THE SHAMBLES.
When it became known in Dublin that the apostle of Irish Liberty had
come and was taken, the gloom which saddened the city was yet further
deepened. The citizens went about their business with weary tread and
pinched lips. The Terror which reigned in Paris under Jacobin rule, or
in Rome under Tiberius and Nero, was not more crushing than that which
rocked Erin in its iron arms towards the end of this awful year.
Comparing Jacobins with Orangemen, the palm for cruelty may safely be
assigned to the latter. Both factions might plead the excuse of
extreme peril; but the danger of invasion by the armies of the
Coalition which brought about the diabolical delirium of the Jacobins
was greater than the danger to which the Irish ascendency party was
exposed: and it must be remembered too that the Jacobin party was
almost entirely composed of men taken from the lowest ranks, whereas
many of the most iniquitous Irish terrorists were persons of the
highest social position and fair education. The ferocity of the
Jacobins, again, was in a slight degree redeemed by fanaticism. Their
objects were not entirely selfish. They murdered aristocrats, not only
because they hated them, but because they imagined them to stand in
the way of a millennium which, according to Rousseau, was awaiting the
acceptance of regenerated mankind.
Essex Bridge was fringed with heads as whilom London Bridge was;
though faithful friends, when they found a chance, stole and buried
them. There was a rage for trials by court-martial; a constant outcry
for more victims. A mania for mimicking the Bench took possession of
the military, officers of inferior rank vying with each other in an
assumption of judicial functions. Whilst my Lords Carleton and
Kilwarden and Messrs. Curran and Toler were plodding through a legal
farce at the Sessions-House, talking through night after night to
'juries of the right sort,' the gentlemen of the yeomanry at the
Exchange were making the shortest possible work of the lives under
their control. Once dragged thither, conviction followed arrest as the
day the night. The sun was not allowed to set upon the accused.
Although prepared to close his eyes to much, the new Viceroy found his
patience and temper sorely tried; and at last, in spite of
expostulation in high quarters, issued general orders condemning the
conduct of the soldiery. He failed to see, he declared, how torture
could be a good opiate, and was even foolish enough to suggest that
banishment for a short term of years would serve all the state
purposes quite as well as hanging. To this the incensed chancellor
retorted by reams of jeremiads addressed to Mr. Pitt, wherein he laid
stress on the new troubles which would inevitably come on all good
Protestants in consequence of such deplorable backsliding from Lord
Camden's able system. In his turn Lord Cornwallis pointed out the
reasons for his conduct. Private enemies were daily in the most
unblushing manner haled before courts-martial and consigned to Moiley.
Some of the lesser gentry even went so far as openly to plunder the
country houses whose owners had fled from them in fear. The behaviour
of underlings was subversive of all discipline. They held back
documents unless paid for honesty; Sirr admitted that what was planned
by his superiors in council was made of none effect in his own office.
The chancellor scored one. Lord Cornwallis found himself compelled to
apologise for his leniency. He received a rap upon the knuckles from a
Gr--t P--rs--n--ge in a letter which may be found in the Cornwallis
correspondence, and sat down to pour out his vexations to an old
brother-in-arms, as his way was when specially provoked. 'My conduct,'
he wrote, 'gets me abused by both sides, being too coercive for the
one, too lenient for the other; but my conscience approves.'
The more we look into the matter, the more assured do we become that
the true marplot was the Gr--t P--rs--n--ge. The first gentleman in
the land set a fatal example to the Orangemen. By virtue of the royal
purple he was all-wise, despite his ignorance. He was a Protestant.
Ergo, those who presumed to be anything else must be well trounced for
their contumely. If the law was not rigorous enough already, its cords
must be double-knotted, for the flagellation of those who dared to
disagree with M--j--sty. Good King George, who hated Catholics in as
insane a manner as James II. hated Protestants, was determined that so
long as he clutched the sceptre, their bread should be bitter in their
mouths. Lord Cornwallis was as convinced as Mr. Pitt, that the key to
Irish troubles was the Penal Code. But the King flew in a rage at the
bare mention of Catholic Emancipation; so the Viceroy was obliged to
bow his head with a good grace, as Mr. Pitt had done long ago; as even
the leader of the opposition had found himself compelled to do. At
this juncture Marplot went further than usual; for instead of merely
insisting in general terms that the Papists must be evilly entreated,
he personally meddled in the fate of the state-prisoners, with whose
long-continued persecution the Viceroy had shown signs of interfering.
It had been decided, as we have seen, on the motion of Arthur Wolfe,
that it would be well to negotiate with the state-prisoners. Mr.
Curran had been employed as go-between, and, in accordance with his
advice, the young men incarcerated at Kilmainham undertook to disclose
the principles and ramifications of their society, upon certain
well-defined conditions. Curran pointed out to them that the grand
fiasco which is known as the 'Hurry' had removed for the present all
chance of freeing Ireland, and they saw with pain that blood was being
made to flow in rivers. To stem that torrent by all means available
was clearly their first duty now. At first the negotiations broke
down, but a few executions brought the patriots to their senses. They
accordingly drew up for the benefit of Government an account of the
rise, progress, and proceedings of the United Irishmen, adding an
opinion that a general amnesty to all but ringleaders would do much to
tranquillise the public mind. They agreed that it would be best for
the ruling spirits to submit to banishment, and it was settled that a
number of excepted persons should migrate to America and stop there.
