THE ALTAR OF MOLOCH.
Though Shane roared out gay toasts to the health of Nelson, he was by
no means happy in his mind. No dwelling could be more disagreeable
than Strogue. His supposed participation in the capture of the
arch-martyr was speedily punished by the people. His cattle were
houghed. It happened to be a late season; all his corn was cut and
trampled in one night by unseen avengers. He was in constant dread of
Moiley, of being sent to his account from behind a hedge--ignominious
exit for a king of Cherokees. He even felt inclined to do as many
fellow-proprietors did, namely, to barricade himself in his Abbey and
endure a state of siege till better times should come. In order to
curry favour with the executive he underlined his open disavowal of
his brother's acts, spoke flippantly of traitors; an unfeeling course
which did not raise him in the esteem of blunt Lord Cornwallis. That
nobleman expressed his opinion of Pat in no measured terms, vowing, as
testily he poked the fire, that the Irish were unfit to govern
themselves; that, independent of the benefit which would accrue to
England, the sooner a legislative union could be brought about, the
better it would be for Ireland herself. The few months of his
residence in Dublin had melted all his scruples on that head. On
principle, Mr. Pitt's game was an iniquitous one. There could be no
two opinions as to that. But the new Viceroy was not long in
discovering that a union would materially improve the condition of the
people by freeing them from the persecution of bigoted factions,
provided that the King could only be brought to allow that the
Catholics should be permitted to exist. After all, how could a scuffle
about a union affect the lower orders? Under home-rule were they not
always slaves? Did they not profess to hate the yoke of English and
Anglo-Irish equally? It would be a change of masters; a change from
tyranny to mildness; for it was understood by Lord Cornwallis that the
Reign of Terror had been brought about to disgust the country with its
ruling classes; and that that result being attained, a skilfully
contrasted millennium was to be inaugurated instantly. The members of
the senate had been cajoled, with a few exceptions, into disgracing
themselves beyond redemption. Could they be coaxed a stage lower--just
one? Possibly. The Marquis Cornwallis, so far as his private honour
was concerned, drew the line at this. He would supervise the stew,
without direct personal interference in its brewing. It did not behove
a man who had won immortal laurels in the field, to stoop to put salt
on the tails of the Irish Lords and Commons. No! That unworthy work
must be done by the chancellor and such others as were ready to paddle
in the _cloaca_. This is how it was that, despite the paling of his
star, my Lord Clare was giving dinners--symposia intended to act as
birdlime to fluttering legislators--feasts at which hints were dropped
of the future emoluments that awaited the complaisant. Mr. Pitt's ball
was rolling steadily to the goal, while my Lord Clare swept clear its
course. The bloody drama was all but concluded now. One more trial and
the pageant at the Sessions-House would come to a close, and those who
had escaped so far would probably be permitted to disappear in the
medley. Nearly all had been tried who could be safely sentenced; there
were some left whom it would be best not to try. The last serious
state-trial must be got over without more ado--a trial complicated by
private venom and a series of false statements which were twisted into
attempted murder as well as treason; a trial which must be so
conducted as to bear sifting by the opposition, examination by the
scrutiny of Europe--a trial wherein both sides would wrestle with all
their strength and cunning. Which was to enact Jacob, and which the
angel?
Theobald Wolfe Tone having vanished from the scene, the eyes of Dublin
were still turned fearfully to the selfsame cell at the provost,
wherein the companion of his last hours lingered. The people counted
the moments that were left to him. Coronachs were crooned in secret
before their time in many a cabin, with beatings of the breast. None
doubted but that Charon, resting on his oars, awaited his next fare
with confidence. As Terence himself expressed it--he stood on an
isthmus between two lives. If one was desperately turbid, was it not
better cheerfully to turn his back on it, and plunge with courage into
the other?
Strogue Abbey from within, was no more pleasant to its owner than from
without. Doreen's serenity, which for years had made Shane
uncomfortable, assumed now a preternatural repulsion. Odours as of
gravecloths seemed to emanate from her garments. The phosphorescence
of the charnel-house was a nimbus to her head. Her brow was circled by
the calm that appertains not to mundane matters; which chills the
creeping souls of those who cling to earth. Instead of being shocked
that Theobald should have evaded the offices of the scrag-boy, she was
content. Her hero was beyond the reach of vulgar slings and arrows.
His fretted rope was snapped; the boundary was passed, the inevitable
plunge taken, and he slept. A few brief days of swiftly speeding hours
and Terence would be conveyed with him in the boat of Charon, who was
waiting, to a less rugged shore. A little, little patience, and he too
would sleep. Then she, less blessed than they, would withdraw from the
troubles that weighed her down, and, meekly kneeling, would await the
unveiling of the White Pilgrim. What a message was his! 'Home to the
homeless; to the restless rest!' Doreen's manner had something awful
about it which scared another besides Shane--poor Sara, whose Robert
was unscathed and well. The cairngorm eyes of the elder damsel were
opened to their full width with the far-seeing blindness of a
somnambulist. Her obstinate moods and perverse waywardness were
quelled. She went about her avocations with mechanical deliberation;
dusted her cousin's fishing-rods and guns in his little sanctum,
as if he were only gone away upon a visit; wore her best clothes to
please her aunt; tendered regularly each morning to cousin Shane a
corpse-cheek whose coldness took away the little appetite which he
could boast of; conversed calmly about events--all but the one event,
which for that matter each member of the household was equally
desirous to shun. Strogue was full of spectres, and they rattled their
bones in grim concert.
