"Remember my advice of this morning. Don't return here if you value
your liberty. There are warrants out against all the men named in the
list. The authorities are in earnest this time."
The tone in which he said this, coming from a man who had paltered with
treason for years, struck me as contemptible; but I had no time just
then to let him see what I felt.
"I will take care of myself," said I; "and your honour will do well to
remember what I said about Tim. When the reckoning for all this
business comes, it will stand you in good stead." And not waiting to
hear his reply, I went off to the stables.
Martin, whom the reader will remember, and who, despite his connection
with the marauders and his bad odour with the police, continued to
retain his place in his honour's service, was nowhere to be found. He
had been absent, said the boy, since the afternoon, when he had taken
off Tara for exercise.
I was obliged, therefore, to put up with an inferior animal, and to
saddle him myself. But I was too impatient to be off to allow of any
further delay.
"At what hour is the tide full?" I asked of one of the servants.
"Half-an-hour after midnight," was the reply.
As he spoke, the clock in the hall struck half-past nine.
"In three hours," said I to myself, as I galloped down the avenue, "the
Dutchman at Malin weighs anchor."
It was well for me I was no stranger to the rough, mountainous road I
had to travel, for the night was pitch dark, and scarcely a soul was
afoot at that late hour. I did, indeed, encounter a patrol of troopers
near the Black Hill, who ordered me to halt and dismount and give an
account of myself. But his honour's passport satisfied them, as it did
the sentry who challenged me on entering the little town of Carndonagh.
Thence to Malin it is but two leagues; but my wretched beast was so
spent that, unless I wished to leave it on the road, I was compelled to
take it most of the way at a foot's pace; so that when at last I pulled
up before the little inn at Malin, it was on the stroke of midnight.
"Faith, Mr Gorman's fond of sending messengers," said the landlord.
"There was another of his here two hours since."
"What!" I exclaimed, springing up from the bench at which I was
partaking of a hurried supper.
"Ay; he came with a message for the young lady up yonder at Mr
Shannon's."
"What sort of man was he?"
"Much like yourself--a common-looking man, with a shaven face and a nose
that turns up."
"Did he ride an iron-grey mare?" said I.
"Faith, a beauty."
"It's Martin!" I exclaimed, confirmed more than ever in my suspicions
of foul play. "Show me Mr Shannon's house, like a decent man," said I
to mine host.
"There'll be no one stirring there at this hour. His honour's away with
Mr Gorman, and the women folks will be a-bed long since."
"Never mind about that," said I; "show me the house."
The landlord grumblingly turned out and walked with me to the Hall,
which was some half-mile beyond the village.
"Yonder's the house," said he, stopping short, and pointing to a clump
of trees just discernible in the darkness. "You'll not be wanting me
further?"
I hastened on, and was presently knocking loudly at the door of the
Hall. The house was quite dark, and every one had evidently retired for
the night. Nearly ten minutes elapsed before a window opened, and a
surly voice called out,--
"Well? Who's there, disturbing decent folk at this hour?"
"A messenger from Mr Gorman. Is the young lady at home? I must see
her instantly."
"Young leddy! There's none younger than the mistress, and she sleeps at
night like a decent woman."
"Has Miss Gorman gone, then?" I exclaimed.
"Why not, when she was sent for?"
"Who sent for her? When did she go? Where has she gone? Let me in, I
say. There's foul play, and I must see your mistress instantly."
My agitation succeeded in convincing the fellow that something was
amiss, and he put in his head and presently unbarred the front door.
"Mercy on us! what's the meaning of all this?" said the old man-servant
as I stepped into the hall.
"Let me see Mrs Shannon," said I.
"What is it?" said a voice on the stairs before the butler could answer.
I explained my mission, and inquired if it was true that Miss Kit had
already departed.
"To be sure," said the lady. "Mr Gorman's groom, Martin, rode over
from Knockowen this evening with a message--"
"Written?" I interrupted.
"No; Mr Gorman was too busy to write. It was to say that a passage had
been taken for Miss Kit and a maid on a brig that happened to be lying
off the Five Fingers; and that, as he found the ship was to sail for
Dublin with the flood to-night, he had sent over Martin to see her
safely on board. I confess it seemed a little unusual; and Miss Kit was
very reluctant to start on such short notice, saying it had been
arranged she was to travel overland by way of Derry. But tell me,
what's amiss?"