But now Marplot intervened. The King declined to permit traitors to
cross the Atlantic, and the American minister, to please the King,
also declared that such an arrangement could not answer. The Viceroy
urged that the members of the Directory had completed their portion of
the compact, and that it would be disgraceful if Government did not
follow suit. It could not be helped, was the brief response. The
executive must crawl out of the difficulty as it best might. Mr.
Curran was frantic; Lord Clare jubilant. Tom Emmett and the others
only smiled. Had they ever expected anything from England except
wickedness? She was perjured and forsworn. What could an extra crime
or two signify to one who was notoriously a murderess?
The Privy Council anxiously debated as to the neatest way out of the
dilemma. Of course his Majesty must be humoured. The state-trials must
run their course, but with exceeding tact of management. Mr. Pitt
threatened his puppets with a beating, if they blundered. Juries of
the right sort must be told not to exaggerate their functions, or Lord
Moira (who was woefully independent) might stir up a new pother at St.
Stephen's.
Lord Cornwallis was sulky, for he appreciated the falseness of his
position; but, having accepted the viceroyalty, he considered it his
duty to retain it until at least the special object for which he had
come could be accomplished. His experience and native shrewdness told
him that a return to the tactics of his predecessor would be fraught
with the gravest dangers to both countries. Fate had picked him out to
play the mediator; he would do his best, even though fettered by the
ignoble desires of the King. If he failed in his task, the fault would
be Marplot's, not his.
After considerable wrangling, it was decided to deny that the
Directory had carried out their portion of the agreement. Government
was to have been let in to the secrets of the society. The paper which
was drawn up was no better than a panegyric of sedition. A piece of
hair-splitting this, for which the chancellor took to himself much
credit. So the state-trials droned along, while the vagaries of
drumhead justice kept the world awake. Several of those at Kilmainham
were condemned, despite the compact, and suffered; the rest, giving up
all for lost, cared little now what was to be their destiny.
Lord Clare made a great effort on behalf of Terence, but received no
encouragement, either from the Viceroy or the English premier. Both
said that it would never do to make an exception in favour of one
whose sins were the more scarlet on account of his position in
society. He must take his trial like the rest. There was no help for
it. If his friends could manipulate the jury, that was their own
affair.
The chancellor looked grave, for, adept though he was in manipulating
juries, he knew of a foe of Terence's who would do what he could to
ruin him; and he was more and more mystified at the behaviour of the
young man's family. Neither my lady nor Lord Glandore seemed to
realise the position of affairs. Would they calmly endure while one of
their noble name was being strung up as a felon? It seemed so. The
young lord was a brilliant specimen of the Irish House of Peers. But
surely he would not carry his slavish complaisance so far as to
sacrifice his only brother to the English dragon? Lord Clare did not
know what to make of it. His own influence was terribly on the wane.
He went to see Terence at the provost, and found Curran there,
who eyed him with undisguised impertinence, and gibed about
gingerbread-nuts. But the chancellor kept his temper this time. He was
no longer the all-powerful despot. A new Herod had arisen, who did not
choose to recognise Joseph. He found himself thwarted by his new
master at every turn. Fortune is a cruel jade! The owner of the golden
coach found himself compelled to lower himself to petty plotting like
ordinary men. He suggested to Curran that it would be well to push on
Councillor Crosbie's trial with all speed. The little lawyer, instead
of meeting him half-way, answered bluntly that the young man's wound
was not healed; that the vultures were strangely impatient to devour
his flesh; that, though the young patrician's life was by no means
merry, he would be no party to shortening it.
Lord Clare grew impatient, and retorted with hauteur:
'You can have naught to do with fixing the date of trial. I was merely
asking your opinion.'
And Curran, with suspicious looks, inquired the reason of his
impatience. That there was a reason was evident. Would the other show
his hand? No. The other held his peace, and, sighing fretfully,
departed.
Events must shape themselves as Fortune chose to dictate. He could not
humiliate himself before his enemy by stating what he knew of Cassidy,
and explaining the wisdom of settling the young man's case during the
absence from Dublin of that person. So Curran, unaware of pitfalls dug
by jealousy, returned sadly to the cell where Terence lay tossing in
his fever, almost wishing that the wound might prove mortal.
Always fond of him, by reason of his genial nature, the little
advocate had been drawn very close to Terence by events. Their mutual
friends were perishing around them; Terence himself was grievously
compromised. Now he was to be tried for his life. With what result?
Alas, there could be little doubt. Weak men, who while success was
probable might be trusted to cling together, were anxious now to save
themselves by making a clean breast of all they knew. Curran's
instinct told him that somebody or other would surely stand up to
prove the military position which his unlucky junior had arrogated to
himself; to babble of his interviews on the shore near the Little
House; of his arrangements for the capture of Dublin by surprise;
which, but for his own timely taking, would certainly have been
carried out.