Councillor Curran, who looked like a moulting bird, grey-skinned,
unkempt, essayed to speak words of comfort; but she seemed not to
understand. What comfort could there be for one whose fairest prospect
was the cloister and the grave? Theobald had passed; a procession of
young shades like Banquo's sons had passed; Terence was prepared to
join the shadowy convoy into spirit-land. Why prate of comfort? Had
not Mr. Curran done all that might be done by man to prevent this
hideous nightmare? Then he murmured something of a postponement--of a
delay which might save the life of the last victim; but Doreen only
shook her graceful head. It was better, she averred, to put aside
illusions, and look straight into Truth's hard face. The postponement
of the trial was impossible, and it was better so, for a speedy end
was the best boon for a true Irishman to pray for. Mr. Curran's heart
died within him to hear this girl, in the full flush of youth and
beauty, speaking of this life as though existence had no charms.
If his stately cousin was a kill-joy in the household, Shane's mother
was no better than she. My lady alternated between fevered activity,
without apparent object, and helpless lassitude. Her own ghost kept
faithful watch and ward over the countess. When Lord Clare told her
gently that all hope of saving her son was gone, she gave herself
over to the phantom hand and foot; and her old friend blamed himself
for rushing, as we all have a proneness to do, to hasty conclusions
of blame. It was evident that my lady was not indifferent to the
fate of her younger-born. On the contrary, she was overwhelmed
by a remorseful, fascinating ecstasy, which haunted her day and
night--something connected with Terence in the past, which took from
his mother the power to reason in clear sequence. She blinked like a
white owl in the great chair in the tapestry saloon, heeding goers or
comers no more than drifting leaves--engrossed all day by withering
meditation till Doreen announced to her that it was time for bed. Then
she permitted herself to be undressed and laid upon her back without a
word, and blinked on at the ceiling through the still hours; and then
was dressed and propped up again in the great chair. Some said she was
broken; some that her circulation was weak; some that paralysis was
imminent. Lord Clare and Curran alone amongst her friends perceived
that it was her mind that was diseased--that there was a rooted sorrow
festering there which no mortal hand might have strength to pluck
away.
News of the countess's state was brought by Shane to the Little House,
whither he escaped whene'er he could, to forget his dismal home in the
company of Norah. But his welcome there was no longer what it used to
be, even though through his good offices the dreadful infliction of
soldiers' wives had been removed. Madam Gillin felt too strongly the
heartless selfishness of Lord Glandore to be decently civil to him,
even though by civility her child might win a coronet. For a host of
reasons, her sympathies were all with Terence. When Shane talked
querulously about his mother, she listened eagerly, seeing in fancy
the dying man at Daly's, who implored his stern wife to save herself
from the torment he then suffered. But she would not. Nemesis, if slow
of foot, is sure--her vengeance complete, if tardy.
The fatal day in due course arrived which was big with the fate of
Terence. Curran implored Doreen to stop at home--in vain. Her resolve
was immutable. Since her cousin's trial could not be postponed, she
decided to see the last of him whom she had dared to doubt. Under
escort of the little advocate, she entered the Sessions-House, and
took her seat close to the dock. When the inevitable sentence should
come to be spoken, the brown hand which he loved best in all the world
would grasp his firmly. His courage would not waver. He was too good
and true for that. But he should in that supreme moment read the love
that went out from her, and with it a promise that she would not stay
long behind.
Her father was to occupy the bench with my Lord Carleton. Toler
(bully, butcher, and buffoon), whose nose was like a scarlet
pincushion well studded, was down for the prosecution; he of the
silver tongue for the defence. The hall was close and inconvenient;
its murky skylight thick with dust, its jaundiced walls sallow and
blotched with damp. A lofty seat was prepared for the judges under a
canopy at one end, surmounted by the royal arms. Below this were three
crazy benches for counsel and attorneys; then came an open space on
the floor of the hall; then a barrier enclosing a small pen, which was
intended for public use, but which was already more than half
monopolised by soldiers of the yeomanry. On the right side of the
counsellors' benches was the dock; on the left, the jury-paddock, and
a low table with a chair on it for the accommodation of witnesses.
These, till they were wanted, leaned against the wall behind,
conversing in loud tones with other members of the Battalion of
Testimony, or fawning with fulsome scrapings about Major Sirr, who,
with the pompous airs of a jack-in-office, acted as master of the
judicial ceremonies. Government tried to make proceedings look less
dirty by making much of the informers; did its best to dignify them in
the eyes of those who were selected to decide the fate of the accused.
