Kilgorman: A Story of Ireland in 1798
Page 3
CHAPTER TWO.
A LOAD OF TURNIPS.
Mr Gorman seated himself silently in the stern, while I shoved off, andhauled up the sail.
The storm was blowing still, but more westerly, so that the water wasquieter, and we could use the wind fairly to the point of the shoals.After that it would be hard work to make my father's cabin.
I handed the sheet to his honour, and curled myself up in the bows.Maurice Gorman was no great seaman, as I knew. But it was not for me tothrust myself forward when he took the helm. Yet I confess I felt asecret pleasure as I looked at the breakers ahead, and wondered how soonhe would call me aft to steer him through them.
To-night, as it seemed to me, he hugged the eastern shore more thanusual, thereby laying up for himself all the harder task when the timecame to cross in the face of the wind.
"Begging your honour's pardon," said I at last, "luff her, sir."
He paid no heed, but held on as we went till the shoals were longdistanced, and the black cliff of Kilgorman rose above us.
The day was now dawning, and the terrors of the place were somewhatdiminished. Yet I confess I looked up at the gaunt walls and chimneyswith uneasiness.
Now, as we came nearer, the mystery of the moving lights of the nightbefore suddenly cleared itself. For snugly berthed in a narrow creek ofthe shore lay the strange cutter whose daring entry into the lough I hadyesterday witnessed. At the sight of her the curiosity I had felt, butwhich my poor mother's message had driven from my head, revived.
Who and what was she? and what was she doing in Lough Swilly?
Then I recalled the strange words his honour had spoken last night in myhearing, about the arms being landed and stowed. And I rememberedhearing some talk among the fisher folk of foreign weapons beingsmuggled into Ireland against the king's law, and of foreign soldierscoming, to help the people to tight against his Majesty.
I was too young to understand what it all meant, or why his Majesty wasto be fought with; for we were comfortable enough in our little cabin,what with the sheep and my mother's savings, and my father's fish, andthe little that Tim and I could earn ferrying passengers over the lough.I was too young, I say, to know what wanted altering, but the sight ofthis queer-looking craft set me thinking about it.
"Get out your oar," said his honour suddenly, letting the sheet fly, andrunning the boat into the creek.
My heart sank, for I hoped we were going across to where my poor motherlay.
I got out the oar, and paddled the boat into the creek till we came upto the stern of the cutter. _Cigale_--that was her name, painted on thestern-board; but there was nothing to show her port or the flag sheflew.
At the sound of our bows grating on her side one of her crew ran aft andlooked over. He had a strange foreign appearance in his red cap, andcurls, and white teeth, and looked like some startled animal about tospring on us. But his honour shouted something in French, and the manscrambled over the side of the cutter with a grin and jumped lightlyinto our boat, talking rapidly all the while.
I do not think Mr Gorman understood all he said, for he presentlyordered the man to hold his peace, and stepped ashore, beckoning me tofollow him.
I obeyed after making fast the painter. As we scrambled up the rocksand reached the road which leads down from Kilgorman to the shore, I wassurprised to see several carts standing laden with sacks or straw, asthough on the way to market. Still more surprised was I when among theknot of men, half-foreign sailors, half countrymen, who stood about,sheltering as best they could from the sleet (for the weather was comingin yet worse from the west), I recognised my father.
If he noticed me at first he made no sign of it, but walked up toMaurice Gorman with a rough nod.
"Is all landed and stowed?" said his honour, repeating the question oflast night.
"'Tis," said my father shortly, nodding in the direction of the carts.
"How many are in the house?"
"There's two hundred."
"Father," said I, breaking in at this point, in spite of all the Gormansof Donegal, "you're needed at home. Mother's dying, and sent me for hishonour to speak to her."
My father started, and his sunburnt cheeks paled a little as he lookedat Mr Gorman and then across the lough. He would fain have flown thatmoment to the beat, but I could see he was too far under his honour'sthumb to do so without leave.
"We cannot spare you, Mike, till the job is finished. We must get thecarts to Derry before night."
"I'm thinking," said my father, "Barry here knows the road to Derry aswell as me. Who'll be minding a young boy on a cart of turnips?"
His honour mused a moment, and then nodded.
"Can you get the cutter away in this wind?" asked he.
