As the party entered, his lordship looked up, and the light fell full upon his cadaverous face and hooked nose, and his bristling masses of light moustache; while his small, indolent eye coldly scanned them; and he said, in a drawling, careless tone, so slow and quiet, that but for its impassive coldness, it might have bespoken the very gentlest purposes: —
“A prisoner, so — what of him, corporal?”
“Crossed the river — so, so; and then crept up among the bushes — so!” resumed Lord Galmoy, as soon as he heard the statement through; “and, as you say, the very man, Miles Garrett’s secretary, who was, yesterday morning, turned out of the camp, a suspected traitor, then; and now, your prisoner — so, so. Have you any information of importance to give us?” he continued, lazily turning his eyes upon Garvey; “If you have, say so, and it may possibly save you.”
“Ah, my lord general — noble, generous sir,” cried Garvey, whom the frenzy of actual despair had now at length restored to speech; “I’m no spy, as God is my witness — I’m no traitor; don’t, for God’s sake, don’t have me blanketed again, noble general. I’m as honest as the king himself; ask any one that knows me. If they toss me again, it will be the death of me — I’m just dead as it is.”
“I’m not thinking of any such thing, my good fellow,” said his lordship, tranquilly.
“Lord bless you, sir, my Lord Galmoy, your noble honour, the Lord and all the saints of heaven reward and prosper you.”
“Hold your tongue, fellow, if you can,” said his lordship, in the same even tone, and staring upon him with the same unmoved but singularly repulsive countenance— “hold your tongue, and listes to me.”
“That I will, my lord — noble general— “
“See, my good gentleman,” interrupted Lord Galmoy, in the same quiet way, “if you won’t hold your tongue, I’ll make you do so — how long is it since you left the prince’s camp?”
“Well, I should say some twenty minutes or half an hour — perhaps more,” said Garvey, whose thoughts, just then, were none of the clearest.
“Is the prince still living?” pursued his lordship.
I do suppose he is,” replied Garvey, more and more perplexed; ‘but I knew not that his life was in question.”
“Come, come,” said the officer, while for the first time an imperious and measured emphasis slightly marked his calm address, and something indescribably intimidating overcast his features, though their tranquillity remained undisturbed, “your simplicity is a little overacted — you really must manage to know something; take my advice, and endeavour to remember; I ask you simply, what opinion is pronounced on the prince’s wound — is it mortal, dangerous, or trifling? It’s a plain question — do manage to answer it.”
“As I’m a living man, my lord general, I did not so much as hear he was wounded, before now,” replied Garvey.
“Hum — ha! — I see — very well, Mr what’s-your-name — I understand — you’re a very clever person — very profound — or else really very stupid — stupid or contumacious.”
“Mullins,” said his lordship, suddenly addressing the military servant, who was standing by, “as I live, I had well nigh forgot to tell you to punch another hole in the left shoulder-strap of the inlaid cuirass; see, bring it hither.” And his lordship went minutely into details; and having concluded, he turned once more toward the party who awaited his further orders; “so, he offers nothing,” continued his lordship, in the same calm tone; “very well, you know what to do with him; and, sergeant, observe me, before you hang him, it will not be amiss to try him with the strappado — you may get something from him yet.”
“Great God — oh, Christ!” cried the frantic prisoner; “noble, good, kind, worthy general, it is not — it is not — oh, holy Mother of God; why, blessed saints of heaven, it can’t be possible.”
During this burst of agony, Lord Galmoy nodded impassively to the guard, who had hurried the wretched man from the tent, long before he had concluded this incoherent appeal, the last he was ever to utter to the mercy of a human tribunal.
CHAPTER XLIV.
THE STRAPPADO.