Of course the advocate who had won such forensic distinction as was
his would do his very best for a client who was so dear to his heart
as this one; but what he could do was little after all, fighting, as
he always was, against packed juries and false-witnesses. His wondrous
eloquence and marvellous versatility had indeed more than once torn a
doomed man from the gallows by exciting passions of such force as to
conquer even the violence of fear and greed by which the juries were
beset; but such miracles were not to be counted on, and it was with
gloomy thoughts that the lawyer looked forward to the contest. What
arguments, for instance, could have prevailed in the case of Orr,
whose life was juggled away between two bumpers? After all, perhaps
the proceedings of courts-martial were less bad than these legal
masquerades. For in the purely military tribunal there was no doubt as
to how the case would go from the beginning. Was it not better that
time and breath should be economised, when cases were so notoriously
prejudged? So it came about that Curran, in profound dejection, looked
down upon the young man whom he loved, and prayed that he might die of
his wound.
But in this case, as in a good many others, prayers received no
answer. The yeoman, when he fired at Terence to prevent his escape,
broke his arm by the shot. Neglect, and the amenities of Major Sirr,
produced fever and inflammation, which the dampness of the provost did
not tend to improve.
Mrs. Gillin (who had been enduring purgatory on her own account at the
hands of drunken soldiers' wives at free-quarters) stuck sturdily to
her _protege_, however. She hung about the antechambers of the great;
worried the judges who in happier days had been her guests; importuned
them for leave of free access to the invalid, till they wished they
had never seen the claret she had lavished on them; and, as obstinate
women generally do, carried her point. She nursed the patient in his
fever with untiring devotion; amazed the gaolers almost into civility;
even assailed the terrible major himself in his stronghold, taunting
him with ugly words and scathing epithets, till he too wished he had
never beheld the dreadful woman. She insisted that an invalid should
have a cell to himself, instead of being crowded up with malodorous
peasants in a low den deprived of air; arrived three times a week with
good things for him in baskets, which Cerberus allowed to pass without
investigation; and dragged him, whom she had sworn to watch over, by
main force to convalescence. Once or twice he had begged that his
servant Phil might be permitted to keep him company, but on this point
the major was obdurate. His calves still bore the cicatrices cut on
them by the farrier's knife, and the major was not one to forgive an
injury. He bore in mind, too, that but for his coat of mail he would
have been left dead upon the road that day. Phil, therefore, was set
apart for private torment; was not even handed over to the tender
mercies of a court-martial.
Mrs. Gillin, for Terence's sake, commissioned old Jug to discover news
of him, who went about her business in mysterious fashion, declining
to divulge what she discovered, until one day, some months after his
disappearance, she told her protectress, with weird mutterings, that
'the boy was near his end.'
'How's that?' her mistress asked, frowning. 'Ye look as if ye were
glad that ill should come to him. How's that?'
''Cause he's a farrier and I'm a collough, as my people have been ever
since Ollam Fodlah's day. He's near his end; the curse of Crummell has
lit on him. Sure, it's well whipped he's been on the triangles these
many times, foreninst the Royal Exchange beyant. The boy's broke, body
and sowl; but the young masther'll see him soon enough. I'm tould the
two'll be thried togither, for a murderous assault first on the
town-meejor, who was doing his duty, when he skelped 'em up, and then
for treason afther. Weren't they always togither, masther and man?
'Twould be quare if they were thried separate.'
Terence was convalescent when summer gave place to autumn. Unlike his
former cheery hustling self, he sat at his window for whole mornings,
gazing into a world of his own, as he leaned his wan face on his thin
hand, smiling a faint smile when his kind nurse attempted to rouse
him. She came more seldom by degrees, for indeed the poor lady's own
life was thickening with disasters. The drunken soldiers' wives
(specially selected by Major Sirr for their virago qualities) made a
hell of her cosy little home, afflicting her daughter Norah beyond
measure. There was no telling whether they might not, in a riotous
freak, set the place ablaze if its mistress did not stop at home to
watch them. Verily, even my lady's grudge might have been partially
effaced, could she have beheld the tribulations which fell upon her
ancient rival. Terence, then, lingered on, living a hermit life, whose
solitude was broken sometimes by garbled tales of dread, such as his
keepers chose to report to him. The world looked black, without a
streak of light. He marvelled, in the vague dizzy way of an invalid
recovering from illness, whether it would not be best to make an end
of it at once. He felt the indifference as to death which
distinguishes the faith of Buddha; longed to join the ranks of those
who, more blest than he, were marched past his door never to return;
envied even the victims of the Foxhunters on the Gibbet-Rath; looked
forward to his own trial as a release.
