"Walter," Captain Davenant said to his son one day, when he returned from
a council in which he had taken part, at the quarters of General
Sarsfield, "I have a mission for you in Dublin. It is necessary, in the
first place, to communicate with some of our friends there, and in the
second to ascertain, as far as we can, the plans of the enemy during the
next campaign. There are few of us here who would not be readily
recognized in Dublin; therefore, when there seemed a difficulty in
selecting someone to undertake the duty, I said that I thought you would
be likely to succeed better than most.
"You have not been any time in Dublin, and I question whether a single
person there would be likely to recognize you. You will, of course, be in
disguise, and your youth will be in your favour. I don't say there is no
danger in such an undertaking, but I do not think the risk is greater
than that which you have frequently run. I was sure you would readily
undertake the mission, and I thought I could answer for your intelligence
as well as your discretion."
"I will undertake it, certainly, father, if you think me capable of it,"
Walter said. "It is dull enough here, now that the wet weather has
thoroughly set in, and I shall really like the adventure. When am I to
set out?"
"Tomorrow. Your instructions, and the letters you are to carry, will be
drawn up tonight, and you can set off after breakfast. I shall ride with
you, with a part of the troop, until you are past the point where you are
likely to fall in with any body of the enemy's cavalry. After that you
will, of course, shift for yourself. We think you had best travel on
foot, dressed as a peasant. In that way you will attract no attention,
and pass through towns occupied by the enemy without questioning."
"I think, father, I will take Larry with me, if you have no objection. He
would be the real thing, and could do most of the talking. Besides,
sometimes it is very useful to have someone to send with a message, or to
put on guard when one went in anywhere."
"Take him, by all means, Walter, and, indeed, I agree with you that you
may find him very useful."
Accordingly, the following morning Walter and Larry, dressed as young
peasants, mounted, and with the troop started from the camp. No signs of
any parties of the enemy were seen during their ride, and after
proceeding some five-and-twenty miles, they dismounted, and with a hearty
farewell from Captain Davenant, and a cheer from the men, they started on
foot.
The letters of which Walter was the bearer had been written on very small
pieces of paper, and had been sewn up inside the collar of his coat. His
instructions, as to the persons on whom he was to call, had been learned
by heart and the paper destroyed. Larry was in high glee at taking part
in the adventure, and laughed and jested as they made their way along.
They avoided the main roads running to Waterford and Dublin, as they
would probably have fallen in with parties of troops journeying west, and
might have been shot out of pure wantonness, besides being exposed to the
risk of being asked awkward questions. They slept at peasants' houses,
where they were everywhere hospitably received, as soon as their hosts
assured themselves that they were Catholics. Larry was the principal
spokesman, for although Walter, like all the Catholic gentry, spoke the
native language, he was not so fluent as his follower, to whom it came
naturally, as, although the peasantry in the neighbourhood of Dublin were
all able to speak English, they always conversed in Irish among
themselves. Larry gave out that he and his companion had been serving in
the army, and had obtained leave to pay a visit to their native village,
near Dublin, for the winter.
"I doubt whether you will find much of it standing," one of their hosts
said, "for I hear that county Wicklow, and all round Dublin, has been
wasted by them foreign devils in Dublin. The curse of Cromwell be upon
them! But we'll be aven wid them yet. They say next spring a big French
army is coming, and they will set the Germans running so that they won't
stop till the last man gets on board ship, and ould Ireland is free from
them, the murthering haythens. But you must be careful, lads, and not let
out to a sowl that ye have been wid the boys in the west, or it's short
work they would make of you."
In every case they were asked questions about sons or relations with the
army, and were often able to give news as to where the regiments to which
they belonged were stationed, and of the part they had taken during the
last year's fighting. News travelled slowly, and was circulated
principally by means of travelling peddlers, who hawked their wares from
village to village, and reported what was going on in the outside world.
Thus, although the peasants were aware of the general details of the
fighting which had taken place, they knew nothing of the part which the
various regiments had borne in it. Reading and writing were rare
accomplishments, and the post was altogether interrupted, so that many
remained in suspense, from the beginning to the end of the war, as to the
fate of those who had left them to take part in it.
