Kilgorman: A Story of Ireland in 1798

by Talbot Baines Reed

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

  DAYS OF TERROR.

  I confess, delighted as I was to find again my lady and my littlemistress, I could have wished them anywhere but in Paris at such a timeas this. How they reached the place at all it was difficult tounderstand, till I heard that they had crossed from Dublin under theescort of a prominent member of the Jacobin Club, with whom his honourhad large dealings in the matter of arms, and who had provided thenecessary passports.

  "Indeed," said Miss Kit, "the soldiers everywhere were so respectful tous that I think Monsieur Cazin must have passed us off as his wife anddaughter. At any rate he accompanied us into Paris, only quitting us atthe barrier, and has promised to call on us at the hotel to-morrow. Seehere is his letter to the _maitre d'hotel_, in which he states that weare French ladies, kinswomen of his own."

  The _maitre d'hotel_, when he read the letter, made no difficulty aboutadmitting "_les citoyennes Cazin_" as he entered them in his book, andtheir valet. So for that night, at least, we were safe. And as bothladies spoke French fluently, and I tolerably, we passed well enough forwhat we were not.

  But I disliked the whole business, still more when I heard from some ofthe attendants in the hotel that this citizen Cazin was a man lookedaskance upon by some of his own party, and reputed to be both greedy andheartless.

  If I could have had my own way, I would have tried that very night toget them out of the city they had been at so much trouble to reach. Butthey were worn-out with fatigue and anxiety, and were fain to lay theirheads anywhere. Before the night was out their baggage, rescued fromthe overturned diligence, was brought to the hotel, labelled (as I couldnot help noticing) with the name "Cazin," which only involved us all indeeper complication and trouble.

  Next day we waited for the promised visit from my ladies' travellingcompanion, but he never came. And in the evening we discovered thereason. The _maitre d'hotel_ demanded admission to their apartment andannounced, with a roughness very different from his civility of thenight before, that at the Convention that day several suspected personshad been denounced, among others the citizen Cazin, for having been intraitorous treaty with the enemies of the Republic. In a few hours itwould become known that he had travelled to Paris with two ladies, andit was as much as his (my host's) neck was worth to allow those ladiesto remain another hour in his house. Indeed his duty was to inform theauthorities at once who his guests were.

  Happily for us his hotel had been visited by the police only the nightbefore--ere the travellers arrived--and he had not yet exposed theirnames on his list. But it was known that the baggage, delivered lastnight, bore the name of the suspected Cazin, and that was enough to ruinus all.

  You may fancy the distress of the ladies at this news. All they coulddo was to hand one of their little rolls of _assignats_ to the landlord,and promise that within an hour he should be rid of them.

  "But the baggage," said mine host, who, in the midst of hisperturbation, saw his way to a _solatium_ for himself; "I must detainthat, and hand it over if required."

  "But it is not Monsieur Cazin's; it is my lady's, who is no connectionof the suspect," said I.

  "If the ladies cannot part with their baggage," said mine host, fumblingthe notes, "they must remain here with it. I confiscate it in the nameof the Republic One and Indivisible."

  It was no use arguing or appealing; our only hope lay in civility.

  "Citizen host," said I, "is quite right, and the ladies are grateful forhis consideration. Their name is Lestrange. They know nothing ofCitizen Cazin or his baggage, and they bid adieu to the Hotel Lambertforthwith."

  The cunning landlord, having gained his ends, returned to his civility.

  "The ladies," said he, "are wise. But they will do well to put on thegarments of plain citoyennes, which I can provide, in exchange for whatthey wear; otherwise they may be traced. That done, they will do wellto leave my poor house on foot with the young Citoyen Lestrange," (herehe pointed to me), "and forget to return."

  It was good advice, though it went to my heart to see my mistressesfurther robbed. But when presently they appeared in the plain garb ofcommon Parisiennes I confess I felt relieved, for no one who saw themwould suspect them of being foreign ladies, though any one would bebound to admit they were two very fair women. As for me, I was not longin bartering my livery coat for the blue blouse of a workman; and thusthat afternoon, as the light was beginning to fail, and all the worldwas talking of the execution of the beautiful Madame Roland, which wasto take place in the morning, three humble persons quitted the side doorof the Hotel Lambert and bent their steps dolefully towards the bridgethat led across to the Quai near the Island of the City, once known asQuai Necker.

  We hoped that here at least we should find a retreat until it waspossible to consider what next should be done.

  Leaving the ladies to inspect the stalls which lined the river, Iascended first to announce their arrival; but half-way up the longstairs I encountered a middle-aged woman with sour, haggard face, whodemanded my business.

  "I desire to see Madame Lestrange, who lives on the highest stage," saidI.

  "Madame Lestrange lives there no longer," said she with a shrug. "Lastnight she and her husband and their servant were put under arrest on theaccusation of Depute Duport, for holding connection during his life withthe traitor Sillery."

