Chapter Four.

Chapter Four.One afternoon, when it was blowing too hard to allow Dermot to put to sea in his boat, he had gone to the vicarage to obtain his usual instruction, carrying with him some fish he had caught, as a present to the vicar’s niece. After he had received his instruction and was about to take his departure, Miss O’Reilly called him back to thank him for the fish which he had brought her.“By-the-bye!” observed Mr Jamieson, “Dermot can take the pony which I wish to send for young Lord Fitz Barry, and the cloak which he left here the other day.”Dermot had not often ridden; but where is the Irish boy who would not undertake to mount the most fiery steed, if he was asked to do so?He gladly promised to take the pony and cloak to the castle. It was already late in the day, but he observed that “that did not matter,” as it must be a dark night in which he could not find his way home. The pony was, however, in the field, and some more time elapsed before he was caught. Miss O’Reilly then bethought her, that Dermot had been a long time without food, and insisted on his taking some before he set off in that blustering evening. It was thus almost dark before he left the vicarage for the castle. He looked down on the bay: the frigate still lay at anchor there, the wind being still from the north.“If the wind shifts a little more to the west, she will have to put to sea,” thought Dermot. “It will not do for her to remain in the bay with the wind blowing in from the west, and with such often rolls in here, enough to cast the stoutest ship high upon the beach, or to dash her to fragments should she touch the rocks.”Dermot rode on, not, however, very fast, as the little animal was unwilling to leave his own home, not guessing the comfortable quarters to which he was bound. The wind brought up a heavy shower of rain and hail; Dermot was doubtful whether he ought to shelter himself under the young lord’s cloak. “Still,” he thought, “it will not be the worse for being on my shoulders, and I shall be wet through and well-nigh frozen before I reach the castle, if I am to sit on this animal’s back exposed to the storm.”He wisely therefore, having overcome his scruples,put on the cloak, and continued his course as fast as the pony would condescend to go towards the castle.Just as the frigate was hid from his view by some intervening downs, he thought he saw the men going aloft to loose the topsails, an indication of the ship being about to get under weigh.“It is the wisest thing that can be done,” he thought to himself. “She can easily stand off until the summer gale is over, and run no risk of being driven on shore.”He was already at no great distance from the castle, when suddenly from behind some rocks and bushes which lay near the road, a number of men sprang up and seized the bridle of his pony. He was too much astonished to cry out, or to ask what was their purpose in thus attacking him.By the expressions that they uttered, however, he soon discovered that they were under the impression that they had got possession of the young lord.“Now,” he thought to himself, with admirable presence of mind, “the best thing I can do is to hold my tongue, and just see what they intended to do with him. I would a great deal rather that they caught hold of me, to whom it matters not what harm they do, than the young lord. I would willingly save him for his sweet sister’s sake, and for his too, for he is a kind boy, with a gentle heart. I am sure of that. There is no pride or haughtiness about him. If there were, I should not feel disposed to serve him. No, I could not do that. Well, I will see what these men want to do with him. They will be rather surprised and enraged may be when they find whom they have got, instead of the young lord.”These thoughts passed rapidly through Dermot’s mind, as he saw that he was surrounded by an armed band of men. They did not attempt to pull him from his pony, but turning round the animal’s head, they led him across the country inland at a rapid rate, a man holding the rein on either side with a firm grasp, to prevent the little animal from falling over the rough ground they were traversing.Dermot firmly kept to his resolution of saying nothing. The night was so dark, that had it not been for his knowledge of the direction from which the wind blew, he would have been unable to guess where he was going. In a short time, however, he found the wind blew directly in his teeth. He knew that they must be travelling north, and also, from the character of the ground, that they had already passed beyond the vicarage, and that they could be at no great distance from his own home. Now they turned once more to the west, and he felt sure they were approaching the sea. The ground became more and more wild and rugged, and he guessed by feeling that they continued to ascend for some distance, that they had reached a range of wild hills which lay in that direction.All this time he had kept his senses wide awake, nor did he allow himself to feel the slightest fear of what was likely to happen.“No great harm can come to me,” at length he thought to himself; “and if it does, what matters it? There are those who will look after my mother, and I shall have saved the young lord from some plot which these ruffians have formed against him.”All this time the people round him were speaking the native Irish, little supposing that their prisoner understood every word they said. He was at length able to gather from their conversation that they intended to hold the young lord as a hostage, threatening, if the demands they proposed making were not granted, that they would kill him in revenge.At length, he was ordered to dismount, and he found himself led forward through a narrow passage, with rocks on either side, which conducted them into the interior of a cave. It was of considerable size, the roof and sides covered apparently with smoke, probably the result of the illicit distillery which existed, or had existed there. It was dimly lighted by a lamp fixed on a projecting point of the rock. This enabled Dermot to see that a number of arms were piled up along one side, muskets, pikes, and swords. There were two small field-pieces, and what he supposed to be cases of ammunition. Had the light been greater he would probably have been at once discovered. As it was, however, he was led forthwith to the farther part of the cave, where he was told to take his seat on a rough bed-place.“We’ll be after bringing your food directly,” said a man, the first person who had spoken to him since his capture. “You will be quiet now, and not attempt to run away; for we should shoot you if you did without the slightest ceremony. You understand that? Or stay, if we were to bind one of your feet to the leg of this bunk, we should have you more secure, I’m thinking.”Dermot, adhering to his resolution, said nothing in return, but allowed himself to be secured as the man proposed. He laughed, however, to himself at the thought of the ease with which he could immediately liberate himself should he wish to do so, and wrapping himself closely in the cloak, the better to conceal his figure and dress, should by chance a gleam of light fall upon him, he lay down on the bunk.Other persons now continued to arrive, until the cave was full of men, the greater part of whom were peasants or small farmers; at least their comrades treated them with but little ceremony.As Dermot, however, was watching what took place, he heard the men whispering to each other, “It’s him! It’s him; he’s come to lead us, no fear now.”Just then a man appeared at the entrance of the cave. As he advanced with a confident, indeed somewhat swaggering step, towards the table in the centre, all the men rose from their seats and greeted him in various tones of welcome.He told them that he had been narrowly watched, that he had had no little difficulty in escaping his enemies and their enemies, that he was thankful to find himself among them, and prepared to undertake any enterprise, however hazardous, which might tend to forward their great and glorious cause—the overthrow of their Saxon tyrants and the establishment of the Irish race as the lords and rulers of their country.He said a great deal more to the same effect, which was eagerly listened to by the assembled rebels.“Long life to the O’Higgins, he’s the boy for us,” resounded through the cavern, or at least words to that effect in the native Irish, the only language spoken by those present.The O’Higgins spoke it, but Dermot remarked that he did so with some difficulty.The conspirators seemed highly delighted at having made so valuable a prize, and began, in no subdued voices, to discuss their future plans and proceedings.Dermot listened eagerly, anxious to catch every word that was uttered. He found that they were a band of United Irishmen, as the rebels were generally called at that time, and that in spite of the ill-success of their undertaking in the north, they proposed carrying out a rising in that part of the country. Their first object was to attack the Castle of Kilfinnan, where they hoped to find a supply of arms and a large amount of booty. They expected also to extract a considerable sum for the ransom of the prisoners they might capture in the castle, and, if not, they proposed putting them all to death, in revenge for the execution of their fellow-rebels, which had taken place in other parts of the country.The chief impediment to their plan was the continuance of the frigate on the coast. They were anxious to devise some plan by which she might be drawn off to another part of Ireland, or induced, at all events, to put to sea. Some of the boldest of the party proposed collecting a flotilla of boats, and taking possession of her, in the belief that they could land her guns and other arms, and thus obtain the means of better competing with the royal troops.These and many other schemes were freely discussed by the rebels. After some time another person entered the cavern. Dermot looked up and saw by the light of the lamp, which fell on his countenance, that the new comer was no other than Father O’Rourke. He and the O’Higgins greeted each other warmly. It was evident that they were looked upon as the leaders of the undertaking. The one active in a spiritual capacity, urging on the infatuated men the justice of their cause and promising them his own prayers and the protection of heaven, and telling them to go on and conquer; the other inviting them to follow him, and promising them the victory. Father O’Rourke particularly advocated the most energetic measures. He even advised that they should at once march towards the castle, and, exposing the young lord to view, threaten to hang him if the gates were not opened to admit them.This plan was, however, overruled by others, who declared that the frigate still lay in the bay, and that whatever the Earl might do, their appearance on the shore would certainly bring the shot of her guns about their ears.“And what are you afraid of, comrades?” exclaimed Father O’Rourke. “If they do, cannot I give each of you the blessed picture of Saint Patrick, and won’t that, worn about your neck, guard you from the shot of the enemy? Ah, if you knew the value of those blessed amulets, you would all of you be anxious to purchase them. No soldier should ever think of going into battle without such a safeguard. Have I not been offering up prayers day and night for the last month for your success, and are you such heretics as to believe that they have all been uttered in vain? No, trust me, let us go and attack the castle this night or to-morrow at farthest, and depend upon it, we shall gain such a victory as will make all the people in the country around rise up and join us. They only want to see a little success, and Ireland shall have her own again. What, boys! are we to be kept down by the red-coats, and the vile heretics who call George the Third king? No, I say again. Ireland for the Irish. May Saint Patrick and all the blessed Saints fight for us, and we will have true liberty once more in the green Isle of old Erin!”While listening to the address of the priest, very similar to many others uttered then, and even at the present day, by the so-called pastors of the Romish Church in Ireland, Dermot was thinking over what he should attempt to do. He knew perfectly well from the way his feet had been tied to the bed, that he could liberate himself immediately; but how to steal out of the cavern without being observed was the difficulty; even should the chief body of the rebels go to sleep, it was not likely that they would leave the cavern without a guard. If he could escape, however, he thought his best plan would be to hasten off to the castle, to which he felt sure he could find his way, and give notice of the plans of the conspirators.“The Earl probably does not dream of an attack being made on his residence, and will not certainly be prepared,” thought Dermot to himself. “Perhaps the rebels will steal towards the chief door and break it open before any one within can stop them. The frigate, too, if she has not sailed already, will very likely go away, or be misled by the treacherous information those people will send on board. Now, if I could steal away without their finding out who I am, they will not suspect that their plans are discovered as they know that the young lord would not understand what had been said.” Dermot’s great desire therefore was to escape from the cavern. He found that not only was it expected that the country around would rise and attack all the Protestant dwelling-houses in the neighbourhood, but that a French squadron with troops would come off the coast and support their cause.This, altogether, was terrible news, and Dermot felt that it was most important it should be conveyed without delay to Kilfinnan Castle, the principal seat in that neighbourhood.Dermot had never liked Father O’Rourke, and he had now still less cause to admire him. He guessed, too, from the character of the man, that although he would encourage the people round to rebel, he was not likely to run himself into danger. He was not surprised, therefore, after hearing him inflame the passions and ardour of his misguided countrymen, to see him quietly take his departure after uttering his blessing and promising them success if they would follow his injunctions.We must now return to the vicarage. Scarcely had Dermot left the house on the pony, than Miss O’Reilly began to regret that she had allowed him to go. She went to the door and felt the blast blowing keenly from the north, and knowing the lateness of the hour, she feared that he would be benighted long before he could reach the castle. She would willingly have despatched some one to him, but she had no person to send.While standing at the door, she heard a voice, singing one of the wild and plaintive airs of the country, down in the valley beneath the vicarage. She knew by the sounds that the singer was drawing nearer and nearer the house.“It is poor mad Kathleen,” she said to herself, “though she has but a small amount of brains, yet she is fleet of foot, and would soon overtake the lad, and bring him back to the house. It would be better to do that, than let him go on with the pony he ill knows how to bestride.”The song continued, and in a short time the singer stood in front of the vicarage.“Well, Kathleen, what brings you here?” asked Miss O’Reilly, addressing her in a kind tone.“What brings me here takes me wherever I list to go, my own free will,” answered the mad girl, who was still young, and possessed of an amount of beauty which made those who saw her feel even more sympathy and compassion than they might have done, had her appearance been less attractive.“You are good and kind, Kathleen,” said Miss O’Reilly; “you would do me a kindness, I know, if I were to ask you.”“That I would, lady!” answered the girl, in the broken Saxon which was spoken by not many of the peasantry in that part of Ireland; “I would do anything to serve you, just say what it is.”Miss O’Reilly, in a few words, explained to Kathleen what she wished to have done.“You know him, you know young Dermot O’Neil?”“Oh yes, I know him well; he is a gentle lad and a good one, and I would gladly serve him, as I would you, lady.”Miss O’Reilly again endeavoured to impress upon the wandering mind of the poor girl what she was to do, and then begged her to hasten off to overtake Dermot. However, neither she nor Miss O’Reilly were aware of the distance Dermot would have got before Kathleen could overtake him.The mad girl went singing on as was her wont for some time, till suddenly she became unusually silent. She had not gone far when she heard the loud talking of a body of men approaching her.“Those voices at this time of the evening bode no good,” she said to herself. “They are some of the rebels who they say are about the country. I never loved such. I will hide and watch to see what they are about.”She accordingly concealed herself among the rocks and uneven ground with which the road was bounded. The tramp of feet approached, coming from the direction of the castle, and she saw some men leading a pony on which a lad was mounted, hurriedly proceeding towards the north.From what she had heard from Miss O’Reilly, she at once concluded that the person she had seen in the hands of the insurgents must be Dermot himself.“Now the next thing I have to do,” she thought, “is to follow and try to find out where they are taking him to. Surely they will not do him an injury, but still they have no right to carry him off; of that I am certain.”Gathering her cloak around her, she quickly followed the footsteps of the party she had seen pass. She had to keep at a cautious distance, lest in crossing any open space, she might have been discovered, but where a person in their right mind might have hesitated, she went on fearlessly. The road was rough and up and down hill, but she continued her pursuit till the party suddenly came to a halt.“Oh!” she said to herself; “I know the spot where they have gone to; shall I go on, or shall I go back to Miss O’Reilly and tell her how I have been defeated in fulfilling her directions?”In spite of the distance she determined to follow the latter course.The astonishment of Miss O’Reilly was very great when, at a late hour in the evening, Kathleen appeared and told her what had befallen young Dermot.Miss O’Reilly instantly consulted her uncle, who fortunately was at home.“There is something wrong going forward, at all events,” he observed. “But why the rebels should have made Dermot prisoner is more than I can say. However, perhaps you can persuade Kathleen to go back to the cave and endeavour to release him. I don’t know what else we can do. In the morning I will ride over to the castle and consult with the Earl. He should be informed that a rising of some sort is on foot through the country, though I do not suppose it is of much consequence.”Kathleen was perfectly ready to undertake the release of Dermot if she could accomplish it, and she promised at all events to enter the cavern and to communicate with him.“He is a wise lad, and it will be a wise thing to do as he bids me,” she observed.“But you must be weary, Kathleen,” said Miss O’Reilly; “you will want some refreshment before you set out again to-night.”“No, no, when the mind’s at work the body requires no food,” said the mad girl, and she burst forth in a wild song which showed the excitement under which she was labouring.