The friends did not make long journeys, for Walter was unaccustomed to
walk barefooted, and his feet at first were very sore and tender; but by
the time they reached Dublin they had hardened, and he was able to stride
along by the side of Larry, who, until he started with him for the war,
had never had on a pair of shoes in his life.
As soon as they reached Dublin, they made their way to the quarters
inhabited by the working classes. There Walter purchased shoes, and made
such alteration in their attire as to do away with their country aspect,
and give them the appearance of two young fellows belonging to the town.
Having hired a room, and made these changes, they sallied out.
The streets were thronged with foreign troops, who behaved as if in a
conquered country, swaggering along the streets, pushing the citizens out
into the middle of the road, abusing the tradesmen who refused to part
with their goods at nominal prices, making insolent remarks to any woman
who hurried past them, and behaving with a freedom and license which
showed how completely all bonds of discipline were relaxed.
"They look mighty bould," Larry whispered, "but it's mighty little of it
they show when they see the Irish horse advancing agin them. No one would
think, to see them now, as they were the men we saw spurring away for the
bare life on Boyne Water."
"No, indeed, Larry," agreed Walter, who was furious at what he saw. "I
wish we had a few squadrons of Sarsfield's horse here. We would clear the
street of these vermin in no time. But you must be careful, Larry.
Whatever happens, we must not get into any brawl. We have a mission to
perform, and must not think of ourselves."
"I will remember it, yer honour."
It was well that Larry had been warned, for the next moment a German
soldier passing brushed against him, and then, with a savage oath, turned
and struck him to the ground. Larry sprung up with his eyes blazing with
passion, but he caught Walter's warning "Larry," and, hanging his head,
moved away without a word.
"That's right, Larry," Walter said approvingly. "I was afraid for a
moment that you were going to spring at that fellow. If you had you would
have been in a lockup in five minutes, and as you could have given no
good account of yourself, there you might have remained for weeks."
"If ever I meet that fellow outside Dublin," Larry muttered savagely, "I
will pay him for the blow he gave me."
Seeing the risk of another encounter of the same kind, Walter led the way
down to the bank of the river, and there they remained, chatting, until
it became dusk.
"Now, Larry, I must begin my work. My first visit is to be to a merchant,
who lives in a street close to where the ships discharge. While I am in,
do you sit down on a doorstep near, and keep a sharp lookout to see
whether the house is watched. It is not likely, but all the better class
of Catholics who remain in the town are regarded with suspicion."
Walter had no trouble in finding the house he was in search of, and,
knocking at the door, he told the servant who opened it that he wanted to
see the master.
"You must come in business hours," the man said. "He can't see you now."
"I have a letter to him, from his friend Mr. Fitzgerald of Waterford. If
you tell him that, I think he will see me now."
"That's all right," the man said. "He tould me if anyone came with a
letter from that gentleman, I was to show him up."
So saying, he led him upstairs.
"Here's a young man, your honour, with the letter you tould me about,
from Mr. Fitzgerald."
"Show him in," a voice said; and Walter entered a sitting room. The
gentleman who was with him said nothing, until the door was closed behind
him. Then he asked:
"Has the ship come in?"
To which Walter replied:
"She is sailing slowly, but she will come."
"That's right," the merchant said, rising. "Where do you come from?"
"I am Walter Davenant, a cornet in my father's troop of horse, and I have
come direct from Limerick. I have a letter for you, in my collar."
He pulled off his coat, the merchant handed him a knife, he ripped open
the collar, and, taking out the papers concealed there, picked out that
intended for Mr. O'Brian, which was not directed, but had only a slight
mark upon it to distinguish it from the others. The merchant read it in
silence.
"I am disappointed, Mr. Davenant," he said, as he finished it. "I had
hoped that a dash would be made at Dublin this winter; but the general
says that it has been decided to fight one more campaign on the
defensive, and that in the autumn, when the French arrive, there will be
a general advance. Now, I am ready to answer any question you are
instructed to ask."
"In the first place, sir, how many men do you think would be ready to
join in any rising in Dublin?"