  "Arrested!" exclaimed I, staggered at the news.

  "Arrested," said she dryly, "and are now at the Austin Convent. To-morrow, perhaps, we may hear of them at the Place."

  This was too terrible, but I durst not betray my horror.

  "Then," said I, "if that is so, the top stage is vacant. I am seekinglodgings for my mother and sister and myself, and had hoped MadameLestrange could have helped me."

  "The top floor is vacant," said the woman, brightening up, for thecalamity of the day had robbed her of her tenants, "to any one who canpay five francs a week."

  "We can do that," said I, "and can pay you in advance."

  "Enough," said the woman, holding out her hand greedily.

  I brought the ladies up, breaking the news about their kinsfolk on theway, and imploring them to keep up appearances. The landladyscrutinised them sharply, and demanded what their occupation was.

  "We are seamstresses, my child and I," said my lady; "and my son earnswhat he can at the stables."

  "If you are good workers," said the woman, "I can give you some employ.Come up and see your rooms."

  It was a sad introduction, that of these delicate ladies to the squalidapartments of their arrested kinsfolk. But they kept up bravely; onlywhen the woman departed with her first five francs in her hand, theyfell on the little shabby sofa and broke into tears.

  But miserable as we were, we were at least safe for a while; and as theweeks followed one another--terrible weeks for Paris--we grew not onlymore reconciled to our lot, but sometimes almost happy.

  We gave ourselves the name of Regnier, and in a little time our sourlandlady fulfilled her promise of finding work for the ladies' needles.As for me, I lit on occupation close by, with a man who let horses forhire, and here once more I found myself engaged in the old familiaroccupation of the Knockowen days. The ladies rarely ventured out, andwhen they did it was usually after dark, and always under my escort.

  Somehow or other our common lot, the common garb we wore, and the commondependence we felt on one another, made our make-believe little familyinto something very like a real one. When the day's work was done, andthe candle was lit and the log thrown on the fire, it was hard not toforget that I was after all only a poor serving-man to these two ladies.They were so grateful and gentle to me, and my little lady's eyes, whensometimes they met mine, were wont to light up so brightly, that, had Ibeen less strict with myself, I should have been--tempted, many a time,to presume on all this kindness, and give myself the airs and privilegesof an equal. But Heaven kept me in mind of what was due to her; andthough I loved her secretly, she was always my little mistress w
hen wewere together.

  I was not long in hearing, among other things, the news of what hadhappened at Knockowen since I left. When my overturned boat had driftedashore, they all set me down as dead, some with regret, some withindifference, some with relief.

  Among the latter, I guessed, was his honour, who never took kindly tome, and bestowed more dislike on me, I always thought, than myimportance deserved. However, my absence did not make much difference.

  "It was dreadful after you had gone," said my little mistress. "Wenever knew what would happen next. Father could not keep friends withboth sides, and yet he durst not break with either. The house was firedinto from time to time by the Leaguers; and yet he continued to obeytheir biddings and wink at all the smuggling of arms and secret drillingthat went on, which he, as a magistrate, ought to have stopped. Ohdear, it was hard to know what to wish! And one day he was summoned bysome other magistrates to lead a party to capture the crew of asmuggling ship. He sent Martin off secretly to give them warning; butsomehow Martin failed to deliver his message in time, and the smugglerswere caught. Then he was in dread lest they should betray him, and usedall his efforts to let them escape. Then, when one night they brokebonds, he led a hue and cry after them for appearance' sake, but, ofcourse, in a wrong direction, and in consideration of all this he waslet alone by the League. Mr Cazin then came over and stayed atKnockowen a week, collecting all the arms he could get, and makinghimself polite to mother and me. My father, who desired to be rid of usthat he might follow his own plots, saw a way, at last, of getting outof his difficulty, and handed the Frenchman over a large number of gunswhich had been intended for the Donegal men, on condition he would seeus safe to Paris."

  "And where is his honour, meanwhile?" I asked.

  "I can't say, Barry. Not, I think, at Knockowen. He has written us nota line, though we have written several times to him. I sometimes wishwe were safe back at home," said she with a sigh.

  Well might she wish it, for that winter Paris was a hell upon earth!

  For a time I succeeded in keeping away the shadow of "the terror" fromthat little top storey in the Quai Necker. The ladies knew that bloodwas being shed, that liberty was being extinguished, that holy religionwas being spurned, in the world below them. But the tumbrels that madetheir daily ghastly journey did not pass their way. They heard nothingof the roll of drums, of the shrieks of the mob, of the dull crash ofthe knife, of the streams of blood, in the Place. They saw nothing ofthe horrors of the prison-houses, in which, day by day, and week byweek, the doomed citizens made their brief sojourn on the road to death.They did not even know, as I did, that one evening, in one of the sadbatches which rode from the Austin Convent to the Conciergerie, and nextmorning from the Conciergerie to the guillotine, rode a broken-downcouple called Lestrange, and beside them, in the same cart, the _ci-devant_ Citizen Cazin.