One afternoon, when it was blowing too hard to allow Dermot to put to sea in his boat, he had gone to the vicarage to obtain his usual instruction, carrying with him some fish he had caught, as a present to the vicar’s niece. After he had received his instruction and was about to take his departure, Miss O’Reilly called him back to thank him for the fish which he had brought her.

“By-the-bye!” observed Mr Jamieson, “Dermot can take the pony which I wish to send for young Lord Fitz Barry, and the cloak which he left here the other day.”

Dermot had not often ridden; but where is the Irish boy who would not undertake to mount the most fiery steed, if he was asked to do so?

He gladly promised to take the pony and cloak to the castle. It was already late in the day, but he observed that “that did not matter,” as it must be a dark night in which he could not find his way home. The pony was, however, in the field, and some more time elapsed before he was caught. Miss O’Reilly then bethought her, that Dermot had been a long time without food, and insisted on his taking some before he set off in that blustering evening. It was thus almost dark before he left the vicarage for the castle. He looked down on the bay: the frigate still lay at anchor there, the wind being still from the north.

“If the wind shifts a little more to the west, she will have to put to sea,” thought Dermot. “It will not do for her to remain in the bay with the wind blowing in from the west, and with such often rolls in here, enough to cast the stoutest ship high upon the beach, or to dash her to fragments should she touch the rocks.”

Dermot rode on, not, however, very fast, as the little animal was unwilling to leave his own home, not guessing the comfortable quarters to which he was bound. The wind brought up a heavy shower of rain and hail; Dermot was doubtful whether he ought to shelter himself under the young lord’s cloak. “Still,” he thought, “it will not be the worse for being on my shoulders, and I shall be wet through and well-nigh frozen before I reach the castle, if I am to sit on this animal’s back exposed to the storm.”

He wisely therefore, having overcome his scruples,put on the cloak, and continued his course as fast as the pony would condescend to go towards the castle.

Just as the frigate was hid from his view by some intervening downs, he thought he saw the men going aloft to loose the topsails, an indication of the ship being about to get under weigh.

“It is the wisest thing that can be done,” he thought to himself. “She can easily stand off until the summer gale is over, and run no risk of being driven on shore.”

He was already at no great distance from the castle, when suddenly from behind some rocks and bushes which lay near the road, a number of men sprang up and seized the bridle of his pony. He was too much astonished to cry out, or to ask what was their purpose in thus attacking him.

By the expressions that they uttered, however, he soon discovered that they were under the impression that they had got possession of the young lord.

“Now,” he thought to himself, with admirable presence of mind, “the best thing I can do is to hold my tongue, and just see what they intended to do with him. I would a great deal rather that they caught hold of me, to whom it matters not what harm they do, than the young lord. I would willingly save him for his sweet sister’s sake, and for his too, for he is a kind boy, with a gentle heart. I am sure of that. There is no pride or haughtiness about him. If there were, I should not feel disposed to serve him. No, I could not do that. Well, I will see what these men want to do with him. They will be rather surprised and enraged may be when they find whom they have got, instead of the young lord.”

These thoughts passed rapidly through Dermot’s mind, as he saw that he was surrounded by an armed band of men. They did not attempt to pull him from his pony, but turning round the animal’s head, they led him across the country inland at a rapid rate, a man holding the rein on either side with a firm grasp, to prevent the little animal from falling over the rough ground they were traversing.

Dermot firmly kept to his resolution of saying nothing. The night was so dark, that had it not been for his knowledge of the direction from which the wind blew, he would have been unable to guess where he was going. In a short time, however, he found the wind blew directly in his teeth. He knew that they must be travelling north, and also, from the character of the ground, that they had already passed beyond the vicarage, and that they could be at no great distance from his own home. Now they turned once more to the west, and he felt sure they were approaching the sea. The ground became more and more wild and rugged, and he guessed by feeling that they continued to ascend for some distance, that they had reached a range of wild hills which lay in that direction.

All this time he had kept his senses wide awake, nor did he allow himself to feel the slightest fear of what was likely to happen.

“No great harm can come to me,” at length he thought to himself; “and if it does, what matters it? There are those who will look after my mother, and I shall have saved the young lord from some plot which these ruffians have formed against him.”

All this time the people round him were speaking the native Irish, little supposing that their prisoner understood every word they said. He was at length able to gather from their conversation that they intended to hold the young lord as a hostage, threatening, if the demands they proposed making were not granted, that they would kill him in revenge.

At length, he was ordered to dismount, and he found himself led forward through a narrow passage, with rocks on either side, which conducted them into the interior of a cave. It was of considerable size, the roof and sides covered apparently with smoke, probably the result of the illicit distillery which existed, or had existed there. It was dimly lighted by a lamp fixed on a projecting point of the rock. This enabled Dermot to see that a number of arms were piled up along one side, muskets, pikes, and swords. There were two small field-pieces, and what he supposed to be cases of ammunition. Had the light been greater he would probably have been at once discovered. As it was, however, he was led forthwith to the farther part of the cave, where he was told to take his seat on a rough bed-place.

“We’ll be after bringing your food directly,” said a man, the first person who had spoken to him since his capture. “You will be quiet now, and not attempt to run away; for we should shoot you if you did without the slightest ceremony. You understand that? Or stay, if we were to bind one of your feet to the leg of this bunk, we should have you more secure, I’m thinking.”

Dermot, adhering to his resolution, said nothing in return, but allowed himself to be secured as the man proposed. He laughed, however, to himself at the thought of the ease with which he could immediately liberate himself should he wish to do so, and wrapping himself closely in the cloak, the better to conceal his figure and dress, should by chance a gleam of light fall upon him, he lay down on the bunk.

Other persons now continued to arrive, until the cave was full of men, the greater part of whom were peasants or small farmers; at least their comrades treated them with but little ceremony.

As Dermot, however, was watching what took place, he heard the men whispering to each other, “It’s him! It’s him; he’s come to lead us, no fear now.”

Just then a man appeared at the entrance of the cave. As he advanced with a confident, indeed somewhat swaggering step, towards the table in the centre, all the men rose from their seats and greeted him in various tones of welcome.

He told them that he had been narrowly watched, that he had had no little difficulty in escaping his enemies and their enemies, that he was thankful to find himself among them, and prepared to undertake any enterprise, however hazardous, which might tend to forward their great and glorious cause—the overthrow of their Saxon tyrants and the establishment of the Irish race as the lords and rulers of their country.

He said a great deal more to the same effect, which was eagerly listened to by the assembled rebels.

“Long life to the O’Higgins, he’s the boy for us,” resounded through the cavern, or at least words to that effect in the native Irish, the only language spoken by those present.

The O’Higgins spoke it, but Dermot remarked that he did so with some difficulty.

The conspirators seemed highly delighted at having made so valuable a prize, and began, in no subdued voices, to discuss their future plans and proceedings.

Dermot listened eagerly, anxious to catch every word that was uttered. He found that they were a band of United Irishmen, as the rebels were generally called at that time, and that in spite of the ill-success of their undertaking in the north, they proposed carrying out a rising in that part of the country. Their first object was to attack the Castle of Kilfinnan, where they hoped to find a supply of arms and a large amount of booty. They expected also to extract a considerable sum for the ransom of the prisoners they might capture in the castle, and, if not, they proposed putting them all to death, in revenge for the execution of their fellow-rebels, which had taken place in other parts of the country.

The chief impediment to their plan was the continuance of the frigate on the coast. They were anxious to devise some plan by which she might be drawn off to another part of Ireland, or induced, at all events, to put to sea. Some of the boldest of the party proposed collecting a flotilla of boats, and taking possession of her, in the belief that they could land her guns and other arms, and thus obtain the means of better competing with the royal troops.

These and many other schemes were freely discussed by the rebels. After some time another person entered the cavern. Dermot looked up and saw by the light of the lamp, which fell on his countenance, that the new comer was no other than Father O’Rourke. He and the O’Higgins greeted each other warmly. It was evident that they were looked upon as the leaders of the undertaking. The one active in a spiritual capacity, urging on the infatuated men the justice of their cause and promising them his own prayers and the protection of heaven, and telling them to go on and conquer; the other inviting them to follow him, and promising them the victory. Father O’Rourke particularly advocated the most energetic measures. He even advised that they should at once march towards the castle, and, exposing the young lord to view, threaten to hang him if the gates were not opened to admit them.

This plan was, however, overruled by others, who declared that the frigate still lay in the bay, and that whatever the Earl might do, their appearance on the shore would certainly bring the shot of her guns about their ears.

“And what are you afraid of, comrades?” exclaimed Father O’Rourke. “If they do, cannot I give each of you the blessed picture of Saint Patrick, and won’t that, worn about your neck, guard you from the shot of the enemy? Ah, if you knew the value of those blessed amulets, you would all of you be anxious to purchase them. No soldier should ever think of going into battle without such a safeguard. Have I not been offering up prayers day and night for the last month for your success, and are you such heretics as to believe that they have all been uttered in vain? No, trust me, let us go and attack the castle this night or to-morrow at farthest, and depend upon it, we shall gain such a victory as will make all the people in the country around rise up and join us. They only want to see a little success, and Ireland shall have her own again. What, boys! are we to be kept down by the red-coats, and the vile heretics who call George the Third king? No, I say again. Ireland for the Irish. May Saint Patrick and all the blessed Saints fight for us, and we will have true liberty once more in the green Isle of old Erin!”

While listening to the address of the priest, very similar to many others uttered then, and even at the present day, by the so-called pastors of the Romish Church in Ireland, Dermot was thinking over what he should attempt to do. He knew perfectly well from the way his feet had been tied to the bed, that he could liberate himself immediately; but how to steal out of the cavern without being observed was the difficulty; even should the chief body of the rebels go to sleep, it was not likely that they would leave the cavern without a guard. If he could escape, however, he thought his best plan would be to hasten off to the castle, to which he felt sure he could find his way, and give notice of the plans of the conspirators.

“The Earl probably does not dream of an attack being made on his residence, and will not certainly be prepared,” thought Dermot to himself. “Perhaps the rebels will steal towards the chief door and break it open before any one within can stop them. The frigate, too, if she has not sailed already, will very likely go away, or be misled by the treacherous information those people will send on board. Now, if I could steal away without their finding out who I am, they will not suspect that their plans are discovered as they know that the young lord would not understand what had been said.” Dermot’s great desire therefore was to escape from the cavern. He found that not only was it expected that the country around would rise and attack all the Protestant dwelling-houses in the neighbourhood, but that a French squadron with troops would come off the coast and support their cause.

This, altogether, was terrible news, and Dermot felt that it was most important it should be conveyed without delay to Kilfinnan Castle, the principal seat in that neighbourhood.

Dermot had never liked Father O’Rourke, and he had now still less cause to admire him. He guessed, too, from the character of the man, that although he would encourage the people round to rebel, he was not likely to run himself into danger. He was not surprised, therefore, after hearing him inflame the passions and ardour of his misguided countrymen, to see him quietly take his departure after uttering his blessing and promising them success if they would follow his injunctions.

We must now return to the vicarage. Scarcely had Dermot left the house on the pony, than Miss O’Reilly began to regret that she had allowed him to go. She went to the door and felt the blast blowing keenly from the north, and knowing the lateness of the hour, she feared that he would be benighted long before he could reach the castle. She would willingly have despatched some one to him, but she had no person to send.

While standing at the door, she heard a voice, singing one of the wild and plaintive airs of the country, down in the valley beneath the vicarage. She knew by the sounds that the singer was drawing nearer and nearer the house.

“It is poor mad Kathleen,” she said to herself, “though she has but a small amount of brains, yet she is fleet of foot, and would soon overtake the lad, and bring him back to the house. It would be better to do that, than let him go on with the pony he ill knows how to bestride.”

The song continued, and in a short time the singer stood in front of the vicarage.

“Well, Kathleen, what brings you here?” asked Miss O’Reilly, addressing her in a kind tone.

“What brings me here takes me wherever I list to go, my own free will,” answered the mad girl, who was still young, and possessed of an amount of beauty which made those who saw her feel even more sympathy and compassion than they might have done, had her appearance been less attractive.

“You are good and kind, Kathleen,” said Miss O’Reilly; “you would do me a kindness, I know, if I were to ask you.”

“That I would, lady!” answered the girl, in the broken Saxon which was spoken by not many of the peasantry in that part of Ireland; “I would do anything to serve you, just say what it is.”

Miss O’Reilly, in a few words, explained to Kathleen what she wished to have done.

“You know him, you know young Dermot O’Neil?”

“Oh yes, I know him well; he is a gentle lad and a good one, and I would gladly serve him, as I would you, lady.”

Miss O’Reilly again endeavoured to impress upon the wandering mind of the poor girl what she was to do, and then begged her to hasten off to overtake Dermot. However, neither she nor Miss O’Reilly were aware of the distance Dermot would have got before Kathleen could overtake him.

The mad girl went singing on as was her wont for some time, till suddenly she became unusually silent. She had not gone far when she heard the loud talking of a body of men approaching her.

“Those voices at this time of the evening bode no good,” she said to herself. “They are some of the rebels who they say are about the country. I never loved such. I will hide and watch to see what they are about.”

