'A jackdaw noble, glittering in the plumesOf the old race, whose honours he assumes!'
'A jackdaw noble, glittering in the plumesOf the old race, whose honours he assumes!'
'My lady--my lady! It's always your mother ye're bothering about,' he said presently. 'Sure, your lordship's not tied to my lady's apron-string!'
But Shane's babble, once set going, was not to be stemmed by pertness. He proceeded to unfold all her suggestions, mingled with his own doubts and hopes and fears; and as he talked on, new ideas sprang into shape, which hitherto had lain indistinct and dormant. He told of Doreen and her fortune, and how he would like to marry her if he could get rid of her directly afterwards--of how fortunate it was that he had sold his parliamentary interest so well--of how Terence had rebuked him on that subject, and what a crackbrained lunatic he was--girt round with old-fashioned prejudice--beset with starched quirks and rubbish.
Cassidy's eyes twinkled, for he detected a glittering piece of wadding which would suit his nest right well--a precious piece of wadding made of revenge and self-interest interwoven--a rare piece of wadding which should be his if craft could win it.
'Would Miss Wolfe have your lordship?' he said carelessly; 'sure, it's many a colleen that'd jump at your refined appearance, let alone your wealth. But she----' the sentence remained unfinished, out of respect. He would not make disagreeable remarks to his patron for anything whatever. He therefore whistled in a deprecating and provoking manner, while the latter echoed pettishly:
'But she--what?'
'Maybe I'd best not tell ye! Well--if ye will have it--she--I fear she's sweet upon another gintleman--that's bad?'
Shane was fairly startled. It had never struck him that she could have already given herself away--to whom? As her form began to appear shadowy, he, with the usual inconsistency of man, began to hanker wildly after the ice-maiden--not for herself of course, but for the money-box.
'It's not possible!' he cried.
''Deed 'tis!' returned the other, with compassion. 'She's deep in love with Councillor Crosbie. I've known it this long while.'
Shane ground his teeth and sprang upon his feet. This last blow was too much. What! this interloper was going to rob him of his birthright and his name, and, not content with that, was also going to take the precious ice-maiden, whose paltry little stockingful would at least keep hunger from the pauper's door. In an access of rage Shane paraded up and down the club-room like a tiger. Inflamed by his own critical condition he lashed himself into savage unreasoning passion, and Cassidy whistled softly before the fire, with his big legs stretched out and his fists deep in his pockets, until the young man should have attained the requisite degree of heat. Then, when he judged the patient's temper to be sufficiently exasperated, he passed his arm through his, and in a low coaxing voice poured poison in his ear while the two walked. Sure, his lordship must take the bull by the horns and act promptly, unless he was satisfied to sit with hands before him and lose all. He must take measures to prevent Master Terence from seeing any more of his mother or of Miss Doreen until something could be definitely settled.
Shane half understood, and his blood tingled.
How did his lordship's father espouse her ladyship? Was it not after the then prevailing fashion of high-spirited Irish gentlemen? Did he not carry her off before all competitors, as many another noble member of the Abduction Club had carried away his bride? True, the Abduction Club had ceased to exist five and twenty years ago; but in the present unsettled condition of the country, there was no reason why a leaf should not be taken from its book. Lord Kilwarden would hush the matter up, which would merely be a little scandal, strictly limited within the family circle. Miss Doreen would be Madam Shane: good luck to the winsome colleen! Her money would be his--so would be the forty-five thousand pounds for which he had sold his vote. Come what might, then, there would be no need to talk of drowning himself in claret--of being thrust forth a beggar in the world.
Shane listened and brightened up. The abduction idea was good, and jumped with his Irish romance. He would marry the ice-maiden without having to woo her--a proceeding that he knew he could not accomplish. But how about Terence? He would interfere--knight of the rueful countenance though he professed to be. My lady too--what should prevent her from speaking before these arrangements could be carried out? The ruinous words were on the tip of her tongue. Terence was at Strogue, and bound to remain there. He could not leave the grounds without breaking his parole.
Cassidy was delivered of a real inspiration; and nothing could be easier than to carry it out. Did not the chancellor say only an hour ago that the tussle was close at hand--that the Great Measure was to be again brought forward without delay? Well then. Master Terence must disappear. Nonsense! Nosbirriin long cloaks as in an opera. Major Sirr and faithful Cassidy could manage that. He could be locked up by an error of orders just for a little. Was he not a state-prisoner on parole? and was not the younger Emmett--foolish young scapegrace, who thought he concealed his identity under the name of Hewitt--busily preparing to dash his head against a wall? What easier than to suggest that Councillor Crosbie--already so gravely compromised--had broken his parole and gone off to join the baby-conspirators? The Battalion would come up by dozens to swear it. They would minutely describe where and how--the other side of the country--they had captured him a second time; would claim rewards for doing so. Afterwards he should be forthcoming without a hair of his head being injured--his affectionate brother need not fear for his life. Apologies would be made if need were (for Government seemed determined to treat him very leniently), and all would be right as a trivet. Whether any one would speak or no, so that later on he might assume his title, was an after consideration. By the time he was released, Lord Glandore would have voted; Doreen would be Madam Shane; Lord Kilwarden would have blessed his children. The matter would be settled--Shane would be safely provided for. If the rumour of the councillor's escape and the breaking of his parole were deftly managed, his own friends would be disgusted; his mother, even, would see that confession would not help matters; Government would wash its hands of so determined a Croppy, when, the measure carried, his influence would be null and void. It would be very much more likely than not that those who could speak would irrevocably decide--after the escapade which they would father on him--that the secret must be kept for ever.
