CAPTAIN YORKE CLAYTON.
At this period of our story much had already been said in the outside
world as to flooding the meadows of Ballintubber. Like other outrages
of the same kind, it had not at first been noticed otherwise than in
the immediate neighbourhood; and though a terrible injury had been
inflicted, equal in value to the loss of five or six hundred pounds,
it had seemed as though it would pass away unnoticed, simply because
Mr. Jones had lacked evidence to bring it home to any guilty party.
But gradually it had become known that Pat Carroll had been the
sinner, and the causes also which had brought about the crime were
known. It was known that Pat Carroll had joined the Landleaguers in
the neighbouring county of Mayo with great violence, and that he had
made a threat that he would pay no further rent to his landlord. The
days of the no-rent manifestation had not yet come, as the obnoxious
Members of Parliament were not yet in prison; but no-rent was already
firmly fixed in the minds of many men, about to lead in the process
of time to "Arrears Bills," and other abominations of injustice. And
among those conspicuous in the West, who were ready to seize fortune
by the forelock, was Mr. Pat Carroll. In this way his name had come
forward, and inquiries were made of Mr. Jones which distressed him
much. For though he was ready to sacrifice his meadows, and his
tenant, and his rent, he was most unwilling to do it if he should be
called upon at the same time to sacrifice his boy's character for
loyalty.
There had been a man stationed at Castlerea for some months past, who
in celebrity had almost beaten the notorious Pat Carroll. This was
one Captain Yorke Clayton, who for nearly twelve months had been in
the County Mayo. It was supposed that he had first shown himself
there as a constabulary officer, and had then very suddenly been
appointed resident magistrate. Why he was Captain nobody knew. It
was the fact, indeed, that he had been employed as adjutant in a
volunteer regiment in England, having gone over there from the police
force in the north of Ireland. His title had gone with him by no
fault or no virtue of his own, and he had blossomed forth to the
world of Connaught as Captain Clayton before he knew why he was about
to become famous. Famous, however, he did become.
He had two attributes which, if Fortune helps, may serve to make any
man famous. They were recklessness of life and devotion to an idea.
If Fortune do not help, recklessness of life amidst such dangers
as those which surrounded Captain Clayton will soon bring a man to
his end, so that there will be no question of fame. But we see men
occasionally who seem to find it impossible to encounter death. It
is not at all probable that this man wished to die. Life seemed to
him to be pleasant enough: he was no forlorn lover; he had fairly
good health and strength; people said of him that he had small but
comfortable private means; he was remarkable among all men for his
good looks; and he lacked nothing necessary to make life happy.
But he appeared to be always in a hurry to leave it. A hundred men
in Mayo had sworn that he should die. This was told to him very
freely; but he had only laughed at it, and was generally called "the
woodcock," as he rode about among his daily employments. The ordinary
life of a woodcock calls upon him to be shot at; but yet a woodcock
is not an easy bird to hit.
Then there was his devotion to an idea! I will not call it loyalty,
lest I should seem to praise the man too vehemently for that which
probably was simply an instinct in his own heart. He lived upon his
hatred of a Landleaguer. It was probably some conviction on his own
part that the original Landleaguer had come from New York, which
produced this feeling. And it must be acknowledged of him with
reference to the lower order of Landleaguers that he did admit in
his mind a possibility that they were curable. There were to him
Landleaguers and Landleaguers; but the Landleaguer whom Captain Yorke
Clayton hated with the bitterest prejudice was the Landleaguing
Member of Parliament. Some of his worst enemies believed that he
might be detected in breaking out into illegal expressions of hatred,
or, more unfortunately still, into illegal acts, and that so the
Government might be compelled to dismiss him with disgrace. Others,
his warmest friends, hoped that by such a process his life might
be eventually saved. But for the present Captain Yorke Clayton had
saved both his character and his neck, to the great surprise both of
those who loved him and the reverse. He had lately been appointed
Joint Resident Magistrate for Galway, Mayo, and Roscommon, and had
removed his residence to Galway. To him also had Pat Carroll become
intimately known, and to him the floods of Ballintubber were a
peculiar case. It was one great desire of his heart to have Pat
Carroll incarcerated as a penal felon. He did not very often express
himself on this subject, but Pat Carroll knew well the nature of his
wishes. "A thundering bloody rapparee" was the name by which Carroll
delighted to call him. But Carroll was one who exercised none of that
control over his own tongue for which Captain Clayton was said to
be so conspicuous. During the last month Mr. Jones had seen Captain
Clayton more than once at Galway, and on one occasion he had come
down to Morony Castle attended by a man who was supposed to travel
as his servant, but who was known by all the world to be a policeman
in disguise. For Captain Clayton had been strictly forbidden by the
authorities of the Castle to travel without such a companion; and an
attempt had already been made to have him dismissed for disobedience
to these orders.
