Our journey northward was uneventful. Captain Swift and I parted
company at Derry. My orders were to join the _Diana_ at Dublin at the
end of the month, which allowed me only a little over a fortnight for my
business in Donegal.
You may fancy with what mingled feelings I found myself one evening
standing once more on the quay at Rathmullan, looking down the lough as
it lay bathed in the shifting colours of the spring sunset, trying to
detect in the distance the familiar little clump of trees behind which
nestled Knockowen House. Was this journey one of peace or of war? Did
hope lurk for me behind yonder trees; or had I come all this way to
discover that the old comrade was forsaken for the new, and that the
humble star of the sailor boy had been snuffed out by the gay sun of the
gentleman soldier?
Then as my eye travelled further north and caught the bluff headlands
towards the lough mouth, other doubts seized me. My mother's message
had burned holes in my pocket ever since I set foot again on Irish soil.
And that sacred duty done, what fate awaited me among the secret rebels
from whose clutches, when last I saw the Swilly, I was fleeing for my
life, but who now, if I was to believe what I had heard, counted Tim, my
own brother, in their ranks?
Late as it was, I was too impatient to postpone my fate by a night's
rest at the inn, and hired a boat for a sail down the lough.
Few men were about, and those who were could never have recognised in
the tall, bronzed, bearded boatswain the poor, uncouth lad who four
years ago rowed his honour's boat. One or two that I saw I fancied I
knew, one particularly, who had changed little since he held his gun to
my head that night on the hills when I half took the oath of the
society.
It was market day, and many boats were on the water, so that little
notice was taken of me as I hoisted my sail and ran down on the familiar
tack for the point below Knockowen.
The light soon fell, and I watched eagerly for the window lights. Once
or twice on the road north I had heard of the travellers in the private
carriage, and knew they had reached home a day or two ago; and to this
news one gossip that I encountered on the road to Rathmullan added that
Mistress Gorman, my little lady's mother, had died two years ago, and
that the maid was now her father's only companion and housekeeper.
Presently the well-known twinkle of light shot out, and towards it, with
a heart that throbbed more restlessly than my boat, I turned my keel.
When I came up level with the house it was all I could do to refrain
from running my boat alongside the landing-place as of yore. I lowered
my sail and let her drift as close under the bank as possible. No one
was stirring. There were lights in the upper room, and one above the
hall-door. Towards the former I strained my eyes longingly for a
glimpse even of her shadow. How long I waited I knew not--it might have
been a minute or an hour--but presently she came, her figure, more
womanly than when I last saw it, dark against the light within, and her
hair falling in waves upon her shoulder. She stood for a moment at the
closed window, then opened it and looked out. The night was cold and
dark; but she braved it, and sat humming a tune, her hand playing with
the ivy that crept up to the window-sill.
The air was one I knew. Many a time had she crooned it in the old days
as I rowed her in the boat. Once, on a specially happy evening, she had
sung it in the attic on the Quai Necker in Paris, and had laughed when I
put in a rough bass.
I could not help, as I stood and listened, repeating the experiment,
first very softly, then less so, and finally loud enough for her to
hear.
What fools we men are! At that instant, with a savage howl, a dog--my
own dog Con--rushed down the garden to the spot. The window closed
abruptly; there was a sound of voices in the yard and a drawing of bolts
at the hall-door, and a hurrying of lights within. I had barely time to
cast off from the stake by which I held, and let my boat into the rapid
ebb, when footsteps sounded on the gravel, and a shot fired into the
night woke the echoes of the lough.
So much for my serenading, and so much for the life of security and
peace my little mistress was doomed to live in her father's house.
I cared not much where the tide took me after that, till presently the
tossing of my boat warned me that I must be on the reef off Kilgorman
cliffs. In the darkness I could see nothing, but my memory was strong
enough to serve for moon and compass both. On this tide and with this
wind ten minutes would bring me into the creek.
Why not? Why not now as well as any other time? I was a man, and
feared ghosts no longer. Love had been warned away from Knockowen; duty
should welcome me at Kilgorman. So I put down my helm, let out my
sheet, commended myself to my Maker, and made for the black rocks.
I was determined to avoid the creek and make for the house by the narrow
cave which, as I had discovered at my last visit, led up from the shore
to the great hearth in the kitchen of the house, and which, as it then
seemed, was a secret passage known only to his honour and the smugglers
in his employ. It needed some groping about in the dark to find the
ledge of rock behind which was the small crack in the cliff that marked
the entrance; but I hit on it after a little, and, shoving through,
found myself inside the cave. I moored my boat beside the rocky ledge,
and then clambered up to the entrance of the narrow gallery. Once there
my course was clear; only I wished I had a light, for I knocked first my
head, then my knees, then my elbows, and finally had to complete the
journey in humble fashion on my hands and knees.