These men, as all the world knew, were capable of anything, deeming
that he was a pitiful fellow who, to please his master, would stick at
a little perjury.
Curran marked uneasily that the battalion was in great force to-day.
Was it out of curiosity, or were they here on business? Long impunity
had developed all the native ferocity and brazenness of these
Staghouse demons. They wore new modish suits of clothes, with
fashionable bows of ribbon at the knee, provided at Government
expense. They looked sleek and well-to-do, for they were sumptuously
fed and boarded, and provided with three guineas a day for
pocket-money. Cockahoop was the jovial crew, for the band was too
compact and strong to fear Moiley now; though time was when one of the
number who was ill dared not take his medicine, lest haply he should
find his quietus in it. Those times were past. The people were cowed
and trampled. These men had, for a fee, sworn away the lives of their
brothers and then fathers. Moiley had over-eaten herself--was languid
through repletion. There was no room in her maw even for a strangled
informer. They were growing rich, budding into proprietors; some
screening their names under an alias from infamy some too callous to
feel any shame at all. Which of the rowdy knot was to do the work
to-day? Since the battalion had become so highly trained, Lord Clare's
ingenious invention with respect to the testimony of a single witness
was a dead letter. That the oath of one person should, at a pinch,
consign a man to the scrag-boy was a wholesome and judicious rule that
was likely to save much trouble. But when you have a whole pack of
hounds at your command, each one taught to yelp at a given signal, it
is pretty sport to watch their tricks. Besides, a pile of testimony,
more or less irrelevant and contradictory, has an improving effect
upon a jury. The Irish are eminently superstitious. These trials
sometimes lasted through the night. Men were apt to get frightened at
shadows on the wall, at the flickering candles with their guttering
winding-sheets. It was well to pile Pelion upon Ossa, to crush out any
stray drop of pity. A heap of evidence confused and dazed them. Many
crawled home after sentence was pronounced, fully persuaded that they
had only done their duty--that so many witnesses, each with his pat
story, must of a surety have spoken truth; that they had earned their
honest stipend without injuring their souls.
Which of the rowdy knot--and how many--were to do the work to-day?
Cassidy--finely dressed in a grand coat of padusoy, with a posy in his
breast, and a new bobwig--was lolling on the counsellors' bench
cracking jests with Major Sirr, behind whom stood a bevy of admirers.
The presence of those two boded no good to either prisoner. The
town-major, indeed, had openly told Curran that if his defence was too
clever it would be the worse for him; to which the little man had
replied, with a finger-snap, 'In court a liar, in the street a bully,
in the gaol a fiend--you shall reap your reward, meejor! I don't care
_that_ for you or your murderers by the Book!' and so had left him. He
was used to threats, and took no heed of them. They might as well have
hoped to drive the stars from heaven by violence as to frighten John
Curran into abandoning a client. And they were not mere clients
for whom he had been pleading, for whose sake he risked his life
during these trials. They were dear friends whom he loved, whom as
brother-patriots he honoured. Some, despite his impassioned oratory,
were slaughtered; others he saved. Ministers were secretly afraid of
that silver tongue; for his burning words were reported and
circulated, despite the efforts of the executive. All the world
respected Curran; his exhortations wormed themselves into men's minds,
and warmed into fruition there.
The Sessions-House in Green Street was filled with a strange company
that day, as people forced themselves in till it was crammed. There
was a buzz of expectation, which rose into a hubbub and fell again.
The dock remained empty, though the morning had passed to noon. The
heaviness in the air was sickening, by reason of the densely-packed
assembly and moist garments; for the sun was veiled, the weather
gloomy. A drizzling rain began to fall. Madam Gillin, in gaudy
attire--a sight to kill parrots with envy--elbowed a passage through
the mob, closely followed by old Jug, who, with her mistress, sat near
Doreen. What an odd condition of society was this of Dublin! The
prisoners who would stand at the bar presently were closely connected,
either by ties of blood or friendship, with advocates, judges, and
many more in the surrounding audience. It was quite a family-party.
Mr. Curran reflected that no judge could be more partial than Lord
Kilwarden; that some among the jury, with whom he was to intercede,
were his own cronies. Yet was he not happy about his case. Lord Clare,
for once, would have juggled in opposition to his usual principles;
but Lord Clare's hands were tied through his own act. Through his own
intervention the Viceroy had promised not to dip his finger in the
Staghouse caldron till the cooking was complete. If the Viceroy
declined to interfere, no one else could take the initiative. It was a
deadlock. A pebble or two, if authorities napped for a moment, might
have been inserted to make a wheel veer awry. How was it that the said
wheel insisted upon keeping its accustomed track, and that extra
celerity was even given to its motion? Some one unseen was pushing.