Shane was amazed and delighted. The babe and suckling had spoken wisdom indeed--admirable! Verily the best plans are the most simple ones, and nothing could be simpler than this. It was not possible more cleverly to meet every difficulty, to countercheck every contingency, than by this subtle scheme. He promised himself in the future to make Terence a splendid allowance as a salve to his own conscience--so soon as he held his portion of the blood-money, and Doreen's stocking and his marquisate, and a certainty that nobody would blab. So easily are we inclined to believe what suits us that his bugbear vanished into the air. Terence would never know. The crisis past, the prospective marquis would score a point before the world by laying claim to his brother's liberty, feigning to demand it for state services, instead of promotion in the peerage. Of course everybody would applaud so gracious, so affectionate an act. He would receive both favours. The clouds which threatened to smother him were melting unaccountably before a magic wand. How strange that the man who had power to work so potent a spell should be stupid blundering Cassidy!
He clasped the giant warmly by the paw, vowing eternal gratitude if he would see to this at once. Would he also consider as to what favour the prospective Marquis of Glandore should ask the Government for his dear friend--his excellent friend--his saviour?
Cassidy laughed with a great guffaw, which was not all innocence, at the change which his suggestions had worked. It was just possible that things would not turn out quite as the future marquis saw them. In a case of abduction there may be a rescue. The rescuer may carry off the prize. What if Doreen, instead of becoming by main force Madam Shane, were to return to the world as Madam Cassidy? The giant had an eye to that stocking, not for his patron but himself. He also had a consuming desire to possess its mistress--all the more that she had twice refused him; that she had declined his acquaintance altogether since the little party at Glas-aitch-é. It would be a fine revenge to possess her by right of conquest--a fine revenge on her and on the odious Terence. No; it was hardly likely that the giant intended to permit Miss Wolfe to become Madam Shane.
When the fatal moment arrived, Dublin was agog. The influence of the lords, so dearly purchased, was brought to bear with all its force upon the members, for whose return to parliament they were responsible. Jupiter was showering gold on Danæ, resolved to consummate the sacrifice of her virtue. Debate followed debate with unequal success. First one side considered that the day was theirs; then the other triumphed; then the pistol-heroes rushed forth, and howled and swaggered, and pinked their men, and returned to go on with the argument which had been dropped in their excitement. In fact, both parties seemed agreed as to one point only, viz., their determination to behave in as undignified a manner as might be. It was the old story of physical bullying doing its best to conceal moral cowardice and turpitude--a scene of hectoring and license and vulgar abuse and uproar, which shamed both parties in equal measure.
Lord Cornwallis had done his best. In the course of the year which elapsed between the two attempts to carry the union he made two state progresses--one in the southern counties and the other in the north, and preached the millennium according to St. Pitt. Clare and Castlereagh both laboured on in town as sure no negro slaves ever laboured; and yet when the time came all was still provokingly uncertain. This Irish senate was unutterably vile. Having surrendered its scrap of virtue, it repudiated, like an irreclaimable strumpet, even the maxim of honour amongst thieves. It was clear that further. delay would only make matters worse by inducing senators to open their mouths yet wider. Portentous debates occupied the Commons; the House frequently sat all night, breaking up only at midday. Members declared that they must give up the ghost or have a holiday; some sought refuge among pillows and boluses from the Herculean labours of the House, while others dragged themselves, like martyrs to the stake, through the dense masses of the populace that had taken possession of College Green, to cheer non-unionists with vociferous shouts, and hurl mud and putrid eggs at unpopular legislators. On Lord Castlereagh fell the onus of wielding the thunderbolts of Jove, and he acquitted himself of the task most excellently. Like the chancellor, he had the 'gift of the gab;' was not particular as to the language he employed; was well versed in forensic Billingsgate; could return anyone, in sledge-hammer fashion, a Roland for his Oliver. The modest were overwhelmed by flights of astounding rhapsody; the patriotic silenced by brazen lies; the uncertain routed by bewildering irony. As the dogmatic chancellor (now that he no longer feared the Viceroy) trampled the peerage under his feet, so did the clever chief secretary discomfit the Commons. Money was poured forth lavishly; threats and promises were distributed with profuse hands. The tussle was sharp, but none could doubt which side would in the end prove victorious. Concerning Grattan (the man of '82), Lord Cornwallis wrote that he was no better than an old doll. The jaws of the ancient lion were toothless. 'Grattan,' he said, 'degraded as he is in the opinion of the respectable portion of the community, yet has a certain influence with the Roman Catholics of Dublin, who are disaffected, and hate British connection.' Of Curran also he felt no dread, for the little man was no longer in parliament--his silver tongue was gagged; he was apparently worn out by his efforts on behalf of the state-prisoners--was sickening (as he put it) with a 'constitutional dejection of the heart, which could find no remedy in water or in wine.' No wonder if he felt unwell. He saw members moved, like beasts, in droves--a picture of human degradation never equalled since Nebuchadnezzar went to grass.