She accordingly concealed herself among the rocks and uneven ground with which the road was bounded. The tramp of feet approached, coming from the direction of the castle, and she saw some men leading a pony on which a lad was mounted, hurriedly proceeding towards the north.

From what she had heard from Miss O’Reilly, she at once concluded that the person she had seen in the hands of the insurgents must be Dermot himself.

“Now the next thing I have to do,” she thought, “is to follow and try to find out where they are taking him to. Surely they will not do him an injury, but still they have no right to carry him off; of that I am certain.”

Gathering her cloak around her, she quickly followed the footsteps of the party she had seen pass. She had to keep at a cautious distance, lest in crossing any open space, she might have been discovered, but where a person in their right mind might have hesitated, she went on fearlessly. The road was rough and up and down hill, but she continued her pursuit till the party suddenly came to a halt.

“Oh!” she said to herself; “I know the spot where they have gone to; shall I go on, or shall I go back to Miss O’Reilly and tell her how I have been defeated in fulfilling her directions?”

In spite of the distance she determined to follow the latter course.

The astonishment of Miss O’Reilly was very great when, at a late hour in the evening, Kathleen appeared and told her what had befallen young Dermot.

Miss O’Reilly instantly consulted her uncle, who fortunately was at home.

“There is something wrong going forward, at all events,” he observed. “But why the rebels should have made Dermot prisoner is more than I can say. However, perhaps you can persuade Kathleen to go back to the cave and endeavour to release him. I don’t know what else we can do. In the morning I will ride over to the castle and consult with the Earl. He should be informed that a rising of some sort is on foot through the country, though I do not suppose it is of much consequence.”

Kathleen was perfectly ready to undertake the release of Dermot if she could accomplish it, and she promised at all events to enter the cavern and to communicate with him.

“He is a wise lad, and it will be a wise thing to do as he bids me,” she observed.

“But you must be weary, Kathleen,” said Miss O’Reilly; “you will want some refreshment before you set out again to-night.”

“No, no, when the mind’s at work the body requires no food,” said the mad girl, and she burst forth in a wild song which showed the excitement under which she was labouring.

Chapter Five.Without waiting for further directions, away went the mad girl over moorland and glen at a speed which, considering the darkness, scarcely a wild deer could have rivalled, and before long she stood at the entrance of the cavern. She waited for some time, in the hopes that the inmates would go to sleep, and that she could more easily find an entrance. Listening, she heard voices within, and that of Father O’Rourke above all the rest.“Where the priest is, there there’s mischief,” she said to herself. “If he’s going to stay there’s little I shall be able to do.”She had not waited long, however, concealed behind a rock, when she saw Father O’Rourke issue forth and take his way down the hill. She waited some time longer, then quietly entered the cavern, gliding past the table and up to its further end. The men, who were still awake, gazed at her with astonishment, wondering what had brought her there, but none ventured to speak to her. She was held in a sort of superstitious reverence by the ignorant peasantry; and seeing her fearlessly enter, they fancied that she had authority for coming among them. No one suspected, indeed, that she would not prove faithful to their cause, had she discovered their intention. Silently she passed up the cavern and sat herself down on a chest at the further end, where, concealed by the darkness, she yet could look forth on the objects lighted by the lamp, and make her observations.She had not been there long before she discovered Dermot resting on his elbow on the bunk where he had been placed. She watched till those around her appeared to be asleep, and she then noiselessly glided up to where he lay.“I have come to look for you, Dermot,” she whispered. “Have you any message to send to friends, or would you have me set you free? The message I might take, but if I were to try and set you free, I might be made prisoner myself.”“I will send a message; that will be the safest plan,” said Dermot. “But how did you find me out?”She told him briefly.“Stay, I can take a leaf from one of my books,” he observed. “I will write it, it will be safer, and you will remember to deliver it, Kathleen, if you wish to do me and others real service.”“Oh yes, Dermot, write, you may trust me; it is better than putting it into my poor mind, though I can remember if it is not overcharged,” she answered with a sigh. “But be quick, or some of these people will be suspecting us.”Dermot sat up. He had fortunately a pencil in his pocket, and taking a leaf from one of his books, he wrote a few lines, addressed to the Earl, telling him of the intention of the rebels to attack his castle, and also of their purpose of getting the frigate out of the way.The note may not have been well written or very well expressed, but it was clear and to the purpose. After signing his name he added, “Oh, trust me, my lord, I would come myself but I am a prisoner, and I pray heaven that this may reach you in time to be of service.”Kathleen placed the note in her bosom, hoping that she had not been observed.“Now hasten away, Kathleen,” whispered Dermot. “You can do as much good as I could have done had I been free, and providing those in the castle are preserved I care not what happens.”Kathleen returned to her former seat and began chanting one of the airs she was generally heard singing, and then, once more gliding down the centre of the cave, she took her departure unquestioned by any of the rebels. Again in the open air she quickly descended the mountain, dark as it was, and in spite of the roughness of the way, she hastened forward at a rapid speed towards Kilfinnan Castle. All was silent as she approached the gates. In vain she walked round and round, she could find no means of making herself heard. The inmates, unsuspicious of danger, were all at rest. She looked down into the bay. The frigate was not there. “All my labours will be of no avail,” she thought to herself, “if I cannot let the good lord know what is threatened.”She had walked some way under the castle walls, when, looking up, she saw a light in a window. Instantly she gave forth one of her wild songs. Some of those within who had heard of the famed Banshee were fully persuaded that it was a phantom visitor singing outside the gates, indicative of the speedy death of some one of consequence within. At length the window opened.“Who’s there?” asked a feminine voice. “Surely it is some mortal, and not a spirit from another world.”“I’m sure it is,” said another voice.“It’s the poor girl Miss O’Reilly was telling us about. What is it you want, Kathleen?” asked the speaker in a tender tone.“Is it you who calls me, my lady?” answered Kathleen from below.“Yes, it is I; what brings you here at this hour of the night?”“A message—a paper for the Earl, my lady,” said the mad girl. “It is from one who would serve him, and it is of great importance he told me. I cannot say more now; but if you will let me into the castle I will place it in your hands, and tell you all I know.”“Come round to the front door,” said a voice, which was that of Lady Sophy. “We will come down with a light, and admit you.”Some time was occupied by the young ladies in putting on their dresses, and then arousing the Earl with the information that a message of importance was brought for him, they hastened down stairs.At first, from the incoherent way in which poor Kathleen spoke, Lady Sophy and Nora could not understand what had occurred. At length the truth dawned upon them, and by the time the Earl appeared, they were able to explain to him what they had learned.He at once clearly understood that Dermot had been seized by those who intended to carry off his own son, and he felt not a little grateful to the young fisher-boy for the way he had behaved in the matter. He saw likewise that no time was to be lost, and that it would be necessary both to send off messengers to procure troops from the nearest place where they were quartered, and also immediately to put the castle into a state of defence. He regretted the absence of the frigate, and could only hope that she might return sooner than it had been Captain Falkner’s intention of doing.In vain Lady Sophy pressed poor Kathleen, after her exertions, to remain and rest at the castle.“No, no,” she answered; “I will be back again at my home. If I am absent, they will suspect that I have taken a part in this matter; and though they can do me no harm, they may injure those I love.”The poor girl could scarcely be persuaded to take any refreshment; and at length, having eaten a little which Lady Nora brought her, she hastened away towards the vicarage, singing in her usual strain as she went.The Earl quickly aroused the inmates of the castle. Messengers were sent off as he proposed, and all the people in the neighbourhood who could be trusted were summoned to come within the walls to aid in its defence. There were a few guns planted on the battlements, but they were more for show than use, that part of the country having hitherto been tranquil, and no idea being entertained that they would be required. There were, however, muskets and pistols in the armoury, and pikes, and numerous old weapons of warfare which were stored there, more as an exhibition on account of their antiquity than for use. Still, the gates were strong, and it would require no small amount of force to break them open.The preparations for the defence occupied a considerable time; the lower windows had to be barricaded, and the doors strengthened by stout bars. A few holes were left for musketry in different parts, and a supply of large stones was brought up from the beach below to serve as missiles, should the rebels approach near enough to make them useful.The first streaks of daylight were appearing in the sky before all these preparations were made. Soon after, while the little garrison were resting from the toil they had undergone, the tramp of feet was heard approaching the castle.

Without waiting for further directions, away went the mad girl over moorland and glen at a speed which, considering the darkness, scarcely a wild deer could have rivalled, and before long she stood at the entrance of the cavern. She waited for some time, in the hopes that the inmates would go to sleep, and that she could more easily find an entrance. Listening, she heard voices within, and that of Father O’Rourke above all the rest.

“Where the priest is, there there’s mischief,” she said to herself. “If he’s going to stay there’s little I shall be able to do.”

She had not waited long, however, concealed behind a rock, when she saw Father O’Rourke issue forth and take his way down the hill. She waited some time longer, then quietly entered the cavern, gliding past the table and up to its further end. The men, who were still awake, gazed at her with astonishment, wondering what had brought her there, but none ventured to speak to her. She was held in a sort of superstitious reverence by the ignorant peasantry; and seeing her fearlessly enter, they fancied that she had authority for coming among them. No one suspected, indeed, that she would not prove faithful to their cause, had she discovered their intention. Silently she passed up the cavern and sat herself down on a chest at the further end, where, concealed by the darkness, she yet could look forth on the objects lighted by the lamp, and make her observations.

She had not been there long before she discovered Dermot resting on his elbow on the bunk where he had been placed. She watched till those around her appeared to be asleep, and she then noiselessly glided up to where he lay.

“I have come to look for you, Dermot,” she whispered. “Have you any message to send to friends, or would you have me set you free? The message I might take, but if I were to try and set you free, I might be made prisoner myself.”

“I will send a message; that will be the safest plan,” said Dermot. “But how did you find me out?”

She told him briefly.

“Stay, I can take a leaf from one of my books,” he observed. “I will write it, it will be safer, and you will remember to deliver it, Kathleen, if you wish to do me and others real service.”

“Oh yes, Dermot, write, you may trust me; it is better than putting it into my poor mind, though I can remember if it is not overcharged,” she answered with a sigh. “But be quick, or some of these people will be suspecting us.”

Dermot sat up. He had fortunately a pencil in his pocket, and taking a leaf from one of his books, he wrote a few lines, addressed to the Earl, telling him of the intention of the rebels to attack his castle, and also of their purpose of getting the frigate out of the way.

The note may not have been well written or very well expressed, but it was clear and to the purpose. After signing his name he added, “Oh, trust me, my lord, I would come myself but I am a prisoner, and I pray heaven that this may reach you in time to be of service.”

Kathleen placed the note in her bosom, hoping that she had not been observed.

“Now hasten away, Kathleen,” whispered Dermot. “You can do as much good as I could have done had I been free, and providing those in the castle are preserved I care not what happens.”

Kathleen returned to her former seat and began chanting one of the airs she was generally heard singing, and then, once more gliding down the centre of the cave, she took her departure unquestioned by any of the rebels. Again in the open air she quickly descended the mountain, dark as it was, and in spite of the roughness of the way, she hastened forward at a rapid speed towards Kilfinnan Castle. All was silent as she approached the gates. In vain she walked round and round, she could find no means of making herself heard. The inmates, unsuspicious of danger, were all at rest. She looked down into the bay. The frigate was not there. “All my labours will be of no avail,” she thought to herself, “if I cannot let the good lord know what is threatened.”

She had walked some way under the castle walls, when, looking up, she saw a light in a window. Instantly she gave forth one of her wild songs. Some of those within who had heard of the famed Banshee were fully persuaded that it was a phantom visitor singing outside the gates, indicative of the speedy death of some one of consequence within. At length the window opened.

“Who’s there?” asked a feminine voice. “Surely it is some mortal, and not a spirit from another world.”

“I’m sure it is,” said another voice.

“It’s the poor girl Miss O’Reilly was telling us about. What is it you want, Kathleen?” asked the speaker in a tender tone.

“Is it you who calls me, my lady?” answered Kathleen from below.

“Yes, it is I; what brings you here at this hour of the night?”

“A message—a paper for the Earl, my lady,” said the mad girl. “It is from one who would serve him, and it is of great importance he told me. I cannot say more now; but if you will let me into the castle I will place it in your hands, and tell you all I know.”

“Come round to the front door,” said a voice, which was that of Lady Sophy. “We will come down with a light, and admit you.”

Some time was occupied by the young ladies in putting on their dresses, and then arousing the Earl with the information that a message of importance was brought for him, they hastened down stairs.

At first, from the incoherent way in which poor Kathleen spoke, Lady Sophy and Nora could not understand what had occurred. At length the truth dawned upon them, and by the time the Earl appeared, they were able to explain to him what they had learned.

He at once clearly understood that Dermot had been seized by those who intended to carry off his own son, and he felt not a little grateful to the young fisher-boy for the way he had behaved in the matter. He saw likewise that no time was to be lost, and that it would be necessary both to send off messengers to procure troops from the nearest place where they were quartered, and also immediately to put the castle into a state of defence. He regretted the absence of the frigate, and could only hope that she might return sooner than it had been Captain Falkner’s intention of doing.

In vain Lady Sophy pressed poor Kathleen, after her exertions, to remain and rest at the castle.

“No, no,” she answered; “I will be back again at my home. If I am absent, they will suspect that I have taken a part in this matter; and though they can do me no harm, they may injure those I love.”

The poor girl could scarcely be persuaded to take any refreshment; and at length, having eaten a little which Lady Nora brought her, she hastened away towards the vicarage, singing in her usual strain as she went.

The Earl quickly aroused the inmates of the castle. Messengers were sent off as he proposed, and all the people in the neighbourhood who could be trusted were summoned to come within the walls to aid in its defence. There were a few guns planted on the battlements, but they were more for show than use, that part of the country having hitherto been tranquil, and no idea being entertained that they would be required. There were, however, muskets and pistols in the armoury, and pikes, and numerous old weapons of warfare which were stored there, more as an exhibition on account of their antiquity than for use. Still, the gates were strong, and it would require no small amount of force to break them open.