Who was it? If higher powers were debarred from inserting pebbles,
there was, unhappily, nothing to prevent interested inferiors from
exerting private pressure. Curran felt that Cassidy and Sirr were at
the bottom of this. What a cruel chance for Mr. Curran's client that
neither Viceroy nor Chancellor could interfere!
How much longer was the delay to last? It was three o'clock. Sirr and
Cassidy had retired and returned refreshed. Curran sent out for
sandwiches, which he divided with the ladies. Old Jug somehow seemed
feverishly excited; nodding and mumbling to herself, moping and
mowing, muttering weird incantations, which were impressed on the air
with a gnarled finger. Mrs. Gillin ate her meat with a relish, in
spite of grief. There are some appetites which no trouble may
vanquish.
Doreen was in a trance-like state. Her skin was mottled, her eyes a
dusky fire, surrounded by dark discs; a singular, unearthly smile
played about her lips. To please her friend the advocate, she strove
to eat, but her throat was contracted by spasms. She looked
appealingly to him, and Curran took the food away with a sigh.
Toler came over to discuss matters with his adversary. All this was
woefully illegal; but what did that matter? It was a melancholy
comfort that a tattered remnant of the robe of Justice yet remained.
Maybe in time, with coaxing, the lady would come back to Ireland. Who
might tell what would happen next?
'Will ye inform me, Toler,' Curran interrupted, 'who your witnesses
are? I'm quite in a muzz, I tell ye.'
Toler clapped the little man upon the back, and roared with hoarse
laughter.
'That's the critical brook in the steeple-chase, mee boy!' he
chuckled. 'We rely on a surprise to confound the prisoners. But I'll
tell ye this, ould chap. Sirr, for some reason, is bent upon a
conviction. Nothing you can say will make a difference. So cut it
short, and let us out of this nasty hole. Be good-natured, and keep
your breath to cool your porridge.'
So his suspicions were correct. Sirr was at the bottom of this,
impelled by revenge for those slashes on his calves; urged too,
probably, by Cassidy, who had made it up with the town-major. What
could they gain by surprising the prisoners? Truly, the mechanism of
the law was lamentably out of gear.
At last there was a stamping without--a surge of feet--a murmur of
commiseration in the street. The judges, clad in crimson, took their
places. Lord Carleton, ponderous and overbearing; Lord Kilwarden,
nervous and subdued, with wrinkled brow and downcast visage--the one
determined to do his duty, the other to avoid it if he could. Shortly
afterwards a side-door opened. Terence and his henchman, Phil, were
thrust into the dock. Terence peered round with contracted pupils,
unable to distinguish friends from foes in the dim haze. He saw not
Doreen, though she was close below. She clasped her hands upon her
breast to still a rising sob when she marked how changed he was. Fever
had paled his ruddy cheek, shrunken his burly frame. It was not that
which shocked her, for that was to be expected. It was the uncanny
glitter, the reflection through open portals of a radiance belonging
to another world--the look she had last seen in Tone, the glimmer of
the grave--that it was which caused her heart to bound. He stood
erect, one hand resting on the rail, the other supported by a green
scarf about his neck. Even his gaoler had remonstrated as he dressed
that morning: 'Don't wear such things. Why prejudice the coort?' To
which he had answered, smiling: 'The cause is already judged. It
matters not what I wear; Erin will be green again when I rest under
her sod--all the greener for her recent soaking.'
In striking contrast to his quiet dignity was the behaviour of his
faithful henchman. He walked crooked and stiff, by reason of the
whippings he had undergone. Jug Coyle scrutinised him with meaning
from beneath her penthouse brows, and seemed satisfied. The trim,
obliging, smiling Phil was transmuted into another and quite untidy
person. 'Twas not only pain that caused his steps to waver; there
could be no doubt about it--he was _drunk!_
Terence was woundily annoyed; a flush of anger overspread his face as
he placed his arm about his companion to check his stumbling, and gave
him a savage shaking. Phil drunk, at such a time, who used to be so
good and sober! He had not improved under the town-major's auspices.
This was no doubt one of the arch-devil's tricks to turn a solemn and
impressive scene into a subject for laughter and contempt. It was a
pity Phil was not more strong-minded. Had he disguised himself in
liquor to steal a march upon his fears? The poor fellow was ignorant
and underbred; fortitude was hardly to be expected from such as he.
The jury sitting opposite had their orders. Perhaps it was as well for
Phil that he could drown the knowledge of the present. On the morrow
it would all be over--blessed morrow! Both he and his master would
know by dawn the secret which oppresses all of us.
But Major Sirr appeared as surprised as the rest of the watchful
audience, and was even heard to utter unseemly execrations. Who had
dared to give his pet victim drink? It was no part of his intention
that his troubles should be soothed. On the contrary, he had kept a
surprise in store which was meant to be wormwood to the hapless
creature.
After a deal of whispering and wig-shaking, counsel for prosecution
plunged forthwith into the matter of the town-major's calves, and the
shocking behaviour of certain ruffians to an upright gintleman, with
the connivance of certain leedies, who should be nameless.