With a bare bodkin who shall fardels carry? His was bare indeed. Worn
through, and through--the stuffing gone. The sharp corners of the
fardels were ploughing into his back. He longed to lay them down and
be at rest. Sometimes he dreamed of Doreen, but not as of one who
might be his in this life. He appreciated now what at one time he had
contemned as girlish hysteria. Who might presume to talk of love amid
the horrors of carnage, where victims had been done to death by
hundreds with scarce an effort at defence? If he might live (his youth
would assert its rights now and again for a brief instant), then
perhaps--perhaps----What? No. He was doomed to die, and knew it--and
was glad; for life deprived of all illusions and all flower-blossoms
is a hideous thing. His turn would come, and shortly. It was merely a
matter of days--of a little patience. The 'scrag-boy,' who wore a
demon's dress, with a hump and a horned mask that none might guess who
did the hangman's work, was a familiar object in the prison-yard
below. He had placed the halter over many a gallant head, though
not as yet around a noble's neck. Well! that honour would soon be
his--very soon--the sooner the better. With what a bitter laugh did
Terence contemplate the honour which awaited the overworked
functionary! Now and again he wished it might be given to him to look
into Doreen's eyes once more. Their solemn depths would give him
courage to face the great _peut-etre_. Courage! With self-upbraiding
he spurned the thought, walking round his cell as swiftly as heavy
irons would permit. Courage, forsooth! He lacked not courage. 'Twere
better that the two should meet no more on this accursed soil. In
another world they would wander together in perpetual sunshine, by
purling brooks, under softly waving trees--but would they? Was there
another world? The spirit of the young man was so bruised that he
hoped there might not be; and, his illusion being gone, he yearned for
_rest_ only--unceasing--eternal--the long unbroken sleep without a
waking. He shrank from the occasional visits of Lord Clare, who had
brought his country to this pass--even deprecated those of his friend
Curran with a new-born peevishness; for in the face of his old ally he
could trace tell-tale lines of weary watching and despondency, which
spoke with eloquent meaning of the darkness outside the prison walls;
whispering of the universal sorrow he would so gladly have forgotten.
Curran became nervous about him, fearing lest his mind should give
way. Solitude, and such thoughts to brood over as his were, are good
for no man. It was with a sense of relief therefore that the little
man heard one day that a companion was to be quartered on the
councillor. Who that comrade was to be he wist not; any companionship
would be better for him than none. When that comrade came, Terence was
feeding on his griefs, as usual. The door opened with the clatter and
craunch of keys and bolts which no longer vexed him; a slight figure
in a full-skirted coat was pushed in without ceremony, who groped his
way and stumbled in the half-obscurity as the door clanged-to again.
Terence looked up with the slow glance of one whose faculties are
corroded--rough with rust. His eyes met other eyes from which the
light of hope had fled. It was Theobald who was to be Terence's new
companion.
This unexpected meeting, under auspices so different from those which
smiled upon their parting two short years before at Brest, unmanned
them both. With sobs they were locked in one another's arms. Then,
sitting side by side and hand in hand each told his tale in whispers.
Which of the two stories was the saddest? Both their young lives were
equally undone, and for nothing. True sympathy is like the brush of an
angel's wing. They communed far on into the night, and the hearts of
both were lightened.
From the moment of his capture, Tone felt a conviction that his race
was run. On his road to Dublin indignities were heaped on him--he was
heavily ironed, as though so frail an unarmed creature could beat down
bristling bayonets. He knew that as an _emigre rentre_ he must suffer,
and accepted his fate with calmness.
It was a singular cavalcade which journeyed south from Donegal. There
was a posse of rollicking yeomen to guard the prisoners, headed by
Lord Glandore (in the blue and orange uniform of the Hillsborough
club), at whose right hand rode Cassidy. My lord was not certain
whether to be offended with the squireen or not. With regard to
Theobald, he had, as usual, followed his mother's cue, who, when she
set eyes on him, determined instantly that he should not be betrayed
through her. Shane's good impulse bade him follow suit. He had known
the fellow when a youth. To jump upon the fallen is at best a dirty
trick. But there was no doubt that such voluntary blindness was more
romantic than expedient. By the help of the English admiral, Shane
fully intended to make capital out of this sea-fight, and win for
himself an English peerage, and possibly some convenient sinecures. As
it was, he was already rich and great. But the richer we are, the
poorer we often believe ourselves to be. Shane fancied himself quite a
pauper--a worthy subject for eleemosynary grants. Now, supposing that
Tone had left Glas-aitch-e with the other prisoners unrecognised,
there were ten chances to one against his so escaping in Dublin. A
start of surprise, an involuntary exclamation, would have aroused
suspicion and settled his fate; and then what would have been said of
the candidate for charity who, knowing the traitor well, had failed to
denounce him? There was little doubt that Government would have
laughed at my lord's craving for an English peerage--that he would
have sighed for a pension in vain. On the whole he was not sorry that
Cassidy should have shown himself a man of the world by exhibiting
such laudable presence of mind. Tone had been denounced under his roof
(he would make the most of this), but not by him, therefore was his
conscience clear. Nothing could be better. On the whole he concluded
to be charmed with Cassidy, chattering with him as he rode, and
laughing at the giant's stories with a condescension that filled the
latter's soul with joy. The giant took occasion to instil fears into
the selfish mind of my lord with reference to Terence. How would his
Majesty look on the brother of a rebel? Of course it follows not that
one brother should wield the smallest influence over another. But
would the King admit this; or would he frown on the elder, despite his
grovelling, because of the sins of the audacious junior? The sins of
the fathers are to be visited on the children--at least the Jews have
said so; but nothing has been said about the enormities of one brother
being visited on another. Such a rule would be very inconvenient. Now
Shane had never shown any genuine affection for Terence. Under no
circumstances whatever was he prepared to make a personal sacrifice
for him. Why should he? Cassidy's hints therefore fell upon fertile
ground. His selfishness took alarm. Indifference turned to
indignation. He had languidly regretted that Terence should be making
such a fool of himself. He must bear the brunt of his own faults, and
so on. Now he was consumed with rage in that his younger brother
should show so little proper feeling as, for some silly crotchet, to
jeopardise his senior's interests. It was vastly good of Cassidy to
mention the subject, but he had better say nothing about it to my
lady, who was hipped and out of sorts--not to say cross. My lord would
make a point of assuring His new Excellency, so soon as he should
arrive in the metropolis, of his undying devotion to existing
Government and his abhorrence of his misguided brother's crimes.
