weak-minded in all popular commotions,float with the strong tide, whichever way it may run. They knew not theobjects aimed at; they were ignorant of the intentions of their leaders;but would not be under the stain of cowardice among their companions,nor shrink from any cause where there was danger, if only for that veryreason. Thus was the mass made up, of men differing in various ways; butall held together by the common tie of a Church and a Country. It mightbe supposed that the leaders in such a movement would be those who,having suffered some grievous wrong, were reckless enough to adventureon any course that promised vengeance;--very far from this. Theprincipal promoters of the insurrection were of the class offarmers--men well to do, and reputed, in many cases wealthy. Theinstruments by which they worked were indeed of the very poorerclass--the cottier, whose want and misery had eat into his nature, andwho had as little room for fear as for hope in his chilled heart. Someinjury sustained by one of these, some piece of justice denied him; hisejection from his tenement; a chance word, perhaps, spoken to him inanger by his landlord or the agent, were the springs which moved a manlike this, and brought him into confederacy with those who promised hima speedy repayment of his wrongs, and flattered him into the beliefthat his individual case had all the weight and importance of a nationalquestion. Many insurrectionary movements have grown into the magnitudeof systematic rebellion from the mere assumption on the part of others,that they were prearranged and predetermined. The self-importancesuggested by a bold opposition to the law, is a strong agent in armingmen against its terrors. The mock martyrdom of Ireland is in this way,perhaps, her greatest and least curable evil.
Owen was, of all others, the man they most wished for amongst them.Independent of his personal courage and daring, he was regarded as onefruitful in expedients, and never deterred by difficulties. This mingledcharacter of cool determination and headlong impulse, made him exactlysuited to become a leader; and many a plot was thought of, to drawhim into their snares, when the circumstances of his fortune thusanticipated their intentions.
It would not forward the object of my little tale to dwell upon the lifehe now led. It was indeed an existence full of misery and suffering. Toexaggerate the danger of his position, his companions asserted that thegreatest efforts were making for his capture, rewards offered, and spiesscattered far and wide through the country; and while they agreed withhim that nothing could be laid to his charge, they still insisted, thatwere he once taken, false-swearing and perjury would bring him to thegallows, "as it did many a brave boy before him."
Half-starved, and harassed by incessant change of place; tortured by thefevered agony of a mind halting between a deep purpose of vengeance anda conscious sense of innocence, his own daily sufferings soon broughtdown his mind to that sluggish state of gloomy desperation, in which thevery instincts of our better nature seem dulled and blunted. "I cannotbe worse!" was his constant expression, as he wandered alone by someunfrequented mountain-path, or along the verge of some lonely ravine."I cannot be worse!" It is an evil moment that suggests a thought likethis!
Each night he was accustomed to repair to the old churchyard, where someof the "boys," as they called themselves, assembled to deliberate onfuture measures, or talk over the past. It was less in sympathywith their plans that Owen came, than for the very want of humancompanionship. His utter solitude gave him a longing to hear theirvoices, and see their faces; while in their recitals of outrage, hefelt that strange pleasure the sense of injury supplies, at any tale ofsorrow and suffering.
At these meetings the whisky-bottle was never forgotten; and while somewere under a pledge not to take more than a certain quantity--a vow theykept most religiously--others drank deeply. Among these was Owen. Thefew moments of reckless forgetfulness he then enjoyed were the covetedminutes of his long dreary day, and he wished for night to come as thelast solace that was left him.
His companions knew him too well, to endeavour by any active influenceto implicate him in their proceedings. They cunningly left the work totime and his own gloomy thoughts; watching, however, with eager anxiety,how, gradually he became more and more interested in all their doings;how, by degrees he ceased even the half-remonstrance against some deedof unnecessary cruelty; and listened with animation where before he butheard with apathy, if not repugnance. The weeds of evil grow rankest inthe rich soil of a heart whose nature, once noble, has been pervertedand debased. Ere many weeks passed over, Owen, so far from disliking thetheme of violence and outrage, became half-angry with his comrades,that they neither proposed any undertaking to him, nor even asked hisassistance amongst them.