Toler's inflamed visage glowered at Madam Gillin; but she tossed her
head and tittered. She dreaded not free-quarters, or the visits of
virago soldiers' wives, now that Lord Glandore was back to protect
Norah. Toler might bray any fiddlefaddle that he chose. Sure my Lord
Carleton, up there in the fine robes, had been mighty glad, once on a
time, to spend his evenings at her cosy house. So counsel, discovering
that he made no impression on her (she had always abstained from
inviting him, which made him spiteful), droned on about his client's
wrongs--for he had but done his duty in capturing such notorious
rebels--his excellent qualities and virtues, the services he had done
the state, the wicked wounds upon his calves. Was the law, which all
respected so much, to leave a faithful servant without protection? And
so on and so forth, in a tangle of verbosity, for an hour and more.
Irritated possibly by his husky voice, Phil's conduct grew more and
more outrageous, drawing on him marks of indignant disapprobation from
my Lord Carleton, a look of pained bewilderment from Lord Kilwarden.
'Was ever anything so indecent?' clamoured the members of the
battalion, in loud whispers. 'Face to face with conviction, too! He
had put himself beyond the pale of mercy. The brute ought to be
scragged untried. He reeked of whisky, the besotted pig!' The odour of
it, they vowed, reached their shocked nostrils across the court. In
truth, he did comport himself after an intoxicated fashion. It was as
much as his master could do to keep him in tolerable order. His legs
were in constant motion. He sang and talked in a low tone,
occasionally breaking into convulsive fits of laughter; grimacing and
nodding his head to the witnesses, as one by one they sat on the table
and swore away his life.
As the case proceeded--crushingly against the prisoners, who were
proved beyond a doubt to have taken and administered the oath, to have
worn green orders, and otherwise misbehaved themselves--his mood
altered. He was getting over the madness of his drink. That was a
mercy. Soon he would drop into a maudlin sleep, and his master might,
unheedful of the monotonous and confused proceedings, take refuge from
this mockery within himself until the verdict came. How dreary and how
long was all this useless evidence! The case looked as if it would
last for ever. What an array of witnesses--and what lies they told! At
this rate it would be morning before the judges pronounced sentence.
Already it was dark. Candles flared in rough iron sockets. The red
judges loomed like lurid phantoms; the jury were haggard in the
flickering smoke. Mr. Curran leaned back in his seat exhausted, his
neck supported on his clasped hands--resolved to husband his strength
for a great effort by-and-by.
Drunken, disgraceful Phil became quiet. Old Jug, whose keen vision
naught escaped, suggested to an usher to let him have a chair. He sank
into the seat, his chin buried in his breast. His face was blue (was
it the effect of light?), his pupils dilated, his breathing
stertorous. The air was sickeningly close. Sweat stood in drops upon
his forehead. Could he be fainting? No. He rallied, and commenced
muttering again.
The hours went by, and yet the farce continued. No jot of the informal
formalities was omitted. Those who had resolved to hang the prisoners
were evidently determined that there should be no lack of
justification for it. Half the battalion had told their story. Curran
listened, and said nothing (what was the use of cross-examining these
men?) till he saw the big figure of Lieutenant Hepenstall advance.
Then, turning to the judges, he grunted:
'They're not content with witnesses, my lords; they've brought in the
Walking Gallows, to work them off at once! Sure, isn't it convanient
and obleeging?'
Time moved on steadily. Terence was as upright and motionless as a
statue. He had learned by this time who was sitting near. A small
brown hand had fluttered into his, to tell by occult pressure its own
sweet tale. Doreen was as still as he.
Drunken Phil tore open his shirt, gasping. How dense the air was! It
was cruel to drag out the proceedings thus. His head was heavy--he
could not hold it up; so, resting his fingers on the dock-rail, he
laid his wet face on them. By degrees he sank into a snoring slumber,
his limbs twitching now and then with a tremulous convulsion. The
visage of old Jug was illumined with a mysterious satisfaction. Not
one of his movements escaped her keen observation; she drank in every
shiver. Presently she plucked her mistress by the robe, and, like a
wild woman, whispered something in her ear. Madam Gillin, who,
overpowered by heat, had been dozing, woke with a cry, and turned her
affrighted gaze from Phil to her nurse and back again.
'Is it thrue, Jug--is it, by the Holy Mother?' she asked, in an awed
whisper.
'Thrue 'tis, by mee sowl!' returned the other. 'He is a farrier, isn't
he? And Crummell's curse is on the likes of him, isn't it? He begged
the ould collough for a root, and she gave it; and, by St. Patrick,
'twas well done!'
In deep agitation Mrs. Gillin motioned Curran to her side. She saw it
all. It was by her own order that Jug had visited the farrier.
Farriers and colloughs are national foes. Phil--faithful fellow!--had
begged the collough to exercise her skill in herbs on him. He could
bear hanging--had thus far endured the lash. But torture may be pushed
beyond our power of bearing. Rather than run a risk of betraying the
master whom he worshipped, he had taken poison, and was dying.
