Mr Gorman seated himself silently in the stern, while I shoved off, and
hauled up the sail.
The storm was blowing still, but more westerly, so that the water was
quieter, and we could use the wind fairly to the point of the shoals.
After that it would be hard work to make my father's cabin.
I handed the sheet to his honour, and curled myself up in the bows.
Maurice Gorman was no great seaman, as I knew. But it was not for me to
thrust myself forward when he took the helm. Yet I confess I felt a
secret pleasure as I looked at the breakers ahead, and wondered how soon
he would call me aft to steer him through them.
To-night, as it seemed to me, he hugged the eastern shore more than
usual, thereby laying up for himself all the harder task when the time
came to cross in the face of the wind.
"Begging your honour's pardon," said I at last, "luff her, sir."
He paid no heed, but held on as we went till the shoals were long
distanced, and the black cliff of Kilgorman rose above us.
The day was now dawning, and the terrors of the place were somewhat
diminished. Yet I confess I looked up at the gaunt walls and chimneys
with uneasiness.
Now, as we came nearer, the mystery of the moving lights of the night
before suddenly cleared itself. For snugly berthed in a narrow creek of
the shore lay the strange cutter whose daring entry into the lough I had
yesterday witnessed. At the sight of her the curiosity I had felt, but
which my poor mother's message had driven from my head, revived.
Who and what was she? and what was she doing in Lough Swilly?
Then I recalled the strange words his honour had spoken last night in my
hearing, about the arms being landed and stowed. And I remembered
hearing some talk among the fisher folk of foreign weapons being
smuggled into Ireland against the king's law, and of foreign soldiers
coming, to help the people to tight against his Majesty.
I was too young to understand what it all meant, or why his Majesty was
to be fought with; for we were comfortable enough in our little cabin,
what with the sheep and my mother's savings, and my father's fish, and
the little that Tim and I could earn ferrying passengers over the lough.
I was too young, I say, to know what wanted altering, but the sight of
this queer-looking craft set me thinking about it.
"Get out your oar," said his honour suddenly, letting the sheet fly, and
running the boat into the creek.
My heart sank, for I hoped we were going across to where my poor mother
lay.
I got out the oar, and paddled the boat into the creek till we came up
to the stern of the cutter. _Cigale_--that was her name, painted on the
stern-board; but there was nothing to show her port or the flag she
flew.
At the sound of our bows grating on her side one of her crew ran aft and
looked over. He had a strange foreign appearance in his red cap, and
curls, and white teeth, and looked like some startled animal about to
spring on us. But his honour shouted something in French, and the man
scrambled over the side of the cutter with a grin and jumped lightly
into our boat, talking rapidly all the while.
I do not think Mr Gorman understood all he said, for he presently
ordered the man to hold his peace, and stepped ashore, beckoning me to
follow him.
I obeyed after making fast the painter. As we scrambled up the rocks
and reached the road which leads down from Kilgorman to the shore, I was
surprised to see several carts standing laden with sacks or straw, as
though on the way to market. Still more surprised was I when among the
knot of men, half-foreign sailors, half countrymen, who stood about,
sheltering as best they could from the sleet (for the weather was coming
in yet worse from the west), I recognised my father.
If he noticed me at first he made no sign of it, but walked up to
Maurice Gorman with a rough nod.
"Is all landed and stowed?" said his honour, repeating the question of
last night.
"'Tis," said my father shortly, nodding in the direction of the carts.
"How many are in the house?"
"There's two hundred."
"Father," said I, breaking in at this point, in spite of all the Gormans
of Donegal, "you're needed at home. Mother's dying, and sent me for his
honour to speak to her."
My father started, and his sunburnt cheeks paled a little as he looked
at Mr Gorman and then across the lough. He would fain have flown that
moment to the beat, but I could see he was too far under his honour's
thumb to do so without leave.
"We cannot spare you, Mike, till the job is finished. We must get the
carts to Derry before night."
"I'm thinking," said my father, "Barry here knows the road to Derry as
well as me. Who'll be minding a young boy on a cart of turnips?"
His honour mused a moment, and then nodded.
"Can you get the cutter away in this wind?" asked he.
"I could get her away as easy as I got her in," said my father; "but
she's well enough as she is for a day or two, by your honour's leave."
"Father," said I, all excitement, "sure it wasn't you ran the cutter
into the lough round Fanad yesterday? I knew nobody else could have
done it!"
My father grinned at the compliment.
"That's the boy knows one end of a ship from the other," said he.
Mr Gorman looked at me, and a thought seemed to strike him.
"Come here!" said he, beckoning me to him.
Once again he looked hard in my face, and I looked hard back.
"So you are Barry?" he demanded.
"I am," said I.
"And you'd like to be a sailor?"
"No," I retorted. It was a lie, but I would be under no favour to his
honour.
His honour grunted, and talked in a low voice to my father, who
presently said to me,--
"Take the turnips to Joe Callan's, in Derry, on the Ship Quay. Wait
till dark before you go into the city. Tell him there's more where
these came from."
"Is it guns you mane?" said I.
"Hold your tongue, you limb of darkness," growled my father. "It's
turnips. If any one asks you, mind you know nothing, and never heard of
his honour in your life."
By which I understood this was a very secret errand, and like enough to
land me in Derry Jail before all was done. Had I not been impatient to
see my father and his honour away to Fanad, I think I should have made
excuses. But I durst not say another word, and with a heavy heart
clambered to the top of the turnips and started on my long journey.
Before I had passed the hill I could see the white sail of our little
boat dancing through the broken water of the lough, and knew that my
father and Mr Gorman were on their way to set my mother's mind at rest.