The preparations for the defence occupied a considerable time; the lower windows had to be barricaded, and the doors strengthened by stout bars. A few holes were left for musketry in different parts, and a supply of large stones was brought up from the beach below to serve as missiles, should the rebels approach near enough to make them useful.

The first streaks of daylight were appearing in the sky before all these preparations were made. Soon after, while the little garrison were resting from the toil they had undergone, the tramp of feet was heard approaching the castle.

Chapter Six.Towards morning Dermot was roused from the bunk on which he had been placed by the man who had before spoken, and an intimation given him that he must rise and prepare to move.He again saw the person who had been called O’Higgins marshalling the rebels, giving various directions, and finally putting himself at their head, as in regular order they marched away from the cavern.On being led out of the cave Dermot was placed on the pony and led between two men, and was conducted at a rapid pace towards the south. He knew this by finding the wind still in his back, and catching a glimpse through the gloom of the distant sea.“They must be going back to the castle,” he thought, “and are about to make the attack they have been threatening. I hope Kathleen arrived in time; if not, those beautiful young ladies and the kind Earl will fall into their hands. Oh, that I could have got away and made sure of giving them warning in time; and yet I do not think the people in the cave slept through the night, and I should have been found out to a certainty. Even now, I don’t think they know who I am, and they still believe they have got the young lord. Well, they may hang me in their rage when they find out who I am, and it cannot be helped. Kathleen will scarcely have failed in giving the notice I sent. But then, if they kill me, oh, what grief for my poor mother. That is the bitterest thing in the matter: for her sake, if I thought there was a chance of escaping I would make the attempt; but if God thinks right to call me out of the world, He knows what is best. Still something may occur by which I may hope to escape, though I know these men about me are ready for any bloody work. What fearful oaths I heard them swear, and we know too well what dreadful things have been done in other parts of the country. The young and the fair, and the old and the helpless, have been murdered by their cruel hands. A fearful thing is this civil war. I used not to think much of it once, but I do now. And oh, that sweet young Lady Nora and her cousin, to think of the horrors to which they may be exposed.”Such were the thoughts which passed rapidly through Dermot’s brain in spite of the danger to which he himself was exposed. He heard the people as before speaking round him in the native Irish, but he took good care to make no remarks; indeed, he felt sure that should he speak, his voice alone might betray him. Had they indeed seen him in daylight they might have suspected, in spite of the cloak which covered him, that he was not the young lord. At length he knew by the appearance of the country, and the expressions he heard uttered round him, that they were drawing close to the castle, though they had arrived by a more inland route than that which he usually took. He judged that some hundreds of people comprised the force of rebels. They were armed in a variety of ways, but a considerable number had muskets and pistols. He discovered also that the two small field-pieces which he had seen in the cavern had been brought with them. Not knowing the moderate powers of such pieces of ordnance, he was afraid that the insurgents with them would batter down the walls. This made him feel more alarmed than ever for the safety of his friends.The rebel force now drew up close round the castle, and a consultation was held among the chiefs as to how the attack should be commenced.Dermot was led up on his pony close to where the leaders were assembled holding their consultation of war. One of them, with more sagacity than the rest, suggested that before they began the attack they should demand the surrender of the fortress, threatening that if this was not agreed to, they would immediately put to death the young lord whom they had in their power.One of their number was accordingly selected to act as herald, and directed to proceed to the front gate, and to demand a parley. The man thus honoured was a broad shouldered Celt, evidently more accustomed to dig than to perform the part for which he had been appointed. He was furnished, however, with a stick and white handkerchief fastened to it, to act as a flag of truce, and urged to proceed at once on his mission.He evidently did not like the task imposed on him, for Dermot heard him explain that he was doubtful whether he could muster a sufficient amount of Saxon to speak to the garrison.“Never fear that,” was the answer; “there are many who know Celtic inside, and they’ll not fail to understand you.”While these arrangements were being made the dawn broke. The herald appeared before the gate, and was considerably astonished when told, in reply to his demand, that the Earl declined holding any communication with men in arms against their sovereign. “But if we hang the Earl’s son if they don’t let us in, what will he say to that?” asked the herald.“You will commit any outrage at your own peril,” was the answer. “The Earl knows that you would not dare to hang his son, even if you had him in your power. Do you expect to escape the vengeance of the whole nation should you venture to commit any such atrocity. Go back from whence you came; the Earl and all within this castle set you at defiance.”The herald, unwilling to go back to his companions with such an answer, again asked if such was their ultimate resolution.“Yes. You will only bring destruction on your own head if you remain where you are; and we again tell you, we defy you,” answered the person within.At last the herald returned to the council of war, which was still sitting. The two guns were now brought forward and placed on an elevated situation, for it had not occurred to their possessors that the only service they could render would be to batter in the gates of the castle. The men who had muskets made their appearance in the front rank, thus to produce a more imposing effect. While these arrangements were being made some of the men had been cutting down young trees in a plantation close by. These they now fixed in a mound near the spot where the guns were posted, and to their tops they secured a cross beam. A rope was then produced.“We shall have to hang the boy if the Earl does not give in,” Dermot heard some of the people round about him observe.“I would gladly have escaped the work,” remarked another. “Yet if it must be done, it must be.”Dermot watched these proceedings, and it would have been unnatural if he had not felt a sensation of horror creeping over him. Should he endeavour to save his life by declaring that he was not the Earl’s son. It naturally occurred to him to do this, and yet it would probably no longer avail him. He nerved himself for the fate which seemed inevitable. The preparations had been seen from the castle.“If you commit murder,” shouted a voice from one of the turrets, “you will bring down the vengeance of heaven and of your country on your heads.”The chiefs continued their consultation. The discussion appeared to be a warm one. Some of them got up and walked about, shaking their fists at the castle.“It must be done!” he heard several exclaim; “it will strike terror into the hearts of our Saxon persecutors. The boy must die. If we let him escape they would declare that we were afraid, and that would make them tyrannise more than ever over us.” Several men now came to Dermot and led him towards the gallows which he had seen erected. At the same time an attempt was made to fire the guns placed on the height, but neither of them went off.“The powder is bad,” Dermot thought to himself; “will it all be like that?”It was a curious thought at such a moment. He had nerved his heart for the worst.“Again we ask, will you yield the castle?” exclaimed several voices from the height.“No, but if you injure that boy, vengeance will overtake you,” was the answer.The men uttered a hoarse laugh with some fearful oaths.“We shall soon see that. Bring him forward. Now, boy, are you prepared for heaven? You will be there in a few minutes. But who are you?” exclaimed several voices.Before Dermot could reply, the cloak he had hitherto worn fell from his shoulders, and his dress and appearance showed that he was a very different person to the young lord, whom they fancied they had captured.None of those present, however, seemed to know him. “If he belongs to these parts he must understand what we have said,” exclaimed O’Higgins, “and if so, he may have gained more of our secrets than he should know, a sufficient reason, if there were no other, to hang him. Who are you?” again asked O’Higgins; “say, boy.”“I am the son of Widow O’Neill,” he answered, without trepidation, in the native Irish in which he was addressed, “and I am her mainstay and support. If you hang me you will bring the malediction of Heaven, and the widow’s curse will rest upon you. If I know your secrets, I am not about to divulge them; I am too much of an Irishman to do that, if I give you my promise that I will not.”This answer seemed to have gained the good opinion of some of the bystanders, but suddenly a man who recognised Dermot sprang up from among them.“He has become a young heretic; he goes to the house of the Protestant minister, you can never trust him after that,” he exclaimed.“He knows our secrets, and it is dangerous that he should possess them,” observed two or three of the leaders, “and it is evidently necessary to put him out of the way.”Again there was a warm discussion among them, and the remarks of most of the speakers were evidently averse to him.“He must die—he must die!” exclaimed several voices, and Dermot found himself once more hurried close up to the gallows.The brutal fellow who had been selected to act as herald, provoked by the reception he had met with, undertook to act as executioner. Dermot’s arms were bound tightly behind him, and he was again placed on the pony from which he had dismounted. The rope was secured to the beam, and the savage remorselessly prepared to adjust it round his neck.

Towards morning Dermot was roused from the bunk on which he had been placed by the man who had before spoken, and an intimation given him that he must rise and prepare to move.

He again saw the person who had been called O’Higgins marshalling the rebels, giving various directions, and finally putting himself at their head, as in regular order they marched away from the cavern.

On being led out of the cave Dermot was placed on the pony and led between two men, and was conducted at a rapid pace towards the south. He knew this by finding the wind still in his back, and catching a glimpse through the gloom of the distant sea.

“They must be going back to the castle,” he thought, “and are about to make the attack they have been threatening. I hope Kathleen arrived in time; if not, those beautiful young ladies and the kind Earl will fall into their hands. Oh, that I could have got away and made sure of giving them warning in time; and yet I do not think the people in the cave slept through the night, and I should have been found out to a certainty. Even now, I don’t think they know who I am, and they still believe they have got the young lord. Well, they may hang me in their rage when they find out who I am, and it cannot be helped. Kathleen will scarcely have failed in giving the notice I sent. But then, if they kill me, oh, what grief for my poor mother. That is the bitterest thing in the matter: for her sake, if I thought there was a chance of escaping I would make the attempt; but if God thinks right to call me out of the world, He knows what is best. Still something may occur by which I may hope to escape, though I know these men about me are ready for any bloody work. What fearful oaths I heard them swear, and we know too well what dreadful things have been done in other parts of the country. The young and the fair, and the old and the helpless, have been murdered by their cruel hands. A fearful thing is this civil war. I used not to think much of it once, but I do now. And oh, that sweet young Lady Nora and her cousin, to think of the horrors to which they may be exposed.”

Such were the thoughts which passed rapidly through Dermot’s brain in spite of the danger to which he himself was exposed. He heard the people as before speaking round him in the native Irish, but he took good care to make no remarks; indeed, he felt sure that should he speak, his voice alone might betray him. Had they indeed seen him in daylight they might have suspected, in spite of the cloak which covered him, that he was not the young lord. At length he knew by the appearance of the country, and the expressions he heard uttered round him, that they were drawing close to the castle, though they had arrived by a more inland route than that which he usually took. He judged that some hundreds of people comprised the force of rebels. They were armed in a variety of ways, but a considerable number had muskets and pistols. He discovered also that the two small field-pieces which he had seen in the cavern had been brought with them. Not knowing the moderate powers of such pieces of ordnance, he was afraid that the insurgents with them would batter down the walls. This made him feel more alarmed than ever for the safety of his friends.

The rebel force now drew up close round the castle, and a consultation was held among the chiefs as to how the attack should be commenced.

Dermot was led up on his pony close to where the leaders were assembled holding their consultation of war. One of them, with more sagacity than the rest, suggested that before they began the attack they should demand the surrender of the fortress, threatening that if this was not agreed to, they would immediately put to death the young lord whom they had in their power.

One of their number was accordingly selected to act as herald, and directed to proceed to the front gate, and to demand a parley. The man thus honoured was a broad shouldered Celt, evidently more accustomed to dig than to perform the part for which he had been appointed. He was furnished, however, with a stick and white handkerchief fastened to it, to act as a flag of truce, and urged to proceed at once on his mission.

He evidently did not like the task imposed on him, for Dermot heard him explain that he was doubtful whether he could muster a sufficient amount of Saxon to speak to the garrison.

“Never fear that,” was the answer; “there are many who know Celtic inside, and they’ll not fail to understand you.”

While these arrangements were being made the dawn broke. The herald appeared before the gate, and was considerably astonished when told, in reply to his demand, that the Earl declined holding any communication with men in arms against their sovereign. “But if we hang the Earl’s son if they don’t let us in, what will he say to that?” asked the herald.

“You will commit any outrage at your own peril,” was the answer. “The Earl knows that you would not dare to hang his son, even if you had him in your power. Do you expect to escape the vengeance of the whole nation should you venture to commit any such atrocity. Go back from whence you came; the Earl and all within this castle set you at defiance.”

The herald, unwilling to go back to his companions with such an answer, again asked if such was their ultimate resolution.

“Yes. You will only bring destruction on your own head if you remain where you are; and we again tell you, we defy you,” answered the person within.

At last the herald returned to the council of war, which was still sitting. The two guns were now brought forward and placed on an elevated situation, for it had not occurred to their possessors that the only service they could render would be to batter in the gates of the castle. The men who had muskets made their appearance in the front rank, thus to produce a more imposing effect. While these arrangements were being made some of the men had been cutting down young trees in a plantation close by. These they now fixed in a mound near the spot where the guns were posted, and to their tops they secured a cross beam. A rope was then produced.

“We shall have to hang the boy if the Earl does not give in,” Dermot heard some of the people round about him observe.

“I would gladly have escaped the work,” remarked another. “Yet if it must be done, it must be.”

Dermot watched these proceedings, and it would have been unnatural if he had not felt a sensation of horror creeping over him. Should he endeavour to save his life by declaring that he was not the Earl’s son. It naturally occurred to him to do this, and yet it would probably no longer avail him. He nerved himself for the fate which seemed inevitable. The preparations had been seen from the castle.

“If you commit murder,” shouted a voice from one of the turrets, “you will bring down the vengeance of heaven and of your country on your heads.”

The chiefs continued their consultation. The discussion appeared to be a warm one. Some of them got up and walked about, shaking their fists at the castle.

“It must be done!” he heard several exclaim; “it will strike terror into the hearts of our Saxon persecutors. The boy must die. If we let him escape they would declare that we were afraid, and that would make them tyrannise more than ever over us.” Several men now came to Dermot and led him towards the gallows which he had seen erected. At the same time an attempt was made to fire the guns placed on the height, but neither of them went off.

“The powder is bad,” Dermot thought to himself; “will it all be like that?”

It was a curious thought at such a moment. He had nerved his heart for the worst.

“Again we ask, will you yield the castle?” exclaimed several voices from the height.

“No, but if you injure that boy, vengeance will overtake you,” was the answer.

The men uttered a hoarse laugh with some fearful oaths.

“We shall soon see that. Bring him forward. Now, boy, are you prepared for heaven? You will be there in a few minutes. But who are you?” exclaimed several voices.

