ATE.
Robert (or Mr. Hewitt, for so was he enrolled among the chalked-up
inmates of the lodging where he dwelt) betrayed no less emotion than
the rest of Dublin citizens when the word flew from mouth to mouth
that as an independent nation Ireland was extinguished. He and a few
trusty followers were waiting for the official announcement of
Ireland's disgrace in their depot--a shambling set of outhouses
situated near Merchant's Quay. Sirr's raid, whereby he captured so
much material, was annoying no doubt; but Robert was full of his star
and the mantle that Theobald had thrown to him.
Of course when the Castle was captured, Dublin would surrender without
a blow. He had his scheme prepared, which was instilled into the minds
of the Wicklow banditti. They were to creep to their posts at
nightfall and await his signal--a rocket; then to rush from different
points upon the Castle, choosing the narrowest streets in order that
if attacked their peculiar style of warfare might prove effective. In
a narrow passage, he argued, the pike--a weapon nine feet long--is
more telling than a musket with its bayonet. The people in the houses
might of course be expected to take part against the military, and
give them a warm reception from the housetops with a galling fire of
bricks and coping-stones. If necessary they might be employed in
dragging up the pavement in the rear of the King's troops, to expose
the new-made drains as pitfalls. In any case the regulars, thrown into
confusion, would roll over each other, and, helpless in a choked
thoroughfare, might be piked and stoned to a man. At prearranged
turnings, barriers were to be thrown up, constructed of carts, doors,
hogsheads. This would be done in a few seconds by the willing help of
surrounding inhabitants. In all cases the pikemen were bidden to
advance at a brisk trot that weight might counterbalance defective
discipline; intrepid men being stationed at the ends of every rank to
keep the masses compact and prevent wavering.
Robert's own position (and the rallying-point in case of retreat) was
to be the watch-house which stood on the Old Bridge, and which
commanded the narrow entry by which troops would come, if sent for,
from Chapelizod. From the tower which crowned the watch-house he would
send up his rocket; then, allowing time for the marching of the
different divisions to their respective posts, he would leave a
sufficient body there to hold the bridge, and hurry to the Castle
gates, lest some one might steal the envied privilege of dragging down
the detested flag. Elaborate were his arrangements in theory with
regard to barricades. Beams had been left lying about with prearranged
carelessness, ready to be picked up and slung at a moment's notice. As
he donned his uniform--scarlet coat with gold epaulettes, white vest,
pantaloons of tender grey--his first-lieutenant (one Quigley, a baker,
who rejoiced exceedingly in a huge green plume) remarked with regret
that perhaps their object would have been best achieved by taking a
hint from Fawkes. 'Nothing could have been easier, and if successful
more complete. Sure, it was the want of a reform in the senate that
had brought Erin to this plight. The senate destroyed, she might begin
again on the basis of '82, with hope refreshed and a clean slate.'
Robert looked with displeasure at his truculent lieutenant.
'What! There were women in the galleries. Destroy the innocent with
the guilty, by the hundred?'
'Haven't they kilt thousands--women and children galore--bad luck to
'em!' retorted the bellicose baker. 'After all, there was no fear of
the escape of the guilty now. The hand of the avenger should seek out
the recreants and put them to the edge of the sword--stem, root, and
branch; their houses should be heaps of stones; their homes be made
desolate. The world would applaud the vengeance of the downtrodden!'
Robert was displeased by his lieutenant's views. He who by
constitutional instinct so dreaded bloodshed, had battled with his
fears and girded on the sword of Joshua, carried above physical
antipathies by the sacred cause of the oppressed. Yet was it with a
secret terror that he listened to such language as that of the
gentleman with the green plume. It filled him with loathing. Thank
Heaven that he, the chief, was there to keep the men in order, and
temper justice with mercy! The goddess of justice, he believed, should
appear white and shining, not dabbled with the gore of those who had
done no wrong. So he tried to reason with himself. The work of Joshua,
if the legend was to be believed, had been a bloody one, which
ascended with a sweet savour of sacrifice in the nostrils of a
vengeful Deity. If it was the will of stern Justice that the sinful
brethren should be slaughtered, and with them the innocent, why, then
responsibility was taken from his hands, and it would be presumption
to attempt to dictate.