Practically the question was already settled long before young Robert looked out for the running up of the new flag. Not but what the Dublin populace were quite prepared for riot. They seized private carriages and tossed them into the Liffey; marched about with political effigies, and danced round the bonfires which consumed them. All this was very harmless vapouring in the eyes of those who yet heard the shrieks of the victims of '98--yet saw the Reign of Terror, with its pitch-caps, its cardings, its picketings, and triangles. No one took heed of the street mobs, even though my Lord Clare himself, in his carelessness, came once quite near to danger. It was on the morning of one of the last struggles. The debate had lasted, without a pause, for eighteen hours, and the members were wearily dispersing, when the crowd manifested a desire to 'shilloo' the speaker, who had behaved with refreshing patriotism. His horses were taken from his carriage, a hundred men dashed forward to seize the pole. At this moment the lord chancellor appeared upon the steps, with insolent chin in air, dressed in his great flapped wig and rustling laced robes. 'Harness him to the carriage!' cried a wag. My Lord Clare started round with an indignant reprimand; but perceiving from his vantage-ground a sea of some ten thousand threatening heads, he retreated backwards with caution, as a countryman might do before a bull, flourishing a toy-pistol in his hand, with which he swore to blow out the brains of the first man who came within six paces of him. The extraordinary pageant moved slowly along; so singular a spectacle that it tickled the humorous side of the Hibernian character--the lord chancellor of Ireland walking backwards through the mud, holding up his robes with one hand lest he should trip over them, pointing with the other a tiny firearm at ten thousand enemies. Sure, this alone was a glorious triumph for King Mob. Choosing his moment, he whisked with a swift dash into a house, the door of which withstood the battering of myriad kicks until Lord Clare made good his escape by a back way. But there were mobs and mobs, in Dublin as elsewhere. This one happened to be a good-tempered mob, for the patriotic speaker had gained a point that day. But there were other mobs abroad made up of desperate men--of men whose skins bore the scars of the Riding-school, whose hearths were desolate, whose homes were bereft of dear ones. It was to these, and such as these, whom no jests could soften, that young Robert looked for the realisation of his dream. His natural fear of bloodshed was washed away by the woes that had been the portion of his friends. He clung to the notion that the mantle of Theobald had fallen on his shoulders; that as Moses was forbidden to enter the Promised Land, so, for some Divine reason, Theobald was punished; and that he, Robert, was to play the part of Joshua. His green uniform failed to please him. A new one was designed--gorgeous--of scarlet, faced with green and laced with gold. He tried it on in secret before a glass, and minced hither and thither to see what the figure would look like that was to storm the Castle and kill Cornwallis in his bed. Yet, for all these childish pranks, none could be more earnest than he, or more genuinely prepared to do or die. The hordes of banditti which still infested Wicklow were taken into partnership. On the signal of a rocket they were to rush to their posts. Some were to seize the desecrated Senate-house; others to attack Chapelizod; others to secure important streets. Young Robert reserved to himself and a selected band of braves the sacred right of storming the Castle and pulling down the objectionable ensign.
To one only of his friends did he confide a vague suspicion of his intentions as they approached maturity. That one was gentle Sara, whom he bound by awful oaths, though she was in nowise fitted for a heroine, to divulge nothing of what she knew, but to keep her chamber, and pray there for his success. The poor child knelt by her virgin bed, and prayed and wept with terrible forebodings. Truth to tell, he told her very little. What was this venture which was to produce such marvels? What means could he employ to prevent the parliament from voting. Would he come to stand in the dock as so many had done who were now at rest? No. By Divine mercy he had been kept in England during the awful agony--had been specially preserved from peril. It could not have been in sport that the beloved undergraduate had been withheld from temptation--merely to be dashed down at last, when the tide of bloodshed was stemmed? No, no! Sara, with scared eyes, swept the ripples of flaxen hair from off her pure girlish brow, and rebuked herself for want of trustful faith as she folded her hands together and tried to pray. But her mind wandered. She could not help seeing in memory the distracted gestures of the trail of widows--of the wives who were worse than widows, for their husbands languished in lifelong duress. Who was she that she might hope to fare better than they? She was a feeble girl, who loved her father and her lover, and had no room in her being for more than that. If any evil befel Robert, what would become of her? Could she hope to rally? She was not one of those who bend before a storm and rise again but little the worse for buffeting. She was one of the sensitive sort, who may linger for a brief space perhaps before they wither. Even strong, haughty-browed Doreen was broken by what she had passed through. What if Sara were likewise summoned at the last moment to pass under the yoke? She would succumb at once. She prayed for help, and implored mercy with the desperate energy of a young creature who clings to the sweets of life, while tears rained down her cheeks. Doreen, looking for her by-and-by, found the maid lying on the floor asleep, and sobbing as she slept, with reddened lids and trembling baby lips. What was it that ailed her? Doreen inquired tenderly. Silly chit! to allow a dream to vex her thus. Sara said 'Yes, it was a dream;' and sent a prayer to heaven that an idle dream--no more--the fearsome vision might prove to be.
Doreen went upstairs to seek her friend, because the shadow of trouble still hung over the inmates of Strogue Abbey, and at the best it was not a gay house to be alone in. Now solitude reigned in its reception-rooms, for Curran shut himself in his chamber to forget the impending union; Shane was madly rollicking in Dublin; Terence had disappeared, and my lady had taken to her bed.
Yes, Terence had disappeared; none knew how or whither. Shane professed bitter anger, and cried out about family disgrace, till, on meeting the calm eye of Miss Wolfe fixed on him, he stammered and was silent. As for her, she knew not what to think. Perceiving his mother's grief, had he, in his chivalry, withdrawn himself, lest his presence should add poignancy to it? But how about the breaking of his parole? Sure, he was too honourable a man to do such a thing! She went and took counsel of Madam Gillin, who scratched her head and looked serious. This was a trick of Cassidy's--of that she felt quite certain, for that worthy had shown private spite in the way he had tried to run the young man down before. Yet what could be his object now? She soothed Doreen's anxiety as much as possible, affecting herself to be quite comfortable on the subject; but privately resolved to make another attack upon the chancellor as soon as his mind was free about the union, if the vanished one did not return. So Doreen waited in suspense, tending her aunt, who seemed very ill, and her young friend, who was singularly disturbed and wretched; while Mr. Curran moped, and the Abbey was as gloomy as a sepulchre.
