CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.
LORD EDWARD.
Captain Swift, himself an Irishman, when he understood that I wasdesirous of spending my leave of absence in Donegal, was gracious enoughto appoint me his secretary for the time being, and thus made easy whatmight otherwise have been a difficult journey. The captain'sdestination was a few miles south of Derry, where his family resided, sothat I was brought well on my way.
Our journey took us through Dublin, in which city the captain remainedsome days, to confer with the naval authorities there as to the futureservice of the _Diana_ in Irish waters. During that short halt I hadtime to look about me, and form some impressions of a place of which Ihad so often heard but never yet seen.
I am not going to trouble my readers with those impressions. Indeed,when it came to looking about me, I found my attention taken hold of bymatters far more important than streets and edifices.
On the day before our departure for the north, one of my first errandswas to the coach-office, to engage places for the captain and myself forthe journey. I had done this, and was about to quit the yard, when aprivate travelling coach, evidently about to start (for it was piledwith baggage on the top), drew up at the gate, to take on board a sackof corn for the horses.
It was evidently the equipage of a wealthy man. Two passengers wereinside--a lady and a gentleman--both well cloaked, for it was a coldspring day. I could not see their faces, and should probably not havetroubled myself twice about them, but for two strange incidents whichhappened, just as, having taken up what they called for, the carriagestarted on its journey. A man on the pavement, who had evidently beenwatching the halt, uttered a howl of execration and shook his fist atthe window. A moment after, a young gentleman of military bearing,mounted on a grey horse, cantered up the road and overtook the coach onthe other side. He carried a small bunch of flowers, which he stoopedto pass in at the window to the lady, receiving in exchange a wave fromone of the prettiest hands I ever saw. Next moment the coach wasrattling down the street; and the gentleman having accompanied it ashort distance, kissed his hand and wheeled up a side street anddisappeared.
Unless I was greatly deceived, that gentleman was Captain Lestrange.
"Who are the travellers?" said I to the man who had shaken his fist.
He was apparently a countryman, dressed in an old frieze coat, with aslouching hat.
He ground his teeth as he turned on me.
"The greatest villain on earth," said he. "I know him."
"I suppose so," said I, "or you would hardly excite yourself about him."
"Excite, is it? Man, dear, if there is a Judas on this earth, that'shim! Excite? you'd be excited too."
The man talked like one tipsy, but I did not think it was with drink.
"What has he done to you?" said I.
"Done? Isn't that the boy who's lured us all on, and then comes toDublin to denounce us? Man alive, did you never hear of Maurice Gormanin your life?"
It was as much as I could do to stand steady under this shock.
"I was never in Dublin before," said I; "how should I? Is he anEnglishman?"
"Englishman? he's worse. He's an Irish traitor, I tell you, and feedson the blood of his people. He was the toad that made fools of us all,and wormed himself into our secrets, and then turned and stabbed us inthe back. But we're not dead yet. We'll be even with him."
"Where has he gone now?" said I.
"Away home with his girl, who's as bad as himself. Sure, you saw hercoquetting with the young dandy just now. He's in the very middle ofthe nest of vipers that are plotting to grind the life out of Ireland.Maybe," said he, stopping suddenly and looking hard at me, "you're oneof that same nest yourself?"
"God forbid!" said I; "I love Ireland."
"That's good hearing. You're one of us?"
"Of the friends of my country, yes."
"A sworn friend?"
"I was sworn, yes," said I, determined at all cost to hear more of thebusiness.
"Come this afternoon to the printer's house in Marquis Street; you'llhear more of Gorman then, maybe. _Pikes and hemp_ is the word. Noquestions will be asked--not if you are Ireland's friend."
"I'll be there," said I; "and God save Ireland!"
"Amen!" said he, and we parted.
It was, as I learned presently, the babbling of foolish talkers likethis poor fellow that wrecked the Irish conspiracy.
As for me, I confess I felt misgivings. I was a servant of his Majesty,and had no business with secret conspiracies. Yet, when a life soprecious to me was at stake, how could I help trying to do something tosave it? Besides (and this salved my conscience a little), had I notpromised Tim, in the last hour I was with him, to strike a blow for mycountry?
For hours that morning I paced the streets of Dublin debating withmyself, trying to reconcile dishonour with honour, and love with duty;determining one hour to fail in my appointment, in another to keep itand report all I heard to the government.
Finally, anxiety and curiosity got the better of me, and at theappointed hour I stood at the door of the printer's office in MarquisStreet.
No one challenged me as I entered or passed through the outer shop,where a lad was at work folding pamphlets. But at the inner door,leading to the press-room, a little shutter slid back and a face lookedout.