It was not without a certain trepidation that Robert scanned the
timepiece, watching its moving hands. The Commons were still
sitting--the farce was not quite over. An hour or two might elapse
before the hateful flag was run up to its place. He employed the time
in exhorting his followers--there were only fifty of them--to behave
with continence to the conquered foe.
'Some of us,' he said, 'may be called to join the band of those who
have already given their lives on the scaffold, or on the field. Let
not that distress you. Right is on our side if we commit no crimes.
Eternal fame is worth more than a few years on this sad earth. The
reputation of the few who fall in our holy cause will abide after
them, a precious legacy to those whom they love and honour, to those
whom they have snatched from slavery--for whom they are proud to
perish.'
He talked himself into an exalted fervour, which swept away his
scruples. His followers, too, were caught by his enthusiasm. They
vowed that no evil deed should smirch their banner; that what they
fought for was liberty--the hacking off of chains; that they would
give to Europe an example of high-minded patriotism,' unblemished by
petty license.
Robert was relieved and grateful. It was close on midnight when he
drew his sword, and crying, 'Boys, come on!' dashed forth into the
street. Though so late, the citizens were not in bed, but standing at
their doors and windows discoursing of that which was now an
accomplished fact. They looked at the insignificant knot that ran
cheering past with consternation.
What manner of men were these who carried sheaves of pikes? What was
this youth in martial garb, who waved over his head a sabre? Robert
and his lieutenants harangued the citizens, distributed weapons,
dragged some who wavered to the depot, where they would find arms and
ammunition. They were soon the centre of a delirious crowd, who jumped
and sang and danced like maniacs. The lad's hopes beat high, his face
beamed with excitement. Heaven had answered promptly; recruits were
gathering like sand. Women and children rushed about screaming; wives
tugged at their husbands' garments, imploring them to come away, lest
peradventure their end should be the gallows. Some one called out that
the soldiery were upon them, and then the warriors just now so valiant
fled with precipitation up alleys, courts and lanes, dropping their
pikes, tearing at those in front who impeded their flight, rolling
over and over in the frenzy of their haste to wriggle out of
musket-range. Brutality and cowardice are the corollaries of slavery;
both made themselves conspicuous on this dreadful night.
Finding that it was a false alarm (for the soldiers were on guard half
a mile away, about the Senate-house), those who a moment since were
crouching behind their wives, surged out again as if to protest by
deeds against involuntary panic, and ran with yells after the youth in
scarlet. To the Old Bridge was a few paces. They gave a prolonged howl
as they came in sight of it, which echoed and re-echoed along the
Liffey banks, and penetrated even to the Castle, where Lord
Cornwallis, his mind relieved in that the work was done, was
congratulating the smirking chancellor on the final success of the
grand measure. Both started and looked at one another. What a strange
uproar! Could it be thunder? Lord Clare opened the casement and peered
out. A rocket rose into the air and burst; another howl--louder, more
prolonged than the first one. Lord Clare closed the window quietly and
shrugged his shoulders, muttering, as he secured the hasp:
'Sirr was right, then. I really could scarce credit that they should
be such idiots. Yet are they silly enough for anything.' Then turning
with a sour smile to the Viceroy, he said: 'Thank goodness, it's well
over. This ferment is not worth considering. How can I do otherwise
than blush at being an Irishman? My Lord Castlereagh thinks, as I do,
that the work we have this day finished is a subject for universal
thanksgiving.'
Singularly enough, the sympathy of the Viceroy was not with his
colleagues my Lords Clare and Castlereagh, but with those who were by
this time brandishing their pikes in Thomas Street, for he pitied the
deluded people sorely whose flame of rebellion against the inevitable
was making this last melancholy flicker.
