were desolate,whose homes were bereft of dear ones. It was to these, and such asthese, whom no jests could soften, that young Robert looked for therealisation of his dream. His natural fear of bloodshed was washedaway by the woes that had been the portion of his friends. He clung tothe notion that the mantle of Theobald had fallen on his shoulders;that as Moses was forbidden to enter the Promised Land, so, for someDivine reason, Theobald was punished; and that he, Robert, was to playthe part of Joshua. His green uniform failed to please him. A new onewas designed--gorgeous--of scarlet, faced with green and laced withgold. He tried it on in secret before a glass, and minced hither andthither to see what the figure would look like that was to storm theCastle and kill Cornwallis in his bed. Yet, for all these childishpranks, none could be more earnest than he, or more genuinely preparedto do or die. The hordes of banditti which still infested Wicklow weretaken into partnership. On the signal of a rocket they were to rush totheir posts. Some were to seize the desecrated Senate-house; others toattack Chapelizod; others to secure important streets. Young Robertreserved to himself and a selected band of braves the sacred right ofstorming the Castle and pulling down the objectionable ensign.
To one only of his friends did he confide a vague suspicion of hisintentions as they approached maturity. That one was gentle Sara, whomhe bound by awful oaths, though she was in nowise fitted for aheroine, to divulge nothing of what she knew, but to keep her chamber,and pray there for his success. The poor child knelt by her virginbed, and prayed and wept with terrible forebodings. Truth to tell, hetold her very little. What was this venture which was to produce suchmarvels? What means could he employ to prevent the parliament fromvoting. Would he come to stand in the dock as so many had done whowere now at rest? No. By Divine mercy he had been kept in Englandduring the awful agony--had been specially preserved from peril. Itcould not have been in sport that the beloved undergraduate had beenwithheld from temptation--merely to be dashed down at last, when thetide of bloodshed was stemmed? No, no! Sara, with scared eyes, sweptthe ripples of flaxen hair from off her pure girlish brow, and rebukedherself for want of trustful faith as she folded her hands togetherand tried to pray. But her mind wandered. She could not help seeing inmemory the distracted gestures of the trail of widows--of the wiveswho were worse than widows, for their husbands languished in lifelongduress. Who was she that she might hope to fare better than they? Shewas a feeble girl, who loved her father and her lover, a
nd had no roomin her being for more than that. If any evil befel Robert, what wouldbecome of her? Could she hope to rally? She was not one of those whobend before a storm and rise again but little the worse for buffeting.She was one of the sensitive sort, who may linger for a brief spaceperhaps before they wither. Even strong, haughty-browed Doreen wasbroken by what she had passed through. What if Sara were likewisesummoned at the last moment to pass under the yoke? She would succumbat once. She prayed for help, and implored mercy with the desperateenergy of a young creature who clings to the sweets of life, whiletears rained down her cheeks. Doreen, looking for her by-and-by, foundthe maid lying on the floor asleep, and sobbing as she slept, withreddened lids and trembling baby lips. What was it that ailed her?Doreen inquired tenderly. Silly chit! to allow a dream to vex herthus. Sara said 'Yes, it was a dream;' and sent a prayer to heaventhat an idle dream--no more--the fearsome vision might prove to be.
Doreen went upstairs to seek her friend, because the shadow of troublestill hung over the inmates of Strogue Abbey, and at the best it wasnot a gay house to be alone in. Now solitude reigned in itsreception-rooms, for Curran shut himself in his chamber to forget theimpending union; Shane was madly rollicking in Dublin; Terence haddisappeared, and my lady had taken to her bed.
Yes, Terence had disappeared; none knew how or whither. Shaneprofessed bitter anger, and cried out about family disgrace, till, onmeeting the calm eye of Miss Wolfe fixed on him, he stammered and wassilent. As for her, she knew not what to think. Perceiving hismother's grief, had he, in his chivalry, withdrawn himself, lest hispresence should add poignancy to it? But how about the breaking of hisparole? Sure, he was too honourable a man to do such a thing! She wentand took counsel of Madam Gillin, who scratched her head and lookedserious. This was a trick of Cassidy's--of that she felt quitecertain, for that worthy had shown private spite in the way he hadtried to run the young man down before. Yet what could be his objectnow? She soothed Doreen's anxiety as much as possible, affectingherself to be quite comfortable on the subject; but privately resolvedto make another attack upon the chancellor as soon as his mind wasfree about the union, if the vanished one did not return. So Doreenwaited in suspense, tending her aunt, who seemed very ill, and heryoung friend, who was singularly disturbed and wretched; while Mr.Curran moped, and the Abbey was as gloomy as a sepulchre.
