CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.
THE HIGHWAYMAN ON THE DELFT ROAD.
The next thing I clearly remember was crawling up on deck, clad in aDutch sailor's jacket and cap (I had been stripped for action when I waspitched into the waves out of the _Zebra_), and seeing a stretch of red-tiled roofs and windmills and tall towers on the bank of the broadstream up which we sailed on the tide. Rotterdam was in sight.
I had lain in a sort of stupor since I was carried on board twenty-fourhours ago. The Dutchmen had been kind to me in their rough way,particularly as they took me for a Frenchman. I thought it prudent notto undeceive them, and passed myself off to the skipper as a castawaycitizen of the Republic One and Indivisible, which my knowledge of thelanguage made easy.
But, as you may imagine, now that I stood on the deck of the _Scheldt_,my mind had room for but one thought. Miss Kit--where was she?
Even had her curiosity brought her on deck yesterday to see the rescueof the poor foreigner, she would hardly have recognised in the smoke-begrimed, swollen features of the half-drowned man her old squire andcomrade of long ago. Still less would Martin, who had never set eyes onme for four years, discover me. I knew him well enough as I came uponhim just then leaning over the bulwark taking an eyeful of Dutchscenery.
He turned round as I approached and nodded.
"_Comment vous portez-vous_?" said he, using up one of the slender stockof French phrases he had at command.
I replied in French that I did well, and was entirely at monsieur'sservice, and madame's too, for I heard, said I, monsieur did not travelalone.
Martin, who only half-comprehended, looked at me doubtfully, and turnedon his heel.
Presently, as I leaned over the port watching the river, I overheard himin conference with the skipper, who spoke imperfect English.
"Convent of the Carmelite Nuns?" said the latter; "that is outside thetown some distance. Is mademoiselle to be taken there?"
"Ay; those are my orders."
"Will she go?"
"She must," said Martin.
"She has not been very obedient so far," said the skipper with a laugh."You have not received much encouragement."
"What do I want encouragement for," growled Martin, "from her?"
"Perhaps the encouragement of Mees Norah, her maid, has been enough foryou. But I warn you, my young lady will not travel so easily by land asby sea. You will need a troop of horse to take her to the Carmelites, Iexpect."
This was said with a sneer at Martin's qualifications as a squire ofdames which that gentleman did not enjoy.
"I can manage my own business," said he in an unpleasant voice. "Ishall take her there in a carriage, and if she resists she will have tofind out she is not her own mistress."
"As you will," said the skipper. "I thank my stars I have not thetask."
Indeed, I came to learn later on that he had good reason for so wishing.For Miss Kit, as soon as ever she discovered the vile plot which hadbeen practised on her, had retired to her cabin, and held every one onboard the _Scheldt_ at arm's-length except her maid, refusing to seeMartin, of the skipper, or any one, and fortifying herself like abeleaguered garrison. Her cabin had a private companion ladder by whichshe could reach the deck without passing through the men's quarters, andafter the first day or so, the poop was yielded to her as her ownterritory without protest.
How was I to communicate with her now? I must if possible prevent herincarceration in the convent, from which I knew escape would bedifficult.
I retired below and hastily scrawled on a piece of paper the followingnote:--
"Miss Kit,--The half-drowned man who was taken on board yesterday was hewho writes this, and who is ready to die for you. You are to be carriedin a coach to-night to the Convent of the Carmelite Nuns. Make all thedelay possible before you consent to go, and so give me time to getbeforehand on the road, where I will find means to take you to a placeof safety.--Your devoted--
"Barry Gallagher."
This paper I folded, and returned on deck in the hope of finding somemeans of getting it into my lady's hands.
Just as I passed the cook's galley, I came upon Norah, the maid, comingout with a tray on which was a little bottle of wine and a plate ofbiscuits. As we suddenly met, the tray slipped from her hand and fellto the floor, spilling the contents of the bottle and scattering thebiscuits.
"Ach, but you're clumsy!" exclaimed the damsel.
It was on the point of my tongue to return the compliment in her ownlanguage; but I remembered myself, and with a Frenchman's politenessbegged ten thousand pardons.
"Permit that I assist you to make good the damage, mademoiselle," saidI.
This mollified her, and she bade me hold the tray and pick up thebiscuits while she went for another bottle of wine.
When she returned, nothing would content me but that I should carry thetray for her to the door of her lady's cabin, which she graciouslypermitted, with a coquettish glance at Martin as we passed him on deck.
My agitation, if I betrayed any, was not all due to the fascinations ofMiss Norah, and Martin had no cause to be jealous on that score. Thetruth was, that between the two top biscuits on the dish I had slippedmy little note!
"_Merci bien_, monsieur," said Norah at the door as she took the tray;"and it's sorry I am I called you names."
"Any name from those pretty lips," began I, but she left me to finish mycompliment to the outside of the door.
When we moored alongside the Quai, I renewed my thanks to the Dutchskipper, and offered to return him his coat. But he would not hear ofit. Only, said he, if I was disposed to-morrow to lend a hand atunlading, he would consider the trouble of fishing me out of the NorthSea sufficiently repaid. This I promised by all means to do; and gladto get free so easily, stepped ashore with the first to land.
