"Is that the whole of ye?"
"No," cried my custodian, pushing me forward with the butt-end of his
gun. "There's a boy here, plaze your honour, captain, that we took this
day. It's him that gave Larry Dugan his death that night we visited
Knockowen."
The leader turned me to the moonlight and scrutinised my face sharply.
"I had forgotten him," said he; "he should have been left behind.--That
was a bad business at Knockowen."
"'Deed, sir," said I, plucking up a little heart at the mildness of his
manner, "I did no more than your honour would have done in my shoes; I
defended the women. And as for Larry Dugan, it was a mischance he was
hit."
A hurried consultation took place among the chief of the confederates,
during which I was left standing in suspense.
It was against me that I had been present and overheard all this
business of the oath. That, it was evident, weighed more against me
than the part I had taken in the defence of the Knockowen women. Were
they to let me go now, the society would be at the mercy of my tongue.
It would be simpler, as some advised, to put me out of harm's way then
and there with an ounce of lead in my head.
Presently the consultation ended.
"Give him the oath," said the leader; and the book was held out to me,
while a couple of guns were pointed at my head.
It was an ugly choice, I confess. Little as I understood the nature of
the work in hand, I had gathered enough to know that the oath sold me
body and soul to men who would stick at nothing to gain their end, and
that in taking it I became not only a traitor to the king, but an
accomplice of murder and outrage.
Yet what could I do? Young life is sweet, and hope is not to be thrown
away like a burned-out match. Besides, I longed to see Tim once more
before I died, and--I blushed in the midst of my terror--my little
mistress.
"Loose my hands," said I, "and give me the book."
The muzzles of the guns laid their cold touch on my cheeks as the cord
was unfastened.
Then in a sort of dream I held the book and began to repeat the words.
I know not how far I had gone, or to what I had pledged myself, when a
sudden shout from one of the sentries brought everything to an end.
"Whisht--soldiers!" was the shout.
In a moment the hollow was almost empty. Men scuttled away right and
left like sheep at the alarm of the dog. Those who guarded me let me go
and raced for the gap. The clerk left paper and pen and lantern on the
ground and slunk towards the rocks. I was left standing, book in hand,
with but one of the party, and that one the leader, beside me.
"Kiss the book," said he in a menacing tone.
I looked at him. He was not armed, and I was as free a man as he.
Quick as thought I seized the list which the clerk had dropped on the
ground.
"Your secret is safe," said I, flourishing it in his face, "so long as
the women at Knockowen are unhurt. But my soul and my hand are my own."
So saying I flung the book and struck him a blow on the breast which
sent him reeling back against the rock. And off I went among the
bracken, thanking God for this peril escaped.
As I have often proved many a time since, the road to safety lies often
on the side of danger. Most of the fugitives had made for the hills in
an opposite direction to that towards which the sentinel had pointed. I
went the other way, and hid myself under a broad flat rock near the
roadside, guessing that no one would ever look for lurkers there.
And in so doing I was able to discover what the others would have given
something to be sure of:--that the sentinel's alarm had been a false one
altogether, and that what he took for soldiers was no more than a party
of revellers returning from a harvest dance in high good spirits along
the road. I even recognised some of the familiar faces I had known at
Fanad in the old days, and was sorely tempted to claim acquaintance.
But prudence forbade. As sure as daylight came no effort would be
spared to hunt me down. For had I not the secret of this society in my
own hands, down to the very list of its members? A word from me could
smoke them in their holes like rats in a drain. It was not likely I
should be allowed to remain at large; and when caught next time, I might
promise myself no such good luck as had befallen me to-night.
So I lay low till the road was clear, and then struck north for Fanad,
where I knew nooks and crannies enough to keep me hid, if need be, for a
month to come.
For a week I lodged uncomfortably enough in one of the deep caves that
pierce the coast, which at high tide was unapproachable except by
swimming, and at low so piled up with sea-weed at its mouth as to seem
only a mere hole in the cliff. Here, on a broad ledge high beyond reach
of the tide, I spent the weary hours, living for the most part on sea-
weed, or a chance crab or lobster, cooked at a fire of bracken or hay,
collected at peril of my life in the upper world.
Once as I peeped out I saw a boat cruising along the shore, and
discovered in one of its crew no other than he who had acted as leader
of the gathering of a week ago. So near did they come that I could even
hear their voices.
"You're wastin' your time, captain, over a spalpeen like that. Sure, if
he's alive he's far enough away by this time."