It surprised me greatly, when after long groping I supposed myself close
to my destination, to perceive the glimmer of a light at the end of the
passage, still more to hear the sound of voices. Were they ghosts or
smugglers, or what?
If ghosts, I was disposed to venture on. That they were smugglers I
could hardly believe, for there had been no sight of a ship anywhere
near, nor of a boat in the cave. Whoever they were, they must have
entered the place by the ordinary way above ground, and if so were
probably unaware of the secret passage. At any rate, I had come so far,
and would not turn back till I saw good reason. I had a pistol in my
pocket and a tolerably handy knife, with which, even if surprised, I
could give a good account of myself. So I crawled on, and presently
came to a place where I could stand upright, and crept close under the
corner of the upright stones that flanked the great hearth.
The mystery of the light and voices was soon explained. About a dozen
men were assembled in the kitchen, lit up by the glare of a common
candle, engaged in earnest consultation. Among the few faces which the
light revealed to me I recognised some of my old foes of the secret
society, and in the voices of others whose faces were hidden I
recognised more.
The subject under discussion was twofold, and as its meaning gradually
dawned on me I felt no compunction in listening.
The first matter was a letter, which had evidently been read before I
arrived, from the leaders of the United Irishmen in Dublin, calling for
a return of the members and officers and arms in each district. From
what I could gather, Donegal was not a hopeful region. It numbered,
indeed, a few branches of the society scattered up and down the county
like that now in session, and was supposed to possess a few arms, and to
be able when called upon to put into the field a few drilled men; but
compared with other districts it was ineffective, and more given over to
smuggling and unorganised raids than to disciplined work for the cause
of Irish liberty.
This, as far as I could gather, was the subject of the somewhat
upbraiding letter which had arrived from headquarters.
"Arrah, thin, and it's the truth they're spakin'," said one voice, "and
we'll need to be moving."
"Move, is it? How'll you move when only the half of yez--and that's
some of yez as are not here the night--come to the meetings? Sure we
could move fast enough if all the boys that's sworn would jine us."
"Anyhow, here's the paper. It 'ud be a shame if Donegal was not to have
a hand in the turn-out when it comes. Bedad, I'd move across to Antrim
if it came to that."
"And as for officers, sure we're well off for them. Isn't Larry
Flanagan here a rale born secretary; and Jake Finn makes an iligant
treasurer; and as for captain--"
"Ah, I can name you the man for that."
"Who now? for it's not iverybody that'll suit."
"Tim Gallagher's your man."
If I started at this, the sound was lost in the general acclamation
which the proposal evoked.
"Faith, and you've named the very boy. Young as he is, his heart's in
the business."
"And more by tokens, he's well spoke of by them that know. I'm even
told Lord Edward has a good word for him."
"If there's anything against him, it is that he's brother to that scurvy
informer that set Gorman on to us, and who, I hear, is still about. Tim
will have to go the whole hog if he's to lead us. There's hunting down
to be done, I warn you, as well as fighting."
"Anyhow, Tim's the boy for us, and I propose him. He's due back this
week, if he's not caught by his honour's ferrets."
"That brings us to the other matter," said the man already spoken of as
Flanagan, the secretary, in whom I recognised one of my old persecutors,
"and it's about that same vermin. I've a letter from the Ulster
Committee bidding us deal with Gorman in a way that's best for the good
of Ireland."
"That means a bullet in him," said one man bluntly.
"Faith, and you've hit it, my lad. We've been squeamish enough."
"It's got to be done, and soon, or he'll get the upper hand of us.
There's men of his away seizing the arms in Rathmullan and Milford this
week--him as was the manes of bringing them in too!"
"It's one man's job. His house is too well guarded for a raid; he must
be met on the hillside. I say, let's draw lots. To-morrow he's to ride
to Malin by the Black Hill road."
"Ay, that's the road Terence Gorman rode the night he paid his debts.
It's a grand place for squaring up is the Black Hill."
"Come now," said Flanagan, who had been busily marking a piece of paper,
"there's a paper for each of yez, and the one that draws the cross is
the boy for the job. Come, one at a time now; draw out of my ould hat,
and good luck to yez all."
