CHAPTER THIRTEEN.
HOW WE BROUGHT THE MAIDEN TO HER FATHER'S HOUSE.
A month later, Ludar and the maiden and I stood on a cliff in Cantirewhich overlooks the Irish coast. The September sun was dippingwrathfully on the distant Donegal heights, kindling, as he did so, theheadlands of Antrim with a crimson glow. Below us, the Atlantic surgedheavily and impatiently round the rugged Mull. Opposite--so near, itseemed we might almost shout across--loomed out, sheer from the sea, thehuge cliff of Benmore, dwarfing the forelands on either hand, andlooking, as we saw it then, anything but the Fair Head which people callit. Scarcely further, on our right, lapped in the lurid water, lay thesweet Isle of Raughlin, ablaze with heather, and resounding with itschorus of sea-birds. A finer scene you could scarce desire. A scenewhich one day, when the sun is high and the calm water blue, may glistenbefore you like a vision of heaven; or, on a wild black day of storm,may frown over at you like a prison wall of lost souls; or (as it seemedto-night), like the strange battlements of a wizard's castle, which,while you dread, you yet long to enter.
We looked across the narrow channel in silence. I could mark Ludar'seyes flash and his great chest heave, and knew that he thought of hisexiled father and his ravished castle. The maiden at his side, as sheturned her fair face to the setting sun, half hopefully, halfdoubtfully, thought perhaps of her unknown home and her unrememberedfather. As for me, my mind was charged with wonder at a scene sostrange and beautiful, and yet with loneliness as I recalled that forme, at least, there waited no home over there.
"The sun has gone," said the maiden presently, laying her hand onLudar's arm.
He said nothing; but took the little hand captive in his, and stoodthere, watching the fading glow.
Then she began to sing softly; and I, knowing they needed not my help,left them.
I remember, as I made my way, stumbling through the thick heather,towards the little village, feeling that this trouble of mine would beless could I tell it to some one; and then, I know not how, I fanciedmyself telling it to sweet Jeannette; and how prettily she heard me,with her bright eyes glistening for my sake, and her hand on my arm,just as a minute ago I had seen that maiden's hand on Ludar's. Heigho!I who called myself a man was becoming a girl! Happily the heather wasthick and the path steep, so that I presently had some other care for myhead to busy itself with.
So I came down to the little bay, and set the boat in readiness for to-morrow's voyage, and then, having nought else to do (for the old nursewas abed already), I curled myself up in my corner and fell asleep,dreaming of I know not what.
Now, you are not to suppose that from the time we dropped anchor inLeith Roads till now our travels had been easy. On the contrary, theperils we had met by sea had been nothing to those we encountered byland. Well for us, in parting company with the _Misericorde_ (which weleft in the hands of the honest pilot to render up to the Frenchman'sagents in Scotland), we had taken each our pistol and sword. For scarcehad we set foot in Edinburgh, but we were called to use them. Sometimesit was to protect the maiden from the gallants of the Court, who deemedeach pretty face their private game, and were amazed to find Ludar andme dispute their title. Sometimes it was to defend ourselves from thehungry redshanks who itched to dig their daggers into some body, littlematter whose. Sometimes it was from rogues and vagabonds whose mouthswatered at the sight of the box. Sometimes it was from the officers,who took us one day for English spies, and the next for lords indisguise. As for the poet, the day of our landing he had fled for hislife from the terrors of the place, and so we lost him.
I cannot tell what battles we fought, what knocks we got, or what wegave in return; how night by night we slept, sword in hand, at themaiden's door; how day by day we sought to escape from the city andcould not; how at length, under cover of a notable fray in the streets,we fled back to Leith, where we found a boat and so reached Falkirk.From there, how like so many gipsies we wandered over the hills andamong the deep valleys till we came to Lennox, and so once more met thesea on the other side. Then, by what perils of storm and current, in asmall row-boat, we crossed to the wild Isle of Arran, on which we werewell-nigh starved with hunger and drowned with the rains. And at last,how, using a fine day, we made across to Cantire, where, so soon asLudar declared his name, we were hospitably received by the McDonnellsthere, and promised a safe conduct over to Ireland.
From the wild men here--half soldiers, half mariners--we heard--not thatI could understand a word of their tongue, but Ludar and the old nursecould--that Sorley Boy, Ludar's father, was already across, hiding inthe Antrim Glynns, where, joined by many a friendly clan, he was waitinghis chance to swoop down on the English and recapture his ancientfortress. Turlogh Luinech O'Neill, the maiden's father, we heard, wasstill lending himself to the invaders, and in return for the Queen'sfavour, holding aloof, if not getting ready to fall upon the McDonnellswhen the time came. Of these last, Alexander, Ludar's brother, firstand favourite son of the great Sorley Boy (for Donnell, the eldest ofall, had been slain in battle), was reputed, next to his father, thebravest; he was also in the Glynns; but James and Randal, his otherbrothers, were in the Isles, raising the Scots there, and waiting thesignal to descend with their gallow-glasses on the coveted coast.