"_Pikes and hemp_," said I.
"Name."
"Barry."
"Pass, friend."
I found myself in a large apartment, in one corner of which stood theprinting-press, and in another an iron table and a can of ink.
My friend of the morning, looking restless and haggard, was there, andgreeted me, I thought, somewhat anxiously, as though he doubted theprudence of his invitation. He did not, I am sure, feel more anxiousthan I, who every moment found the act in which I was engaged moreintolerable.
At last, when about a hundred men, most of them of the class of myfriend, had dropped in silently, and stood talking in knots, awaitingone further arrival, I could stand it no longer.
"I told you a lie this morning," said I in a low voice to my companion;"I am not sworn."
He turned as white as a sheet.
"Then you are here to betray us?"
"No," said I. "Let me go, and no one shall hear a word of this."
"You cannot go," said he excitedly, "it would be death to me if it wereknown, and to you too. Stay where you are now."
"I don't want to stay," said I; "I was a fool to come."
"You will be still more a fool to go," said he. "Sit down; eyes are onus already. Life may be nothing to you, but it is everything to me."
He spoke so eagerly, almost piteously, that I felt sorry for him, andfor his sake more than my own took the seat at his side.
At that moment there entered the room a noble-looking young man, atsight of whom every one present rose to his feet and uncovered.
"It's Lord Edward himself!" exclaimed my companion, still trembling.
Lord Edward! I had heard of him before. It was he whose letter I hadcarried four years ago to Depute Duport on behalf of the unfortunateSillery; and it was he on whom just now the eyes of all Irish rebelswere turned for guidance and hope in the desperate enterprise on whichthey were embarked.
There was something fascinating in his open frank countenance and thehalf reckless, joyous air with which he carried himself. The assembly,which, till he arrived, had been sombre and mysterious, lit up under hispresence into enthusiasm and eagerness.
He had news to give and receive; and as I sat and listened I came tolearn more of the state of Ireland in half-an-hour than a week in Dublinwould have taught me.
The fuel was ready for the torch. The United Irishmen were organisedand drilled in every county. The English garrison was becoming day byday more slack and contemptible. What traitors there were were knownand marked. The dawn was in the sky. A little more patience, a littlemore sacrifice, a little more self-restraint, and the hour of Ireland'sliberty w
ould soon strike.
But it was not in generalities like these that the speaker moved myadmiration most. It was when the meeting came to consider the state ofthe rebel organisation in various parts that the soldier and generalshone out in him, and convinced me that if any man could carry themovement through he would. The present meeting, as I understood,consisted of delegates from the north, where people were beginning togrow impatient for the signal to rise; and where, as some one boasted,one hundred thousand men were ready even now to move on Dublin and drivethe English garrison into the sea.
"What of the Donegal men?" inquired Lord Edward, looking at a paperbefore him. "I see there is a question of treachery there."
"By your lordship's leave," said my companion, starting up, "I denounceMaurice Gorman of Knockowen as a traitor to the cause. He has been inDublin within the last week in conference at the Castle."
Lord Edward's brow clouded.
"Was it not through him the Donegal men got their arms?"
"It was; and it's through him many of them have lost them, for he's asbusy now disarming as he was a few years back arming."
"What is the reason of the change?"
"Money, my lord. He's grown a rich man; he must keep in with thegovernment, or his estates will be taken."
Lord Edward shrugged his shoulders.
"We have not much to fear from a poltroon like him; but let theProvincial Directory of Ulster deal with the matter. Meanwhile we wantto know that Donegal is as ready as other parts. We have some good menthere surely. Order a return of all secretaries and officers in amonth," said he to the clerk.
Then other matters were talked of, including the prospect of a Frenchlanding; and presently the meeting broke up. At the end of it LordEdward walked straight up to me.
"Yours is a new face here," said he.
"It is, my lord," said I. "I am a Donegal man who has been abroad forfour years; yet we have had dealings together before now."
"Were you at Hamburg or Basle?" said he.
"Neither; but I had the honour of carrying a letter from your lordshipto a French deputy in '93, as well as another, franked by your lordship,for a certain Mr Lestrange in Paris."
He looked hard at me.
"You are not John Cassidy?" said he.
Then I told him the story of my adventure in the wood near Morlaix, andhow I delivered the letters of his dead messenger in Paris.
He clapped me on the back.
"You are a good fellow," said he, "and I thank you. Little came of myletters; but that was no fault of yours. So you are one of us inDonegal?"
"No, my lord," said I. "I am here on false pretences, though not whollyof my own accord. I cannot expect you to be troubled with myexplanations, but they are at your service if you require them. If not,here I am at your mercy."