"It would all depend upon whether an Irish army was advancing in this
direction. In that case, some seven or eight thousand men would rise. But
unless, there were a hope of early assistance, I do not think that above
a thousand could be relied on. I have about that number on my list. They,
as you see, could do nothing unassisted. There are three or four thousand
troops here, and the Protestant mob who would join them would number
seven or eight thousand, at the very least. Therefore, any attempt to
rise in the face of such odds, unless after a crushing defeat of
William's troops, would be out of the question. But, as I said, if an
army were marching on Dublin, the Protestants would be thinking more of
taking to their ships than fighting, and all the Catholics in the city
would then join the movement."
"I think the general hoped that you could have mustered a stronger force,
sir."
"So I could, a year ago," Mr. O'Brian said; "but the constant persecution
and ill treatment of the Catholics have caused large numbers of them to
leave the town. Many of the younger and more determined men have made
their way west and joined the army. I fear that the numbers I have given
are quite as many as can be relied upon."
"The general was in hopes," Walter said, "that a diversion might have
been caused in the spring, by a rising in Dublin, which would, even if
unsuccessful, compel the Dutch general to keep a large force here."
"It might have been done, six or eight months ago," Mr. O'Brian said;
"but the spirit of the people here has been very much broken, as well as
their numbers diminished. But you can rely upon it, that if anything like
a general rising can be got up, we will do our share here. With but a
thousand men I can rely on, I feel that any open insurrection would be
hopeless; but we could fire the city at a score of points, night after
night, and so alarm the citizens that they would insist on a considerable
force being kept here for their protection, and this would aid our
friends outside. I know nothing as to what is being done there, I have
only charge of the matter inside the city."
"I am well aware of that, sir, and have to call upon those who have the
threads of the movement, throughout the country, in their hands. I only
arrived today, and came to you first, in order that I might know how
matters stand here before I see the others. I shall, of course, call
again upon you before I leave."
After leaving Mr. O'Brian, Walter visited the houses of several others to
whom he bore letters. The accounts of the feeling throughout the country
were more encouraging than those which he had received from Mr. O'Brian.
The hatred of the invaders was greater than ever, and the peasantry in
all parts were in a state of sullen desperation. Indeed, the enemy could
nowhere move, in small parties, without the certainty of being attacked.
The pressing need was arms. A great part of the peasants who owned guns
had already joined the army, and the rest possessed no weapons beyond
roughly-made pikes, and scythes fixed on long handles. These were
formidable weapons in a sudden attack on any small party, but they would
not enable the peasants to cope, with any chance of success, against
considerable bodies of troops, especially if provided with artillery.
The persons whom Walter saw were in communication with the disaffected in
all parts of the country, and agreed in the opinion that a general rising
should be delayed, until some striking success was obtained by the Irish
army, when the whole country would rise and fall upon the enemy wherever
met with. The plans for a rising having been discussed and arranged,
after several interviews, at some of which most of the leaders of the
movement were present, Walter prepared to start again for the camp, with
the news that the first Irish victory would be followed by a rising
throughout the country, aided by great conflagrations, if not by a
serious movement in Dublin.
The negotiations had occupied over a fortnight. During the first ten
days, Larry, who always kept watch outside the house Walter was visiting,
reported that nothing whatever had occurred that was in the slightest
degree suspicious. Then he told Walter, on his retiring to their
lodgings, that he fancied their footsteps were followed.
"Do you think so, Larry?"
"I do, yer honour," Larry replied earnestly. "Three times, when you were
in the house, the same man came along the street, and each time I saw him
look up at the windows, and somehow I felt that he was following us on
our way back. I looked round several times, and each time I fancied I saw
a fellow slip into a doorway."
"That is serious, Larry. You don't think anyone in this house can have a
suspicion of us?"
"Not they, yer honour. They all think it's just as you say; that the
village was burned, and we have come to look for work in the city.
Besides, if it was anyone here, he wouldn't have to take the trouble to
track us back."
"That's true enough, Larry. No; if there is a suspicion, it must be from
some spy in the house of one of the gentlemen I have visited. We know
that the leading Catholics are all suspected, and some of the servants
may have been bribed to report everything which takes place in the house.