Before Dermot could reply, the cloak he had hitherto worn fell from his shoulders, and his dress and appearance showed that he was a very different person to the young lord, whom they fancied they had captured.

None of those present, however, seemed to know him. “If he belongs to these parts he must understand what we have said,” exclaimed O’Higgins, “and if so, he may have gained more of our secrets than he should know, a sufficient reason, if there were no other, to hang him. Who are you?” again asked O’Higgins; “say, boy.”

“I am the son of Widow O’Neill,” he answered, without trepidation, in the native Irish in which he was addressed, “and I am her mainstay and support. If you hang me you will bring the malediction of Heaven, and the widow’s curse will rest upon you. If I know your secrets, I am not about to divulge them; I am too much of an Irishman to do that, if I give you my promise that I will not.”

This answer seemed to have gained the good opinion of some of the bystanders, but suddenly a man who recognised Dermot sprang up from among them.

“He has become a young heretic; he goes to the house of the Protestant minister, you can never trust him after that,” he exclaimed.

“He knows our secrets, and it is dangerous that he should possess them,” observed two or three of the leaders, “and it is evidently necessary to put him out of the way.”

Again there was a warm discussion among them, and the remarks of most of the speakers were evidently averse to him.

“He must die—he must die!” exclaimed several voices, and Dermot found himself once more hurried close up to the gallows.

The brutal fellow who had been selected to act as herald, provoked by the reception he had met with, undertook to act as executioner. Dermot’s arms were bound tightly behind him, and he was again placed on the pony from which he had dismounted. The rope was secured to the beam, and the savage remorselessly prepared to adjust it round his neck.