THE reader must accompany us to a gentle bush-clad slope, immediately outside the Irish camp. Here stood the simple apparatus, by means of which was inflicted the terrible torture, known by the name of the strappado — an importation for which the Irish were indebted to the French troops who served among them. The machine was, as we have said, a simple one — consisting of a single beam of some twenty feet in height, planted perpendicularly in the ground, with a strong horizontal arm, little more than a yard in length, extended, gibbet-like, from the top of it; and in a pulley, attached to the extremity of this ran a rope, one end of which swung loosely to the ground, while the other was firmly knotted on a projecting plug fixed in the upright post which we have described, and also within little more than a foot of the ground. Beneath this mysterious instrument stood the military lictors, to whom is committed the execution of the sentence we have but just heard, and some dozen or so of spectators — all in high, good humour; and in the centre, the miserable prisoner himself, now stripped to his shirt and breeches — and with his lank arms tied at the wrists firmly behind his back.
“For God’s sake, have mercy, sir — worthy, honest gentleman.”
“To be sure I will, alanna; I would not hurt a hair of your head for Ireland’s grounds; we’ll only just go through the forums, that’s all,” said the burly soldier, who was now knotting the loose extremity of the long rope we have mentioned, with many a doubled wrench, securely in the wretched man’s wrists, bound fast as they were behind his back.
“Mercy, mercy — for God’s sake, mercy, noble sir,” repeated their helpless victim, in the mere stupefaction of vacant terror.
“To be sure I will, aint I tellin’ you?” pursued the executioner, in a tone of the most soothing endearment, and at the same time making a hideous grimace, followed by a grin, and a wink at the bystanders; “I’d sooner hurt myself than such a purty gossoon, any day; we’ll make it as pleasant as we can — and I hope you don’t find that too tight,” he added, as he wrenched the last knot close with his whole force.
“Mercy, sir — mercy — mercy,” the wretched man continued to sob, as though he had lost the power of uttering any word but the one.
“Nonsense, man, it’s nothin’ at all, I’m telliu’ you; we’ll only give you a bit iv a lift, just to show you London — nothin’ more; I tell you it’s nothin’ at all worth spakin’ about. What the devil are you afeard of, a bouchai?” reiterated the soldier, in the same pleasant vein.
“Now, he’s all right, boys,” he resumed, trying the firmness of the knot with a few careless chucks; “he’s quite safe, and no fear of slipping; for I would not have you get a fall for all I’m worth — do ye mind; pull away, boys — lift him — up with him — there he goes.”
As he thus spoke, two of the other soldiers hauling the opposite extremity of the rope, raised the manacled wretch slowly from the ground, until he swung by his wrists, at a height of about six feet, his face depending toward the earth, and his knees nearly touching his chin — while the utmost exertion of every fibre was required to keep his arms close enough to his back, to prevent the strain upon them from becoming actually intolerable.
Having raised him to this height, the fixed extremity of the rope was so secured as to prevent the possibility of his descending nearer to the earth.
“Ah, gentlemen — for God’s sake,” persisted the terrified Garvey, “for God’s sake, gentlemen, let me down now — do, good gentlemen — I can’t bear it longer, my arms are breaking — mercy, mercy; good gentlemen, mercy.”
“Who’s hurtin’ you, avich,” resumed the same facetious personage, “tell me, my darlin’, an’ I’ll taich him behaviour; can’t yez let the gintleman alone, an’ he not offendin’ any one,” continued he, with genuine humour, addressing hie grinning comrades, “an’ only wants to get up a bit, and see what’s goin’ an.”
“Thrue for you, Bryan,” responded the sergeant, who stood by, with grave jocularity, “he came here just to see whatever he could, just as I may say, to look round him that a way,” and, as he concluded, the sergeant, with easy familiarity, span him gently round by the lock of hair which depended from his forehead, to the intense amusement of the spectators.
“Mercy, gentlemen, mercy — I can’t bear it — my arms — oh, my God — my arms — mercy, mercy,” cried Garvey, with increasing agony; while the twitching of every flushed feature betrayed the intensity of the exertion which tasked his exhausted strength; “oh, mercy, gentlemen — mercy — mercy.”
“Up with him now, pull away, pull away, boys, don’t be keepin’ his honour waiting,” pursued the sergeant. “There he goes, pull away, pull away — up with him — there he goes.”