"Foul play; nothing less!" cried I. "That ship is bound, not for
Dublin, but for Holland; and this is a vile plot of the rebels to be
revenged on Gorman, and decoy away his daughter as a hostage. Where did
Martin say the ship lay?"
"At Five Fingers, west of the headland; two leagues from here."
"When did they start from here?"
"Ten o'clock."
"On foot?"
"No. They rode; and will have been there an hour ago."
"Can you lend me a horse? Mine at the inn is spent."
"There's the cart-horse," said the butler.
"That wall do. Mrs Shannon, I beg you will send over a man at once to
Knockowen and let his honour know how matters stand. I will ride to
Five Fingers and see if anything is to be done or learned. What sort of
girl is the maid?"
"A soft creature enough. She and this Martin have been courting a year
past."
With a groan of despair I followed the butler to the yard, and bridled
the unwieldy beast I found there.
"It's a fool's errand you are on," said the old retainer; "but maybe
you'll have the luck to come within arm's-length of that blackguard
Martin. I always doubted him. Are you armed?"
"I have a pistol."
"Take yonder old sword," said he, pointing to a rusty weapon suspended
on the stable wall. "It has seen service before now."
Thus mounted and accoutred, I dug my heels into the flanks of the great
horse, and, in the breaking dawn, made along the rocky track which the
butler had pointed out as leading to Five Fingers.
"If nothing can be done," said I, as I left, "I will return here."
"Dear send we shall see you no more then," said the old man.
Along the road which led from Malin village to the promontory rapid
progress was impossible, and but that I hoped to have better use for my
horse later on, I could almost have gone as well on foot.
As the early May dawn lifted, I could get glimpses of the sea lying calm
on my left, with a light breeze off the land stirring its surface.
"That is in favour of the Dutchman," groaned I.
Not a human being, scarcely a wayside hut, did I see during that tedious
ride, as my lumbering beast stumbled over the loose stones and plashed
his way, fetlock deep, through the bog. At length I came to the place
which the butler had described as the spot where I was to turn off the
road and make by a grass track for the sea-level.
A short way down this latter path brought me to a corner which opened a
sudden view of the sea to northward. Gazing eagerly in that direction,
the first sight which met my eyes was a brig, with all sails set,
standing out to sea before the wind, about a mile or two from the shore.
Too late! I had expected nothing else, but the certainty of it now
drove me into a frenzy of wrath. I flung myself from the horse and
strode, pistol in hand, towards the deserted shore. There, except for
hoof-marks, which convinced me three horses had passed that way, there
was no sign of living being. By the tracks I could almost fix the spot
at which the party had put off, doubtless in one of the brig's boats.
Of the return track of the horses I could find nothing, and judged that
they had been taken off either at the edge of the water, which the tide
had subsequently covered, or up one of the hard rocky tracks towards the
foreland.
Along one of these, which seemed the most likely, I went for some
distance. It brought me out on to the cliff-top, but disclosed no trace
of what I sought.
I took my red scarf, and fixing it on the end of the sword, waved it
defiantly at the receding ship. Whether it was seen or not, or whether,
if seen, it was understood by those who alone would be likely to
understand it, I could not say.
I was about to return to Malin when a thin curl of smoke from behind a
rock advised me that there was at least one human habitation within
reach, where it might be possible to get information. It was a wretched
mud hovel backing on to the rock--its roof of sods being held at the
corners by stones--and boasting no window, only the door out of which
the smoke was pouring.
An old man, with the stump of a clay pipe in his lips, was turning his
pig out to grass as I approached. He looked at me suspiciously, and
went on without replying to my salutation.
"Good-morrow, father," said I. "You've had a ship in overnight, I see."
"Like enough," replied he in Irish. "Thrt--thrt!" and he gave the pig a
switch.
"Was she English?" I asked.
"'Deed I know nothing of her," said he with a cunning look which
convinced me he was lying.
"What does she carry?" I continued, playing with the butt of the pistol
in my belt.
He was quick enough to notice this gentle hint.
"Bad luck to the ship!" said he; "she's no concern of mine. What are
you looking for? The trade brings me no good."