We must be very careful; and let us arrange this, Larry, that if there is
trouble and we get separated, we will neither of us come back to our
lodging, but will meet at that burned-out village three miles along the
western road. If anything happens to me, go to the first house I went to,
and see Mr. O'Brian, and tell him that I have been taken. If there is
anything to be done he will do it. If not, make your way straight back to
Limerick. I have told you exactly what has been arranged with people I
have seen, and you can tell my father, who will report to the general.
But whatever you do, don't stop here with any idea of getting me out of
their hands. The most important thing is that they should know, at
Limerick, exactly what has been arranged. If you remain here, you would
almost certainly be caught also, for, as the man who has followed us will
be aware that we are together, a search will at once be made for you. So
mind, my orders are, that if you see I am in trouble you are at once to
set out for Limerick. If you think that I may manage to get away, you are
also to leave at once, but are to wait for me, for twelve hours, at the
village three miles out. If I do not come by the end of that time, it
will be that I have been taken, and you are to go straight on."
It was on the evening when all the arrangements were finally settled,
that a loud knocking was heard at the door of the house where eight of
the principal persons in the affair were assembled. One of them looked
out of the window, and announced that the street was full of soldiers.
All leaped to their feet, and drew their swords.
"It is of no use to resist, gentlemen," Walter said. "Do you put bottles
and glasses on the table, and sit down quietly. I will try to escape. If
they find you alone, they can prove nothing against you, and if I get
safe off, you also are safe. Is there any way out on to the roof? No
doubt the house is watched behind."
"There is a trapdoor," the gentleman, in whose house they were, said, and
led the way upstairs at full speed. As he was unbolting the trap, Walter
ran into a bedroom and seized an armful of blankets, then ran up the
ladder to the trapdoor, and stepped out on to the roof. The door was
closed behind him, and he heard the bolts drawn, and then his host ran
downstairs and told the frightened servants to open the doors, which had
so far resisted the attack from without. Headed by an officer, the
soldiers rushed in.
"What means this violence?" the gentleman asked. "Why is my house broken
into in this way?"
"I arrest you, and all who are in this house," the officer said, "on the
charge of treason."
"Treason!" the gentleman said, coolly. "You will find no treason here. I
have a few friends upstairs, who are cracking a bottle of port; but that
is not, so far as I am aware, against the law."
The officer ran upstairs to the room where the others were standing, as
if surprised at the tumult, round the table, on which were bottles and
half-filled glasses.
"Take the names of all these persons," the officer said to the sergeant
who followed him, "and then convey them in custody to the castle."
"There is no trouble about their names," the host said. "All are well
known and peaceful citizens, as can be testified by any magistrate."
"Where is the man who was with you?" the officer said, looking round.
"There is, so far as I am aware, no one in the house, sir, beyond these
gentlemen and my domestics."
"It is a lie!" the officer exclaimed, furiously. "A man was seen to enter
this house, an hour and a half ago, and no one has left since."
"A young man! Oh, I suppose you mean the young fellow who brought me a
message from my cousin, at Waterford, and who called to ask if I had yet
found him any employment. Oh yes, he has been here, but left some time
ago, unless he is chatting with the maids in the kitchen."
The officer directed a rigorous search to be made of the house. The
soldiers soon reported that every nook and corner had been examined, but
that no one was to be found. At this moment, a shot was fired in the
street, and a sergeant ran in.
"Captain Peters bid me say, sir, that they have just caught sight of a
man on the roof of a house, some distance along the street."
"Take the prisoners to the castle, under a strong guard, sergeant. You
will be answerable for their safety," the officer exclaimed, as he ran
downstairs.
Directly the trap closed behind him, Walter--sure that some minutes would
pass before the method of his escape was known--tore the blankets he had
brought with him into wide strips, tied the ends together, and twisted
them up into the form of a rope; then, coiling this over his arm, he made
his way along the roofs. The street below was now a mass of people. The
report that a Popish plot had been discovered, and that a number of
important arrests had been made, spread quickly, as the soldiers were
seen gathered round the house. The news was sufficient to stir up party
feelings, and the mob which collected soon set up the shout which had, of
late, been so often raised in the streets of Dublin--"Down with the
Papists!"