As he spoke two of the soldiers under his command, hauled the rope with their united strength, until they had raised the miserable man to within about a yard of the pulley, at the end of the projecting arm. The rope by which he swung was, as the reader will remember, secured firmly at the extremity, in a plug projecting from the upright shaft of the gibbet-like apparatus, and in such a way that the living load which depended at the other end could not fall nearer than some six feet or so, to the earth, “Mercy, mercy. Oh, my God, let me rest for half a minute,” cried Garvey. “Mercy, gentlemen, mercy, mercy.”
“Never fear, we’ll let you down soon enough, don’t be unaisy,” said the sergeant, measuring, as nearly as he could with his halbert, the height at which the prisoner was now suspended. “That will do; now mind the word, when I say three, steady boys — one — mind the word — two, steady boys — three, and away he goes.”
At the word, the men let the rope go, and the living burthen which they had so lately raised, shot downwards from his elevated position to the point at which, as we have said, the rope was fixed; then; his descent was arrested with a dislocating shock which wrenched his arms almost from the shoulder sockets. With a yell so appalling that it dashed with a momentary horror, even the faces of the executioners themselves, the miserable man testified the unendurable anguish of the dreadful torture; rolling his head and his eyes around, in the delirium of his fierce agony, he shrieked forth blasphemies and prayers in wild and terrible incoherence.
“Pike him, an’ put him out of pain, for God’s sake, will yez?” cried one of the spectators, with the energy of horror, and wincing under the frightful spectacle.
“Lave him alone,” said the sergeant, authoritatively; “stand uack, a bouchai, and mind your own business, or I’ll taich you a lesson; stand back, I say.”
“Have you any thing to say now, mister prisoner?” he demanded, sternly, of the mangled wretch, who slowly revolved — a spectacle half ludicrous, half terrific; maddened and stunned with agony, however, he only jabbered, and yelled; and writhed.
“Oh, blessed Father, stop his mouth, any way,” cried another of the lookers-on, in irrepressible terror and loathing.
“I’m sorry I kem near it at all, God bless us,” said a third, lingering on in the irresistible fascination of horror.
“Will ye spake, darlin’! — yes or no,” demanded the sergeant again, “an’ stop your bawling?”
“Do you hear the sargeant spaking to you?” demanded one of the executioners, indignantly;.and at the same time administering a slight chuck to the rope, which, however, had no other effect than that of extorting a still more piercing yell from the miserable caitiff.
“Come, boys, lie’s a rale detarmined Turk of a chap,” said the sergeant, irefully; “he won’t be said by you or me — so are yez ready?”
“Come along,” responded one.
“Now for it,” replied the other.
And once more, with their united strength, Garvey soared aloft, to the topmost range of the rope’s play — some score feet high in the air. Again was the concerted signal given— “one, two,..three!” — and again, with a whirr, and a rush, and a shock that almost snapped the rope, down came the racked prisoner, and the hideous torture was repeated; and now the agony of the wretch — his shrieks and writhings seemed to kindle a ferocious excitement among his executioners. The two soldiers who strained the rope, tugged faster and more furiously, and the very exertion demanded by the feat, seemed but to stimulate their growing fury. The sergeant stormed and swore his encouragement and applause; and even some of the spectators caught the irresistible contagion, and stamped and whooped in irrepressible excitement.
Again was the agonized wretch raised aloft, as before, and again subjected to the same terrific shock; and, again, and yet again, was the torture repeated, amid shrieks, that rang still wilder and more piercing every moment; while at each new descent the frightful process of dislocation perceptibly advanced; at last, after nine such unutterable pangs, nature relieved the sufferer, and he received the tenth and last in the passive silence of insensibility. Cruelty had now done its worst; the tortured limbs were wrenched completely round in their sockets, and, from the torn ligaments, the bruised blood was welling through his tattered shirt, in purple streams. He was now lowered to the ground and before the halter, whose gripe was to end the sentence with the life of the senseless and mutilated mass of humanity which lay before them, had been adjusted about his throat, one of the soldiers clubbed his musket, and with two blows mercifully shattered the unconscious head to pieces, and thus secured the mangled wretch against the possibility of further torment.