Ludar, had he been alone, would have stayed, I think, to join them.But, with the maiden there, he could think of naught until he hadrendered her up safely to her father, foeman though he might be. So to-morrow we were to sail for Castleroe, Turlogh's fort on the western bankof the River Bann, whence, having left our charge, we would repair,Ludar said, sword in hand to his father's camp.
At daybreak we quitted the McDonnells' hut in which we had sheltered andwent down to the little harbour in the bay. The long Atlantic wavesthundered in from the west as if they would bar our passage, and Iwondered much at the peril of crossing that angry channel in so frail acraft.
But Ludar laughed when I questioned him.
"These galleys," said he, "have carried my fathers on stormier seas thanthis--ay, and the maiden's fathers too; therefore they may be trusted tocarry you now, Humphrey."
"I care naught for myself," said I, "and you know it. Nay, Ludar, if itcomes to that, I had as soon be under those waves as upon them."
He looked at me in his strange solemn way.
"Friend," he said, "you are unhappy. Was it always so, or is it becauseI, with a great happiness in me, see more than I once did? Humphrey,"added he, "that maiden has said to me that she loves me. Can you creditit?"
I locked his hand in mine. Would that I could show him to you as hestood there; his face ablaze with triumph, yet almost humbled with hisgood fortune. Then, as he looked on me, the blaze softened into a lookof pity.
"I am selfish," said he, "while you are far away from her you love. YetI could not help telling it, Humphrey. Heaven give you the same secretone day to tell me! But here she comes. Take her beside you at thehelm. As for me, the light is too strong in my eyes for me to steer. Imust be alone here in the prow, till the world take shape again."
The galley was a long open boat with a single square sail, and thwartsfor twelve rowers. To-day six sturdy Scots took the oars, allMcDonnells, who wondered much that Ludar should lie forward, leaving thefair maid and me at the helm. As for the old nurse, whose couragerevived as the opposite headlands rose up to view, she ensconced herselfamidships, and crooned in her native tongue with the rowers. We neededto row many a mile, round the island, before we could hope to hoist oursail. Yet, I could not help marvelling at the vigour of the oarsmen,and at the speed and steadiness of our boat over the billows.
The maiden, who by her blushes when we first met that morning hadconfirmed Ludar's story, was content enough to sit in the stern with me,while he courted solitude in the prow. She sat a long while silent,looking seaward, and, I think, with the self-same light in her eyeswhich dimmed those of Ludar. Presently, however, she turned her face tome and said, almost suddenly:
"Humphrey, tell m
e more of that maiden you spoke about. Why does shenot love you?"
I knew not what to say, the question was so unlooked for. I tried tolaugh it off.
"Ask her that," said I. "Why should she? I am not Sir Ludar."
"No," said she gently, and then her face blushed once more, and shedropped silent, looking away seaward.
I was sorry for my churlish speech, and feared it had given her offence.But here I was wrong, for presently she said again:
"Is she the little maid who talks to you at home in French, and whom youcarried in your arms. Tell me more of her, Humphrey."
To please her I obeyed. And somehow, as I recalled all the gentle waysof my sweet little mistress, and the quaint words she had spoken, and,in fancy, saw once again her bright face, and remembered how she hadalways taken my part and chased away the clouds from my brow--somehow Iknew not how, the memory seemed very pleasant to me; and I called tomind more yet, and wondered with myself how little I had had her in mythoughts since last we parted that cruel day in Kingston street.
As I talked, the maiden listened, her eyes stealing now and again towhere Ludar lay wrestling with his mighty happiness in the prow, andthen returning, half frightened, half pitying, to encourage me to tellher more. Which I did. And then, when all was said, she asked again:
"And why does she not love you?"
"Indeed," replied I, "I never asked her. Nor do I know if I love hermyself."
She smiled at that.
"May I answer for you? No? At least I love her, Humphrey, and for hersake and yours she shall be a sister to me and--"
"And Ludar," said I, as she stopped short.
"Yes, to me and Ludar."
Then we fell to talk about Ludar, and so the day wore on, till, as thesun stood over our heads, we breasted the fair Island of Raughlin.
Here Ludar, with gloomy face, came astern to tell a story.
