Kilgorman: A Story of Ireland in 1798

by Talbot Baines Reed

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

  THE WOOD NEAR MORLAIX.

  As I expected, the hiding-place I had chosen was about the safest Icould have had. For my jailers, taking note of the trampled dust-heapin the corner, and finding, moreover, my half-written letter (which Ihad taken the precaution to drop on the far side of the wall before Idoubled on my steps), had no doubt that I had fled either towards theopen country or to the harbour, where possibly I might succeed insmuggling myself on board a ship.

  So, instead of increasing the sentries round the house, they actuallyreduced them in order to reinforce the pursuing party. My policy was toget away while the coast was comparatively unprotected, and trust tonight and my good angel to get clear of the place. So, when theexcitement had subsided a little, and the remaining soldiers on guardwere summoned to assist at the hanging of the second batch of myshipmates, I stole from my hiding-place and, covered by the sea-mistwhich came with the sundown, slid down the pipe and crossed the wall,and set off as briskly as I could in an easterly direction through theoutskirts of the town.

  The streets were moderately crowded with wayfarers and loungers, and asI sauntered along with a big French cigar in my mouth, which had cost metwo of my few remaining sous, no one paid me any particular heed. A fewof the soldiers eyed me suspiciously as a doubtful character, but theywere too accustomed to queer sea-dogs prowling about the place toconsider me worth the trouble of a challenge.

  At last I came to one of the posting taverns of the town where the coachfor Paris was beginning to take up passengers in the presence of theusual curious crowd of idlers. At the present time, when everybody wentin terror of his life, and to be suspected of any design against theliberties of France was the same thing as being condemned for it, it wasno easy task even for the most innocent and well-conducted traveller toget clear of a town like Brest.

  The few merchants and tourists and nervous women who ventured were madeto pass through a row of soldiers, who examined their passportsnarrowly, and sometimes ordered them to stand aside for further inquiry;a command which sent the blood out of the cheeks of him who heard it,and made him think no more of the mail-coach but of the low tumbrel onwhich the victims of the guillotine took their last dreadful drive.

  Even while I stood, there was one woman--a would-be traveller--whofailed to satisfy the officer on guard, and who, on being ordered back,fell on her knees with shrieks and begged for mercy. And not one ofthose who stood gaping beside me but said she would be in luck if shegot it.

  Still more fuss was made about a horseman who demanded leave to rideforward to Paris on an errand of hot haste. He was, to all appearance,a gentleman's lackey, and, from the little I heard of the talk, spokeEnglish easier than French. He was ordered to dismount while theofficer carefully read his passport by the light of a lantern andinspected his letters of introduction and even of credit. Finally,after much suspense, he was allowed to remount, which he did in lessthan a moment, and clattered away through the pouring rain out into thewet night.

  The sight of him made me envious indeed. What would I not give for asound horse under me and a sound passport in my pocket!

  At last the diligence was nearly ready. The luggage was stowed in theboot, and two great mail baskets were swung and padlocked on the barunderneath. The four horses were brought out and put to, and driver,guard, and officer retired to the hostel for a parting glass.

  An impulse seized me then to slip out of the crowd and creep forward onthe road under the deep shadow of the wall. Far I could not go, I knew,for at the barrier I should be detected and stopped. But the coach,having been so carefully inspected at its starting-point, would, Ijudged, be allowed through the barrier without further challenge. Itshould not be my fault if I did not go through with it.

  The rain was pouring in sheets, and on such a night no one would belikely to walk abroad for pleasure. Nor between the hostel and thebarrier was it probable that any sentinel would patrol the empty street.At any rate I met nothing, except a market-cart coming in, theoccupants of which were too busy discussing the handling they hadreceived at the barrier to look under the shadow of the wall for avagrant boy.

  At last I found a convenient place, where the road was dark as night,and where a sharp turn made it likely that the horses would be takenslowly past. Here I crouched, dripping from head to foot, for a longten minutes.

  Then my heart beat as I heard the dull rumble of the wheels, and caughtthe lurid glare of the two lamps coming. By the brief glance I got Isaw that the guard (as I had hoped) had crouched in for shelter underthe driver's hood, and that the sole occupant of the back _coupe_ wasburied under his tarpaulin.

  Now was my time. I had carefully selected my point of attack. The twobaskets I spoke of underneath the coach swung on double iron bars, andbetween the two, could I only scramble there, there was just room for meto perch, completely hidden, at any rate while night lasted, from thekeenest of eyes.

  I saw the driver throw himself back and pull in the reins for thecorner, and in the momentary check of the speed I darted out from myhiding-place, and clambered in under the tail of the coach and reachedthe bars between the baskets. But for Providence I should have fallenbetween the wheels. As it was, the start forward of the horses carriedme dragging on my toes twenty yards before I could haul myself up andlie face upwards across the bars, with my head on one basket, my feet onthe other, and my nose almost rubbing the bottom of the coach.

  I have, I own, travelled many a mile more comfortably, but few morehappily. I had but one terror, and that was short-lived. At thebarrier the coach pulled up, and the guard got down to hand in hispapers, and to help himself to a spare wrapper out of the boot. Then,with a cheerful "Hi! hi!" he clambered back to his place, the barrierswung open, and we were out of Brest in the open country outside.

  Little I cared that the mud plastered my back with a coat as thick asthat I had on. Little I cared that the drippings of the coach fell inmy mouth and eyes, and the stench of stale straw almost choked me. Iwas free! The noose on the gallows would remain empty for me. I was sogay I believe I even laughed under the coach.