Soon the one engrossing subject occupied every mind, to the exclusion, for the moment, of all others. A mob, by no means so good-tempered as that which had pursued Lord Clare, gathered about the House at the second reading of the bill, and assumed so threatening an attitude that the military were called out, who fired a volley among the people, and so dispersed them. Strange beacons were seen at night upon the Wicklow Hills. Rumour whispered that something was afoot. Timid people wished that the crisis was well over. Major Sirr and his lambs made a raid on a certain house, where they found a hundred bottles filled with powder, several bushels of musket-balls, meshes of tow mixed with tar and gunpowder, a large quantity of pikes. Of these they took quiet possession, and drove away, without seeking to follow the matter up. Did this point to a new conspiracy? M.P.s asked each other. How deeply laid was it? By whom organised? Why had no arrests followed the discovery of the stores? Rumour said that the ill-conditioned brother of Lord Glandore was plotting again; that he had broken his parole, notwithstanding the extreme kindness with which he had been treated. Well, well! Some folks were born to the halter--as some are to the purple, and others to misfortune. The sooner the great measure was carried, and the fate of Ireland decided, the better it would be for all parties. So said the members, as for the last time they strolled under the shadow of the Senate-house.
That last day was one of breathless excitement. All knew that the affair was settled; yet they waited, as if in expectation of a miracle. False reports flew hither and thither in distracting numbers. Messengers rode out with bulletins hour by hour to Strogue and other important country places, where fine ladies waited. Lord Clare, taking a lesson from his recent predicament, surrounded the House with cavalry. Foot-soldiers, with matches burning, lined the colonnades. No demonstration of popular feeling was permitted. Those who were about to cancel the national charter were well protected; yet seemed they ill at ease. Many anti-unionists, seeing how hopeless was the case, withdrew with sad looks before the third reading of the bill; others, urged by a morbid curiosity, waited for the curtain's drop. The lobbies were crammed; the galleries crowded. A monotonous murmur ran along the benches. Some were ashamed, some shameless, some--too late--sorrow-smitten. Among the latter was Lord Kilwarden, who despatched a courier to his daughter to say that he would stop to the last.
So the hours waned, and it was night ere Doreen's father arrived at Strogue. He was deeply, miserably dejected. So much so, that his daughter marvelled at him.
'It's all over!' he cried, in indignation mingled with contrition. 'The men who forgot their country have slainher, that she may not survive to rememberthem. The slave's collar has been slipped on--its lock snapped to for ever! But there's something yet to come. I have a hint from Clare that there will probably be more trouble to-morrow. Glandore told me the same thing just now, who has it, he says, from the Staghouse people, who are sure to know. Lord Cornwallis will have taken his measures, doubtless, for as a soldier he is above praise. I have business with him to-morrow, so we had better return at once to Dublin.'
'Now?' Doreen said, in wonder.
'You are not afraid?' her father asked, with a weak smile. 'My coach is below. Its liveries are well known. No one would harm me, thank Heaven!'
Afraid? Doreen was not given to physical fear. Then her father explained that Shane was coming home, and with him Cassidy and some more choice spirits, who were to close the lower rooms of the Abbey and remain on the defensive, lest the anti-unionists should attempt revenge.
'You will be equally safe here or in Dublin, dear,' Lord Kilwarden said. 'But I seem to think that you would prefer my company to that of cousin Shane.'
Locked up with Shane--and Cassidy! No, indeed. Knowing what she knew, that would be too dreadful. Thanking her father with a look, she fetched a shawl, kissed pale Sara, and, bidding her be of good cheer, for the Abbey would be well protected, climbed into the coach, which started forthwith for Dublin.
'If Glandore is cautious, so will we be,' remarked Lord Kilwarden, with an attempt at cheerfulness. 'Wanderers may be hanging about the high-road, waiting for a signal in the morning. See, the beacons are all alight along the hilltops! Do they not remind you of the time--not so long ago--when we were expecting a French invasion? I trust the Viceroy has been warned, for he does not comprehend our mercurial temperament, and Sirr's people are strangely apathetic. A new regime has begun to-night, my love, which I hope may in time bring peace to our distracted land. My vote went for union, for I know that we are unstable, but excellent if wisely controlled. The Scotch, you will remember, hated their union at first. England has her way at last, so her rule will soften, and Erin will be at peace. I know you are too Irish to agree with me, Doreen. The young are always apt to judge hastily of their elders, without considering that the gulf that divides them is one of experience as well as years.'
It was seldom that Lord Kilwarden became expansive on this delicate subject with his daughter. Even between those who love each other much, there are subjects that are best left alone. But he was loquacious this evening, seeming anxious to deprecate a harsh verdict on her part. His recent emotion set loose his tongue, and he chatted softly on, explaining his motives and his views--he who was usually so silent and reserved--as the coach rumbled over the rough by-road, which led to the capital by a circuitous route.