Chapter Seven.In another minute the young boy would have been put out of the world by his savage countrymen, when a loud cry was heard, and a woman was seen rushing towards the spot. A red cloak was over her shoulders; her long dark hair streamed in the wind.“Who is it you are going to kill? Hold, hold, you savages!” she exclaimed in native Irish. “Why, that is my own boy, the son of my bosom. What harm could one so young and innocent as he is have done to you? Which of you will dare to take the widow’s only child from her? Which of you will dare to commit a crime at which the most cruel of savages would hesitate? Dark curses will rest upon your bodies here, and on your souls for ever, if you dare to do so foul a deed. Would any of you wish to bring down the bereaved widow’s maledictions on your heads? Let the boy go; he would never wish to harm one of you; a true-hearted Irish lad.” She rushed forward, no one venturing to stop her. Like a tigress she flew at the man who held the rope in his hand, and cast it off the neck of her son. “Now let him go,” she exclaimed, throwing out her arm; “I defy you all. Would any one dare to touch him?” With frantic gesture she released his arms which had been bound behind him. “Now let the minister’s pony return to its home; he is far too good a beast to serve any one of you. Come with me, Dermot,” she exclaimed, as the boy threw himself from the animal and stood by her side. Shielding her son with her cloak, she led him forward, stretching out her arm as if to drive back any who might venture to stop them, and unmolested they took their way towards their home.The same men who appeared thus abashed and confounded in the presence of a weak woman, now, at the order of O’Higgins, began with all the ferocity of wild beasts, to assault the castle. Again and again they fired their field-pieces with no apparent effect. The men with muskets, however, kept up a hot fire against every part of the building where they thought a bullet might enter. The besieged, however, did not reply to their fire. Not a single person in the castle was to be seen; all apertures were closed, and the shot fell harmlessly against the stone walls.This determined silence somewhat disconcerted the rebels, who had expected resistance, and hoped to find some point which they might more easily assail. At length one of their leaders, with more military genius than the rest, proposed bringing the guns down to the front gate. In vain, however, the shots were fired against it; the gates were of iron backed by wood, and the shots made no impression on them. It was then determined to assault the castle by attempting to scale the walls, and the men eagerly set to work to form ladders out of the neighbouring woods. This, however, occupied some time, for although there were plenty of workmen, they had few tools or nails, and after two hours’ labour, scarcely two dozen ill-constructed ladders had been formed. With these, however, a band of daring men might possibly gain the battlements.The object of the assailants was suspected by those within; they prepared accordingly to repel the attack whenever it might be made.It appeared to the leader of the rebels that by assaulting the south side of the castle they were most likely to prove successful. Thither accordingly he led the main body of his men, while another party continued to assail the front gate, and the remainder, concealed among the walls and rough ground outside the castle, kept up a hot fire on the battlements. At length the assailants, jumping down into the ditch, placed their ladders against the walls. Up they began to climb with loud shouts and imprecations on the heads of its defenders.Unless this last attack should be met by a very determined resistance, there appeared every probability of their succeeding, for could they once gain a lodgment on the walls, they might easily drive the small number of opponents who were likely to be within before them. A determined band at last led the way, and reached the summit of the walls. They were there met, however, by a party of the defenders of the castle, led by the Earl himself. Unaccustomed to the use of swords, the assailants were ill-able to defend themselves, as they attempted to step upon the parapet, while the fire which their friends kept up from the opposite side of the bank, killed several of them, though the bullets failed to strike the defenders; they were therefore quickly hurled down again, and the leading men, falling, struck the others who were attempting to ascend, when all were precipitated into the ditch together, the ladders being dislodged, and thrown down upon the wounded and struggling mass. They had, however, too nearly succeeded to abandon their project. They retreated with their ladders, which were soon repaired, when with others in the meantime constructed, a still larger force attempted to scale the walls.Had we followed the widow and her son, Dermot would have been heard expressing his satisfaction at seeing the white sails of the frigate, which had so lately quitted the harbour, once more approaching the shore, aided by a strong breeze from the north, which still continued to blow. The insurgents were fortunately too much occupied in their attack on the castle to notice her; she was, however, seen by its defenders, and this greatly encouraged them in their resistance. Again the rebels began to climb up their ladders,—this time fully believing they were sure of success. Already a large number were near the summit threatening vengeance on the heads of all who opposed them, when there suddenly arose a cry in their rear, of “the red-coats! the red-coats.”“Ay, and the blue-jackets too!” shouted out a loud voice.“On lads, and drive the rascals into the sea.” At this moment a strong party of blue-jackets, headed by Captain Falkner, was seen darting forward, while a body of marines followed with fixed bayonets ready to charge. The rebels did not stop to encounter them. Those who were on the ladders leaped hastily down, crushing many below them, and then attempted to seek safety in flight. The marines and blue-jackets advanced in double quick-time, clearing all before them. Very few of the rebels offered resistance, and those who did were immediately cut down. Many were taken prisoners, O’Higgins among them, and the rest throwing down their arms, headed by the rest of their chiefs, fled as fast as their legs could carry them into the country. They were pursued for some distance, when, unwilling to destroy more of the misguided men, Captain Falkner ordered the pursuit to cease, and returned with his followers to the castle. He was received with warm thanks by the Earl. It was extraordinary that not a single person had been hurt within the walls of the castle, though the Earl acknowledged had the rebels once succeeded in gaining the battlements, he could scarcely, with his small garrison, have hoped to defend it against the numbers which would have assailed them. Captain Falkner told him that after he had left the bay, a fishing-boat came alongside with only one man in her, who gave him the information of the proposed rising. Although he did not believe that the castle would be attacked, he had in consequence been induced to return as quickly as possible to an anchorage in the bay, and he was thankful that he had not come back too late. Part of the marines remained on shore to strengthen the garrison of the castle, and strong parties were sent out in all directions, to ascertain what had become of the rest of the rebels. A considerable number of the misguided men were captured, but most of their leaders, as is often the case under similar circumstances, managed to effect their escape. The state of the country made it dangerous to send the prisoners overland to Cork, they were, therefore, placed on board theCynthia, to be conveyed there by sea. O’Higgins had contrived to divest himself of part of his dress before he was captured, and, owing to this circumstance, he escaped being recognised as one of the leaders of the rebels. Had Dermot been called upon to do so, he would, of course, have been able to identify him; but, fortunately for him, no one thought of summoning the fishwife’s young son to give evidence, and he was, therefore, allowed to remain quietly at home.O’Higgins took the name of Higson, and asserted that he was a pedlar travelling through the country, producing a licence in confirmation of his statement, but had been compelled by the rebels to join them. Several of the other prisoners were found ready to swear to the truth of this statement. He, however, was found guilty; but instead of being condemned to transportation to Botany Bay, was allowed the privilege of entering as a seaman on board a man-of-war. He accepted the alternative, hoping before long to make his escape. He, however, was too narrowly watched to succeed in his object; and after being sent on board a receiving ship, was, curiously enough, transferred to theCynthia, on board which frigate we shall soon again hear of him.From the information Captain Falkner received he had reason to believe that this first attempt of the insurgents having so completely failed, and so many having been made prisoners, or killed, a further rising in that part of the country would not be attempted. Still the disturbed state of the district prevented the ladies from riding about the country as had been their custom, and the Earl would not allow his young son to go to any distance from the walls, nor even a short way without a strong escort.Young Fitz Barry consoled himself, therefore, by frequent visits on board the frigate, where he soon became a great favourite with the officers. “Ah!” he exclaimed, “I wish my father would let me become a midshipman. I would rather go to sea, than follow any other profession in the world.” Those were, perhaps, the most palmy days of England’s navy. It was the time when her greatest heroes were flourishing, and the profession was looked upon as among the noblest a youth could follow. The oftener Fitz Barry visited the frigate, the more anxious he became to belong to her. The midshipmen, at first, encouraged him rather as a joke than in earnest; but as they loved the profession themselves, they were somewhat flattered by finding that the Earl’s son wished to join it also. On going on shore one day, he told his father that he had made up his mind to become a sailor. The Earl at first laughed at him, but he had never been in the habit of thwarting his son, and when Fitz Barry assured him that he should pine and perhaps die, unless he was allowed to have his will, the Earl declared that he was a very obstinate boy, but would not throw any objection in his way. Still, as he was not certain that his father was in earnest, he went to Nora and Sophy, to get them to assist in pleading his cause. Lady Sophy having herself made up her mind to marry a sailor, thought that there was not a finer profession to be followed, and Nora, who loved Fitz Barry with all her heart, could not think of doing otherwise than as he wished. Besides, she confessed that a ship was a very beautiful thing, and that she thought her dear brother must be happy on board, for little did the young ladies know of the toils and dangers, the hardships and the sufferings to which sailors are exposed, whatever their rank. They had read to be sure of wrecks, of noble ships sinking or being burned, of men being castaway on desert islands, with little or no food on which to subsist, of boats long floating on the ocean, till one by one those on board had died of starvation or thirst, or from the exposure they were doomed to endure. To them all was bright and attractive, and Fitz Barry, therefore, by dint of importunity, at length prevailed upon his easy-going father, to allow him to join Captain Falkner’s beautiful frigate, theCynthia, provided that officer would take him. That matter he had left in the hands of his cousin, Sophy, and he had no doubt that she would induce the captain to receive him on board. He was perfectly right in his conjectures, for the captain, as many other captains would have been, was very ready to receive an Earl’s son among his midshipmen. It was necessary for the frigate to remain for some weeks after the late rising, to ascertain that all was quiet before she could venture to quit the bay.There was time, therefore, for Barry to be fitted out for sea, and at length, just before the frigate sailed, he was received on board and rated as a midshipman. He was good-natured and unaffected, was intelligent and zealous in his new profession, had, moreover, plenty of money, and these qualities soon made him a favourite with most of the officers on board.Captain Falkner having landed his prisoners at Cork, and remained there till their trial was concluded, proceeded on to Plymouth, where the young midshipman was to be provided with the remainder of his outfit. TheCynthiawas employed for some months as one of the Channel fleet, and during that time had to pay several visits to the coast of Ireland. Captain Falkner did not fail to look into Kilfinnan Bay, and accompanied by Fitz Barry, to pay a visit to the castle. Great was his satisfaction at finding that the family were still there, as he had thus the opportunity of enjoying the society of Lady Sophy. Alas, they little thought how long would be the separation they must after this endure. Barry happened to inquire of his sister what had become of the young fisher-boy who was so nearly hung instead of himself, and he was told that he had disappeared from the place, and that no one knew what had become of him. Such indeed was the case. Not long after the attack of the rebels on the castle, one evening when the widow expected Dermot to return, he did not make his appearance. In vain she waited the livelong night; no Dermot came back to her. She watched and watched, now she went to the cottage door and stopped to listen; now she hastened down to the boat, that, however, was still moored in its accustomed place. She took her way up to the downs. In vain she called on Dermot; no answer came to her calls. She returned home to mourn and to wonder what had become of her boy. He would not have left his mother without telling her. He loved her too well, she was sure of that, and yet who could have carried him away? Had the rebels done so? That seemed but too likely, for they were too often wont to wreak their vengeance on the heads even of those who could do them no further harm. The morning came and found her still sitting at the open door, waiting for the return of her boy. The sun rose over the rugged hills and shed his rays down into the glen, tinging the points of the rocks on either side, and casting a bright glow over the ocean; still Dermot did not appear. She determined to go forth and search for him, but whither should she go? He might have gone to the castle, but they surely would not have detained him beyond the night, and he must soon then come back. She waited all day, but when the night came on he had not appeared. Weary and sad she sat down on the bench by the fireside, and there at length fell asleep. She awoke by being conscious that some one was present, and looking up saw by the light of the log which still blazed on the hearth, the figure of poor mad Kathleen sitting before her.“You are sad, widow—you are sad,” exclaimed the mad girl; “it is waiting for your son you are; and do you think that he will ever return? It may be he will, but you will have many weary years to wait until then.”“What do you know of my boy?” exclaimed the widow. “Tell me, Kathleen, tell me, girl, has any harm happened to him?”“No; the harm is that he was weary of home, and has gone far away, so I understand, if my poor brain has not misled me. Here, see, he gave me this, and told me to bring it to you. It will tell you far more than I can; it speaks words, though I cannot understand them.”“No more can I,” cried the widow in a tone of grief. “Oh, that he should have gone away and left his poor mother; but maybe in these lines he will have told me why he has gone and when he will come back. Still I do not know that I could have borne the parting from him even had he gone with my consent. But those lines, girl, let me have them; there are others can read them though I cannot. I wish it were the day, that I might go forth and find some one to help me.”The widow took the paper which the mad girl gave her; it was a letter of considerable length. As Dermot knew that his mother could not have read it herself, he must have trusted to her finding some person to perform that office for her.The widow begged Kathleen to rest in her hut that night, hoping that she might, during the time, gather some more information from her about her son. All she could learn, however, was, that she had met Dermot on the way to the south, some distance beyond the castle, and that he had given her that letter, which he intended otherwise to have sent by the post. Poor Kathleen then launched out in his praises, and declared that she had never seen a lord his equal in these parts. The widow’s first impulse was to go and seek for Father O’Rourke, the person to whom the peasantry, whenever they had any document to be read, generally resorted. She remembered, however, his dislike to Dermot and the words of anger with which they had parted from each other, and she therefore felt a repugnance to let him see what her Dermot might have said to her. “Then there is the blind lady,” she thought to herself; “she cannot see to read, however. Then there is the sweet young lady who came here from the castle one day, and the little girl, the Earl’s daughter, but they are too grand to care for what a poor boy like Dermot has to say. I will go, therefore, to Mr Jamieson, and get him to read the letter. He is kind and gentle too, and may be he will give me a word of comfort about my boy. Still I cannot understand why Dermot should have gone away without saying a word of farewell to his poor old mother.”Kathleen, for a wonder, gladly consented to rest at the widow’s cottage till the next morning. They then together took their way to the vicarage. The widow found Mr Jamieson about to leave the house, yet he kindly stopped to hear what she had to say to him. She presented the letter, and telling him that she had only received it on the previous evening, begged him to read it to her. He at once recognised the handwriting of his pupil.“Ah, Widow O’Neill,” he exclaimed, “I find by this that your son is away, and you must be prepared not to see him for some time. I scarcely like to say that the lad has acted wrongly in what he has done. He tells you, Mrs O’Neill, how he loves you, that he would die for you, and that his great object is to go into the world, and to make a fortune, and come home and support you. He says that he could not bring himself to go through the pain of wishing you farewell. He would rather go away without saying a word about it, or letting you know what were his intentions, for he is sure you would not have prevented him, and he would do anything to save you and himself from the agony of the parting moment. I believe him, widow. I am sure that he has a gentle and a loving heart, and that he speaks the truth when he gives that as his reason for going away without seeing you. Yet it was to save you, rather than himself, for he must have known when he left his home, that he was gazing his last at you for many a day. Of one thing I am certain, that his heart will not change, his love will not alter, and that wherever he goes, you will be the chief person he will always think of, and that he will look forward to seeing you again, as the greatest joy which can be allowed him on earth.”The good minister believed that he spoke the truth, when he thus attempted to comfort the bereaved mother. The widow returned home feeling more consoled than could have been expected, for the loss of Dermot. Kind Miss O’Reilly continued to pay her frequent visits, and while the young ladies remained at the castle, they rode over under an escort several times to see her. They heard with surprise of Dermot’s departure, and at first were inclined to think him hard-hearted and ungrateful, but so ably did the widow defend her son, that they soon agreed with her it was but natural a boy like Dermot should seek to see more of the world than he could in that remote part of Ireland.TheCynthiahad been stationed for some months on the Irish coast, when she stood for the last time into the bay, before taking her departure.As Captain Falkner had had an opportunity of letting the Earl know his purpose, a large party were collected at the castle, to bid him and the young hero farewell. Those were the days of profuse Irish hospitality; the gentlemen with their wives and families for many miles around had assembled.The morning was spent in all sorts of sports, and the evening in conviviality. Frequently a stag was turned out from a neighbouring thicket, when a long run, sometimes across rivers, up and down hills, by the borders of lakes, and over the roughest imaginable ground, took place. Many falls were the consequence, in spite of the sturdy character of the horses, and the admirable riding of the men, but few were present who had not seen a companion dislocate his shoulder, and not unfrequently terminate his career with a broken neck. It was not unusual to see a hundred horses stabled in the castle at a time, some of them belonging to the Earl, but a considerable number to his guests, and the profuse hospitality of those days demanded that all the attendants should be well cared for within the walls of the castle. The dinner hour was somewhat early, that a longer period might be devoted to the after carousal. The cellars usually contained numerous hogsheads of claret, whilst stronger wines and whisky were on hand for those of less refined tastes. But the Irish gentleman rather prided himself on the quantity of claret he could imbibe, and yet be able to retire with steady steps to bed, or if necessary to mount his horse and return home by cross roads without breaking his neck, or finding himself at sunrise just waking out of sleep in a dry ditch.Although the Earl himself did not over indulge in the pleasures of the table, he had been too long habituated to the custom to discourage it in others, and thus his legitimate income was inadequate to supply the expenses of the profuse hospitality he kept up.The ladies retired early from the table, when the slight restraint their presence imposed being removed, the bottle began to circulate even more freely than before. Songs were sung, toasts were given, and the health of the young heir of Kilfinnan was drunk with uproarious cheers. “May he be as fine a man as his father, and an honour to the noble profession he has chosen, though faith! I’d rather he followed it than I myself,” exclaimed a red-nosed squire from the lower end of the table, “May he live to see his grandchildren around him, and may the old castle stand as long as the round world endures.”“Sure a finer young sailor never placed foot on the deck of a man-of-war,” echoed another landowner of the same stamp. “May he come back a captain at the least, and take the lead in the field in many a hard day’s run.” Similar compliments were uttered in succession for some time. Fitz Barry took them very quietly, indeed he at length became utterly weary of the proceedings. In truth also, the thoughts of leaving home and his sweet young sister and his cousin Sophy, whom he loved like one, made him somewhat sad, and little able to enter into the conversation going forward. He did not, however, allow either Sophy or Nora to discover how much he felt.The next morning, farewells over, he went on board the frigate, without much prospect of returning home for three years or more. As she under all sail stood out of the bay, he cast many a lingering glance at the old castle, and the well-known bold outlines of the shore. At Plymouth, to which port the frigate had been ordered to proceed, several fresh hands were entered to make up the complement of her proper crew. They were of all descriptions, but Captain Falkner soon discovered that there was scarcely a seaman among them. Officers in those days, when men were scarce, had to form their crews out of the most heterogeneous materials. He was receiving a report of them from his first lieutenant. “Here is a fellow, sir. He has been sent to us from the tender, and has entered under the name Higson, and says he is an Englishman, though he is evidently Irish by his tongue, and the cut of his features and general appearance from head to foot. He knows little enough of a seaman’s duties, but is a stout, strong fellow, and we may in time lick him into shape. I am advised to keep an eye on him while we remain in harbour, lest he should take French leave, and forget to return on board.”“We must keep him,” answered the captain; “we are bound for the West Indies, you know, and shall require every man we can lay hold of.”This settled the point—O’Higgins the rebel leader, or rather Higson, as he called himself, was regularly entered on the books of theCynthia. He, in vain, made several efforts to escape; once he narrowly escaped, being shot in the attempt. He had jumped into a boat at night, and was pulling away from the ship when he was overtaken, and being brought back was put into irons till the frigate sailed. Had he been in Cork harbour, he would have had little difficulty in effecting his purpose. Hearing, however, that a son of the Earl of Kilfinnan was on board, he consoled, himself with the reflection that he should have an opportunity of wreaking his vengeance on the head of the midshipman. How the lad had in any way given him cause of offence, none but a distorted imagination could have supposed. He had certainly attempted for a very indefinite object of his own to burn down the Earl’s residence and to murder the inhabitants, and because he had been foiled in the attempt, captured and punished, he persuaded himself that he was fully justified in desiring to kill or injure the Earl’s unoffending son. Such, however, was the style of reasoning in which so-called Irish patriots of those days, and, perhaps, in later times, were apt to indulge.At length, powder and stores having been received on board, and two or three gun-room officers and several passed midshipmen having joined, theCynthiamade sail, and standing out of the harbour, a course was shaped for the West Indies, her destined station.The frigate had been for some time at sea, and during a light wind she fell in with a homeward bound merchantman. These were the days of the press-gang, and under such circumstances every merchantman was visited, that the seamen on board who had not a protection might be carried off to serve in the Royal Navy. This was a cruel regulation, but, at the same time, it seemed the only feasible one to our forefathers for manning the king’s ships. Often good men were thus picked up, but more frequently bad and discontented ones. The merchant ship was ordered to heave to, and the second lieutenant, with a boat’s crew armed to the teeth, went on board. The whole of the crew were directed to come upon deck. Their names were called over, and three able seamen were found who did not possess a protection. They were immediately ordered to go over the side into the boat.“Are there any others who wish to volunteer on board?” asked the lieutenant. There was some hesitation among them, when two youngsters stepped forward in front of the rest. The master endeavoured to prevent them from speaking; but the lieutenant telling them to say what they wished, they at once begged that they might be allowed to join the frigate. They were both fine active-looking lads, and seemed cut out to make first-rate seamen. The lieutenant eyed them with approbation.“You will do, my lads,” he observed. “In a couple of years or less, you will make active top-men.”The master was very indignant at being thus deprived of part of his crew; but he had no remedy, and was obliged to submit.“A pleasant voyage to you, Captain Dobson,” said the lieutenant. “You will manage to find your way up Channel without these few men I have taken from you, and depend upon it they will be better off than they would have been spending their time at Wapping until all their money was gone;” a truth which even the master could not deny.The merchantman sailed on her way, and the boat having returned on board the frigate, was hoisted up again, when her sails being trimmed, theCynthiaonce more stood on her course. The new-comers soon made themselves at home with the crew. Those who watched the lads might have seen an expression of astonishment pass over the countenance of one of them when he found himself on board theCynthia. Soon after this they were brought up before the first lieutenant, to undergo the usual examination. He soon finished with the men, who had the ordinary account to give of themselves. One of the young lads said he belonged to Dartmouth in England, and that having run away from home he had joined the merchantman, from which he had volunteered, and he was entered by the name of Ned Davis.“And what is your name, my lad?” he asked, turning to the youngest of the two.“Charles Denham, sir,” he answered.“That is an English name, and you speak with an Irish accent.”“My mother was an Irish woman,” answered the lad, with a blush on his face.“And who was your father, then?” asked the lieutenant.“Sir, I came on board to serve his Majesty, and I hope to do so faithfully,” replied the lad, as if he had not heard the question put to him.“There is some of the true metal in that boy,” observed the first lieutenant, turning to an officer near him. “I must keep an eye upon him. He will make a smart seaman in a short time. He is just one after the captain’s own heart.”The young volunteer did not hear these observations, or they would have given him the encouragement of which, he somewhat felt the want. The lads were told their numbers and the mess to which they would belong. Ned Davis and Charles Denham returned together to the lower deck. They found, after they had been some time below, that the crew were far from satisfied with their officers. They discovered that the ringleader was a certain John Higson, who was ready to find fault with everything that took place. He was what is generally called at sea, “a king’s hard bargain,” or in other words, not worth his salt. He was one of those men who do a great deal of mischief on board a ship, and are generally known by the name of “a sea lawyer.” The two lads, however, seemed resolved to do their duty in spite of anything that might occur. They had before, it appeared, heard Captain Falkner spoken of, and knew he had the character of being a just officer, though somewhat strict. It soon appeared, indeed, that he had a very unruly ship’s company to deal with, and one that required a good deal of management to bring into order. Had it not been for Higson, and other men like him, this might easily have been accomplished; but whatever was done Higson was sure to put a wrong interpretation upon it. Still, the best men found themselves well treated, and spoken kindly to by their officers. By degrees flogging decreased, though occasionally some were brought up to suffer that punishment. In those days an officer might order it to be inflicted on any one of the crew, and sometimes this was done for slight offences. Captain Falkner, however, reserved it for those who seemed determined to neglect their duty, or to get drunk, or act disrespectfully to their officers. Higson was himself too clever ever to get punished, though more than once he was the cause of others becoming sufferers. At length the West Indies were reached, and the frigate brought up in Kingston Harbour, Jamaica.Unfortunately, Captain Falkner was taken ill, and it became necessary for him to go and reside on shore. The first lieutenant, though a kind officer, had not the talent of his superior, and thus the ship once more fell into the condition in which it had previously been. It being found that Captain Falkner did not recover, the admiral of the station ordered theCynthiato put to sea under the command of the first lieutenant. She cruised for some time in search of an enemy, but none was to be found, and sickness breaking out on board, a good many of the men were laid up in their hammocks. Meantime, young Lord Fitz Barry had become a great favourite with his brother officers on board. Indeed, from his youth he was somewhat of a pet among them. He was not a little made of by the first lieutenant and the other officers, not so much because he was a lord, but because he was a kind-hearted, generous little fellow. He had, however, been imbued by his captain with very strict notions of duty, and, young as he was, when sent away with a boat’s crew he kept them in as strict order as any of the older midshipmen could have done. On one occasion when sent on shore to bring off wood and water from an uninhabited part of the southern shore of Saint Domingo, some of his boat’s crew insisted on going up into the interior. His orders had been not to allow them to go out of sight of the boat, and should any person appear from the shore, immediately to shove off and return to the ship. When, however, they were told by Fitz Barry to remain where they were, they laughed at him, and began to move off into the country. He instantly drew a pistol from his belt, and hastened after them, threatening to shoot the nearest man if they did not instantly return. Still they persevered, and according to his threat, the young lord fired his pistol, and hit one of the mutineers in the arm, and immediately drawing a second pistol, he threatened to treat another in the same way. This brought the mutineers to reason, and turning round they sulkily followed him towards the boat. Here the wounded man insisted on having his revenge, and tried to persuade the rest of the boat’s crew to throw the young lord overboard. The two lads who had come on board from the merchantman had been appointed to the boat, both of them by this time being strong enough to pull an oar. They, however, instead of siding with the rest of the crew, had remained in the boat, and declared that if a hand was laid upon Lord Fitz Barry, they would denounce the rest to their commander.“And we will heave you youngsters overboard with him,” exclaimed the men, enraged at being thus opposed.“At your peril,” answered Charles Denham; “I am not one to be cowed by your threats. The man who was shot only got his deserts, and it will serve you all right if Lord Fitz Barry reports you when he gets on board.”This plain speaking still further enraged the rest of the boat’s crew. At the same time, unless they had been prepared to kill their young officer and the two lads, they had no resource but to submit. They had pulled off some little distance from the shore when they again threatened to throw all three overboard, unless they would promise not to report them. This Lord Fitz Barry refused to do.“No,” he said, keeping the other pistol in his hand. “It is for me to command you. You disobeyed orders and now must take the consequences.”He reflected that if he returned and let their conduct go unpunished, it might lead to still more serious disobedience. He, therefore, as soon as he got on board, reported the whole affair to the commanding officer, at the same time taking care to praise the two lads who had so bravely stood by him. The consequence was, that the whole of the boat’s crew were brought to the gangway and severely flogged.