  Presently, however, I began to realise that this security was not to befor ever. When daylight came, or even sooner, should we reach the endof our first stage before, I should be able no longer to hide myself.It would be wiser to escape half-an-hour too soon than be discoveredhalf-an-hour too late.

  So when, some four hours out, I judged by the toiling of the horses wewere approaching the summit of a hill, I slipped from my perch, andafter running some little way under the boot, cast loose just as thedriver cracked his whip and the horses started at a spanking trot downthe incline.

  It frightened me to find myself standing in the open road and hear thediminishing sounds of the friendly diligence. In front of me I couldsee the grey break of dawn struggling among the heavy clouds. Behind meswept the rain, buffeting me forward. Somewhere or other I must findshelter from the night.

  No sooner had I resolved upon this than the sound of a horse approachingat full gallop sent my teeth chattering in real earnest. I had barelytime to dart to the roadside and hide below the hedge when a horsemanswept by. By his look he was not a soldier or an ordinary traveller,such as the courier I had seen set out from Brest. I cared little whohe was, provided he rode on and let me alone. But till I lost all soundof him I spent an uneasy time in the ditch.

  As soon as the August dawn gave me a view, I found myself on the top ofa great exposed heath, across which the road reached for a mile or so,and then plunged downwards into a thick wood. Towards this wood Ihastened with all the speed I could. Here at least I could lie hid awhile till my next chance turned up.

  That chance was nearer than I thought. About half-way through the woodthe road forked into three, one way on either hand striking deep amongthe trees; that in the middle holding straight on, and by the marks ofwheels being evidently the highroad. I struck to the right some way,and then quitted the road altogether for a
glade in the wood whichseemed to lead to denser shelter.

  I had scarcely left the track when I was startled by the sound of avoice and a groan close by. Had I wanted to retreat I could hardly havedone so unseen, but a glance in the direction from which the soundproceeded held me where I was.

  A horse stood quietly nibbling the grass, and on his back, fallenforward, with arms clasping the beast's neck, and head droopinghelplessly downward, was his rider, bleeding from a pistol wound in theneck, and too weak even to disengage his feet from the stirrups. In asingle glance I recognised the horseman who had ridden ahead of thecoach.

  A pistol, evidently dropped from his hand, lay on the grass, and his hatlay between the horse's feet.

  If life was not already extinct, it was fast ebbing away. I lifted himas gently as I could and laid him on the grass. He opened his eyes, andhis lips moved; but for a moment he seemed choked. I tried with somemoss to stanch his still bleeding wound, but the groan he gave as Itouched him caused me to desist.

  Then he tried to speak something in French.

  "What is it?" said I, in English.

  A look of quick relief came into his face.

  "Ride forward with the letters--for God's sake--promise."

  Even in the feeble, broken words I could recognise a countryman.

  "Yes," said I.

  "Horses--at each post--my purse," he gasped.

  "I promise I will do as you ask--as I am an Irishman and a Christian."

  That seemed to satisfy him.

  "Your hand," said he, at last.

  I gave it to him, and as it closed on his he groaned, and died.

  It had all happened so suddenly that for a minute or two I knelt where Iwas, with my hand still in his, like one in a dream. Then I rousedmyself, and considered what was to be done.

  The dead man was a good-looking youth, scarcely twenty, dressed in thehabit of a gentleman's groom, and evidently, by the smartness of hisaccoutrement, in the employ of some one of importance. As to how he hadcome by his death I could only guess. But I suspected the horseman Ihad seen galloping back towards Brest in the morning twilight had hadsomething to do with it. The highwayman had met the traveller, andshots had been exchanged--the one fatal, the other telling enough tosend the bandit flying. The poor wounded fellow had had strength enoughto turn his horse into the wood and cling to his seat. How long he hadstayed thus, slowly bleeding to death, I could not say; but thediligence must have passed that way two hours ago, and he must have beenwell ahead of it when his journey was thus suddenly stopped.

  Then I recalled his dying words, and after tethering the horse setmyself to look for the papers he spoke of. I found them at last--thepassport in his breast pocket, whence he could easily produce it, theothers in his belt. The former described the bearer as John Cassidy,travelling from Paris to Dublin and back on urgent private business,duly signed and countersigned. It gave a description of the bearer,even down to the clothes he wore: I supposed to enable any official whopassed him from one point of his journey to another to identify him.The letters were two in number, one addressed to Citoyen Duport, aDeputy of the National Convention, and marked with the greatest urgency.The other--and this startled me the most--to one George Lestrange atParis, with no other address. Lestrange! The name called to mind oneor two memories. Was not the gay young officer I had once ferriedacross to Rathmullan a Lestrange--a kinsman of my lady; and was notBiddy McQuilkin of Kerry Keel, who once set her cap at my father, in theservice of this same Lestrange's aunt in Paris? Strange if this hoterrand should concern them! All things considered, I decided that thewisest thing would be for me to put on the dead man's clothes, and makemyself in general appearance as near to the description of the passportas possible. In fact, for the rest of this journey I must be JohnCassidy himself, travelling post to Paris, with a horse waiting on himat each stage, a purse full of money, a pistol, and a belt containingtwo urgent letters of introduction. Little dreamed I when I sneaked outof Brest under the belly of that lumbering diligence that I was to go tomy journey's end in this style!

  Before I started I buried the dead man, and along with him my cast-offclothes, in a pit in the wood, which I covered over with leaves andmoss. Then I mounted my horse, stuck my loaded pistol in my belt,commended my ways to Heaven, and cantered on in the face of the rosysummer dawn towards Paris.