As I passed the brig's poop I thought I saw a face peep from the littlecabin window, and after it a little hand wave. I put my own hand to mylips as a symbol both of secrecy and devotion, and taking advantage ofthe bustle attending on the arrival of a fresh craft, slipped out of thecrowd into the street beyond.
Here, among the first, I met a priest, to whom I made obeisance.
"Holy father," said I in French, "I beg you to direct me to the Conventof the Carmelite Nuns of this town, to which I have a message ofimportance from Ireland. I am a stranger here, and have but justlanded."
The priest eyed me suspiciously.
"The holy sisters receive no visitors but the clergy," said he. "I willcarry your letter."
"Alas! I have no letter. My message is by word of mouth, and I am freeto impart it to no one but to the lady superior. Does monseigneursuspect me of ill motives in seeking the convent?"
He liked to be called monseigneur; and looking me up and down, concludedthe holy sisters had little to fear from me.
"The holy sisters live a mile or so beyond the city, before you come toOverschie, on the road to Delft. You will know the house by the highwall and the cross above the gate."
"Monseigneur," said I, "a thousand thanks, and may the saints make yourbed to-night;" and I departed along the road he pointed out.
I had not gone far, or reached the open fields beyond the town, when Iperceived, grazing at the roadside, a horse with saddle and pillion,such as market folk rode, which had evidently broken tether while itsriders were away on some errand at a neighbouring _auberge_.
Necessity, which knows no law, and made me villain enough to deceive apriest, was hardly likely to stick at borrowing a nag, especially whenthe safety of my dear young mistress was at stake. It went to my heartto think that the honest couple would have to complete their marketingon foot; but I promised them in my mind that if the beast was one ofsense and natural affection, it should find its way home sooner or laterwhen its present task was done.
A short ride now cleared me of the town and brought me on to the roadwhich follows the canal to Delft. It was already dark, and as I ambledpast the lofty windmills tha
t skirt the canal, I met scarcely a soul.Presently at a junction of roads I distinguished a little way back fromthe highroad the roof of a building almost hidden in trees, and closedround with a high wall. A thick, nail-studded gate, surmounted by across, marked the entrance. Here, then, was my destination.
I reined in my horse under the deepest shadow of the wall, within viewof the portal, and waited. To pass the time, I took from my pocket thepistol which had lain there all the while I was in the water, anddrawing the wet charge, replaced it with powder and shot which I hadtaken the precaution to provide myself with before I left the _Scheldt_.
Then it occurred to me, if I was to play highwayman, I could do it moresecurely out in the solitary road than within earshot of the holysisters, who might harbour within their precincts watch-dogs, human oranimal, who could spoil sport of that kind.
So I rode a little way back on my steps and halted under a clump oftrees at the cross-roads, straining my ears impatiently for the noise ofwheels.
Nearly an hour elapsed before they came, and I concluded Miss Kit musthave taken my advice and given her custodian a bad time of it before shepermitted herself to be conducted from the ship to the vehicle. Now thewheels advanced rapidly, and the frequent crack of the driver's whipshowed that Martin was trying to make up for lost time.
I could see as they approached that the two men were on the box, leavingthe inside to the ladies. The driver was evidently pointing out theroof of the convent, dimly visible among the trees, and a face at theopen window was peering out in the same direction.
At that moment I darted out of my hiding-place, and firing my pistol inthe air, but near enough to the driver's ears to make him jump, shoutedgruffly,--
"_Haltez la_!"
The horse came up short on his haunches. The terror-stricken men gapedround in a dazed way and tumbled off on the far side of the coach, whilethe maid within uttered a loud scream. But almost before any of themknew what had happened, I was bending beside the face at the window.
"Quick, Miss Kit, mount behind me." And passing my arm round her, Idrew her through the window and set her on the pillion behind me; andnext moment we were galloping away as fast as the beast could carry us,with her dear arms clasping me, and her breath coming and going in quicktumult on my neck.
For a mile we rode thus without a word, when I heard her give a littlelaugh.
"What is it?" I asked.
"What a trouble for Martin!" said she, "He has Norah to console him."
"I am not jealous of Norah."
And I thought her arms held me a little firmer.
"How well you managed it," said she in a little. "I was terrified too,just at first. Where are we going?"
"To Biddy McQuilkin's, at the Hague."
"Biddy McQuilkin's!" exclaimed she, with a start of surprise. "Surelyshe is dead."
"So I thought; but she is not. She keeps an inn at the Hague; and hasorders from one in high authority among the Irish rebels to take care ofyou."
"As a prisoner?"
"Surely not; as a lady."
She sighed.
"One peril never seems to be past," said she, "but a new one loomsahead."
"Courage," said I. "Providence that saved you from the old peril willsave you from the new."