He looked at me suspiciously for a moment, then he smiled.
"Walk a little way home with me," said he.
So I followed him out, the members present saluting as he passed throughthem, and wondering, no doubt, what high official of the society wasthis whom the leader of Ireland chose thus to honour.
"Now," said Lord Edward, as we got to the end of the street, "what isthis mystery?"
"Shortly, my lord, I am in love," began I.
He laughed pleasantly at that.
"There we agree entirely," said he.
"I am a servant to his Majesty, and have sworn him allegiance," Icontinued.
"His Majesty has more than he deserves."
"I am a sailor, sir, on leave. I arrived only yesterday in Dublin afterfour years' absence. To-morrow (unless you or your society shoot methrough the head) I start northward, hoping to get a glimpse of her Ilove. By chance to-day I heard her father's name mentioned in thestreet as a man whose life was in peril. In a weak moment I so farforgot my duty to my king as to pass myself off to my informant as aUnited Irishman, in the hope of obtaining information which might enableme to help him."
"I trust you got it," said his lordship.
"I did not," said I; "the Provincial Directory of Ulster is to deal withthe case."
Lord Edward stopped short.
"You don't mean--" began he, and stopped.
"I mean that I love Maurice Gorman's daughter--a hopeless questperhaps--but the prize--"
"The most charming lady in Ireland," said he. "Your name is Barry, Ibelieve?"
"Barry Gallagher, my lord."
"Are you a kinsman of Tim Gallagher of Fanad?"
"Twin-brother. Is he alive then?" and in my eagerness I seized hislordship's arm.
He did not resent the liberty at all.
"He is, and is a trusty member of our society, as I hope you will beeven yet."
"Pardon me," said I; "had Tim been dead, I promised him to fight forIreland. As it is, I am bound to my king."
"Well," said he, with a shrug, "that is no concern of mine. As to yourspying on our meeting--all's fair in love and war. You will, no doubt,make use of what you have heard against us."
"That I certainly shall not do," said I. "I am a poor man, but I am atleast a gentleman. To protect the lady I love I shall certainly try;but to betray those whose gallantry and chivalry have spared me to doit, I certainly shall not. Besides, apart from my obligations to you, Iam already sworn to secrecy." And I told him how I had once been forcedto take the oath of the society, and had already got the length ofpledging myself to secrecy before a happy diversion saved me from therest.
"Well, Gallagher," said he, stopping short and extending his hand withthat engaging smile which, rebel as he was, knit my soul to him, "I donot say but, were I in your shoes, I should feel compelled to act as youdo. It is a delicate position. When we meet again it may be with drawnswords. Meanwhile, luck go with your wooing, and may it turn out ashappy as my own."
This kindness quite humbled and abashed me. I had been guilty ofmeanness and disloyalty, and this noble way of passing it over took allthe conceit out of me.
I returned crestfallen, with slow steps, to the captain's hotel. Eventhe news of Tim's safety failed to inspirit me. "The most charming ladyin Ireland," were the words that rang in my ears; and who was I--commonseaman, sneak, and cadger--to aspire to such as her? Would she, Iwondered, ever care to take a flower from me as she had taken one fromCaptain Lestrange that morning?
I was half minded to beg Captain Swift for leave to remain behind inDublin. But then the thought of the peril that threatened her urged meto go forward. At least I could die for her.
At the door of the hotel a person in plain clothes, but evidently asoldier, touched me on the shoulder.
"I see you are a friend of Lord Edward Fitzgerald," said he with asmirk.
I did not like the looks of the fellow, and replied shortly,--
"What if I am?"
"Only that you can earn five hundred pounds as easily as you ever earneda shilling," said he.
"Indeed! how?"
"By giving the government some information."
"As to what?"
"The plans of the United Irishmen."
"Who are they?" said I.
"Come, don't pretend to be innocent. The money's safe, I tell you."
"And I tell you," said I, bridling up, "that I know no more of theUnited Irishmen or their plans than you do. I saw Lord Edward for thefirst time in my life to-day. Our business had nothing to do withpolitics; and if it had, I would not sell it to you or your masters forten thousand pounds. If you want news, go to Lord Edward himself; andwear a thick coat, for he carries a cane."
The man growled out some sort of threat or defiance and disappeared.But it showed me that, as matters then were, there was no doing anythingin a corner, and the sooner I was north the better for every one.
So when next morning my captain and I, on the top of the coach, rumbledout of the gate at which only yesterday my little mistress had waved herhand, I was glad, despite many forebodings, to find myself once more onthe wing.
Kilgorman: A Story of Ireland in 1798 Page 24