Soon the crashing of glass was heard, as stones were hurled at the
dwellings of known Catholics. Walter, anxious for the safety of Larry,
who was, he knew, somewhere without, tried to look down into the street
to see what was going on, believing that in the darkness he could not be
seen. The flash of a musket, and the whistle of a ball close to him,
showed him that his figure had been seen against the skyline.
Drawing back, he paused a moment in thought. The trapdoor would be
discovered at once, and a search on the roof commenced, and the soldiers
would be placed behind the houses. There was no time to be lost in
continuing his search for a house with a building projecting behind, onto
which he could lower himself with his rope, which was not nearly long
enough to reach the ground.
Looking over at the back, between two of the sharp ridges of the roofs,
he hung his rope so that it would fall across a window, fastened the end
round a stack of chimneys, and then, taking hold of it, swung himself
over. He had been very careful in tying the knots, and had tested them by
pulling at them with all his strength; but he did not feel at all certain
that they might not draw with his weight, in which case he must have been
dashed to pieces on the ground far below him; but there was no time to
hesitate, and, as fast as he could, he began to slide down the rope, the
frequent knots affording good hold for his hands.
At last he reached the window. It was made of the small diamond-shaped
panes at that time in general use. Holding the rope with one hand and his
legs, he dashed the other hand through a pane, just where he judged the
fastening inside would be. Three panes were beaten in before he felt the
latch. This was easily turned. The frame opened outward, and he had some
difficulty in pulling it past him; then, grasping the woodwork, he drew
himself in, and with a great effort succeeded in gaining a sufficient
holding to enable him to leave go of the rope, and make good his footing
inside.
He had little fear of the inmates of the house taking notice of the fall
of glass; for, had they noticed the sound above the din in the street,
they would have supposed that the breakage was caused by one of the
flying stones. He ran lightly downstairs, and opened a door at the back
of the house, and found himself in the yard. The wall was not very high,
and a spring enabled him to get his fingers on the top. He was soon
sitting there, and then dropped into the road behind.
The sound of his fall caught the ears of the soldiers, who were stationed
at the back of the house from whence he had started, some fifty yards
away. There was a sharp challenge, and then, as no answer was given, four
or five shots were fired, and there was a rush of feet along the road.
As it was only in the principal thoroughfares that a few lights were
exhibited, the road would have been in complete darkness had not the
clouds, just at that moment, blown away from the face of the moon, which
was half full.
The shots, however, had been fired hastily, and Walter dashed off at full
speed, unhurt. He heard shouts from the roofs of the houses, and one or
two shots were fired, but the chance of his being hit was but small. The
sound, however, told the soldiers and crowd in the front street that the
fugitive was escaping at the rear, and there was a general rush down the
street to the next turning. Walter was a hundred yards ahead, before the
mob reached the turning, and was rapidly distancing the soldiers who were
pursuing him. Unfortunately, however, there were many people hurrying
from all sides, attracted by the shouting and firing. Several of these,
in response to the shouts of the soldiers, tried to stop him as he dashed
past, and failing to do so, at once joined in the pursuit.
Walter saw that he must be captured, if he kept straight on, for a group
of men approaching, warned by the shouts of his pursuers, prepared to
seize him. He therefore turned sharp down a narrow lane to his left.
Another fifty yards he was through this, and found himself on the road,
running by the side of the Liffey. Without a moment's hesitation he
sprang across it, and plunged into the river.
Even in the moment of his spring, he perceived that the tide was running
up. Had it been ebbing, he would have made down and tried to gain the
shore, under shelter of the shipping moored below. But it was useless to
think of swimming against the tide. His pursuers were but a few yards
behind him, and the second time he rose to the surface for air, two or
three shots were fired. He dived again, and when he next came up, took a
deliberate look round in order to judge of his chances.
He was now about a third of the way across. The shore he had left was
already lined with people, and several were gathering on the opposite
bank. Two or three shots struck the water close to him, and he knew that
he was visible to his pursuers. Taking a long breath, he again went under
water. He was a first-rate swimmer and diver, having bathed regularly,
summer and winter, in the bay below the castle.