When its wheels died away in the distance, Sara sat down to meditate. Robert, then, who had spoken in parables, was planning something which would place him in peril. Perhaps she would look on him no more. She tried to realise what that would mean for her. During the months when he was in England she was glad not to see him, looking forward to a happier day when he would be all hers, as side by side and hand in hand they would stroll down the hill's shadowed side to the churchyard at its base. She had often wondered which of them would first be summoned hence--picturing a cosy hearth with two aged figures in the chimney-corner, who, their career over, were awaiting a release. On such occasions she had always decided that they would be so old--so old--that a day or two only could possibly intervene between their flitting. After clinging so closely one to the other, in joy and sorrow, through a prolonged probation, but a brief space could keep the pair asunder ere they were joined again for all eternity. So had the simple damsel dreamed, and had been happy in her castle-building, withdrawing her mind to the love-labour of that delicious task, from the tragic scenes in which she wandered--in them, not of them--like one in a mesmeric trance. But now, in the oppressive stillness, she sat resolutely down to look upon herself as a possible actor in the tragedy; to look for her own image among the troop of women who importuned Heaven to call them hence. She tried to think of herself as she had seen the widows whilst gazing on their swinging husbands--as she had seen the mothers--stony, tearless, with their murdered sons across their knees. But it was not possible. There are situations so opposed to the order of things that we cannot realise them. Her mind's retina declined to accept the image--threw it back again as one contrary to nature; and yet it was all but certain that Robert--the sensitive, the ardent, the enthusiastic--had deliberately placed his foot upon the bridge of stars which conducts by a track of light to the Walhalla--which leads by the rugged path of torment and of martyrdom to the platform of immortality. She strove, with all the resolution she could muster, to conjure up the dreadful picture, but succeeded only in making her head spin round. Taking up a taper--nervous by reason of the silence of night and her lugubrious mental exercise--she thought she would pay a visit to her father, and look in at my lady's door to announce Doreen's abrupt departure, and prepare the invalid for the noisy coming of Shane and of his guests.
She moved through the chintz sitting-room--past the dark staircase, grim in the flicker of her candle with the panoplies of swords and antique armour--into the great hall with its black oak panels, and was turning to the left, where a rise of a few sculptured steps led into my lady's bedchamber, when her attention was arrested by a noise. What was that? A hum and subdued clatter--growing louder--louder--as it approached. It must be Shane and his convoy--many horsemen, judging by the sound. Was the danger then so pressing? Her heart beat fast. They would bring certain news, that was some comfort; anything was better than lying on this rack.
Yes, it was Shane's party. There was a ring of many hoofs as the riders wheeled round the turn of the avenue on the crisp gravel under the ancient archway into the stable-yard. Shane's voice could be plainly detected adjuring his guests to abstain from needless noise, since the countess lay ill. Leaving their horses there, they came round to the front on foot, where Sara met them, unbarring the door herself, an apparition of innocence against the background of that gloomy hall. There was Shane, somewhat the worse for liquor, flushed and wild, his hair unribboned, his boots caked thick with mud; and Cassidy smart and neat in a riding-coat, with capes of many colours, and a high-peaked hat of silvery beaver--wondrous fine; and half a dozen followers, evidently not of gentle birth, who bowed with servility to the young lady and sidled cringing along the wall.
The vision of Sara surprised them not a little. 'This was not proper in ticklish times,' Cassidy cried out, after the authoritative manner of a parent. 'Young ladies should not open doors alone at night. How did she know that the party were not Croppies, intent on murder--villainous rapscallions who ought to be strung up, every man jack of 'em? There were hosts of such about. What was Miss Wolfe thinking of--she who had a head upon her shoulders--to permit of such imprudence?'
'Where were the servants?' Shane shouted, forgetful of his mother's health. 'Wine, wine! at once; and beds for these honest gentlemen. They were come to stop for a few days, and must be treated well.'
Sara struck the bell to summon the servants, and said that Doreen had started an hour since for Dublin--with her father.
Shane and Cassidy exchanged glances, and both looked put out. 'Gone to Dublin! where--what for?' stammered Shane, disconcerted. 'I told my uncle this very day that I intended to bring some friends to help to defend the house, that his anxiety on her account might be at rest. How imprudent--how silly--how provoking--when the Croppies are mustering along the quays!'
Cassidy frowned him to silence. Where did her father take her? Sure, he would bring her back again? How was it they had not met his carriage on the road?
'They were gone to the Castle,' responded Sara, beginning to be frightened, 'where they would doubtless be quite safe. What was this about Croppies along the quays? Oh! would they please tell her something? People seemed all agreed to keep things back, as if she were a child. Croppies, did he say? Were not Croppies put down long since? Who was their leader?'
'Croppies 'tis,' grunted Cassidy. 'They'll be at it by this time, the fools! Who's their leader? That young donkey Emmett, who'll swing for it--the idiot!'