This spirit grew hourly stronger in him; offended pride worked withinhis heart during the tedious days he spent alone, and he could scarcelyrefrain from demanding what lack of courage and daring they saw in him,that he should be thus forgotten and neglected.
In this frame of mind, irresolute as to whether he should not proposehimself for some hazardous scheme, or still remain a mere spectatorof others, he arrived one evening in the old churchyard. Of late, "theboys," from preconcerted arrangements among themselves, had rathermade a show of cold and careless indifference in their manner toOwen--conduct which deeply wounded him.
As he approached now the little crypt, he perceived that a greaternumber than usual were assembled through the churchyard, and manywere gathered in little knots and groups, talking eagerly together; ahalf-nod, a scarcely muttered "Good even," was all the salutation hemet, as he moved towards the little cell, where, by the blaze of a pieceof bog-pine, a party were regaling themselves--the custom and privilegeof those who had been last out on any marauding expedition. A smokingpot of potatoes and some bottles of whisky formed the entertainment, atwhich Owen stood a longing and famished spectator.
"Will yez never be done there eatin' and crammin' yerselves?" said agruff voice from the crowd to the party within; "and ye know well enoughthere's business to be done to-night."
"And ain't we doing it?" answered one of the feasters. "Here's yourhealth, Peter!" and so saying, he took a very lengthened draught fromthe "poteen" bottle.
"'Tis the thrade ye like best, anyhow," retorted the other. "Come, boys;be quick now!"
The party did not wait a second bidding, but arose from the place, andremoving the big pot to make more room, they prepared the little cellfor the reception of some other visitors.
"That's it now! We'll not be long about it. Larry, have yez the deck,'my boy?"
"There's the book, darlint," said a short, little, de-crepid creature,speaking with an asthmatic effort, as he produced a pack of cards,which, if one were to judge from the dirt, made the skill of the gameconsist as much in deciphering as playing them.
"Where's Sam M'Guire?" called out the first speaker, in a voice loudenough to be heard over the whole space around; and the name wasrepeated from voice to voice, till it was replied to by one who cried--
"Here, sir; am I wanted?"
"You are, Sam; and 'tis yourself is always to the fore when we need yez."
"I hope so indeed," said Sam, as he came forward, a flush of gratifiedpride on his hardy cheek. He was a young, athletic fellow, with a finemanly countenance, expressive of frankness and candour.
"Luke Heffernan! where's Luke?" said the other.
"I'm here beside ye," answered a dark-visaged, middle-aged man, withthe collar of his frieze coat buttoned high on his face; "ye needn't beshouting my name that way--there may be more bad than good among uz.
"There's not an informer, any way--if that's what ye mean," said theother quickly. "Gavan Daly! Call Gavan Daly, will ye, out there?"And the words were passed from mouth to mouth in a minute, but no onereplied to the summons.
"He's not here--Gavan's not here!" was the murmured answer of the crowd,given in a tone that hoded very little in favour of its absent owner.
"Not here!" said the leader, as he crushed the piece of paper, fromwhich he read, in his hand; "not here! Where is he, then? Does any ofyez know where's Gavan Daly?"
But there was no answer.
> "Can no body tell?--is he sick?--or is any belonging to him sick anddying, that he isn't here this night, as he swore to be?"
"I saw him wid a new coat on him this morning early in Oughterarde, andhe said he was going to see a cousin of his down below Oranmore," said ayoung lad from the outside of the crowd, and the speaker was in a momentsurrounded by several, anxious to find out some other particulars ofthe absent man. It was evident that the boy's story was far from beingsatisfactory, and the circumstance of Daly's wearing a new coat, was onefreely commented on by those who well knew how thoroughly they were inthe power of any who should betray them.
"He's in the black list this night,"
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