Soon the one engrossing subject occupied every mind, to the exclusion,for the moment, of all others. A mob, by no means so good-tempered asthat which had pursued Lord Clare, gathered about the House at thesecond reading of the bill, and assumed so threatening an attitudethat the military were called out, who fired a volley among thepeople, and so dispersed them. Strange beacons were seen at night uponthe Wicklow Hills. Rumour whispered that something was afoot. Timidpeople wished that the crisis was well over. Major Sirr and his lambsmade a raid on a certain house, where they found a hundred bottlesfilled with powder, several bushels of musket-balls, meshes of towmixed with tar and gunpowder, a large quantity of pikes. Of these theytook quiet possession, and drove away, without seeking to follow thematter up. Did this point to a new conspiracy? M.P.s asked each other.How deeply laid was it? By whom organised? Why had no arrests followedthe discovery of the stores? Rumour said that the ill-conditionedbrother of Lord Glandore was plotting again; that he had broken hisparole, notwithstanding the extreme kindness with which he had beentreated. Well, well! Some folks were born to the halter--as some areto the purple, and others to misfortune. The sooner the great measurewas carried, and the fate of Ireland decided, the better it would befor all parties. So said the members, as for the last time theystrolled under the shadow of the Senate-house.
That last day was one of breathless excitement. All knew that theaffair was settled; yet they waited, as if in expectation of amiracle. False reports flew hither and thither in distracting numbers.Messengers rode out with bulletins hour by hour to Strogue and otherimportant country places, where fine ladies waited. Lord Clare, takinga lesson from his recent predicament, surrounded the House withcavalry. Foot-soldiers, with matches burning, lined the colonnades. Nodemonstration of popular feeling was permitted. Those who were aboutto cancel the national charter were well protected; yet seemed theyill at ease. Many anti-unionists, seeing how hopeless was the case,withdrew with sad looks before the third reading of the bill; others,urged by a morbid curiosity, waited for the curtain's drop. Thelobbies were crammed; the galleries crowded. A monotonous murmur ranalong the benches. Some were ashamed, some shameless, some--toolate--sorrow-smitten. Among the latter was Lord Kilwarden, whodespatched a courier to his daughter to say that he would stop to thelast.
So the hours waned, and it was night ere Doreen's father arrived atStrogue. He was deeply, miserably dejected. So much so, that hisdaughter marvelled at him.
'It's all over!' he cried, in indignation mingled with contrition.'The men who forgot their country have slain _her_, that she may notsurvive to remember _them_. The slave's collar has been slippedon--its lock snapped to for ever! But there's something yet to come. Ihave a hint from Clare that there will probably be more troubleto-morrow. Glandore told me the same thing just now, who has it, hesays, from the Staghouse people, who are sure to know. Lord Cornwalliswill have taken his measures, doubtless, for as a soldier he is abovepraise. I have business with him to-morrow, so we had better return atonce to Dublin.'
'Now?' Doreen said, in wonder.
'You are not afraid?' her father asked, with a weak smile. 'My coachis below. Its liveries are well known. No one would harm me, thankHeaven!'
Afraid? Doreen was not given to physical fear. Then her fatherexplained that Shane was coming home, and with him Cassidy and somemore choice spirits, who were to close the lower rooms of the Abbeyand remain on the defensive, lest the anti-unionists should attemptrevenge.
'You will be equally safe here or in Dublin, dear,' Lord Kilwardensaid. 'But I seem to think that you would prefer my company to that ofcousin Shane.'
Locked up with Shane--and Cassidy! No, indeed. Knowing what she knew,that would be too dreadful. Thanking her father with a look, shefetched a shawl, kissed pale Sara, and, bidding her be of good cheer,for the Abbey would be well protected, climbed into the coach, whichstarted forthwith for Dublin.