Sara clung to a heavy piece of furniture. Like cold steel the certainty cut through her brain that her edifice of cards, erected in simple faith, would fall--had tumbled ere this perhaps; that the tender intercourse of years was not to be; that she was destined to bear her portion of the common cross. She was all at once convinced that Robert and she would never meet upon this globe again. She essayed to speak, but her head whirled; lights danced with shifting colours before her eyes; the floor seemed to heave and rise in billows--yet she did not faint. The servants had brought candles which burned blue and dim and danced up and down, changing to red and green and violet a long way off. She was aware somehow that after a brief consultation Shane had countermanded the claret--that his obsequious friends had received new orders--that the party, donning cloaks again, had mounted and gone clattering away by the unused by-road. The hall-door--wide open--admitted a chill gust which set the candles guttering, but revived her perturbed faculties. Staggering against the doorpost, the girl watched the beacons on the hills, as, fed with furze, they flared up and glowed awhile, then dwindled and died out one by one. She looked across the bay towards Dublin, which was like an anthill possessed by glow-worms, beyond a black abyss. With straining eyes she looked. What would she not have given to know what was passing there? Was Cassidy merely playing off an untimely jest on her by saying what he did? No. Her sick heart whispered that it was all true. Robert's mysterious parable of good things in store clung cold about her heart like a dead hand. Perhaps at this very instant he was being slain--better even that than that he should be taken and undergo the mockery of justice, and pass as others passed--upon the scaffold. Oh! that ardent face--transfigured and inspired by his pure enthusiasm--was she indeed no more to look on it? Was she--see! what was that! A rocket soared into the air from the glow-worms' hill, turning the deep blue to sable, and bursting, vanished in a shower of sparks. What could that mean? It must be a signal. What did it portend? Sara swung-to the heavy door, and, drooping on a sofa, sat down and waited.
Robert (or Mr. Hewitt, for so was he enrolled among the chalked-up inmates of the lodging where he dwelt) betrayed no less emotion than the rest of Dublin citizens when the word flew from mouth to mouth that as an independent nation Ireland was extinguished. He and a few trusty followers were waiting for the official announcement of Ireland's disgrace in their depot--a shambling set of outhouses situated near Merchant's Quay. Sirr's raid, whereby he captured so much material, was annoying no doubt; but Robert was full of his star and the mantle that Theobald had thrown to him.
Of course when the Castle was captured, Dublin would surrender without a blow. He had his scheme prepared, which was instilled into the minds of the Wicklow banditti. They were to creep to their posts at nightfall and await his signal--a rocket; then to rush from different points upon the Castle, choosing the narrowest streets in order that if attacked their peculiar style of warfare might prove effective. In a narrow passage, he argued, the pike--a weapon nine feet long--is more telling than a musket with its bayonet. The people in the houses might of course be expected to take part against the military, and give them a warm reception from the housetops with a galling fire of bricks and coping-stones. If necessary they might be employed in dragging up the pavement in the rear of the King's troops, to expose the new-made drains as pitfalls. In any case the regulars, thrown into confusion, would roll over each other, and, helpless in a choked thoroughfare, might be piked and stoned to a man. At prearranged turnings, barriers were to be thrown up, constructed of carts, doors, hogsheads. This would be done in a few seconds by the willing help of surrounding inhabitants. In all cases the pikemen were bidden to advance at a brisk trot that weight might counterbalance defective discipline; intrepid men being stationed at the ends of every rank to keep the masses compact and prevent wavering.
Robert's own position (and the rallying-point in case of retreat) was to be the watch-house which stood on the Old Bridge, and which commanded the narrow entry by which troops would come, if sent for, from Chapelizod. From the tower which crowned the watch-house he would send up his rocket; then, allowing time for the marching of the different divisions to their respective posts, he would leave a sufficient body there to hold the bridge, and hurry to the Castle gates, lest some one might steal the envied privilege of dragging down the detested flag. Elaborate were his arrangements in theory with regard to barricades. Beams had been left lying about with prearranged carelessness, ready to be picked up and slung at a moment's notice. As he donned his uniform--scarlet coat with gold epaulettes, white vest, pantaloons of tender grey--his first-lieutenant (one Quigley, a baker, who rejoiced exceedingly in a huge green plume) remarked with regret that perhaps their object would have been best achieved by taking a hint from Fawkes. 'Nothing could have been easier, and if successful more complete. Sure, it was the want of a reform in the senate that had brought Erin to this plight. The senate destroyed, she might begin again on the basis of '82, with hope refreshed and a clean slate.'
Robert looked with displeasure at his truculent lieutenant.
'What! There were women in the galleries. Destroy the innocent with the guilty, by the hundred?'
'Haven't they kilt thousands--women and children galore--bad luck to 'em!' retorted the bellicose baker. 'After all, there was no fear of the escape of the guilty now. The hand of the avenger should seek out the recreants and put them to the edge of the sword--stem, root, and branch; their houses should be heaps of stones; their homes be made desolate. The world would applaud the vengeance of the downtrodden!'
Robert was displeased by his lieutenant's views. He who by constitutional instinct so dreaded bloodshed, had battled with his fears and girded on the sword of Joshua, carried above physical antipathies by the sacred cause of the oppressed. Yet was it with a secret terror that he listened to such language as that of the gentleman with the green plume. It filled him with loathing. Thank Heaven that he, the chief, was there to keep the men in order, and temper justice with mercy! The goddess of justice, he believed, should appear white and shining, not dabbled with the gore of those who had done no wrong. So he tried to reason with himself. The work of Joshua, if the legend was to be believed, had been a bloody one, which ascended with a sweet savour of sacrifice in the nostrils of a vengeful Deity. If it was the will of stern Justice that the sinful brethren should be slaughtered, and with them the innocent, why, then responsibility was taken from his hands, and it would be presumption to attempt to dictate.
It was not without a certain trepidation that Robert scanned the timepiece, watching its moving hands. The Commons were still sitting--the farce was not quite over. An hour or two might elapse before the hateful flag was run up to its place. He employed the time in exhorting his followers--there were only fifty of them--to behave with continence to the conquered foe.
'Some of us,' he said, 'may be called to join the band of those who have already given their lives on the scaffold, or on the field. Let not that distress you. Right is on our side if we commit no crimes. Eternal fame is worth more than a few years on this sad earth. The reputation of the few who fall in our holy cause will abide after them, a precious legacy to those whom they love and honour, to those whom they have snatched from slavery--for whom they are proud to perish.'