The Union was a fact now. It was done; and would ultimately, so soon
as sores were healed, be productive of much good, for the people would
be protected by a distant but temperate master against the turbulent
raging of their own factions. But for all that, this desperate handful
who preferred death to slavery, were more worthy of respect than the
polished gentleman before him who had sold his own brethren into
bondage. So thought the Viceroy; but Lord Cornwallis, bluff soldier
though he was, had learned to school his features. He therefore
contented himself with observing that nocturnal rioting must be put
down, and that the chancellor had better accept a bed in the Castle,
considering that if he ventured out among the rioters he would
certainly be torn to pieces. Then glancing down into Castle-yard,
which was full of soldiers, he bade his guest good-night, and retired
to the solitude of his own chamber.
Arrived at the Old Bridge, Robert let off his rocket, while the
ever-increasing crowd gibbered and hallooed. The night was very dark.
In the transient flare the expectant mob beheld a martial figure that
glittered with gold braid, waving a big sword. A grand figure
entirely--who was he? no matter. With him they would fall or conquer,
they declared, though the majority of the mob were hazy as to the work
which there was to do. The word was given and rippled along the ranks:
'To the Castle, to slay the tyrant!' 'To the Castle, to the Castle!'
they all yelled and bellowed helter-skelter up Thomas Street, for the
object was plain and praiseworthy--to storm the palace of the Viceroy.
Robert led the way, brandishing his immense blade; the bellicose baker
looked after the rear. Both exhorted as many as were within hearing to
steadiness and calm. But those behind pushed those who were in front.
It was as much as Robert could do to keep his feet. Vainly he bawled.
Nobody heard him any more, for all were chattering like excited
monkeys; nobody in the dense blackness could distinguish his uniform.
He had let a torrent loose, but could not guide it. Half-way up Thomas
Street he became conscious of a diversion--the pressure to the front
became weaker--something unexpected was happening at the farther
extremity of the thoroughfare. The mob were gesticulating--heaving to
and fro. Was it a surprise? Were the military come in from Chapelizod?
Had they beaten down the little watch-house garrison, or had
they--forewarned--approached the scene of action by another route? The
bellicose lieutenant would need assistance and counsel--pray Heaven he
was staunch! Their leader buffeted with the mob, but they heeded him
not. It was essential that he should see what was passing, that he
should fly to the succour of his second in command, who was battling
with this human maelstrom. How dark the night was! The moon, which was
at the full, was clouded over. Raising himself on the steps of a
house, he strained his eyes over the sea of faces and detected little
lights--flambeaux apparently, which tossed and floundered, then went
out. This could be no military attack. The men must be committing some
outrage upon persons who had fallen into their hands--innocent persons
possibly, who, according to the tenets of the baker, were to suffer
for the transgressions of the guilty. Robert was in an agony, for the
monster he had conjured into life refused to hearken to his chiding.
He cried that the cause must not be sullied, that pure-souled patriots
must not play the night-assassin; but his voice was as the buzzing of
an insect. 'Forward!' he shouted till he was hoarse; 'forward to the
Castle!' He might as well have shouted to the ocean. Those about him
pushed and elbowed, screaming wild oaths and execrations; for, unable
to see what was going on, they were half-fearful of treachery,
half-anxious to bear their part. Despite his gay accoutrement Robert
found himself crushed against a railing, till his ribs threatened to
collapse under the pressure. With a supreme effort he shook himself
free, and fell backwards through a doorway. He recognised it--how
lucky! It led by a narrow alley into the adjoining road, which ran
parallel with Thomas Street. Sure, this was another mark of Heaven's
approbation; for by following it he could skirt the mob, and, running
round, discover the cause of the diversion. The adjoining road was
empty; the terrified householders had closed their doors and shutters
and, trembling, were peeping through the chinks. Painful experience
had taught them caution. As he sped along, his feet pattering
strangely in the solitude, Robert could catch the murmur, as of water
dashing upon rocks, over the roofs, a house-thickness off. Running
with all his speed, he turned the corner and flung himself against the
rolling swell; beheld with despair a coach--one whose liveries he knew
of old--rocking and swaying in danger of being upset, while the horses
plunged wildly and the coachman sat paralysed, with a pistol at his
ear. The door had been rent from its hinges; the silken curtains hung
in tatters. One of the occupants, a man of fine presence and middle
age, had been dragged out, and lay upon the stones surrounded by a
crew of savages. The other, a woman, leaned out of the carriage,
imploring help in dumb show for the man upon the ground. Convulsed
with horror, Robert forced a passage with the flat of his sabre. One
light--the single flambeau which had escaped extinguishing--threw a
ghastly glare on the surge of scowling ruffians. Blood trickled from
the forehead of the man upon the ground; upon his black satin vest and
smallclothes, upon his cambric shirt, as he strove to rise. He
staggered up, clutching at a wheel, and waved his hand to obtain a
hearing. 'Good people,' he panted, but his words reached those only
who stood close by, 'I have never done you harm. I am Kilwarden, chief
justice of the King's Bench.'