In the midst of my trouble and ill-humour I smiled to think what a poor
figure his honour would have cut trying to make Fanad in that wind. My
father could sail in the teeth of anything, and some day folk would be
able to say the same of his son Barry.
It was a long, desolate drive over stony hills and roads whose ruts
swallowed half my wheels, with now and then a waste of bog to cross, and
now and then a stream to ford. For hours I met not a soul nor saw a
sign of life except the cattle huddling on the hillside, or the smoke of
some far-away cabin.
My mare was a patient, leisurely beast, with no notion of reaching the
city before her time, and no willingness to exchange her sedate jog for
all the whipping or "shooing" in Ireland.
Presently, as it came to the afternoon, I left the mountain road and
came on to the country road from Fahan to Derry. Here I met more
company; but no one heeded me much, especially when it was seen that my
turnips were a poor sort, and that he who had charge of them was but a
slip of a boy, with not a word to say to any one.
"Are you for Derry?" one woman asked as she overtook me on the road.
"So you may say," said I, hoping that would be the end of her.
But she carried a bundle, and was not to be put aside so easily.
"I'll just take a lift with you," said she.
But I jogged on without a word.
"Arrah, will you stop till I get up? Is it deaf ye are?" said she.
"'Deed I am," said I, whipping my beast.
It went to my heart to play the churl to a woman, but I durst not let
her up on the turnips, where perhaps a chance kick of her feet might
betray the ugly guns beneath.
I was sorry afterwards I did not yield to my better instincts, for the
woman was known in these parts, and with her perched beside me no one
would have looked twice at me or my cart.
As it was, when I had shaken her off, and left her rating me loudly till
I was out of sight, I passed one or two folk who, but that it was
growing dusk, might have caused me trouble. One was a clergyman, who
hailed me and asked did not I think my beast would be the better of a
rest, and that, for turnips, my load seemed a heavy one, and so forth.
To ease him, I was forced to halt at the next village, to give the poor
beast a feed and a rest. Here two soldiers came up and demanded where I
came from.
"From Fahan," said I, naming the town I had lately passed.
"Whose turnips are these?"
"Mister Gallagher's," said I.
They seemed inclined to be more curious; but as good luck would have it,
the clergyman came up just then and spoke to me in a friendly way as he
passed, for he was glad to see me merciful to my beast.
And the soldiers, when they saw me acquainted with so reverend a
gentleman, took for granted I was on a harmless errand, and went further
on to inquire for the miscreant they were in search of.
The fellow of the yard where I fed my horse laughed as he watched me
mount up on to my turnips.
"Faith, them's the boys to smell a rat. It's guns they're looking for;
as if they'd travel by daylight on the highroad."
"I'm told a great many arms are being smuggled into the country," said
the clergyman.
"To be sure," replied the man; "but if they get this length it's by the
hill-roads and after dark. Why, I'll go bail they would have looked for
guns under this gossoon's turnips if your reverence hadn't known him."
It seemed to me time to drive on, and with a salute to his reverence I
touched up my horse smartly, and left these two to finish their talk
without me.
By this time it was nearly dark, so that I had less trouble from
passers-by. My beast, despite her meal, showed no signs of haste, and I
was forced to lie patiently on the top of my load, waiting her pleasure
to land me in Derry.
The clock was tolling ten as I came on to the Ship Quay, and tired
enough I was with my long day's drive. Yet I was a little proud to have
come to my journey's end safely, albeit that story I had told about
Fahan stuck in my conscience.
I had been once before with my father to Joe Callan's, who kept a store
of all sorts of goods, and was one of the best-known farmers' tradesmen
in the city. It was some time before I could arouse him and bring him
down to let me in. And while I waited, rousing the echoes, I was very
nearly being wrecked in port, for a watchman came up and demanded what I
wanted disturbing the peace of the city at that hour.
When I explained that I had brought Mr Callan a load of turnips, he
wanted to know where they came from, and why they should arrive so late.
"The roads were bad between this and Fahan," said I.
To my alarm he took up a turnip in his hand and put it to his nose.
"I'm thinking Joe Callan's no judge of a turnip," said he, "if this is
what suits him. Maybe that's why you're so anxious to get them in after
dark. He'll not wake out of his sleep for the like of these, so you may
just shoot them in a heap at his door, and they'll be safe enough till
the morning."
My jaw dropped when he proposed this and made ready to lend me a hand.
"Begging your honour's pardon," said I, "I was to spake to Mister Callan
about the turnips."
"Sure, I can tell him that. Let the man sleep."
"But the horse has been on the road all day," said I.
The watchman pricked his ears.
"All day, and only came from Fahan?" said he.
Here, to my vast relief, a window opened above me and a head appeared.
"What's the noise about at all, at all?" called Mr Callan.
"'Deed that's just what I'm asking him," said the watchman. "And since
you're awake, Mr Callan, you may see to it. To my thinking the noise
is not worth the turnips. So good-night to you."
I was never more glad to see a man's back. In due time Mr Callan came
down in his night-cap, lantern in hand.
"Turnips," said he, as he looked first at me, then at the cart. "Whose
turnips are they?"
"They're from Knockowen, sir," said I. "My father, Mike Gallagher, bade
me tell you there's more where they came from."
He pulled the bolt of his yard gate without a word, and signed to me to
back in the cart; which I did, dreading every moment lest the watchman
should return.
When we were inside, the gate was shut, and Mr Callan turned his
lantern towards me.
"You're a young lad to send with a load like this," said he. "Did no
one overhaul you on the road?"