One by one they advanced and drew, and the lot fell on one they called
Paddy Corkill, whose vicious face fell a little as he saw the fatal
mark.
"Arrah, and it's me hasn't aven a gun," said he.
"Take mine--it's a good one," said the secretary; "and more by tokens it
was Tim Gallagher's once, for he gave it me, and his name's on it. To-
morrow noight we meet here to hear your news, Paddy, if we're not on the
hill, some of us, to see the job done."
"Faith, if it must be done it must," said Paddy. "It's no light thing
setting a country free."
"Away with yez now," said the secretary, "or the ghost will be hunting
yez."
On which the meeting dispersed. I could hear their footsteps die away
down the passage, and presently pass crunching on the gravel outside,
while I remained crouched where I was, as still as a mouse, hardly
knowing if I was awake or dreamed.
There was no time to be lost, that I could plainly see. But how to
prevent this wicked crime was what puzzled me. I could not hope to gain
admittance to Knockowen at this time of night; or if I did, I should
probably only thwart my own object, and subject myself to arrest as the
associate of assassins. His honour, I knew, was in the habit of
starting betimes when business called him to Malin. If I was to do
anything, it must be on the Black Hill itself; and thither, accordingly,
I resolved to go.
But before I quitted Kilgorman I had another duty scarcely less sacred
than that of saving a life from destruction. I stood on the very spot
to which my mother's last message had pointed me, and nothing should
tear me now from the place till that wandering spirit was eased of its
nightly burden.
"_If you love God, whoever you are_," (so the message ran), "_seek below
the great hearth; and what you find there, see to it, as you hope for
grace. God send this into the hands of one who loves truth and charity.
Amen_."
Even while I repeated the words to myself, my ear seemed to catch the
fluttering footstep advancing down the passage and hear the rustle of
the woman's dress as she passed through the door and approached my
hiding-place. A beam of moonlight struck across the floor, and the
night wind-swept with a wail round the gables without. Then all was
silence, except what seemed to my strained senses a light tap, as with
the sole of a foot, on the flagstone that stretched across in front of
the fireplace. After that even the wind hushed and the moonlight went
out.
I advanced cautiously over the embers, and felt my way down the room and
into the passage without. There, where the conspirators had left it,
stood the candle, and the tinder-box beside it. I carried the light
back to the hearth, shading it with my hand for fear any one without
might see it, and set it down beside the flagstone. All over this stone
I groped without finding any trace of a rift or any hint of how to lift
so formidable a weight. It seemed fast set in the boards, and gave no
sound of hollowness or symptom of unsteadiness when I tried it.
I was almost beginning to lose heart, when I knelt by chance, not on the
stone, but on a short board at the side, which ran at right angles with
the general planks, and seemed intended as part of a kind of framework
to the stone. This board creaked under my weight; and when I looked
more closely at it, I discovered a couple of sunk hinges let deep into
the plank adjoining, and covered over with dust and rust. With my
sailor's knife I cleared away at the edges, and after several trials,
one of which broke my blade, I managed to raise it and swing it back on
its hinges.
The slight cavity below was full of dirt and rubbish, and it was not
till I had cleared these away that I found it ran partly under the
adjoining flagstone. The hole was too small to look into, but I could
get in my hand, and after some groping came upon what I wanted.
It was a small leather packet, carefully folded and tied round, not much
larger than an envelope, and fastened on either side with a wafer.
Slipped under the outer string was a smaller folded paper, on the cover
of which I recognised, to my great amazement, my own name.
I thrust both packet and paper into my pocket, and after satisfying
myself that the hole contained nothing more, filled it up again, and
restored the hinged board to its old position. Then I extinguished and
replaced the candle, and a few minutes later was hurrying, with my
precious freight, down the rocky corridor towards the cave where I had
left my boat.
I was not long in getting into the outer world once more. My boat I
left where it was, and scrambled up the rocks to the place from which I
had once watched the _Arrow_ as she lay at anchor. Here I flung myself
on the turf and waited impatiently for daylight.
It came at last, and at its first glow I took the packet from my pocket.
The small outer paper addressed to me was in Tim's hand, and was very
brief. "Dear Barry," it said, "I searched as I promised, and have read
this letter. Time enough when Ireland's business is done to attend to
yours and mine.--Tim." From this I turned with trembling curiosity to
the packet itself, and took from it a faded paper, written in a strange,
uncultured hand, but signed at the end with my mother's feeble
signature, and dated a month after Tim's and my birth.