"I could get her away as easy as I got her in," said my father; "butshe's well enough as she is for a day or two, by your honour's leave."
"Father," said I, all excitement, "sure it wasn't you ran the cutterinto the lough round Fanad yesterday? I knew nobody else could havedone it!"
My father grinned at the compliment.
"That's the boy knows one end of a ship from the other," said he.
Mr Gorman looked at me, and a thought seemed to strike him.
"Come here!" said he, beckoning me to him.
Once again he looked hard in my face, and I looked hard back.
"So you are Barry?" he demanded.
"I am," said I.
"And you'd like to be a sailor?"
"No," I retorted. It was a lie, but I would be under no favour to hishonour.
His honour grunted, and talked in a low voice to my father, whopresently said to me,--
"Take the turnips to Joe Callan's, in Derry, on the Ship Quay. Waittill dark before you go into the city. Tell him there's more wherethese came from."
"Is it guns you mane?" said I.
"Hold your tongue, you limb of darkness," growled my father. "It'sturnips. If any one asks you, mind you know nothing, and never heard ofhis honour in your life."
By which I understood this was a very secret errand, and like enough toland me in Derry Jail before all was done. Had I not been impatient tosee my father and his honour away to Fanad, I think I should have madeexcuses. But I durst not say another word, and with a heavy heartclambered to the top of the turnips and started on my long journey.
Before I had passed the hill I could see the white sail of our littleboat dancing through the broken water of the lough, and knew that myfather and Mr Gorman were on their way to set my mother's mind at rest.In the midst of my trouble and ill-humour I smiled to think what a poorfigure his honour would have cut trying to make Fanad in that wind. Myfather could sail in the teeth of anything, and some day folk would beable to say the same of his son Barry.
It was a long, desolate drive over stony hills and roads whose rutsswallowed half my wheels, with now and then a waste of bog to cross, andnow and then a stream to ford. For hours I met not a soul nor saw asign of life except the cattle huddling on the hillside, or the smoke ofsome far-away cabin.
My mare was a patient, leisurely beast, with no notion of reaching thecity before her time, and no willingness to exchange her sedate jog forall the whipping or "shooing" in Ireland.
Presently, as it came to the afternoon, I left the mountain road andcame on to the country road from Fahan to Derry. Here I met morecompany; but no one heeded me much, especially when it was seen that myturnips were a poor sort, and that he who had charge of them was but aslip of a boy, with not a word to say to any one.
"Are you for Derry?" one woman asked as she overtook me on the road.
"So you may say," said I, hoping that would be the end of her.
But she carried a bundle, and was not to be put aside so easily.
"I'll just take a lift with you," said she.
But I jogged on without a word.
"Arrah, will you stop till I get up? Is it deaf ye are?" said she.
"'Deed I am," said I, whipping my beast.
I was sorry afterwards I did not yield to my better instincts, for thewoman was known in these parts, and with her perched beside me no onewould have looked twice at me or my cart.
As it was, when I had shaken her off, and left her rating me loudly tillI was out of sight, I passed one or two folk who, but that it wasgrowing dusk, might have caused me trouble. One was a clergyman, whohailed me and asked did not I think my beast would be the better of arest, and that, for turnips, my load seemed a heavy one, and so forth.
To ease him, I was forced to halt at the next village, to give the poorbeast a feed and a rest. Here two soldiers came up and demanded where Icame from.
"From Fahan," said I, naming the town I had lately passed.
"Whose turnips are these?"
"Mister Gallagher's," said I.
They seemed inclined to be more curious; but as good luck would have it,the clergyman came up just then and spoke to me in a friendly way as hepassed, for he was glad to see me merciful to my beast.
And the soldiers, when they saw me acquainted with so reverend agentleman, took for granted I was on a harmless errand, and went furtheron to inquire for the miscreant they were in search of.
The fellow of the yard where I fed my horse laughed as he watched memount up on to my turnips.
"Faith, them's the boys to smell a rat. It's guns they're looking for;as if they'd travel by daylight on the highroad."
"I'm told a great many arms are being smuggled into the country," saidthe clergyman.
"To be sure," replied the man; "but if they get this length it's by thehill-roads and after dark. Why, I'll go bail they would have looked forguns under this gossoon's turnips if your reverence hadn't known him."