My lady and Doreen in the family coach brought up the rear of the
procession. Neither was inclined for talk--the minds of both being
busy with netting plans--so each looked out of her own window
listlessly.
For several weeks Terence and Theobald occupied the same cell--visited
almost daily by Councillor Curran. The latter explained that Miss
Wolfe, lately arrived in town, was burning to obtain access to them,
but that her father peremptorily forbade her doing so. She sent them
tender messages of hope, which both knew were futile, but which they
answered verbally with thanks, pens and ink being withheld from them.
Signs were not wanting that they were marked out as chief offenders,
for precautions were taken in their case which were neglected in that
of others.
Curran's reports of the state-trials were not encouraging. The jury
were being skilfully manipulated into a likeness of independence.
Three of the chiefs suffered in turn; two escaped. Terence was the
sixth. With reference to him, which line would the jurors be
instructed to take? The executive were dumb upon the subject. They
also dallied with the life of Tone, till Doreen and his other friends
became almost sanguine. As a French general he might perhaps be
claimed by France, in which case England would certainly submit. Of
course they would claim him. Yet how sluggish they were while a noble
life was shaking in the balance! Theobald himself was the only one who
never doubted. He rose quietly, and squeezed the hand of his companion
without a word or gesture of surprise, when at length, on the 10th of
November, the turnkey opened the door, and bade him 'Come!' for, being
a soldier, he was not to be honoured with a state-trial--and he was
glad of it.
The court-martial which was to cut his span was held in the
cavalry-barracks, the roads leading to which were thronged by anxious
watchers, amongst whom professional wakers were prominent like ravens.
Tone wore the uniform of a chef de brigade. His calm air and firm
deportment favourably impressed his judges. He was every inch a
soldier. Would he plead guilty or not guilty?
'I will give the court no useless trouble,' the prisoner replied when
questioned. 'From my earliest youth, I have looked on the connection
between Ireland and Britain as the curse of the Irish nation, and have
felt convinced that while it lasted my country could not be happy.
That Ireland was unable alone to throw off the yoke I knew. I
therefore looked for aid wherever it was to be found. I sought
in the French Republic an ally to rescue three millions of my
fellow-countrymen from----'
The president interrupted the prisoner, bidding him refrain from
improper language. Had he any reason to assign why sentence should not
be passed on him?
'I have spoken and acted with reflection and on principle, and am
prepared to face the consequences,' Tone answered. 'You do your duty.
I have done mine. All I would ask is, that the court would adjudge me
a soldier's death. In consideration of the uniform I wear, I claim to
be shot by a platoon of grenadiers.'
Then sentence of death was passed in usual form--the manner of it to
be afterwards arranged--and Tone was led back to the cell from whence
he came, where Terence was eagerly awaiting his return.
Dublin sank into stupor when the news leaked out, for all classes
respected the single-minded young martyr of Irish liberty. Curran was
the first to arrive at Strogue with the sad intelligence--his eyes
red, his face worn. Doreen turned her head away, too sorrowful for
tears. My lady sat in a trance as though she heard nothing, for the
temporary energy which had brought her to town had waned; the ghost at
her elbow fanned her with his pinions, mesmerised her free-will. As
for Sara, she gave way to hysterical weeping. Sara was domesticated
now at Strogue. Her father's position, by reason of his attitude at
the state-trials, was one of peril. It was quite likely that some day
the Priory might be sacked by enraged Orangemen. Sara was no longer
safe there. Curran brought the evil tidings to the family circle, but
with it a crumb of comfort. The sentence was illegal; for, holding no
commission under King George, Theobald should have been tried by civil
law with the other state-prisoners. It was painfully true that,
intoxicated by impunity, no one cared now whether a thing was legal or
not. Hundreds of peasants and traders of the lower class were
sacrificed every day by the military tribunals, which was all very
well for the minnows. But Theobald's case was different, Curran
explained. He was a big fish. People would discuss the ins and outs of
his arraignment. The French must be communicated with, and adjured to
claim their general. Meanwhile time must be gained somehow. Curran
would move for the case to be tried before the Court of King's Bench,
which was sitting at the Sessions-House under the presidency of
Doreen's father. This would give a week or two's respite--for
Terence's trial was next upon the list, and that could be postponed by
legal art.
The good lawyer trotted back to Dublin. For a whole day he interviewed
influential persons--strove to obtain votes and money; but the torpor
of fear chilled every heart. Not a finger would any of the cits stir
for Tone--who had sacrificed his all for them. Then Councillor Curran,
determined not to be beaten, went to the Sessions-House alone, and
summoned my Lord Kilwarden, by virtue of his office, to claim the body
of his godson. My lord gladly responded to the challenge. He
despatched his sheriff to the provost-marshal, demanding that the
culprit should be resigned to him; but that functionary declined to
give up his prisoner. Curran groaned in spirit. His last chance was
the Viceroy; but his excellency refused to interfere. There was
nothing more to be done--absolutely nothing! The little lawyer wended
his way back to Strogue in the evening, quite exhausted.