"Hark here," said I, pulling the weapon from my belt and balancing it on
my fingers. "I'm no custom-house runner. Your cabin may be full, as it
probably is, of rum or bitters for all I care," here he gave a wince of
relief. "I want to know what yonder brig carried off, not what she left
ashore."
"Sure, I thought your honour was from the police," said the man with a
leer.
"Tell me," said I, "who went off in the ship's boat early this morning."
"Three just--a man and two females."
"Did you know any of them?"
"Maybe I did, maybe no. One of the ladies was maid to Mistress Shannon,
away at Malin."
"And the man?"
"He's the boy that's courting that same maid, and comes from Knockowen."
"And the other lady?"
"I never saw her before; but I'm thinking she was a rale lady."
"Who rowed them out to the ship?"
"Some of the crew, by the lingo they talked."
"Did they leave the horses?"
"They did. It was me took them and turned them back over the hill.
They'll find their ways home."
"What is the ship's name?"
"That I can't say, except that she was Dutch."
"How long had she been lying off here?"
"Since yesterday morning just."
"What was her cargo?"
"Sure, your honour said that was no matter at all."
"Was it Dutch goods?"
"It was; and if you'll wait here I'll fetch a drop of it to you," said
he nervously.
"Stay where you are," said I. "Tell me, who is there can say what the
ship's name is and where bound?"
"No one, unless it's Hugh Henry at the inn below."
"Did the young lady say anything as they took her on the boat?"
"Sure, she asked to see the captain, and to know when they were to reach
Dublin, and seemed to mislike the voyage altogether. But I heard Martin
say it was her father's orders, and that he would be in Dublin to meet
her."
This was all the news I could gather, but it was enough to confirm my
worst suspicions. Leaving the old man still in doubt as to the motive
for my questions, I returned as rapidly as I could to Malin, and
presented myself at the inn.
"Sure, I thought you were away," said the host, who came down half-
dressed to admit me.
"I want to know something about the Dutch ship that was in here
overnight," said I. "Not," I added, as I noticed the conscious fall of
his face, "that I care what she carried. No doubt she was a smuggler,
and that you and she had your business together--"
"'Deed, sir," he began, "may the--"
"Whisht!" said I, "that will do later. Just now I must know her name,
and whither bound. The young lady at the Hall has been decoyed away in
her, and must be found."
His amazement convinced me that at least he had been no party to the
abduction, which had probably, and wisely so, been confided to no one
beyond Martin and the officials of the secret society.
"The young leddy, Mr Gorman's daughter, carried off!" and he indulged
in a long whistle. "I always said his honour would get into trouble
with a kittle girl like that."
"Hold your tongue, you scoundrel," shouted I, "unless you want it
crammed down your throat, and tell me the ship's name and her port."
"No offence, sir," said the honest landlord, taken aback by my anger,
and by the gleam of the pistol which I set down on the table--"no
offence, sir. She was the brig _Scheldt_ from Rotterdam, a well-found
craft that's been this way before with messages from the Irish in
Holland to those at home."
With this I made once more for the Hall, where I found the household up,
and in a state of anxious expectation. When they heard my story, great
was the distress of the lady of the house to discover how she, in whose
charge Miss Kit had been left, had been imposed upon. She implored me
to wait till Mr Shannon returned from Knockowen; but as it was doubtful
when that would be, such delay seemed useless.
Before I left I wrote a letter to Mr Gorman giving him all the
particulars I could. He would no doubt receive an official notice from
the rebels, naming their conditions for restoring their hostage. But so
cowardly and shambling a creature had this father become, that I doubted
very much whether he would risk much even to recover his child.
I then returned once more to the inn, where already the news of the
night's adventure had attracted a group of gossips. The landlord seeing
me, took me aside and handed me a paper.
"Here's a song of another tune," said he. "It was left by the Dutch
skipper, and may be news to some of you."
I read it. It was a proclamation to the people of Ireland, couched in
bombastic language, and stating that the hour of deliverance was at
hand. A foreign fleet was about to descend on our northern coasts. Any
day now the signal might be given for Ireland to rise. All was ready,
and trusty leaders would accompany the friendly fleet. A strong blow
well struck would end Ireland's ills for ever. And so on.
"What do I want with this?" said I, giving back the paper. "Give it to
those who want it. I've had enough of the Dutch for one night."
And saddling my horse I started, in what sort of humour my readers may
imagine, towards Derry.