'Justice!' gibed the baker. 'She's gone long since where you shall
follow her!'
The mob, which had ebbed in a momentary recoil, flowed forward again
with a rush. A dozen pikes were poised and fell. Doreen, who could see
what passed within the circle, tossed her helpless arms and filled the
night air with shrieks; while Robert, distracted, beat his breast and
tore his hair.
A sharp ring of hoofs clattered on the road--nearer--nearer--nearer
still. A band of horsemen were approaching at a gallop from the quay;
behind--in the distance--a host of cavalry; from the opposite
direction the tramp of many feet. The Castle-gates had been opened;
the infantry were pouring forth; the mob, finding itself hemmed in,
smote right and left in a frantic effort to escape.
The smaller band of horsemen, headed by Shane and Cassidy, were the
first to reach the coach. They drew their _couteaux-de-chasse_, and,
beating aside the unwieldy pikes, which were too long for such close
quarters, trampled the insurgents down.
'The lady, Lord Glandore!' Cassidy shouted. 'Now's your time!'
'Oh, save her!' raved Robert, in remorse. 'My God, what have I done?
Save her, Lord Glandore!'
Shane stretched out his hand towards his cousin. Chance was favouring
him. Under pretext of protecting her, the project planned by the giant
could without difficulty be accomplished now. Doreen shrank back.
'Begone!' she wailed, filled with the anguish of that heap upon the
ground. 'What have you done with your brother--bastard!'
Shane winced, as from a whip-cut on the cheek. She, too, then knew the
fatal secret; but it mattered not, for she was in his power. The
military were closing in upon the mob. In the scurry and the darkness
he would bear her far away. He was well known; what more natural than
that her cousin should rescue the bereaved Miss Wolfe from such a
scene?
Dismounting, he strode over the corpse of Lord Kilwarden, and calling
on his friends to rally round the coach, prepared to withdraw it from
the _melee_.
Upon hearing the name, twice repeated, the man who had held the pistol
to the coachman's ear turned sharply round.
'You then are Lord Glandore?' he asked. 'The curse of God has found
you, murderer! You and a few like you slew my father four years agone
in sport on Stephen's Green! Do you recall it? He was only an old
man--a shoemaker. Maybe you don't, for you've done many such deeds,
and you were drunk!'
Shane thrust the importunate babbler aside, and ordered the coachman
to urge on his horses.
'I've waited for my revenge all this while, my lord,' muttered the
man, 'and you don't escape me now.'
Raising his pistol with steady aim, he shot Shane through the heart,
and, diving, vanished in the crowd.
Cassidy was taken aback. Hitherto everything had moved according to
his desire. Were his well-constructed schemes to be disconcerted now?
He looked up the street and down the street at the compact bodies of
troops advancing, then with a rage of longing at Doreen. Yes! his plan
was overthrown; a new one must spring out of its ashes. Shane, by
virtue of his cousinship, might have borne the young lady with safety
through the ranks. He, Cassidy, could hope for no such privilege.
Well, better luck next time. But it would not do to lose his footing
at Strogue Abbey. _Le roi est mort; vive le roi!_ He bethought him of
a certain prisoner within the provost, kidnapped the other day, whose
position was quite changed by that untoward pistol-shot. All things
considered, Mr. Cassidy could not have acted with more wisdom than he
did. He left Doreen to the tender mercies of the soldiery, and spurred
with utmost speed towards the provost.