He talked himself into an exalted fervour, which swept away his scruples. His followers, too, were caught by his enthusiasm. They vowed that no evil deed should smirch their banner; that what they fought for was liberty--the hacking off of chains; that they would give to Europe an example of high-minded patriotism,' unblemished by petty license.
Robert was relieved and grateful. It was close on midnight when he drew his sword, and crying, 'Boys, come on!' dashed forth into the street. Though so late, the citizens were not in bed, but standing at their doors and windows discoursing of that which was now an accomplished fact. They looked at the insignificant knot that ran cheering past with consternation.
What manner of men were these who carried sheaves of pikes? What was this youth in martial garb, who waved over his head a sabre? Robert and his lieutenants harangued the citizens, distributed weapons, dragged some who wavered to the depot, where they would find arms and ammunition. They were soon the centre of a delirious crowd, who jumped and sang and danced like maniacs. The lad's hopes beat high, his face beamed with excitement. Heaven had answered promptly; recruits were gathering like sand. Women and children rushed about screaming; wives tugged at their husbands' garments, imploring them to come away, lest peradventure their end should be the gallows. Some one called out that the soldiery were upon them, and then the warriors just now so valiant fled with precipitation up alleys, courts and lanes, dropping their pikes, tearing at those in front who impeded their flight, rolling over and over in the frenzy of their haste to wriggle out of musket-range. Brutality and cowardice are the corollaries of slavery; both made themselves conspicuous on this dreadful night.
Finding that it was a false alarm (for the soldiers were on guard half a mile away, about the Senate-house), those who a moment since were crouching behind their wives, surged out again as if to protest by deeds against involuntary panic, and ran with yells after the youth in scarlet. To the Old Bridge was a few paces. They gave a prolonged howl as they came in sight of it, which echoed and re-echoed along the Liffey banks, and penetrated even to the Castle, where Lord Cornwallis, his mind relieved in that the work was done, was congratulating the smirking chancellor on the final success of the grand measure. Both started and looked at one another. What a strange uproar! Could it be thunder? Lord Clare opened the casement and peered out. A rocket rose into the air and burst; another howl--louder, more prolonged than the first one. Lord Clare closed the window quietly and shrugged his shoulders, muttering, as he secured the hasp:
'Sirr was right, then. I really could scarce credit that they should be such idiots. Yet are they silly enough for anything.' Then turning with a sour smile to the Viceroy, he said: 'Thank goodness, it's well over. This ferment is not worth considering. How can I do otherwise than blush at being an Irishman? My Lord Castlereagh thinks, as I do, that the work we have this day finished is a subject for universal thanksgiving.'
Singularly enough, the sympathy of the Viceroy was not with his colleagues my Lords Clare and Castlereagh, but with those who were by this time brandishing their pikes in Thomas Street, for he pitied the deluded people sorely whose flame of rebellion against the inevitable was making this last melancholy flicker.
The Union was a fact now. It was done; and would ultimately, so soon as sores were healed, be productive of much good, for the people would be protected by a distant but temperate master against the turbulent raging of their own factions. But for all that, this desperate handful who preferred death to slavery, were more worthy of respect than the polished gentleman before him who had sold his own brethren into bondage. So thought the Viceroy; but Lord Cornwallis, bluff soldier though he was, had learned to school his features. He therefore contented himself with observing that nocturnal rioting must be put down, and that the chancellor had better accept a bed in the Castle, considering that if he ventured out among the rioters he would certainly be torn to pieces. Then glancing down into Castle-yard, which was full of soldiers, he bade his guest good-night, and retired to the solitude of his own chamber.
Arrived at the Old Bridge, Robert let off his rocket, while the ever-increasing crowd gibbered and hallooed. The night was very dark. In the transient flare the expectant mob beheld a martial figure that glittered with gold braid, waving a big sword. A grand figure entirely--who was he? no matter. With him they would fall or conquer, they declared, though the majority of the mob were hazy as to the work which there was to do. The word was given and rippled along the ranks: 'To the Castle, to slay the tyrant!' 'To the Castle, to the Castle!' they all yelled and bellowed helter-skelter up Thomas Street, for the object was plain and praiseworthy--to storm the palace of the Viceroy. Robert led the way, brandishing his immense blade; the bellicose baker looked after the rear. Both exhorted as many as were within hearing to steadiness and calm. But those behind pushed those who were in front. It was as much as Robert could do to keep his feet. Vainly he bawled. Nobody heard him any more, for all were chattering like excited monkeys; nobody in the dense blackness could distinguish his uniform. He had let a torrent loose, but could not guide it. Half-way up Thomas Street he became conscious of a diversion--the pressure to the front became weaker--something unexpected was happening at the farther extremity of the thoroughfare. The mob were gesticulating--heaving to and fro. Was it a surprise? Were the military come in from Chapelizod? Had they beaten down the little watch-house garrison, or had they--forewarned--approached the scene of action by another route? The bellicose lieutenant would need assistance and counsel--pray Heaven he was staunch! Their leader buffeted with the mob, but they heeded him not. It was essential that he should see what was passing, that he should fly to the succour of his second in command, who was battling with this human maelstrom. How dark the night was! The moon, which was at the full, was clouded over. Raising himself on the steps of a house, he strained his eyes over the sea of faces and detected little lights--flambeaux apparently, which tossed and floundered, then went out. This could be no military attack. The men must be committing some outrage upon persons who had fallen into their hands--innocent persons possibly, who, according to the tenets of the baker, were to suffer for the transgressions of the guilty. Robert was in an agony, for the monster he had conjured into life refused to hearken to his chiding. He cried that the cause must not be sullied, that pure-souled patriots must not play the night-assassin; but his voice was as the buzzing of an insect. 