'Twas neither brief nor merry; but, as he told it with flashing eyes andvoice which rose and fell with the dashing waves, we listened withheaving bosoms. 'Twas of a boy, who once played with his comrades onthat self-same Island of Raughlin. How in the pleasant summer time hehad learned from his noble brothers to draw the bow, and, child as hewas, to brandish the spear. How maidens were there, some of whom hecalled his sisters; and how they sang the wild legends of the coast andtold him tales of lovers and fairies and heroes. And how, now and againa white boat came over from the mainland, and on it a noble warrior,gigantic in form, with his yellow locks streaming in the breeze, and thesun flashing on his gilded collar and naked sword. That noble man wasthe boy's father, and the scarcely less noble form at his side, less bya head than his sire, yet taller by a head than most of his clansmen,was the boy's elder brother. And how the boy followed these twowherever they went, and begged them to take him to the wars on themainland; and they smiled and bade him wait ten years. So he was leftwith the women and children on the island, while the men went off ingalleys to fight the invader. Then one fatal day, how they woke to seewhite-sailed ships in the offing and boats of armed men landing on theshore, and how in doubt and terror women and children and old menhastened to yonder castle on the hill, and begged the few armed menthere stand to their guard.
"Then," said Ludar, with thunder in his face, "the strangers spread likeflies over the fair island and surrounded the castle. To resist wasuseless. The armed men offered to yield if the women and children andold men were spared. 'Yield, then,' said the captain, and the gate wasopened. Then the false villains shouted with laughter, and slew thearmed men before the eyes of the helpless captives. 'Bring a torch!'shouted some. 'Drive them back into their kennel!' shouted others.Then a cry went up, so terrible that on the light summer breeze itfloated to the mainland, to where on the headland the noble father ofthat boy stood, like a statue of horror, as the flames shot up. Thewretched captives fought among themselves who should reach the door anddie on the sword of the enemy rather than by the fire. That boy saw hisplaymates tossed in sport on the swords of their murderers, and heardhis sisters shriek to him--boy as he was--to slay them before a worsedeath befel. Then he forgot all, except that when, days after, heawoke, he was in the heart of a deep cave into which the sea surged,carrying with it corpses. For a week he stayed there, tended by a roughshepherd, living on seaweed and fish, and well-nigh mad with thirst. Atlast came a boat; and when that boy woke once more he was in the castleof his noble father, whose face was like the midnight, and whose onceyellow hair was as white as the snow."
"That is the story," said Ludar. "I was that boy."
"And the murderers," said I, falteringly, for I guessed the answer.
"The murderers, Humphrey," said he, "were of the same race as your worstenemy and mine."
This gloomy story cast a cloud over our voyage; until, after longsilence, during which we sat and watched the rocky coast of the ill-omened Island, the maiden said:
"Sir Ludar, there are older stories of Raughlin than yours. Listenwhile I sing you of the wedding of Taise Taobhgheal, which befel therewhen yonder hill was crowned by a beautiful white city, with houses ofglass, and when warriors shone in golden armour."
Then she sang a brave martial ballad of a famous battle, which wasfought on those coasts for the hand of the beautiful Taise Taobhgheal.And the clear music of her voice, to which the rowers lent a chorus,helped charm away the sadness of Ludar's tale, and while away the timetill, having rounded the island, we hoisted our brown sail and flew uponthe waves past the great organ-shaped cliffs of the mainland.
The sun had long set behind the western foreland ere we caught ahead ofus the roar of the surf on the bar which lay across the river's mouth.Our rowers had passed that way many a time before, and plunged usheadlong into the mighty battle of the waters where river and sea met.For a short minute it seemed as if no boat could live in such a whirl;but, before we well knew the danger, we were in calm water within thebar, sailing gaily down the broad, moonlit river.
Then Ludar and the maiden grew sad at the parting which was to come; andI, being weary of the helm, left them and went forward.
Beautiful the river was in the moonlight, with the woods crowding downto its margin, broken now and again by rugged knolls or smooth shiningmeadows. To me it was strange to be in Ireland and yet have all remindme of my own Thames, all except the wild chant of the foreign rowers.
Many a mile we rowed then, or rather glided. For Ludar bade the menslacken speed and let the night spend itself before we presentedourselves at Castleroe. Therefore we took in the oars after a while andfloated idly on the tide.
The old nurse came forward to where I sat, very dismal and complaining.
"Ochone!" said she. "This has been a sore journey, Master Humphrey. Mybones ache and my spirits are clean gone. Musha! it's myself would fainbe back in London town after all. There'll be none to know Judy O'Cahanhere; and I've nigh forgotten the speech and manners of the placemysel'. And my heart sinks for the sweet maiden."