He had, this time, turned his face towards the shore he had quitted. The
tide, he knew, was sweeping him up. He kept under water as long as he
possibly could, swimming his hardest. When he could keep under no longer,
he turned on his back, and permitted himself to rise slowly to the
surface.
The moment his mouth and nostrils were above water, he got rid of the
pent-up air, took another breath, and sank again. He swam on until he
felt, by the ground rising rapidly in front of him, that he was close to
the edge. He then cautiously came to the surface, and looked round.
He was close under the bank from which he had started, but two or three
hundred yards higher up. The bank rose straight up, some twelve feet
above him, and he could hear persons talking close to its edge.
"There he is."
"No, he isn't."
"Pretty nearly over the other side."
"I don't see him."
"They will catch him as he gets out."
"I believe he has sunk."
"He never could keep under all this time."
"One of the bullets must have hit him."
Then a voice in the crowd shouted, "There's his head, just in the middle
of the river," and a stone splashed in the stream. It was followed by a
volley of other stones, and several musket shots in the same direction.
Walter, having now got his breath, sank his head quietly below the water
and swam on again, keeping close under the bank. Whenever he came up for
air, he listened for a moment. Shots were still being fired below him,
and he knew that the attention of all upon the shores was still directed
towards the centre of the stream, and that there was but small chance of
anyone leaning over to gaze down into the water close to their feet.
His hopes rose, as every minute placed him further from his pursuers. He
could no longer hear voices above him when he rose, but he swam on, for
upwards of a mile, and struggled up the bank well beyond the walls of the
town. He lay down a few minutes to rest himself, walked half a mile along
the bank, and then, entering the river again, swam across, for the road
he was to follow was on the south side of it.
He made his way across the country until he saw a small shed. He entered
this, and finding some hay in the loft, stripped off his wet clothes, and
crept deep into the hay to warm himself, for the water was cold, and he
was shivering from head to foot.
As soon as it was light, he again put on his clothes and started at a
run, which he maintained until he was in a thorough glow, in spite of his
wet clothing. He did not approach the village, at which he had arranged
to meet Larry, until the sun was high, and his clothes had dried so far
that they would not attract the attention of anyone who might be passing.
Then he went into the deserted village and took up his place in one of
the ruined cottages, from which he could obtain a view of the road from
Dublin.
Half an hour later, he saw Larry coming along it. Although there was no
one else in sight, someone might be going the other way, and Walter
therefore remained in his hiding place till Larry was abreast of him,
when he showed his head in the doorway, and called him by name.
Larry gave a cry of joy and, rushing in, threw his arms round him and
burst into tears.
"It's a terrible fright you have given me!" he exclaimed, when he could
find words. "I have been breaking my heart all night. Sure I thought you
were at the bottom of the river."
"Not this time, Larry, though it was a pretty close thing. Did you see it
all?"
"Sure and I did," Larry said. "I was sitting on a doorstep, watching the
house, when I saw the sodgers coming along. They turned up from a side
street, and were so close that I saw I could not get across and get the
door opened in time to give you the alarm. Then they began to knock at
the door, and for a bit I felt so wake that I could not move. Then the
crowd began to gather, and then I said to myself, The master will try to
shlip out at the back of the house. So I went round, but I found the
thieves of the world waiting for ye there. But I was sure ye weren't the
one to let them take ye widout a struggle for it. So I moved a bit away,
and jist waited.
"The time seemed long, when on a suddint I heard the sodgers sing out,
and then fire, and set out to run. I never doubted it was you, and so off
I went behindt them, as hard as I could tare. I wasn't long in coming up
to them, and at first I thought ye would get clean away. Then my heart
fell, when I saw those villains attempt to seize ye, but, when I thought
it was all over, ye turned sharp off and made for the river. I was with
the first of them to get there, and I ran, accidental, against the first
sodger who got his musket to his shoulder, and there was no saying where
the ball went to. He cursed me for a clumsy baste, and would have knocked
me down, but he was in too great a hurry to load again.
"I saw the bullets strike the water, close to you, when you came up
again. I saw you look round, and guessed ye was thinking what was the
best thing to do. Then we saw no more of ye. I didn't think you had been
hit, for I saw you go down regular, as if you were diving in the sea for
pleasure; and not sharp, as you would have done if a bullet had hit you.