Curran's genius embraced at once the new element in the situation. It
struck him instantly that by this sacrifice the poor fellow might
perhaps unwittingly have saved his master. When did he take the
poison? How long would it be before its work would be accomplished? If
he were to fall dead--there--in the dock, before the court assembled,
under the eye of the public, it would create such a sensation that the
trial would be perforce adjourned. The harrowing details of the
suicide would then be spread abroad; they would do much to bring the
vile cruelties of the yeomanry home in all their loathsomeness to the
British mind, which was so culpably indifferent as to what happened in
this colony. There would be a revulsion--an energetic protest. In the
confusion Terence might be saved! Poor faithful Phil! He knew not the
extent of the service that he rendered. His life would not be
sacrificed in vain!
'How much longer will the poison take to work?' Curran whispered in
Jug's ear. 'What was it?'
'Sure, it was a tiny root of water-drop wort. Like an illigant
parsnip, faith! How much longer? An hour perhaps--maybe two--certainly
not more than three.'
It was eleven at night. Toler had two more witnesses to call, he said.
If cross-examined they might be made to detain the court for an hour
or so. After that the silver tongue must move to good purpose--must
toy with argument and rhetoric till the doomed man dropped.
The virtuous ire of the town-major was kindled.
'The drunken brute is asleep!' he called out. 'What an insult to the
court! Sure, he'll have a long sleep enough when Moiley eats him. Wake
him up!'
Major Sirr was particularly anxious that he should be aware who the
next witness was. By dint of shaking, the ushers roused the prisoner
from lethargy. With brows painfully knitted he tried to raise his
leaden lids, beheld with dilated pupils a blurred vision on the table;
sank again without recognition into unconsciousness. Jug too
beheld--and gave a low growl.
The new witness was Croppy Biddy; she of the russet locks, who since
the burning of the 'Irish Slave' had given herself up to drink and to
debauchery--who was become one of the shining Staghouse lights--one of
the pet agents of an honourable executive--the Joan of Arc of the
Battalion of Testimony. She was dressed like a lady, in a costly
beaver with ostrich plume, and a laced riding-dress--the same as she
was wont to wear when galloping at the head of a troop of dragoons in
search of food for Moiley. No longer a slattern serving-wench in a low
shebeen, but a paid and honoured favourite of Government; a lying,
drunken, brazen hyaena. This was an admirable joke of Major Sirr's.
What a pity it was that it should miscarry! What humour could be more
sly and delicate than to clinch a man's fate by the false witness of
her whom he had elected to love? Yet, thanks to some officious idiot
or other, the bit of fun was spoiled. Biddy was there--saucy, pert,
shameless, ready to go any lengths; but her lover was asleep, with his
chin upon his breast. The surprise missed fire.
As it turned out, though, the joke was just the least bit too racy.
The loud giggling laugh, the palpable untruths flung carelessly about
by Biddy, shocked and disgusted the entire audience. Lord Kilwarden
turned red, and bowed his face over his papers; even Lord Carleton
coughed; and there was an angry murmur from the public who packed the
floor.
Mr. Curran, no longer listless and dejected--for hope had revived
again--turned the wretched woman round his finger; ensnared her with
soft suggestions; led her floundering along from perjury to perjury,
turned her inside out; then with a sarcastic bow to Toler,
congratulated him upon his witness. By skilful fence half an hour was
gained. Counsel for prosecution glared at Sirr. Was this the way to
train up witnesses? Biddy was hustled off the table, for her training
was lamentably incomplete. There was one more yet to come. It was to
be hoped he would do away with the bad impression she had left.
This time it was Doreen's turn to utter a stifled cry, while her
fingers clasped more closely those of Terence. Had that wretch no
compunction? Had he no mercy--this villain who had wriggled himself by
specious arts into the confidence of honest men--this snake in
the grass--this bravo who, smilingly looking in your face, could
coldly choose the most fitting moment for stabbing you? It was
Cassidy--actually Cassidy, who before her, before Lord Kilwarden,
before Curran, could get upon the table to swear away the life of him
whom he had called friend.
Even the little advocate, whose faith in the innate goodness of human
nature was not strong, was staggered.
'I've heard of assassination by sword and dagger,' he muttered; 'but
here is a ruffian who would dip the Evangelists in blood!' The giant
took the Testament and kissed it.
'Why make him swear at all?' scoffed Mr. Curran. 'Why let a
murderer's touch pollute the purity of the Gospel? Well! if you will
go through the mockery, let it be, I pray you, on the symbol of his
profession--the knife.'
Cassidy scowled down on the sturdy scoffer, and looked round at his
comrades with an air of reproachful innocence, which was speedily
answered by a burst of menace and a clash of arms from the yeomanry
behind, accompanied by threatening looks and gestures. Mr. Curran,
drawing himself up to the full of his small stature, fixed his eyes
sternly on them, and exclaimed in a loud voice:
'You may assassinate me, gentlemen, but you shall never intimidate
me!'