"Why, what ails her?" I asked. "Has she not come to her father'shouse?"
"Ay, ay, so it's called, so it's called. 'Tis Turlogh owns Castleroe,but 'tis my Lady of Cantire owns Turlogh. He durst not bless himself ifshe forbid. She wants no English step-daughters, I warrant ye; or ifshe do, 'twill be to buy and sell with, and further her own greedyplans. I know my Lady; and I know how it will fare with my sweet maid.I tell thee, Master Humphrey, Turlogh, brave lad as he was, must now doas his grand Lady bids, and 'twere better far the maiden had stayed inher nunnery school."
"Why, Judy," said I, "you forget he sent to England for her; and thatnow, since this voyage began, she has found a protector who will easeboth the lord and lady of Castleroe of her charge."
She laughed.
"Little you know, master 'prentice. But there comes the dawn."
Sure enough, in the east, the grey crept up the sky; and at the sametime the banks on either side of us rose steeply, while the roar of acataract ahead warned us that our journey's end was c
ome.
We waited yet another hour, moored under the bank till the sun liftedhis forehead above the hill. Then the note of a bugle close at handstartled us, and Ludar bade us disembark.
Castleroe was a house perched strongly on the western bank of the river,with a moat round, and a drawbridge separating the outer courtyard fromthe house itself.
As we approached we were loudly challenged by a sentry who called to usin broad English.
"Who goes there? Halt! or by my life you shall have a taste of mymusket if you advance further."
My heart leapt to my mouth. 'Twas not at hearing the English speechonce more, but because the fellow's voice itself was familiar to me.And when a moment later its owner came in view, I saw the man I had metonce on the road to Oxford, the same Tom Price who had gone near hangingme for a Jesuit, and afterwards had tempted me to take service in thetroop of his master, Captain Merriman, for these Irish wars.
Was it much wonder I gasped aloud, as I saw him?
"Tell Turlogh Luinech O'Neill," said Ludar, advancing, "that hisdaughter is come from England, with her ancient nurse. And take us tohim, that we may deliver our charge safely into his hands."
"Ludar," cried I, taking him by the arm. "Halt, for Heaven's sake!This is one of Captain Merriman's men!"
The soldier looked round as I spoke, and recognised me in a trice.
"Hillo!" cried he; "what have we here? My little Jesuit, Lord Mayor ofLondon, as I'm a sinner! And in what brave company! Sure, they told memy lady expected visitors; and here he is with his sweetheart, and oldmother, and private chaplain. Woe's me, the flag is not aloft! So,lad, thou'rt come to join our wars after all, and tell the captain aboutthat duck-weed? And thou shalt, my little Humphrey--you see I evenremember your name."
"One word, Tom Price," said I, breathlessly, "as you are an honest man.Is the captain here?"
"Here! He is my lady's honoured guest this three weeks, since hearrived here in a temper enough to sour the countryside. Why, hadstthou run away with his own sweetheart, thou couldst not--"
"Is my father, is Turlogh Luinech O'Neill here, then?" asked the maiden,coming up.
"Thy father!" said the soldier gasping. "Why I took thee for-- And artthou, then," said he, pulling off his cap, "art thou--"
"Yes, yes," said she, "I am Rose O'Neill. Pray say, is my father here?"
"Madam," said he, "he left us a week ago for his Castle at Toome.Howbeit my lady--"
"Ludar," said the maiden, "back to the boat, quick! I will not go inhere."
"Nay, fair angel," said a voice at our side, "now we have found ourtruant bird, we must cage her."
It was Captain Merriman himself, smirking, hat in hand.
Before he could well speak the words, Ludar had sprung at his throat,and hurled him to the ground.
Then ensued a pitiful uproar. The guard, in a moment, turned out uponus. It was useless for two men to stand against twenty; our McDonnellsat the boat were beyond call. We fought as long as we could; nor was ittill Ludar received a gun shot in his arm, and I a slash that laid baremy cheek-bone, that we knew the game was up. The maiden had beencarried off into the house; the old nurse lay in a swoon; three men,besides the captain, were disabled. As for us, we could but stagger tothe gateway more dead than alive. Once outside, the gate was closed.The guard from within sent a few flying shots after us, one of whichlightened me of my little finger, and another missed Ludar's knee.Then, seeing us gone and hearing the shouts of our McDonnells, who, atthe noise of the shots, had come up to help us, they forbore to followfurther and let us get clear.
And it was in this manner we brought Rose O'Neill safely to her father'shouse at Castleroe.
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