I guessed as you were meaning to swim up the stream, and I did the only
thing I could to stop them from following up, by shouting that I saw ye,
and throwing a big stone into the water close to where I had seen your
head before, knowing that, by that time, ye must be nigh a hundred yards
up.
"The fools didn't stop to think, but they took to throwing stones, and
firing as hard as they could, and by the time they had done I knew, if ye
were alive, ye must be nigh a quarter of a mile up the river. Some of
them did run up, and I kept with them, but sorrah a glimpse of ye did we
get. At last, everyone made sure that you were kilt entirely, and went
their ways.
"I went off to our lodgings, but took good care not to go in. And it was
well I didn't, for, half an hour later, a troop of sodgers came up, and
some of them went in.
"They were led by that black villain who used to come wid messages from
Mr. O'Brian, and I have no doubt it was he who set the sodgers upon you.
Anyhow, they didn't find much there, but four of them waited till morning
inside, the others all going away, so that, if you had got out of the
river, they might catch ye in a trap.
"I waited till they had left this morning, thinking, I suppose, that it
was no use to stay longer, and then started to see if your honour were
here.
"Sometimes I thought I should find you, then again, I tould myself that
if you had been alive I must have seen you come up agin; for, knowing the
strength of the stream, and how fast you could swim, I could tell pretty
nigh about where you would come up, if you were keeping straight up the
river. How did you manage it at all, Master Walter?"
"I turned, and swam back again to the bank, Larry. I knew everyone would
be watching the middle of the river, and would not be looking at the
water in front of them. Of course, the stream took me up a long way. I
only came up once, on my back, took a breath, and went down again, and
the second time I was right under the bank and well out of sight, though
I could hear them talking above me. It was just when I looked round,
then, that I saw them throwing stones and firing into the middle of the
river, two hundred yards lower down, and after that I had only to keep on
swimming under water, close to the bank."
"And that is how ye managed it! It was a grand thought, entirely, to swim
back to us. I never thought of that. I was most afraid you would go for
the opposite shore, and there were plenty had gathered there, ready to
seize you. I didn't think I could have missed you, if you'd kept on in
the middle, and I have been puzzled altogether as to what could have
become of you, if ye were really alive.
"I have got some bread in my bundle here, and a bottle of spirits, and
you had better have a bite and a sup before we go on, for it's pretty
nigh as white as a ghost ye are."
The meal seemed to put new life and strength into Walter, and, after its
conclusion, he was ready to step out again with fresh energy. They
thought it better at once to leave the road, and tramp across the
country. By so doing they avoided all parties of the English troops, and
reached the Irish army without adventure. Walter at once reported himself
to General Sarsfield, and related all that had taken place in Dublin.
"You have done excellently, Mr. Davenant, and your escape from capture
was an extraordinary one. Unfortunately, the betrayal of what was doing,
and the arrest of our friends, is likely to upset all the plans you had
arranged."
"I hope not, sir," Walter said. "I know that they were all careful to
have no written documents, for it was always possible that the houses of
the Catholics might be searched."
"That may be so," the general said; "but I fear that this traitor will
have managed to overhear some of the conversation; and the fact of their
meeting, and of your escape, will in itself tell against them
sufficiently to ensure their being kept in prison, at any rate for a
considerable time; and, even if released, they would be suspected
persons, and would be unable to make the slightest move."
The general's previsions were justified. The whole of those arrested were
retained in prison for some months, and no such general rising as had
been planned was ever carried into effect.
During the winter, stores and ordnance arrived from France for the supply
of the Irish army, and from England for the use of the British, and a
great number of officers from the Continent also joined both armies.
The discontent among the Irish at the apathy of France was extreme. They
had embarked in the war on the strength of the promises of King Louis.
None of these promises had been fulfilled. The supplies of arms and money
had been most meagre, the few thousand troops sent had never taken part
in any of the operations, and their coming had been much more than
counterbalanced by the troops sent from Ireland in exchange for them. An
additional cause of discontent was given by the fact that William
exchanged all the prisoners taken in Ireland for Dutch prisoners, in the
hands of Louis, and the Irish so handed over were all incorporated in the
French army.