Doreen listened as he unfolded his budget, and, the last remnant of
her artificial apathy melting away, girded up her loins for a
struggle. She was not prepared, she said, to see the game so tamely
given up. Tone first--then Terence! No, not without a supreme effort
to save them. He of the silver tongue had failed? Well, then, she
would even go now herself, and try what a simple woman's pleading
could accomplish. She rose up straightway--it would not do to go quite
alone--and bade Sara put on her habit. The two girls would force
themselves into the presence of Lord Cornwallis, and wring those
precious lives from the executioner. In the first instance they would
importune the chancellor. Perhaps he would go with them and add his
weight. Though it was growing dark, Curran offered no resistance. It
was a last chance; their sacred mission should protect the maidens.
Out of delicacy he had refrained from telling them that Theobald was
cast for execution on the morrow.
But Doreen remained not long in ignorance. First she directed her
course to the provost, at whose forbidding portals she found a stout
woman quarrelling with a sentry. On perceiving the riders the woman
rushed into the road, and clung to Doreen's skirts.
'They'll kill him in the morning, acushla!' she cried, weeping, 'and
then they'll kill the other! It's your cousin that they'll be
murdering, and his wicked old mother sits like a carved stock. I know
your purty face, though we've never spoke a word. Sure, ye're the
judge's child. Go, now, and spake with him. Stay! I'll go too, for
it's the gift of the gab that comes from heaven. They'll be clever if
they beat the two of us!'
It was Madam Gillin, who had been refused admittance to the cell of
her _protege_ because his comrade lay under sentence of death, and had
not yet been removed to solitude.
Thus was it, in the chaos produced by misrule, that these dissimilar
members of an oppressed religion became acquainted at last. They had
met so frequently over sick-beds or at Castle festivities that they
seemed to be quite old friends, till the sound of an unfamiliar voice
told them that it was not so. Is it not ofttimes thus? Do we not know
a person so well by sight that every turn of expression seems to bind
us to him till we hear his voice, which strikes us as strange, and,
finding no echoing chord within our hearts, warns us that we are
strangers?
The attention of the three ladies was arrested by a hubbub within the
provost. There was a sound of chains, then the chaunt arose in chorus
which was become, through the irony of fate, so piteous a mockery:
'What rights the brave? The sword!
What frees the slave? The sword!'
Alas, alas! There was no sword now but that of an avenging tyrant;
when might it be sheathed? Sara screened her face with her hand and
cowered over her saddle-bow, for a dearly loved voice had been wont to
sing that song. With deep thankfulness she remembered that the
Destroying Angel who had been so busy was kind at least to her. It
might have been Robert clanking his chains within that door. Thank
Heaven, he was far away across the sea in London--safe! Sara,
guiltily glad in the midst of so much sorrow, reined in her
horse, which shied upon the sudden opening of the door. Another
voice--whose well-known richness sent a thrill through the bosoms of
Doreen and Gillin--trolled forth in answer the Orange Hymn of
'Croppies, lie down.' The singer stood with burly legs, like pillars,
across the threshold, a huge dark shadow against the light behind--a
shadow of evil to both Gillin and Doreen--Cassidy.
'Lie down, dogs! or ye'll have a taste of the triangles!' he bellowed
over his shoulder in his racy brogue, ere he perceived that he was
watched.
Miss Wolfe's brow contracted, for this was the Cassidy without the
mask, whose aspect at Glas-aitch-e had affected her like a snake; who
had sold Theobald deliberately; whose real self was so different from
the other one that would fain have been her lover. Presently he was
aware of horses' hoofs, and recognised in the stream of radiance which
poured across the road the brown velvet habit which he had been wont
idiotically to sigh after. The sight of it did not improve his temper.
He troubled not to assume the mask again, for the die was cast for
better or for worse--by her. He was now an openly protected ruffian, a
patronised Orange braggadocio. Rollicking, disrespectful, he jerked a
thumb to his hat and grinned at Miss Wolfe.
'Leedies on a party of pleasure?' he jeered. 'Faix, Miss Doreen, ye're
fond of singing-birds. I'd bring ye insoide, but 'tisn't clean enough.
'Deed it's not, now. I'll have it swept to-morrow. Is it Councillor
Crosbie ye're afther trying to peep at? I wouldn't, if I were you, for
he's not the purty boy at whom ye used to lower your eyelids.'
Doreen replied with studied calmness: 'You do well to drop disguise,
Mr. Cassidy, since I know you as you are. If they are in your care,
God help them!'
The marble beauty! Her scorn ate into his flesh like vitriol. He had,
with long patience, shown a fictitious better side to her in vain. It
was with fiendish pleasure that he exposed the real one.
But the contempt which knitted the maiden's brow and distended her
finely-cut nostrils proved too much for the giant's pot-valour. He
tried to wink with the slyness which used to keep supper-tables in a
roar, but shrank under her steady glance, and retiring with a growl,
discomfited, slammed the door. Then, the spell removed, cursing
himself and her, he went through a pantomime of anathema, battering
the panels from within with heavy fists till the turnkeys ran out,
supposing him to have been attacked.