It seemed to me time to drive on, and with a salute to his reverence Itouched up my horse smartly, and left these two to finish their talkwithout me.
By this time it was nearly dark, so that I had less trouble frompassers-by. My beast, despite her meal, showed no signs of haste, and Iwas forced to lie patiently on the top of my load, waiting her pleasureto land me in Derry.
The clock was tolling ten as I came on to the Ship Quay, and tiredenough I was with my long day's drive. Yet I was a little proud to havecome to my journey's end safely, albeit that story I had told aboutFahan stuck in my conscience.
I had been once before with my father to Joe Callan's, who kept a storeof all sorts of goods, and was one of the best-known farmers' tradesmenin the city. It was some time before I could arouse him and bring himdown to let me in. And while I waited, rousing the echoes, I was verynearly being wrecked in port, for a watchman came up and demanded what Iwanted disturbing the peace of the city at that hour.
When I explained that I had brought Mr Callan a load of turnips, hewanted to know where they came from, and why they should arrive so late.
"The roads were bad between this and Fahan," said I.
To my alarm he took up a turnip in his hand and put it to his nose.
"I'm thinking Joe Callan's no judge of a turnip," said he, "if this iswhat suits him. Maybe that's why you're so anxious to get them in afterdark. He'll not wake out of his sleep for the like of these, so you mayjust shoot them in a heap at his door, and they'll be safe enough tillthe morning."
My jaw dropped when he proposed this and made ready to lend me a hand.
"Begging your honour's pardon," said I, "I was to spake to Mister Callanabout the turnips."
"Sure, I can tell him that. Let the man sleep."
"But the horse has been on the road all day," said I.
The watchman pricked his ears.
"All day, and only came from Fahan?" said he.
Here, to my vast relief, a window opened above me and a head appeared.
"What's the noise about at all, at all?" called Mr Callan.
"'Deed that's just what I'm asking him," said the watchman. "And sinceyou're awake, Mr Callan, you may see to it. To my thinking the noiseis not worth the turnips. So good-night to you."
I was never more glad to see a man's back. In due time Mr Callan camedown in his night-cap, lantern in hand.
"Turnips," said he, as he looked first at me, then at the cart. "Whoseturnips are they?"
"They're from Knockowen, sir," said I. "My father, Mike Gallagher, bademe tell you there's more where they came from."
He pulled the bolt of his yard gate without a word, and signed to me toback in the cart; which I did, dreading every moment lest the watchmanshould return.
When we were inside, the gate was shut, and Mr Callan turned hislantern towards me.
"You're a young lad to send with a load like this," said he. "Did noone overhaul you on the road?"
I told him about the two soldiers, and what the man at the inn had said.
He said nothing, but bade me unload.
The turnips were soon taken out. Under them was a layer of sacking, andunder that some thirty or forty muskets, with a box or two ofammunition.
These Mr Callan and I carefully carried up to a loft and deposited in ahollow space which had been prepared in a pile of hay, which wascarefully covered up again, so as to leave no trace of the murderousfodder it hid.
"Tell Mr Gorman--tell your father, I mean, that his turnips are ingreat demand, and I can sell all he's got."
"I will," said I.
"Now put in the horse and take your rest, for you must start backbetimes in the morning."
"Plaze, sir," I ventured to say, "I'd sooner eat than sleep, by yourleave."
"You shall do both," said he, for he was in great good-humour.
So I got a bite of pork and a scone, and curled myself up in the warmhay and slept like a top.
Before daybreak Mr Callan roused me.
"Make haste now," said he, "or you'll not be home by night. And seehere, I've a message for Mr Gorman."
"Mr Gorman?" said I, remembering what I had been told.
"You are right, sonnie. You do not know Mr Gorman," said thetradesman, slapping me on the back and laughing. "If you did know him,I would have bid you tell him that people talk of him here, and say helacks zeal in a good cause. If lie is resolved to deal in turnips, hemust deal in them largely, and not go behind our backs to them that dealin other trades. Mark that."
I confess it sounded very like a riddle, and I had to say the words overmany times to myself before I could be sure of carrying them.
Then, my cart being loaded with straw, I bade Mr Callan good-day, andstarted on my long journey back to Knockowen.