This was a scandal. Things were going ill. Lord Carleton came to the
rescue.
'Beware, Mr. Curran,' he said, 'lest you forfeit your gown. A little
more of such unseemly language and I shall commit you.'
'Then we shall both have the consolation, my lord,' Curran retorted,
with a bow, 'of reflecting that I'm not the worst thing you have
committed.'
Lord Carleton looked up with wonder at the skylight. What was the
world coming to? He glanced at Lord Kilwarden, who leaned on his
elbow, taking no share in the business, his eyes shaded with his hand.
Counsel for prosecution played skilfully on his witness--an admirable
witness, who merely answered questions, instead of blurting forth rash
and inconvenient statements. Mr. Curran cross-examined him as
cleverly, but with little effect. He could elicit nothing new or
special. People were accustomed to find themselves handed over to the
scrag-boy by their most intimate friends. Mr. Curran, indeed, was
tedious to lay such stress on the point. The jury shuffled on their
seats. Lord Carleton yawned. New candles were placed in the sockets by
attentive ushers. At this rate it would certainly be morning before
the affair was settled.
Very monotonous and very dreary! A rat-tat of subdued voices in
question and reply. The paled candles dim and wan through a mist of
collected breath--a stifling, noisome atmosphere of clammy heat which
made the temples of all to throb, the ears to sing. Though the case
was one of palpitating interest, men's strength gave way, women felt
ill and dizzy. Lord Carleton, to keep his wits clear, inhaled the
fumes from a sponge dipped in vinegar. Mrs. Gillin sniffed at the rue
upon the dock-rail.
Still Terence stood erect and pallid--motionless. Still Phil's
respiration laboured with stertorous snores. His teeth chattered at
intervals, as if from cold; his fingers twitched, his knees trembled.
Was it the effect of light? his eyes seemed protruding from their
sockets. But there were no signs of the end yet.
It was past midnight when he of the silver tongue arose for the
defence, and people roused themselves to listen, for they were
accustomed to expect from him rapid electrical transitions from
passion to passion, from the deepest emotions which agitate the soul
to the liveliest combinations of sportive imagery; whimsical
metaphors, such as at one moment seemed culled from the dunghill, at
the next to be snatched from heaven. He implored the jury to consider
the reputation of the witnesses who had striven to wreck these men. He
entreated them to consider what objects save the highest and most pure
could have induced a noble to desert his ease and risk his neck for
Erin.
'Do you dare,' he cried, in crystal accents which rang with startling
clearness along the cobwebbed rafters, 'in a case of life and death,
of honour and of infamy, to credit a vile informer--the perjurer of a
hundred oaths--a beast whom pride, or honour, or religion cannot bind?
He dresses like a gentleman--the tones of his soft voice savour of
growing authority. He measures his value by the coffins of his
victims, and, in the field of evidence, appreciates his fame as an
Indian savage does in fight by the number of scalps with which he can
swell his triumphs!'
The advocate laid stress upon the awful responsibilities of a jury;
striving to wring their consciences, though he knew that each man
among them had received his wage. He knew that nothing he could say
would make them waver. Yet now he had a new courage and a new hope
that distilled jewels from his lips, which almost caused the degraded
jurymen to blench. From time to time as his eloquent periods rolled
out in majestic waves, he turned an anxious eye upon the farrier whom
Jug sat watching with the gaze of a lynx, How she had botched the job!
How long the soul wrestled ere it could burst its bonds!
Then, to the amazement of Toler, he lost his temper with the jury, and
told them unpleasant truths, rating them soundly for their sins. His
opponent thought he must be mad to rage where it was so evidently his
interest to conciliate. But Madam Gillin listened and nodded approval;
for she knew that it was only a matter of gaining time, and that as
there was to be no verdict there was no use in blarneying the jurors.
With what eloquence he talked! His words seemed to flicker in
sunlight--a kaleidoscope of gems, some rough, some polished, strung
loosely on a cord.
'Life can present no situation,' the orator said, 'wherein the human
power of man can be so divinely exerted as yours should be now; and if
any labours can peculiarly attract the approving eye of Heaven, it is
when God looks down on a human being assailed by human turpitude;
struggling with practices against which the Deity placed His special
canon, when He said, "Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy
neighbour; thou shalt not kill!" We embrace the principles of the
British constitution; and when I look on you, the proudest benefit of
that constitution, I am relieved from the fears of advocacy, since I
place my clients under the influence of its sacred shade. This is not
the idle sycophancy of words. It is not crying, "Lord! Lord!" but
doing "the will of my Father who is in heaven!" If my clients had been
arraigned before a jury of Cornhill shopkeepers, they would ere now be
in their lodgings. The law of England suffers no man to be openly
butchered in a court of justice. The law of England recognises the
innate blackness of the human heart--the possibility of villains
thirsting for the blood of their fellow-creatures; and the people of
Ireland have but too good cause to be acquainted with that thirst. At
the awful foot of Eternal Justice I call on you to acquit these men.