'She treats me like dirt!' he gnashed out between foul oaths. 'Yet,
plaze the Lord, I'll brand myself on her memory till her dying day.
Damn her! A fight, is it? A fight be it--deadly--to the last gasp.
We'll see if her ladyship will be so hoity-toity then!'
The frown passed not from the maiden's face with the vanishing of
Cassidy. _He_ there, in apparent authority! His presence boded little
good to either of the dear prisoners.
What a queer character was Cassidy's! Outwardly merry and
good-humoured, he was by nature coldly fierce, calculating, callous.
Reckless of life himself, its value to others made no impression on
him. Playful and unpitying, commanding the smile and heeding not the
sigh, he was a human paradox. The more Doreen considered him the less
could she understand such a person, being herself true and impulsive
and open as the day.
'We will go to Ely Place at once,' she said hurriedly. 'Lord Clare
must and shall help us.'
The ladies walked their horses in order that panting Mrs. Gillin might
tell all she knew. Tone's doom was fixed. Of that she was sure.
Neither the chancellor nor anybody else could avert his passing. But
Terence--so careless and so joyous a short while ago--his case was
harrowing. Both were specially interested in him. Madam Gillin had
heard for certain that his trial was to come on within a week, and
that his henchman had been well triangled only a few hours since to
extort evidence against his master. His butchers had even stopped
their practical joke at intervals in order to give him time to pull
his thoughts together. Did he say anything? Nothing that the narrator
was aware of. Her nurse, old Jug, witnessed the scourging, and
scurried home all of a tremble at the horrid spectacle. In her
presence he had writhed and shrieked for mercy--had gnawed his tongue
lest it should escape control--had swooned--and was then tossed upon
some straw--half dead, but faithful so far.
Sara clung to her saddle-pommel as she listened, lest she too should
swoon; and it dawned upon Doreen that they were out on a fool's
errand. Life is a bitter gift to many; yet, charged as we are with
illusory hopes, what suffering must be ours ere we master its full
bitterness! She came out imagining that mercy was alive, that justice
was only torpid, that she could plead with human creatures to whom
justice and mercy were precious. How mad! For mercy she saw with
terrible clearness the triangle; for justice, the shade of Cassidy.
The Valley of the Shadow was of weary length, and she was groping in
it darkly still. Nothing could come of this expedition; of that she
felt convinced. Tone and Terence would be hanged. Terence, who held
her heart--she knew it now with no tinge of shame, and gloried in it.
She promised herself to be present at his trial, strengthening him by
her sympathy. He might not be hers in this world. She had refused the
boon of his affection when he had offered it; had presumed to preach
to him--worse--had doubted him. Blind, fatuous girl! How justly
punished! He was to die a martyr, blessed in that his life was to be
in mercy shortened. She would tend his lowly bed, plant flowers on it,
then take the veil and spend in prayer and vigil such days as it might
be her lot to linger through. They would not be many. Heaven was very
deaf. Surely this little boon of a speedy flitting might be vouchsafed
to her jaded spirit? The tendency to asceticism which is buried more
or less deep in all of us was asserting itself in this dark hour over
Doreen. She looked forward to the cloister and the monastic habit with
exultation.
By the time the party turned into Ely Place, Doreen had lost her
courage and her hope. She felt as shy almost as Sara--panted only for
the swift coming of the shot that she might stagger away into the
covert.
Strange! There was a party at Lord Clare's. All the windows were ruddy
with light, filtering through cosy curtains. Incongruous spectacle!
Sedans were ranged in rows; their bearers could be heard yelling in an
adjacent tavern. The entry-door was wide open lacqueys in sumptuous
liveries hurried in and out; there was a clatter of knives and forks,
the popping of corks and shouts of laughter.
Miss Wolfe was aghast. This contingency had not occurred to her. It
never struck her that at such a moment men could be found who were
capable of making merry.
'Let us go home!' timid Sara urged. 'What can we do? It's dreadful!'
Mrs. Gillin laughed bitterly, and clutched Miss Wolfe's bridle.
'Do you know what they're at?' she whispered, glancing round lest any
one should hear her. 'It's a merry-making, true enough; but there's
business at the bottom of it. I know more than I'm supposed to know, I
tell you. The members of the Houses are chap-fallen. Their consciences
are working inconveniently. Dinners are being organised by those in
office to raise their drooping "sowls," in case, at the last moment,
they should waver in their allegiance. We know what they're driving
at--sure, it's splendid! The friends of Government dine together and
drink toasts, and hob and nob with lusty choruses, and swill claret as
pigs swill wash, to keep their loyalty at boiling-point. While the
friends of Erin sit in ashes, and the scrag-boy's worn to the bone
with villain's work! It's a quare world, isn't it, Miss Wolfe?'
The little party was beginning to enlist attention. Women on horseback
did not often linger out so late. The gold braid upon their habits,
the plumes in their hats, proclaimed their superior position.
Obsequious yeomen sprang up as though out of the ill-paved street;
lackeys surrounded them. What could be done for their honours? Sure,
half the aristocracy was pledging my lord chancellor. Glorious, gay
dogs! Was aught amiss? Sure, 'twas a pity to spoil fun! Which of 'em
did the ladies want to see? A private hint might be conveyed to the
lucky ones.