"Ah, Barry," she said gently, "I begin to wonder if your name spellsProvidence to me. On that hateful ship I wondered often what had becomeof you. When I saw behind us at Malin a red flag waved on the cliff-top, I said, Could that be you, but for once too late to help?"
"It was," I replied.
"I knew it!" she exclaimed almost triumphantly, "Night by night as wesailed further and further from home, I prayed Heaven to send you. Oncewhen an English warship crossed our path, I pictured you among the crew,and wished they might capture us. Then when I got that wonderful littleletter among the biscuits I knew my prayer was answered; and I troubledmyself about nothing but to do your bidding. Poor Martin," and shelaughed again, "he was the sufferer by that."
You may fancy if her voice across my shoulder that night was not musicin my ears! It humoured her to talk of all the perils we hadencountered together, and of the ups and downs in our lots since thatfirst day I brought her in the boat from Rathmullan to Knockowen. Thenshe spoke of her father and the peril he was in, and of the feuds anddangers that beset our distracted country. From that we came to talk ofmy adventures, and of Tim. But I could not find it in my heart to tellher of the paper under the hearth at Kilgorman, or of the villainy bywhich her father came into the estates he now held.
Near the end of our talk I mentioned that I had seen Captain Lestrangein Derry.
She was silent a little, and then said,--
"He is the man my father says I must marry." This was a speech I foundno ready answer to, except a mumbled, "He is a fortunate man."
"He does not think so," said Miss Kit with a laugh. "He is good andkind, but he loves his liberty more than any woman."
"And what says my little lady to that?" I faltered.
"_Vive la Liberte_," said she. "Heigho, Barry, are we nearly there?"
We were past Delft, where no one supposed but we were a belated pair ofmarket folk trudging home. Our horse had dropped into a leisurely jog,and the morning sky was beginning to show streaks of grey.
"Are you weary?" said I, putting my hand on the little arm that held meround.
"No, Barry, I am very happy so," said she; and after that we were silenttill the stars began to fade and the towers and spires of the Hagueloomed ahead against the northern sky.
Despite our loitering, it was still early when we found ourselves in thestreets of that city, inquiring for the _auberge_ of the "White Angel."After some trouble, we were directed through the town to the road thatleads to the little fishing village of Scheveningen, two miles beyondthe Hague, where, just as we came in sight of the sea, a little waysideinn with a swinging sign of a heavenly body in a snowy robe told us wehad at last found our journey's end.
No one was astir, but our knocking brought a groom on the scene, whorather surlily admitted us to the stable-yard.
"Tell madame she is wanted at once; I bear a message from Lord Edward,tell her."
Here a head looked out from a window, and madame's voice called out inbroadest brogue,--
"Lord Edward, is it? And who might you be yourself?"
"I'm Barry Gallagher, Biddy. Put on your clothes, like a decent soul,and let us in."
Biddy obeyed with an alacrity which led us to doubt whether her toiletbelow the shawl she wore had been very elaborate.
On the sight of me, still more of my fair charge, she broke out into atumult of Irish welcome.
"Arrah, darlints, sure it's glad I am to see you; and it's expecting youI've been, for didn't Lord Edward send me word to look to the youngleddy? Come away, honey; for you look as white as the painted angelbeyant there. So they sneaked you away, did they? And all because hishonour was hanging the boys. Never ye fear, dearie, you'll be safe withold Biddy, even if the whole of the United Irishmen come after you.--Andyou, Barry, you're welcome too, though your father Mike wouldn't let mebe mother to you. Dear, oh. There's many changes to us all since then.The last time I set eyes on yez 'twas in Paris, and little I looked tosee you again when they had us all to the prison. And where's Tim atall? He's the boy, and a rale gentleman."
"Give us some food, Biddy dear," said Miss Kit, "and tell us all thenews to-morrow."
"'Deed I will," said the good soul, and she bustled about till the wholehousehold was awake to give us breakfast.
I waited only to allay my hunger, and then rose.
"Good-bye just now, Miss Kit," said I.
Her face fell.
"Oh," said she, "you're not going to leave me, Barry!"
"Till to-night. I am pledged to pay the Dutchman for saving my life byworking for him this day. After that--"
"Oh, go," said she, holding out her hand, "for he deserves all thethanks in the world for saving you for
me."
She blushed as she saw how I lit up at the words, but left her hand inmine as I raised it to my lips.
"Farewell, my dear Barry," said she. "Heaven bless you, and bring yousafely back!"
All the world then seemed turned to brightness, and I stepped out like aman who treads on air. But at the door I remembered myself enough toreturn and seek Biddy in her kitchen.
"Biddy," said I, "tell me one thing, as you will answer for it at thelast day--which of us two, Tim or I, is the son of Mike Gallagher, andwhich is the son of Terence Gorman?"
She turned very white and sank into a chair. But I had no time toparley, and I urged her to speak.
"As I hope for salvation," said she, and her breath came hard and herbosom heaved fast, "the one of you that has the mole between hisshoulder-blades is the Gorman's boy."
"It is Tim then," I exclaimed, and hastened to my horse.
Kilgorman: A Story of Ireland in 1798 Page 32