'If Glandore is cautious, so will we be,' remarked Lord Kilwarden,with an attempt at cheerfulness. 'Wanderers may be hanging about thehigh-road, waiting for a signal in the morning. See, the beacons areall alight along the hilltops! Do they not remind you of the time--notso long ago--when we were expecting a French invasion? I trust theViceroy has been warned, for he does not comprehend our mercurialtemperament, and Sirr's people are strangely apathetic. A new regimehas begun to-night, my love, which I hope may in time bring peace toour distracted land. My vote went for union, for I know that we areunstable, but excellent if wisely controlled. The Scotch, you willremember, hated their union at first. England has her way at last, soher rule will soften, and Erin will be at peace. I know you are tooIrish to agree with me, Doreen. The young are always apt to judgehastily of their elders, without considering that the gulf thatdivides them is one of experience as well as years.'
It was seldom that Lord Kilwarden became expansive on this delicatesubject with his daughter. Even between those who love each othermuch, there are subjects that are best left alone. But he wasloquacious this evening, seeming anxious to deprecate a harsh verdicton her part. His recent emotion set loose his tongue, and he chattedsoftly on, explaining his motives and his views--he who was usually sosilent and reserved--as the coach rumbled over the rough by-road,which led to the capital by a circuitous route.
When its wheels died away in the distance, Sara sat down to meditate.Robert, then, who had spoken in parables, was planning something whichwould place him in peril. Perhaps she would look on him no more. Shetried to realise what that would mean for her. During the months whenhe was in England she was glad not to see him, looking forward to ahappier day when he would be all hers, as side by side and hand inhand they would strol
l down the hill's shadowed side to the churchyardat its base. She had often wondered which of them would first besummoned hence--picturing a cosy hearth with two aged figures in thechimney-corner, who, their career over, were awaiting a release. Onsuch occasions she had always decided that they would be so old--soold--that a day or two only could possibly intervene between theirflitting. After clinging so closely one to the other, in joy andsorrow, through a prolonged probation, but a brief space could keepthe pair asunder ere they were joined again for all eternity. So hadthe simple damsel dreamed, and had been happy in her castle-building,withdrawing her mind to the love-labour of that delicious task, fromthe tragic scenes in which she wandered--in them, not of them--likeone in a mesmeric trance. But now, in the oppressive stillness, shesat resolutely down to look upon herself as a possible actor in thetragedy; to look for her own image among the troop of women whoimportuned Heaven to call them hence. She tried to think of herself asshe had seen the widows whilst gazing on their swinging husbands--asshe had seen the mothers--stony, tearless, with their murdered sonsacross their knees. But it was not possible. There are situations soopposed to the order of things that we cannot realise them. Her mind'sretina declined to accept the image--threw it back again as onecontrary to nature; and yet it was all but certain that Robert--thesensitive, the ardent, the enthusiastic--had deliberately placed hisfoot upon the bridge of stars which conducts by a track of light tothe Walhalla--which leads by the rugged path of torment and ofmartyrdom to the platform of immortality. She strove, with all theresolution she could muster, to conjure up the dreadful picture,but succeeded only in making her head spin round. Taking up ataper--nervous by reason of the silence of night and her lugubriousmental exercise--she thought she would pay a visit to her father, andlook in at my lady's door to announce Doreen's abrupt departure, andprepare the invalid for the noisy coming of Shane and of his guests.
She moved through the chintz sitting-room--past the dark staircase,grim in the flicker of her candle with the panoplies of swords andantique armour--into the great hall with its black oak panels, and wasturning to the left, where a rise of a few sculptured steps led intomy lady's bedchamber, when her attention was arrested by a noise. Whatwas that? A hum and subdued clatter--growing louder--louder--as itapproached. It must be Shane and his convoy--many horsemen, judging bythe sound. Was the danger then so pressing? Her heart beat fast. Theywould bring certain news, that was some comfort; anything was betterthan lying on this rack.