The soldiers leered at the ladies who dared to be out at such a time
of night--with stringent orders as to curfew, too! It was like the
impudence of their craft to dare seek their gallants at the
chancellor's own door. Reckless, bold baggages! Insolent, good-looking
hussies! Madam Gillin was preparing for a fray. She was a good hand at
bandying retorts, and perceived at once the suspicions of the
bystanders; but she was not destined to show her prowess on this
occasion, for the astonished hall-porter recognised the ladies, and
waddled out to welcome them as quickly as amazement and short breath
would permit.
'Is it Miss Wolfe, good luck? Sure his lordship your father's here.
Will I call him?'
'No. I wish to see Lord Clare,' Doreen stammered, her courage oozing
strangely. 'Don't tell him that 'tis I.'
Sara, who all along had been supported in this singular adventure by
the valiance of her friend, saw that Doreen was breaking down. The
amazon--the cool, calm heroine! If she gave way, then must the case
indeed be desperate. The poor gentle little thing instantly broke
down, too, in most lamentable fashion. Tears rolled down her cheeks;
blonde elf-locks hung over her eyes. She was a piteous object, if a
lovely one, to look upon, and refused all Madam Gillin's rough
attempts at comforting.
Lord Clare came forth with a napkin in his hand. A silhouette, with
arm upraised, appeared on the window-curtain, and the thick, quavering
voice of Lord Glandore rang out above the din of glasses. 'A toast! A
toast!' he shouted. 'The Hero of the Nile, who has taught the French
their bearings!' Doreen shivered. An English toast from the lips of
Terence's brother. Alas! it signified little now what should befall
the French. Ireland was beyond succour. Summoning together with a
desperate effort the shreds of her wavering purpose, she implored the
chancellor to go at once with her to the Castle. If the matter were
clearly explained, the Viceroy would exert his right of clemency. Tone
might be saved. At least his passing might be postponed, which
practically would come to the same thing. The trial of Terence might
also be put off. In the confusion of troublous days like these, a few
weeks make all the difference. A little time works wonders; each grain
of trickling sand is priceless.
Lord Clare lifted the two girls from their saddles; bade a groom take
the horses to his stable, and prepare a coach forthwith.
'Come within,' he said gravely. 'It is not fitting that you should
play the knight-errant thus; you might be insulted. What would your
father think of it?'
He paced up and down his study in silent meditation until the carriage
was announced, while Madam Gillin's clack was stilled by awe, and the
two girls watched his every movement with breathless eagerness. Then,
striking his hands together as though his web of thought were
complete, he stood opposite to Doreen with a glance less like the
alligator's than his was usually.
'I've done my best already with Lord Cornwallis,' he said; 'but he
heeds me no more than a crazy table. I begged him to quash this last
trial; to show leniency with regard to your cousin. He retorted that
he was forbidden to be lenient; that he had promised to let the trials
run their course; that I had myself to thank for it, having complained
of him to Mr. Pitt. I cannot stop this trial. Mr. Pitt is as
ungrateful, I find, as other men. He made use of me, then flung me
aside without the least compunction. I see it now--too late. As for
the other----'
Doreen sank on her knees before the chancellor.
'As for Tone,' he went on, severely, 'it is right and fit that he
should die. I would not move a finger to save him from the hangman.
The mischief-maker! Come, my carriage shall take you back to Strogue.
An officer shall ride behind to protect it.' Then, seeing how
distressed she looked, he took her hand, and continued, in a kinder
voice, 'I'm not so heartless as you imagine. Girls should not trouble
their pretty heads with politics, which they are unable to understand.
You think it very shocking to be giving feasts at such a time? Yet
both your cousin Shane and your father are here for state reasons.
These festivities have a political meaning. Now, get you home and go
to bed to refresh your roses. My word! Madam Gillin, if I mistake not?
A strange companion for my lady's niece! Good-night. For his sake I
will not tell your father of this escapade.'
And so the maiden's effort was as vain as the little lawyer's was. She
sat sedate and still as the coach rattled on, murmuring once, in an
undertone, 'That I, who never kneel to any one but God, should have
knelt at that man's feet in vain!' She thought of Theobald. What was
he doing? Was he praying, or sleeping a last sleep? It must need all a
soldier's courage to walk calmly to a scaffold. A cause should be a
good one that has power to produce such martyrs.
* * * * *
While Curran and Doreen were straining every nerve for him, Tone
stared moodily out into his prison-yard and watched the building of a
new gallows there. 'A soldier's end was all I asked,' he sighed, 'and
they even deny me that small grace.'
In the evening he took a tender farewell of Terence, and moved into an
adjoining cell, which, as for a distinguished person who was condemned
to death, had been set apart for him.
'Let us sit together to the last,' Terence objected, with a mournful
smile. 'Why should we be parted who are both hovering on the confines
of eternity? Well, come in and look at me again before you go.'
Theobald embraced his friend with clinging warmth, and whispering once
more, 'We shall meet again,' withdrew. When the gaolers came to lead
him to the gallows-foot they were too late. His body lay cold upon the
pallet. An ensanguined mark was on his throat. He had escaped the
scrag-boy--cheated 'Jack the Breath-stopper'--and was gone!