Thus, with all his unscrupulous pliancy and wakeful cunning, did our old acquaintance, Garvey, come eventually to swing upon a gibbet; and, by a strange coincidence enough, he attained that elevation upon a charge of one of the very few crimes of which he was in reality innocent. Then leave we Garvey there, with strained neck and head awry, slowly swaying in the soft night breeze, never more to scheme or flatter, with heart now steeled for ever against the allurements of human ambition, and the terrors of human power, more serenely tranquil than the bravest of them all, amid the thunder, and shouting, and slaughter of the morrow’s battle.
CHAPTER XLV.
THE FORTUNE OF THE FIELD — THE LAST RETURN TO DUBLIN — TIDINGS OF TORLOGH O’BRIEN.
THE author of “The Boyne Water” has, with a masterly hand, sketched the events of the momentous battle which gives its name to his work; we are not presumptuous enough to traverse the ground already explored by him; we shall have, besides, ere we close these chapters, to witness another and a far more desperately contested fight than this.
Return we, therefore, now to the friends whom we have left in the good city of Dublin. Early on the morning following the events recorded in our last chapter, it was universally known among the citizens that expresses had arrived, announcing that the battle would be fought that day. The guards at all the city gates were doubled, and the Protestant inhabitants prudently kept within their homes. As is usual in cases of such excited and terrible suspense, every hour brought with it some new rumour — some fresh alarm. Now it was announced that the French fleet was riding in Dublin bay; and again that an express had arrived from Waterford, and that the French troops had effected a landing in England. Then again came a report that the battle was going in favour of King James, and the English right wing already entirely routed. Then it was rumoured that King William was killed, and next, that he was only made prisoner. Varied by such agitating and conflicting rumours, the tedious hours of the long summer’s day wore on. But at length, at about five o’clock in the evening, on jaded horses, dejected and travelsoiled, the first straggling couriers from the field of battle came riding into the town. These men, interrupted at every corner, clustered round by little mobs of listeners at every tavern door where they halted, and pursued by the more pertinacious even into the sanctuary of the tap-room, speedily spread the inauspicious tidings through the town. Others, scared and weary, came clattering in, at six o’clock, with news still more disastrous, of utter defeat. And hence, as the night wore on, faster and faster every moment came crowdin
g in wounded and dusty soldiers, on tired steeds, and among them many of King James’s body guards, without either swords or pistols, exhausted, savage, and dejected. The appearance of these latter gave rise to abundant speculation respecting the fate of the King himself, while the confusion and disorder of the streets were every moment enhanced by the continual and desultory arrival of ammunition carts, waggons, cannon and military baggage, passing incessantly through all the avenues of the town. Such was the disordered condition of the city at about ten o’clock at night, when King James himself came in, accompanied by about two hundred horse, straggling, broken, and dispirited. As this soiled and sombre effigy of royalty rode onward toward the Castle, stared at in silent dismay and wonder by the gaping crowd, and all but jostled by the dust-covered troopers who rode in such disorder about him, how striking — almost touching was the contrast which memory suggested, when, in all the splendid order of a stately pageant, amid the blessings and acclamations of enthusiastic thousands, he had, but one short year before, made his entrance into the selfsame city of Dublin. Thus dejected, and virtually dethroned, the poor King rode into the royal fortress, which was, after that night, never more to own him as its master.
Until twelve o’clock that night, these broken groups of horse came straggling, in continual succession, into the town; and the Protestants began to think that in good truth the whole Jacobite army had been utterly disorganized and broken, and were almost expecting the arrival of William’s forces, to complete their destruction, when, with the wild harmony of hautboys and trumpets, and the roll of kettledrums, the van of the Irish horse appeared, and, much to the surprise of all who had witnessed the previous scattered arrivals, the whole of this splendid force entered the town, in perfect order. These were succeeded, early in the morning, by the French, and a great portion of the Irish foot; and after an interval of a few hours, the whole of this force marched out again, to receive and check the advance of William’s army, and secure the city from attack.
Complete Works of Sheridan Le Fanu (Illustrated) Page 87