'Forward!' he shouted till he was hoarse; 'forward to the Castle!' He might as well have shouted to the ocean. Those about him pushed and elbowed, screaming wild oaths and execrations; for, unable to see what was going on, they were half-fearful of treachery, half-anxious to bear their part. Despite his gay accoutrement Robert found himself crushed against a railing, till his ribs threatened to collapse under the pressure. With a supreme effort he shook himself free, and fell backwards through a doorway. He recognised it--how lucky! It led by a narrow alley into the adjoining road, which ran parallel with Thomas Street. Sure, this was another mark of Heaven's approbation; for by following it he could skirt the mob, and, running round, discover the cause of the diversion. The adjoining road was empty; the terrified householders had closed their doors and shutters and, trembling, were peeping through the chinks. Painful experience had taught them caution. As he sped along, his feet pattering strangely in the solitude, Robert could catch the murmur, as of water dashing upon rocks, over the roofs, a house-thickness off. Running with all his speed, he turned the corner and flung himself against the rolling swell; beheld with despair a coach--one whose liveries he knew of old--rocking and swaying in danger of being upset, while the horses plunged wildly and the coachman sat paralysed, with a pistol at his ear. The door had been rent from its hinges; the silken curtains hung in tatters. One of the occupants, a man of fine presence and middle age, had been dragged out, and lay upon the stones surrounded by a crew of savages. The other, a woman, leaned out of the carriage, imploring help in dumb show for the man upon the ground. Convulsed with horror, Robert forced a passage with the flat of his sabre. One light--the single flambeau which had escaped extinguishing--threw a ghastly glare on the surge of scowling ruffians. Blood trickled from the forehead of the man upon the ground; upon his black satin vest and smallclothes, upon his cambric shirt, as he strove to rise. He staggered up, clutching at a wheel, and waved his hand to obtain a hearing. 'Good people,' he panted, but his words reached those only who stood close by, 'I have never done you harm. I am Kilwarden, chief justice of the King's Bench.'
'Justice!' gibed the baker. 'She's gone long since where you shall follow her!'
The mob, which had ebbed in a momentary recoil, flowed forward again with a rush. A dozen pikes were poised and fell. Doreen, who could see what passed within the circle, tossed her helpless arms and filled the night air with shrieks; while Robert, distracted, beat his breast and tore his hair.
A sharp ring of hoofs clattered on the road--nearer--nearer--nearer still. A band of horsemen were approaching at a gallop from the quay; behind--in the distance--a host of cavalry; from the opposite direction the tramp of many feet. The Castle-gates had been opened; the infantry were pouring forth; the mob, finding itself hemmed in, smote right and left in a frantic effort to escape.
The smaller band of horsemen, headed by Shane and Cassidy, were the first to reach the coach. They drew theircouteaux-de-chasse, and, beating aside the unwieldy pikes, which were too long for such close quarters, trampled the insurgents down.
'The lady, Lord Glandore!' Cassidy shouted. 'Now's your time!'
'Oh, save her!' raved Robert, in remorse. 'My God, what have I done? Save her, Lord Glandore!'
Shane stretched out his hand towards his cousin. Chance was favouring him. Under pretext of protecting her, the project planned by the giant could without difficulty be accomplished now. Doreen shrank back.
'Begone!' she wailed, filled with the anguish of that heap upon the ground. 'What have you done with your brother--bastard!'
Shane winced, as from a whip-cut on the cheek. She, too, then knew the fatal secret; but it mattered not, for she was in his power. The military were closing in upon the mob. In the scurry and the darkness he would bear her far away. He was well known; what more natural than that her cousin should rescue the bereaved Miss Wolfe from such a scene?
Dismounting, he strode over the corpse of Lord Kilwarden, and calling on his friends to rally round the coach, prepared to withdraw it from themelée.
Upon hearing the name, twice repeated, the man who had held the pistol to the coachman's ear turned sharply round.
'You then are Lord Glandore?' he asked. 'The curse of God has found you, murderer! You and a few like you slew my father four years agone in sport on Stephen's Green! Do you recall it? He was only an old man--a shoemaker. Maybe you don't, for you've done many such deeds, and you were drunk!'
Shane thrust the importunate babbler aside, and ordered the coachman to urge on his horses.
'I've waited for my revenge all this while, my lord,' muttered the man, 'and you don't escape me now.'
Raising his pistol with steady aim, he shot Shane through the heart, and, diving, vanished in the crowd.
Cassidy was taken aback. Hitherto everything had moved according to his desire. Were his well-constructed schemes to be disconcerted now? He looked up the street and down the street at the compact bodies of troops advancing, then with a rage of longing at Doreen. Yes! his plan was overthrown; a new one must spring out of its ashes. Shane, by virtue of his cousinship, might have borne the young lady with safety through the ranks. He, Cassidy, could hope for no such privilege. Well, better luck next time. But it would not do to lose his footing at Strogue Abbey.Le roi est mort; vive le roi!He bethought him of a certain prisoner within the provost, kidnapped the other day, whose position was quite changed by that untoward pistol-shot. All things considered, Mr. Cassidy could not have acted with more wisdom than he did. He left Doreen to the tender mercies of the soldiery, and spurred with utmost speed towards the provost.