Yes, it was Shane's party. There was a ring of many hoofs as theriders wheeled round the turn of the avenue on the crisp gravel underthe ancient archway into the stable-yard. Shane's voice could beplainly detected adjuring his guests to abstain from needless noise,since the countess lay ill. Leaving their horses there, they cameround to the front on foot, where Sara met them, unbarring the doorherself, an apparition of innocence against the background of thatgloomy hall. There was Shane, somewhat the worse for liquor, flushedand wild, his hair unribboned, his boots caked thick with mud; andCassidy smart and neat in a riding-coat, with capes of many colours,and a high-peaked hat of silvery beaver--wondrous fine; and half adozen followers, evidently not of gentle birth, who bowed withservility to the young lady and sidled cringing along the wall.
The vision of Sara surprised them not a little. 'This was not properin ticklish times,' Cassidy cried out, after the authoritative mannerof a parent. 'Young ladies should not open doors alone at night.How did she know that the party were not Croppies, intent onmurder--villainous rapscallions who ought to be strung up, every manjack of 'em? There were hosts of such about. What was Miss Wolfethinking of--she who had a head upon her shoulders--to permit of suchimprudence?'
'Where were the servants?' Shane shouted, forgetful of his mother'shealth. 'Wine, wine! at once; and beds for these honest gentlemen.They were come to stop for a few days, and must be treated well.'
Sara struck the bell to summon the servants, and said that Doreen hadstarted an hour since for Dublin--with her father.
Shane and Cassidy exchanged glances, and both looked put out. 'Gone toDublin! where--what for?' stammered Shane, disconcerted. 'I told myuncle this very day that I intended to bring some friends to help todefend the house, that his anxiety on her account might be at rest.How imprudent--how silly--how provoking--when the Croppies aremustering along the quays!'
Cassidy frowned him to silence. Where did her father take her? Sure,he would bring her back again? How was it they had not met hiscarriage on the road?
'They were gone to the Castle,' responded Sara, beginning to befrightened, 'where they would doubtless be quite safe. What was thisabout Croppies along the quays? Oh! would they please tell hersomething? People seemed all agreed to keep things back, as if shewere a child. Croppies, did he say? Were not Croppies put down longsince? Who was their leader?'
'Croppies 'tis,' grunted Cassidy. 'They'll be at it by this time, thefools! Who's their leader? That young donkey Emmett, who'll swing forit--the idiot!'
Sara clung to a heavy piece of furniture. Like cold steel thecertainty cut through her brain that her edifice of cards, erected insimple faith, would fall--had tumbled ere this perhaps; that thetender intercourse of years was not to be; that she was destined tobear her portion of the common cross. She was all at once convincedthat Robert and she would never meet upon this globe again. Sheessayed to speak, but her head whirled; lights danced with shiftingcolours before her eyes; the floor seemed to heave and rise inbillows--yet she did not faint. The servants had brought candles whichburned blue and dim and danced up and down, changing to red and greenand violet a long way off. She was aware somehow that after a briefconsultation Shane had countermanded the claret--that his obsequiousfriends had received new orders--that the party, donning cloaks again,had mounted and gone clattering away by the unused by-road. Thehall-door--wide open--admitted a chill gust which set the candlesguttering, but revived her perturbed faculties. Staggering against thedoorpost, the girl watched the beacons on the hills, as, fed withfurze, they flared up and glowed awhile, then dwindled and died outone by one. She looked across the bay towards Dublin, which was likean anthill possessed by glow-worms, beyond a black abyss. Withstraining eyes she looked. What would she not have given to know whatwas passing there? Was Cassidy merely playing off an untimely jest onher by saying what he did? No. Her sick heart whispered that it wasall true. Robert's mysterious parable of good things in store clungcold about her heart like a dead hand. Perhaps at this very instant hewas being slain--better even that than that he should be taken andundergo the mockery of justice, and pass as others passed--upon thescaffold. Oh! that ardent face--transfigured and inspired by his pureenthusiasm--was she indeed no more to look on it? Was she--see! whatwas that! A rocket soared into the air from the glow-worms' hill,turning the deep blue to sable, and bursting, vanished in a shower ofsparks. What could that mean? It must be a signal. What did itportend? Sara swung-to the heavy door, and, drooping on a sofa, satdown and waited.
My Lords of Strogue, Vol. 3 (of 3) Page 10