  As the Citoyennes Regnier sat patiently and knitted red caps for theblood-drunken citizens without, their gentle ears may have caughtoccasional shouts and rushings of feet, and they may have guessedsomething of the tragedies that were being enacted below. But they kepttheir own counsel, and looked out seldom from the little window, andtalked in whispers of the shadows that flitted across Lough Swilly, andthe happy life that was to follow after all this buffeting and exile.

  Alas! that was not to be yet. For all their courage, their cheeks grewdaily more pale; and into that little damp, cold attic, from which theynever ventured except at night, and where, as poverty gradually enteredby the window, the fire went out on the hearth, the stress of "theterror" at last penetrated.

  Our hostess, the grim woman of whom I spoke, was the first to losenerve, and during the day, when I was away, would come and retail someof the horrors she herself had witnessed. I could tell by their blanklooks when I returned that some one had been tampering with their peace,and I fear the warmth with which I expostulated with the disturber didus all no good.

  Another day, also when I was absent, the police made a visitation; andthough my two mistresses passed muster, they carried off one shriekingvictim from the floor below--a widow, whose only crime was that herhusband had once been in the service of his king. Her cries of terror,as they dragged her to her doom, rang in my lady's ears for weeks, andunnerved her altogether.

  A still worse fright befell them, one early morning, when we sought thefresh air in the direction of the Champ de Mars, where I hoped we shouldbe safe from crowds of all kinds. At a turning of the road we suddenlyencountered, before there was time to avoid it, the most terrible of allcrowds--that which escorted a _condamne_ to his execution. It was invain I tried to draw the ladies aside; the mob was upon us before wecould escape. I had seen many a Paris mob before, but none so savage orfrantic as this. The poor doomed man, one Bailly (as I heardafterwards, formerly a mayor of Paris), stood bare-headed, cropped, withhands tied behind him, and with only a thin shirt to protect him fromthe cold. His face, naturally grave and placid, was so marred andstained with mud and blood as to be almost inhuman. At every step ofthe way the people hurled dirt and execrations upon him, laughing at hissorry appearance, and goading on one another to further insult. Bysheer force they were carrying him, guillotine, executioner, and all toa great dirt-heap by the river-bank, where only they would permit thedeed of death to be performed.

  Just as this ghastly procession passed us, a missile, better aimed thanmost, sent the poor wretch staggering to his knees, and in the rush thatfollowed he was happily hidden from our sight.

  But the two poor ladies had seen enough. Miss Kit's beautiful face waswhite as marble, her lips quivered, and her hands clenched in a spasm ofself-control. Her mother, less strong, tottered and fell heavily on myarm in a faint.

  It was a terrible position just then, for to be suspected of pity for a_condamne_ was an offence which might easily place the sympathiser onthe tumbrel beside the victim. I observed one or two faces--brutal,coarse faces--turned our way, and overheard remarks not unmingled withjeers on the lady's plight. Happily for us, a new humour of the crowd,to make their poor prisoner dismount and carry his own guillotine, sweptthe crowd in a new direction, and in a moment or two left us standingalmost alone on the path.

  It was some time before my lady could recover enough to leave the place.Still longer was it before we had her safe in the attic on the QuaiNecker; and ere that happened more than one note of warning had fallenon my ears.

  "Save yourselves; you are marked," whispered a voice, as we came to theQuai.

  I looked sharply round. Only a lame road-mender was in sight, and hewas too far away to have been the speaker. The voice was that, Ithought, of a person of breeding and sympathy, but its owner, whoever hewas, had vanished.

  "There they are," said another voice as we entered the doorway.

  This time I saw the speaker--a vicious-looking woman, who stood with herfriend across the road and pointed our way with her finger.

  "So," thought I, as Miss Kit and I carried our fainting burden up thestairs, "we have at least one friend and one enemy in Paris."

  Not a word did my little mistress and I exchange as we laid my lady onthe bed, and took breath after our toilsome ascent. She tried to smileas I left her to the task of restoration, and retired to my kitchen toprepare our scanty breakfast.

  While thus occupied I was startled by a tap at the window, followed by ahead which I recognised as that of the road-mender I had lately seen.He must have crawled along the parapet which connected the houses in ourblock, or else have been waiting where he was till he could find mealone.

  His cap was slouched over his eyes, and his face was as grimy as theroads he mended. His finger was raised eagerly to his lips as hebeckoned to me to open the sash.

  An instinct of self-preservation impelled me to obey. He clambered inand shut the window behind him. Then, turning to face me, I encountereda double shock. The lameness had gone; the figure was erect; the face,in spite of its grime, was youthful and handsome! That was the first
shock. The second was even greater. For I suddenly recognised in theform that stood before me my old acquaintance, Captain Lestrangehimself.