In another minute the young boy would have been put out of the world by his savage countrymen, when a loud cry was heard, and a woman was seen rushing towards the spot. A red cloak was over her shoulders; her long dark hair streamed in the wind.

“Who is it you are going to kill? Hold, hold, you savages!” she exclaimed in native Irish. “Why, that is my own boy, the son of my bosom. What harm could one so young and innocent as he is have done to you? Which of you will dare to take the widow’s only child from her? Which of you will dare to commit a crime at which the most cruel of savages would hesitate? Dark curses will rest upon your bodies here, and on your souls for ever, if you dare to do so foul a deed. Would any of you wish to bring down the bereaved widow’s maledictions on your heads? Let the boy go; he would never wish to harm one of you; a true-hearted Irish lad.” She rushed forward, no one venturing to stop her. Like a tigress she flew at the man who held the rope in his hand, and cast it off the neck of her son. “Now let him go,” she exclaimed, throwing out her arm; “I defy you all. Would any one dare to touch him?” With frantic gesture she released his arms which had been bound behind him. “Now let the minister’s pony return to its home; he is far too good a beast to serve any one of you. Come with me, Dermot,” she exclaimed, as the boy threw himself from the animal and stood by her side. Shielding her son with her cloak, she led him forward, stretching out her arm as if to drive back any who might venture to stop them, and unmolested they took their way towards their home.

The same men who appeared thus abashed and confounded in the presence of a weak woman, now, at the order of O’Higgins, began with all the ferocity of wild beasts, to assault the castle. Again and again they fired their field-pieces with no apparent effect. The men with muskets, however, kept up a hot fire against every part of the building where they thought a bullet might enter. The besieged, however, did not reply to their fire. Not a single person in the castle was to be seen; all apertures were closed, and the shot fell harmlessly against the stone walls.

This determined silence somewhat disconcerted the rebels, who had expected resistance, and hoped to find some point which they might more easily assail. At length one of their leaders, with more military genius than the rest, proposed bringing the guns down to the front gate. In vain, however, the shots were fired against it; the gates were of iron backed by wood, and the shots made no impression on them. It was then determined to assault the castle by attempting to scale the walls, and the men eagerly set to work to form ladders out of the neighbouring woods. This, however, occupied some time, for although there were plenty of workmen, they had few tools or nails, and after two hours’ labour, scarcely two dozen ill-constructed ladders had been formed. With these, however, a band of daring men might possibly gain the battlements.

The object of the assailants was suspected by those within; they prepared accordingly to repel the attack whenever it might be made.

It appeared to the leader of the rebels that by assaulting the south side of the castle they were most likely to prove successful. Thither accordingly he led the main body of his men, while another party continued to assail the front gate, and the remainder, concealed among the walls and rough ground outside the castle, kept up a hot fire on the battlements. At length the assailants, jumping down into the ditch, placed their ladders against the walls. Up they began to climb with loud shouts and imprecations on the heads of its defenders.

Unless this last attack should be met by a very determined resistance, there appeared every probability of their succeeding, for could they once gain a lodgment on the walls, they might easily drive the small number of opponents who were likely to be within before them. A determined band at last led the way, and reached the summit of the walls. They were there met, however, by a party of the defenders of the castle, led by the Earl himself. Unaccustomed to the use of swords, the assailants were ill-able to defend themselves, as they attempted to step upon the parapet, while the fire which their friends kept up from the opposite side of the bank, killed several of them, though the bullets failed to strike the defenders; they were therefore quickly hurled down again, and the leading men, falling, struck the others who were attempting to ascend, when all were precipitated into the ditch together, the ladders being dislodged, and thrown down upon the wounded and struggling mass. They had, however, too nearly succeeded to abandon their project. They retreated with their ladders, which were soon repaired, when with others in the meantime constructed, a still larger force attempted to scale the walls.

Had we followed the widow and her son, Dermot would have been heard expressing his satisfaction at seeing the white sails of the frigate, which had so lately quitted the harbour, once more approaching the shore, aided by a strong breeze from the north, which still continued to blow. The insurgents were fortunately too much occupied in their attack on the castle to notice her; she was, however, seen by its defenders, and this greatly encouraged them in their resistance. Again the rebels began to climb up their ladders,—this time fully believing they were sure of success. Already a large number were near the summit threatening vengeance on the heads of all who opposed them, when there suddenly arose a cry in their rear, of “the red-coats! the red-coats.”

“Ay, and the blue-jackets too!” shouted out a loud voice.

“On lads, and drive the rascals into the sea.” At this moment a strong party of blue-jackets, headed by Captain Falkner, was seen darting forward, while a body of marines followed with fixed bayonets ready to charge. The rebels did not stop to encounter them. Those who were on the ladders leaped hastily down, crushing many below them, and then attempted to seek safety in flight. The marines and blue-jackets advanced in double quick-time, clearing all before them. Very few of the rebels offered resistance, and those who did were immediately cut down. Many were taken prisoners, O’Higgins among them, and the rest throwing down their arms, headed by the rest of their chiefs, fled as fast as their legs could carry them into the country. They were pursued for some distance, when, unwilling to destroy more of the misguided men, Captain Falkner ordered the pursuit to cease, and returned with his followers to the castle. He was received with warm thanks by the Earl. It was extraordinary that not a single person had been hurt within the walls of the castle, though the Earl acknowledged had the rebels once succeeded in gaining the battlements, he could scarcely, with his small garrison, have hoped to defend it against the numbers which would have assailed them. Captain Falkner told him that after he had left the bay, a fishing-boat came alongside with only one man in her, who gave him the information of the proposed rising. Although he did not believe that the castle would be attacked, he had in consequence been induced to return as quickly as possible to an anchorage in the bay, and he was thankful that he had not come back too late. Part of the marines remained on shore to strengthen the garrison of the castle, and strong parties were sent out in all directions, to ascertain what had become of the rest of the rebels. A considerable number of the misguided men were captured, but most of their leaders, as is often the case under similar circumstances, managed to effect their escape. The state of the country made it dangerous to send the prisoners overland to Cork, they were, therefore, placed on board theCynthia, to be conveyed there by sea. O’Higgins had contrived to divest himself of part of his dress before he was captured, and, owing to this circumstance, he escaped being recognised as one of the leaders of the rebels. Had Dermot been called upon to do so, he would, of course, have been able to identify him; but, fortunately for him, no one thought of summoning the fishwife’s young son to give evidence, and he was, therefore, allowed to remain quietly at home.

O’Higgins took the name of Higson, and asserted that he was a pedlar travelling through the country, producing a licence in confirmation of his statement, but had been compelled by the rebels to join them. Several of the other prisoners were found ready to swear to the truth of this statement. He, however, was found guilty; but instead of being condemned to transportation to Botany Bay, was allowed the privilege of entering as a seaman on board a man-of-war. He accepted the alternative, hoping before long to make his escape. He, however, was too narrowly watched to succeed in his object; and after being sent on board a receiving ship, was, curiously enough, transferred to theCynthia, on board which frigate we shall soon again hear of him.

From the information Captain Falkner received he had reason to believe that this first attempt of the insurgents having so completely failed, and so many having been made prisoners, or killed, a further rising in that part of the country would not be attempted. Still the disturbed state of the district prevented the ladies from riding about the country as had been their custom, and the Earl would not allow his young son to go to any distance from the walls, nor even a short way without a strong escort.

Young Fitz Barry consoled himself, therefore, by frequent visits on board the frigate, where he soon became a great favourite with the officers. “Ah!” he exclaimed, “I wish my father would let me become a midshipman. I would rather go to sea, than follow any other profession in the world.” Those were, perhaps, the most palmy days of England’s navy. It was the time when her greatest heroes were flourishing, and the profession was looked upon as among the noblest a youth could follow. The oftener Fitz Barry visited the frigate, the more anxious he became to belong to her. The midshipmen, at first, encouraged him rather as a joke than in earnest; but as they loved the profession themselves, they were somewhat flattered by finding that the Earl’s son wished to join it also. On going on shore one day, he told his father that he had made up his mind to become a sailor. The Earl at first laughed at him, but he had never been in the habit of thwarting his son, and when Fitz Barry assured him that he should pine and perhaps die, unless he was allowed to have his will, the Earl declared that he was a very obstinate boy, but would not throw any objection in his way. Still, as he was not certain that his father was in earnest, he went to Nora and Sophy, to get them to assist in pleading his cause. Lady Sophy having herself made up her mind to marry a sailor, thought that there was not a finer profession to be followed, and Nora, who loved Fitz Barry with all her heart, could not think of doing otherwise than as he wished. Besides, she confessed that a ship was a very beautiful thing, and that she thought her dear brother must be happy on board, for little did the young ladies know of the toils and dangers, the hardships and the sufferings to which sailors are exposed, whatever their rank. They had read to be sure of wrecks, of noble ships sinking or being burned, of men being castaway on desert islands, with little or no food on which to subsist, of boats long floating on the ocean, till one by one those on board had died of starvation or thirst, or from the exposure they were doomed to endure. To them all was bright and attractive, and Fitz Barry, therefore, by dint of importunity, at length prevailed upon his easy-going father, to allow him to join Captain Falkner’s beautiful frigate, theCynthia, provided that officer would take him. That matter he had left in the hands of his cousin, Sophy, and he had no doubt that she would induce the captain to receive him on board. He was perfectly right in his conjectures, for the captain, as many other captains would have been, was very ready to receive an Earl’s son among his midshipmen. It was necessary for the frigate to remain for some weeks after the late rising, to ascertain that all was quiet before she could venture to quit the bay.

There was time, therefore, for Barry to be fitted out for sea, and at length, just before the frigate sailed, he was received on board and rated as a midshipman. He was good-natured and unaffected, was intelligent and zealous in his new profession, had, moreover, plenty of money, and these qualities soon made him a favourite with most of the officers on board.

Captain Falkner having landed his prisoners at Cork, and remained there till their trial was concluded, proceeded on to Plymouth, where the young midshipman was to be provided with the remainder of his outfit. TheCynthiawas employed for some months as one of the Channel fleet, and during that time had to pay several visits to the coast of Ireland. Captain Falkner did not fail to look into Kilfinnan Bay, and accompanied by Fitz Barry, to pay a visit to the castle. Great was his satisfaction at finding that the family were still there, as he had thus the opportunity of enjoying the society of Lady Sophy. Alas, they little thought how long would be the separation they must after this endure. Barry happened to inquire of his sister what had become of the young fisher-boy who was so nearly hung instead of himself, and he was told that he had disappeared from the place, and that no one knew what had become of him. Such indeed was the case. Not long after the attack of the rebels on the castle, one evening when the widow expected Dermot to return, he did not make his appearance. In vain she waited the livelong night; no Dermot came back to her. She watched and watched, now she went to the cottage door and stopped to listen; now she hastened down to the boat, that, however, was still moored in its accustomed place. She took her way up to the downs. In vain she called on Dermot; no answer came to her calls. She returned home to mourn and to wonder what had become of her boy. He would not have left his mother without telling her. He loved her too well, she was sure of that, and yet who could have carried him away? Had the rebels done so? That seemed but too likely, for they were too often wont to wreak their vengeance on the heads even of those who could do them no further harm. The morning came and found her still sitting at the open door, waiting for the return of her boy. The sun rose over the rugged hills and shed his rays down into the glen, tinging the points of the rocks on either side, and casting a bright glow over the ocean; still Dermot did not appear. She determined to go forth and search for him, but whither should she go? He might have gone to the castle, but they surely would not have detained him beyond the night, and he must soon then come back. She waited all day, but when the night came on he had not appeared. Weary and sad she sat down on the bench by the fireside, and there at length fell asleep. She awoke by being conscious that some one was present, and looking up saw by the light of the log which still blazed on the hearth, the figure of poor mad Kathleen sitting before her.

“You are sad, widow—you are sad,” exclaimed the mad girl; “it is waiting for your son you are; and do you think that he will ever return? It may be he will, but you will have many weary years to wait until then.”

“What do you know of my boy?” exclaimed the widow. “Tell me, Kathleen, tell me, girl, has any harm happened to him?”

“No; the harm is that he was weary of home, and has gone far away, so I understand, if my poor brain has not misled me. Here, see, he gave me this, and told me to bring it to you. It will tell you far more than I can; it speaks words, though I cannot understand them.”

“No more can I,” cried the widow in a tone of grief. “Oh, that he should have gone away and left his poor mother; but maybe in these lines he will have told me why he has gone and when he will come back. Still I do not know that I could have borne the parting from him even had he gone with my consent. But those lines, girl, let me have them; there are others can read them though I cannot. I wish it were the day, that I might go forth and find some one to help me.”

The widow took the paper which the mad girl gave her; it was a letter of considerable length. As Dermot knew that his mother could not have read it herself, he must have trusted to her finding some person to perform that office for her.

The widow begged Kathleen to rest in her hut that night, hoping that she might, during the time, gather some more information from her about her son. All she could learn, however, was, that she had met Dermot on the way to the south, some distance beyond the castle, and that he had given her that letter, which he intended otherwise to have sent by the post. Poor Kathleen then launched out in his praises, and declared that she had never seen a lord his equal in these parts. The widow’s first impulse was to go and seek for Father O’Rourke, the person to whom the peasantry, whenever they had any document to be read, generally resorted. She remembered, however, his dislike to Dermot and the words of anger with which they had parted from each other, and she therefore felt a repugnance to let him see what her Dermot might have said to her. “Then there is the blind lady,” she thought to herself; “she cannot see to read, however. Then there is the sweet young lady who came here from the castle one day, and the little girl, the Earl’s daughter, but they are too grand to care for what a poor boy like Dermot has to say. I will go, therefore, to Mr Jamieson, and get him to read the letter. He is kind and gentle too, and may be he will give me a word of comfort about my boy. Still I cannot understand why Dermot should have gone away without saying a word of farewell to his poor old mother.”