Their characters have been given. Nothing could be more pure. In the
name of Justice I implore you to interpose, while there is time,
between the wanton perjurer and his ensanguined feast; that in the
next life your reward may be more lasting than the perishable crown
which the ancients gave to those who saved a fellow-citizen in battle.
Your own turns may come, for the informer has bowels for himself
alone! If it should be the fate of any of you to count the moments of
captivity, in sorrow and in pain, pining in a dungeon's damps, may you
find refuge in the recollection of the example you this day set to
those who may be called to pass judgment on your lives! Recollect too
that there is another, more awful tribunal than any upon earth, which
we must all some day approach, before which the best of us will have
occasion to look back to what little good he has done this side the
grave. I do pray that Eternal Justice may record the deed you are
about to do, and give to you the full benefit of your claims to an
undying reward, a requital in mercy upon your souls!'
The growing fog, the deep silence, the midnight hour, the flickering
candles, enhanced the effect of Mr. Curran's words, which were spoken
with a rapt solemnity that sent a thrill of awe through his
impressionable audience. The vision of a wrathful angel with a fiery
sword rose before their excited imagination--of an avenging God who
knew that they, the jury, were bought. Women rocked themselves and
wrung their hands, and stuffed ends of shawls into their mouths to
check their wailing. The jurymen hovered 'twixt greed and fear. The
advocate paused for an instant, to wipe his brow, and to allow his
sentences to sink into their minds.
There was a hum of muffled talk, of groans and lamentation, before
which the moaning in the court was hushed. It came from the dock. Phil
was awake and sensible; had risen on his tottering feet, was swaying
from side to side as he clung to his young master. Terence saw now
that he had wronged his henchman, who was not drunk, but ill. His
features were livid, his lips blue, so was his swollen tongue; his
teeth rattled as in ague; his eyes saw nothing, though they stared
painfully; a steam ascended from his hair.
'Master Terence!' Phil gasped, with thick effort, 'I could not help
your being taken--though it was--it was my fault. They pushed the
heap--of rope--off of my head. They shall get ne'er a word out
of me--ne'er a one--though they flay me to the bone. Master
Terence--master--will ye forgive----'
Phil staggered and slid from the grasp of his fellow prisoner to the
floor, and lay there on his face.
'One of your victims appears to be insensible,' Mr. Curran remarked
shortly.
''Deed it seems so,' acquiesced Lord Carleton, peering through his
glasses. 'A very indecent exhibition. Does there chance to be e'er a
doctor in the coort?'
One of the jurymen was an apothecary. He left the box and turned the
prostrate figure over.
'Can ye speak with assurance of the man's state?' demanded the judge.
'He is near his end, my lord,' answered the juryman.
'Is he now--are ye sure?' What with the heat, and what with the
untoward incident, my Lord Carleton was puzzled. No help could he get
from Lord Kilwarden, who leaned with his elbow on the desk and his
eyes shaded by his hand.
'Open the windy!' puffed the judge. 'For the Lord's sake let's have a
little air; maybe he's only sick. Can ye rouse him to hear his
judgment?'
The apothecary laid a palm upon his patient's heart.
'I cannot, my lord,' he replied. 'The man is dead!'
Already powerfully impressed by the surroundings and the lawyer's
warning, the people could endure no more. A panic seized them. They
rushed to the doors as though stifled by some fell miasma, and battled
to get out. The women screamed that they were being trodden under
foot; the men rained frantic blows upon the doors, tearing clothes and
fingers as they dragged them down. It was a scene of unreasoning
frenzy, such as none who were involved in it might ever forget. The
angel with the fiery sword was there; though invisible, his presence
could be felt. Lord Carleton ordered the remaining prisoner's removal.
Doreen's robe gleamed white in the first tinge of morning as, standing
by his side, she wound her arms about his neck. By-and-by Curran
gently disentangled them, and led her to her father, whilst dragoons
formed round the patriot, and cleared a passage for him through the
mob.
'More men to secure him in Kilmainham--there'll be a rescue!' bawled
Cassidy, who was driven to overmastering wrath by the posture of Miss
Wolfe, under his very nose.
'Fear nothing,' Terence replied; 'I will go quietly.'
Lord Kilwarden and Curran bore the maiden to a coach, and carried her
back to Strogue. Both were so filled with thankfulness for this
reprieve that they shook hands again and again, while Miss Wolfe lay
speechless in the carriage-corner. Her nerves had been strung to
extreme tension for the worst. Sudden joy is more hard to bear than
sorrow. The finely tempered steel which had withstood so many
assaults, gave way under the last shock. She remained long oblivious
of the world's affairs, tenderly nursed by Sara, who wondered, as day
followed day, whether her reason would ever return from the far-off
groves in which it wandered.