So great was the discontent that, had a proclamation of pardon and
protection been offered, the whole Irish army would have disbanded, and
all resistance ceased. But Louis, alarmed at finding that it was likely
William would be freed from his troubles at home, and be at liberty to
give his whole attention to the war on the Continent, sent fresh promises
of large and speedy aid; and despatched General Saint Ruth to take the
command in Ireland, in place of Lauzun, who had returned to France.
This appointment caused fresh discontent among the Irish. Their cause had
already been well-nigh ruined by the interference and incapacity of the
French generals, and, on the retirement of Lauzun, they had confidently
expected that Sarsfield would be appointed commander-in-chief, and that
henceforth there would be unity of design in their operations. Saint Ruth
was accompanied by a large number of young French officers, whose
demeanour still further widened the breach between the French and Irish.
Saint Ruth at once inspected the army, now concentrated between Limerick
and Athlone. Except that there was a great deficiency in horses for the
cavalry, the army was greatly improved in discipline and appearance since
the battle of the Boyne, for both officers, petty officers, and men had
learned their duties. The army had passed the winter in comfortable
quarters, and had been well supplied with food.
The difficulty was to find horses. The rapparees had carried off many of
the chargers of the English cavalry, by stratagem, and it was a common
practice of the Danish and other foreign troops to sell their horses to
the Irish, at the outposts, and pretend that they were stolen. Still, the
supply was altogether insufficient, and Saint Ruth, finding that he could
not get horses from the enemy, determined to take them from his friends.
A proclamation was accordingly issued, inviting all the gentry throughout
the country held by the Irish, to meet him at Limerick, mounted and
accoutered in the best manner. Reports were spread that an important
communication was to be made to the gentlemen of the country, from King
James, and that many marks of honour and distinction were to be
conferred.
Accordingly, there was a very numerous attendance of gentry on the day
fixed. Saint Ruth appeared on the ground with a large body of cavalry. He
made a speech to the gentlemen--complimented them on their punctual
attendance and gallant appearance; told them that it was necessary that
every man should make sacrifices for the defence of his religion and his
estates, and requested them to hand over their horses to the cavalry. He
then at once rode off the ground, leaving the cavalry to take possession
of the horses.
Anger and expostulation were useless, and the gentlemen had to return on
foot, sadder men; but the army obtained a large and valuable addition of
horses, and Saint Ruth was able to march out at the head of twenty
thousand foot, and five thousand well-appointed cavalry.
Their direction was Athlone, towards which point Ginckle was also
directing his movements, having assembled his whole force at Mullingar,
withdrawing the garrisons from almost all the towns, in order to raise
his force in the field. The alarm in Dublin was, in consequence, extreme,
and the council and lords justices besought Ginckle not to leave them
without protection; but he only replied that they had it in their own
power to put an end to the war, by publishing such a declaration of
pardon and security, for person and property, as would satisfy the Irish
in James's army. But the council, even in this moment of alarm, refused
to renounce their golden hopes of confiscation.
Ginckle's first attack was directed against the village of Ballymore,
which lay between Mullingar and Athlone. It was defended by a thousand
cavalry and infantry, and a sergeant and a few men were posted, in a
castle, on an eminence some distance from the village. The first attack
was made on the castle, but the sergeant and his little garrison made a
long and gallant resistance, and the savage Dutchman was so infuriated at
the opposition that, when at last the post was taken, he ordered the
gallant sergeant to be at once hung.
He then sent word to the garrison of the village that, if they did not
surrender, he would serve them as he had served the sergeant. They were
unmoved by the threat, and made a long and gallant defence against the
whole of Ginckle's army; and the Dutch general was unable to overcome
their resistance, till he at last offered fair terms of surrender. The
position being a strong and important one, Ginckle spent some days in
adding to the defensive works the Irish had erected, before he moved
forward and sat down in front of Athlone. His army was well provided with
heavy artillery and everything necessary for a siege, and he was firmly
resolved that there should be no repetition of the disastrous failure of
the preceding autumn.