Kathleen, for a wonder, gladly consented to rest at the widow’s cottage till the next morning. They then together took their way to the vicarage. The widow found Mr Jamieson about to leave the house, yet he kindly stopped to hear what she had to say to him. She presented the letter, and telling him that she had only received it on the previous evening, begged him to read it to her. He at once recognised the handwriting of his pupil.

“Ah, Widow O’Neill,” he exclaimed, “I find by this that your son is away, and you must be prepared not to see him for some time. I scarcely like to say that the lad has acted wrongly in what he has done. He tells you, Mrs O’Neill, how he loves you, that he would die for you, and that his great object is to go into the world, and to make a fortune, and come home and support you. He says that he could not bring himself to go through the pain of wishing you farewell. He would rather go away without saying a word about it, or letting you know what were his intentions, for he is sure you would not have prevented him, and he would do anything to save you and himself from the agony of the parting moment. I believe him, widow. I am sure that he has a gentle and a loving heart, and that he speaks the truth when he gives that as his reason for going away without seeing you. Yet it was to save you, rather than himself, for he must have known when he left his home, that he was gazing his last at you for many a day. Of one thing I am certain, that his heart will not change, his love will not alter, and that wherever he goes, you will be the chief person he will always think of, and that he will look forward to seeing you again, as the greatest joy which can be allowed him on earth.”

The good minister believed that he spoke the truth, when he thus attempted to comfort the bereaved mother. The widow returned home feeling more consoled than could have been expected, for the loss of Dermot. Kind Miss O’Reilly continued to pay her frequent visits, and while the young ladies remained at the castle, they rode over under an escort several times to see her. They heard with surprise of Dermot’s departure, and at first were inclined to think him hard-hearted and ungrateful, but so ably did the widow defend her son, that they soon agreed with her it was but natural a boy like Dermot should seek to see more of the world than he could in that remote part of Ireland.

TheCynthiahad been stationed for some months on the Irish coast, when she stood for the last time into the bay, before taking her departure.

As Captain Falkner had had an opportunity of letting the Earl know his purpose, a large party were collected at the castle, to bid him and the young hero farewell. Those were the days of profuse Irish hospitality; the gentlemen with their wives and families for many miles around had assembled.

The morning was spent in all sorts of sports, and the evening in conviviality. Frequently a stag was turned out from a neighbouring thicket, when a long run, sometimes across rivers, up and down hills, by the borders of lakes, and over the roughest imaginable ground, took place. Many falls were the consequence, in spite of the sturdy character of the horses, and the admirable riding of the men, but few were present who had not seen a companion dislocate his shoulder, and not unfrequently terminate his career with a broken neck. It was not unusual to see a hundred horses stabled in the castle at a time, some of them belonging to the Earl, but a considerable number to his guests, and the profuse hospitality of those days demanded that all the attendants should be well cared for within the walls of the castle. The dinner hour was somewhat early, that a longer period might be devoted to the after carousal. The cellars usually contained numerous hogsheads of claret, whilst stronger wines and whisky were on hand for those of less refined tastes. But the Irish gentleman rather prided himself on the quantity of claret he could imbibe, and yet be able to retire with steady steps to bed, or if necessary to mount his horse and return home by cross roads without breaking his neck, or finding himself at sunrise just waking out of sleep in a dry ditch.

Although the Earl himself did not over indulge in the pleasures of the table, he had been too long habituated to the custom to discourage it in others, and thus his legitimate income was inadequate to supply the expenses of the profuse hospitality he kept up.

The ladies retired early from the table, when the slight restraint their presence imposed being removed, the bottle began to circulate even more freely than before. Songs were sung, toasts were given, and the health of the young heir of Kilfinnan was drunk with uproarious cheers. “May he be as fine a man as his father, and an honour to the noble profession he has chosen, though faith! I’d rather he followed it than I myself,” exclaimed a red-nosed squire from the lower end of the table, “May he live to see his grandchildren around him, and may the old castle stand as long as the round world endures.”

“Sure a finer young sailor never placed foot on the deck of a man-of-war,” echoed another landowner of the same stamp. “May he come back a captain at the least, and take the lead in the field in many a hard day’s run.” Similar compliments were uttered in succession for some time. Fitz Barry took them very quietly, indeed he at length became utterly weary of the proceedings. In truth also, the thoughts of leaving home and his sweet young sister and his cousin Sophy, whom he loved like one, made him somewhat sad, and little able to enter into the conversation going forward. He did not, however, allow either Sophy or Nora to discover how much he felt.

The next morning, farewells over, he went on board the frigate, without much prospect of returning home for three years or more. As she under all sail stood out of the bay, he cast many a lingering glance at the old castle, and the well-known bold outlines of the shore. At Plymouth, to which port the frigate had been ordered to proceed, several fresh hands were entered to make up the complement of her proper crew. They were of all descriptions, but Captain Falkner soon discovered that there was scarcely a seaman among them. Officers in those days, when men were scarce, had to form their crews out of the most heterogeneous materials. He was receiving a report of them from his first lieutenant. “Here is a fellow, sir. He has been sent to us from the tender, and has entered under the name Higson, and says he is an Englishman, though he is evidently Irish by his tongue, and the cut of his features and general appearance from head to foot. He knows little enough of a seaman’s duties, but is a stout, strong fellow, and we may in time lick him into shape. I am advised to keep an eye on him while we remain in harbour, lest he should take French leave, and forget to return on board.”

“We must keep him,” answered the captain; “we are bound for the West Indies, you know, and shall require every man we can lay hold of.”

This settled the point—O’Higgins the rebel leader, or rather Higson, as he called himself, was regularly entered on the books of theCynthia. He, in vain, made several efforts to escape; once he narrowly escaped, being shot in the attempt. He had jumped into a boat at night, and was pulling away from the ship when he was overtaken, and being brought back was put into irons till the frigate sailed. Had he been in Cork harbour, he would have had little difficulty in effecting his purpose. Hearing, however, that a son of the Earl of Kilfinnan was on board, he consoled, himself with the reflection that he should have an opportunity of wreaking his vengeance on the head of the midshipman. How the lad had in any way given him cause of offence, none but a distorted imagination could have supposed. He had certainly attempted for a very indefinite object of his own to burn down the Earl’s residence and to murder the inhabitants, and because he had been foiled in the attempt, captured and punished, he persuaded himself that he was fully justified in desiring to kill or injure the Earl’s unoffending son. Such, however, was the style of reasoning in which so-called Irish patriots of those days, and, perhaps, in later times, were apt to indulge.

At length, powder and stores having been received on board, and two or three gun-room officers and several passed midshipmen having joined, theCynthiamade sail, and standing out of the harbour, a course was shaped for the West Indies, her destined station.

The frigate had been for some time at sea, and during a light wind she fell in with a homeward bound merchantman. These were the days of the press-gang, and under such circumstances every merchantman was visited, that the seamen on board who had not a protection might be carried off to serve in the Royal Navy. This was a cruel regulation, but, at the same time, it seemed the only feasible one to our forefathers for manning the king’s ships. Often good men were thus picked up, but more frequently bad and discontented ones. The merchant ship was ordered to heave to, and the second lieutenant, with a boat’s crew armed to the teeth, went on board. The whole of the crew were directed to come upon deck. Their names were called over, and three able seamen were found who did not possess a protection. They were immediately ordered to go over the side into the boat.

“Are there any others who wish to volunteer on board?” asked the lieutenant. There was some hesitation among them, when two youngsters stepped forward in front of the rest. The master endeavoured to prevent them from speaking; but the lieutenant telling them to say what they wished, they at once begged that they might be allowed to join the frigate. They were both fine active-looking lads, and seemed cut out to make first-rate seamen. The lieutenant eyed them with approbation.

“You will do, my lads,” he observed. “In a couple of years or less, you will make active top-men.”

The master was very indignant at being thus deprived of part of his crew; but he had no remedy, and was obliged to submit.

“A pleasant voyage to you, Captain Dobson,” said the lieutenant. “You will manage to find your way up Channel without these few men I have taken from you, and depend upon it they will be better off than they would have been spending their time at Wapping until all their money was gone;” a truth which even the master could not deny.

The merchantman sailed on her way, and the boat having returned on board the frigate, was hoisted up again, when her sails being trimmed, theCynthiaonce more stood on her course. The new-comers soon made themselves at home with the crew. Those who watched the lads might have seen an expression of astonishment pass over the countenance of one of them when he found himself on board theCynthia. Soon after this they were brought up before the first lieutenant, to undergo the usual examination. He soon finished with the men, who had the ordinary account to give of themselves. One of the young lads said he belonged to Dartmouth in England, and that having run away from home he had joined the merchantman, from which he had volunteered, and he was entered by the name of Ned Davis.

“And what is your name, my lad?” he asked, turning to the youngest of the two.

“Charles Denham, sir,” he answered.

“That is an English name, and you speak with an Irish accent.”

“My mother was an Irish woman,” answered the lad, with a blush on his face.

“And who was your father, then?” asked the lieutenant.

“Sir, I came on board to serve his Majesty, and I hope to do so faithfully,” replied the lad, as if he had not heard the question put to him.

“There is some of the true metal in that boy,” observed the first lieutenant, turning to an officer near him. “I must keep an eye upon him. He will make a smart seaman in a short time. He is just one after the captain’s own heart.”

The young volunteer did not hear these observations, or they would have given him the encouragement of which, he somewhat felt the want. The lads were told their numbers and the mess to which they would belong. Ned Davis and Charles Denham returned together to the lower deck. They found, after they had been some time below, that the crew were far from satisfied with their officers. They discovered that the ringleader was a certain John Higson, who was ready to find fault with everything that took place. He was what is generally called at sea, “a king’s hard bargain,” or in other words, not worth his salt. He was one of those men who do a great deal of mischief on board a ship, and are generally known by the name of “a sea lawyer.” The two lads, however, seemed resolved to do their duty in spite of anything that might occur. They had before, it appeared, heard Captain Falkner spoken of, and knew he had the character of being a just officer, though somewhat strict. It soon appeared, indeed, that he had a very unruly ship’s company to deal with, and one that required a good deal of management to bring into order. Had it not been for Higson, and other men like him, this might easily have been accomplished; but whatever was done Higson was sure to put a wrong interpretation upon it. Still, the best men found themselves well treated, and spoken kindly to by their officers. By degrees flogging decreased, though occasionally some were brought up to suffer that punishment. In those days an officer might order it to be inflicted on any one of the crew, and sometimes this was done for slight offences. Captain Falkner, however, reserved it for those who seemed determined to neglect their duty, or to get drunk, or act disrespectfully to their officers. Higson was himself too clever ever to get punished, though more than once he was the cause of others becoming sufferers. At length the West Indies were reached, and the frigate brought up in Kingston Harbour, Jamaica.

Unfortunately, Captain Falkner was taken ill, and it became necessary for him to go and reside on shore. The first lieutenant, though a kind officer, had not the talent of his superior, and thus the ship once more fell into the condition in which it had previously been. It being found that Captain Falkner did not recover, the admiral of the station ordered theCynthiato put to sea under the command of the first lieutenant. She cruised for some time in search of an enemy, but none was to be found, and sickness breaking out on board, a good many of the men were laid up in their hammocks. Meantime, young Lord Fitz Barry had become a great favourite with his brother officers on board. Indeed, from his youth he was somewhat of a pet among them. He was not a little made of by the first lieutenant and the other officers, not so much because he was a lord, but because he was a kind-hearted, generous little fellow. He had, however, been imbued by his captain with very strict notions of duty, and, young as he was, when sent away with a boat’s crew he kept them in as strict order as any of the older midshipmen could have done. On one occasion when sent on shore to bring off wood and water from an uninhabited part of the southern shore of Saint Domingo, some of his boat’s crew insisted on going up into the interior. His orders had been not to allow them to go out of sight of the boat, and should any person appear from the shore, immediately to shove off and return to the ship. When, however, they were told by Fitz Barry to remain where they were, they laughed at him, and began to move off into the country. He instantly drew a pistol from his belt, and hastened after them, threatening to shoot the nearest man if they did not instantly return. Still they persevered, and according to his threat, the young lord fired his pistol, and hit one of the mutineers in the arm, and immediately drawing a second pistol, he threatened to treat another in the same way. This brought the mutineers to reason, and turning round they sulkily followed him towards the boat. Here the wounded man insisted on having his revenge, and tried to persuade the rest of the boat’s crew to throw the young lord overboard. The two lads who had come on board from the merchantman had been appointed to the boat, both of them by this time being strong enough to pull an oar. They, however, instead of siding with the rest of the crew, had remained in the boat, and declared that if a hand was laid upon Lord Fitz Barry, they would denounce the rest to their commander.

“And we will heave you youngsters overboard with him,” exclaimed the men, enraged at being thus opposed.

“At your peril,” answered Charles Denham; “I am not one to be cowed by your threats. The man who was shot only got his deserts, and it will serve you all right if Lord Fitz Barry reports you when he gets on board.”

This plain speaking still further enraged the rest of the boat’s crew. At the same time, unless they had been prepared to kill their young officer and the two lads, they had no resource but to submit. They had pulled off some little distance from the shore when they again threatened to throw all three overboard, unless they would promise not to report them. This Lord Fitz Barry refused to do.

“No,” he said, keeping the other pistol in his hand. “It is for me to command you. You disobeyed orders and now must take the consequences.”

He reflected that if he returned and let their conduct go unpunished, it might lead to still more serious disobedience. He, therefore, as soon as he got on board, reported the whole affair to the commanding officer, at the same time taking care to praise the two lads who had so bravely stood by him. The consequence was, that the whole of the boat’s crew were brought to the gangway and severely flogged.

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