Captain Clayton, when he had been at Morony Castle, had treated Flory
with great kindness, declining to cross-question him at all. "I would
endeavour to save him from these gentlemen," he had said to his
father. "I don't quite think that we understand what is going on
within his mind;" but this had been before the conversation last
mentioned which had taken place between Flory and his sisters. Now he
was to come again, and make further inquiry, and meet half-a-dozen
policemen from the neighbourhood. But Florian had as yet but half
confessed, and almost hoped that Captain Clayton would appear among
them as his friend.
The girls, to tell the truth, had been much taken with the appearance
of the gallant Captain. It seems to be almost a shame to tell the
truth of what modest girls may think of any man whom they may chance
to meet. They would never tell it to themselves. Even two sisters
can hardly do so. And when the man comes before them, just for once
or twice, to be judged and thought of at a single interview, the
girl,--such as were these girls,--can hardly tell it to herself. "He
is manly and brave, and has so much to say for himself, and is so
good-looking, that what can any girl who has her heart at her own
disposal wish for better than such a lover?" It would have been quite
impossible that either of Mr. Jones's daughters could ever have so
whispered to herself. But was it not natural that such an unwhispered
thought should have passed through the mind of Ada--Ada the
beautiful, Ada the sentimental, Ada the young lady who certainly was
in want of a lover? "He is very nice, certainly," said Ada, allowing
herself not another word, to her sister.
"But what is the good of a man being nice when he is a 'woodcock'?"
said Edith. "Everybody says that his destiny is before him. I daresay
he is nice, but what's the use?"
"You don't mean to say that you think he'll be killed?" said Ada.
"I do, and I mean to say that if I were a man, it might be that I
should have to be killed too. A man has to run his chance, and if he
falls into such a position as this, of course he must put up with it.
I don't mean to say that I don't like him the better for it."
"Why does he not go away and leave the horrid country?" said Ada.
"Because the more brave men that go away the more horrid the country
will become. And then I think a man is always the happier if he has
something really to think of. Such a one as Captain Clayton does not
want to go to balls."
"I suppose not," said Ada plaintively, as though she thought it a
thousand pities that Captain Clayton should not want to go to balls.
"Such a man," said Edith with an air of firmness, "finds a woman when
he wants to marry, who will suit him,--and then he marries her. There
is no necessity for any balls there."
"Then he ought not to dance at all. Such a man ought not to want to
get married."
"Not if he means to be killed out of hand," said Edith. "The possible
young woman must be left to judge of that. I shouldn't like to marry
a 'woodcock,' however much I might admire him. I do think it well
that there should be such men as Captain Clayton. I feel that if I
were a man I ought to wish to be one myself. But I am sure I should
feel that I oughtn't to ask a girl to share the world with me. Fancy
marrying a man merely to be left a sorrowing widow! It is part of the
horror of his business that he shouldn't even venture to dance, lest
some poor female should be captivated."
"A girl might be captivated without dancing," said Ada.
"I don't mean to say that such a man should absolutely tie himself up
in a bag so that no poor female should run any possible danger, but
he oughtn't to encourage such risks. To tell the truth, I don't think
that Captain Clayton does."
Ada that afternoon thought a great deal of the position,--not, of
course, in reference to herself. Was it proper that such a man as
Captain Yorke Clayton should abstain from falling in love with
a girl, or even from allowing a girl to fall in love with him
because he was in danger of being shot? It was certainly a difficult
question. Was any man to be debarred from the pleasures, and
incidents, and natural excitements of a man's life because of the
possible dangers which might possibly happen to a possible young
woman? Looking at the matter all round, Ada did not see that the man
could help himself unless he were to be shut up in a bag, as Edith
had said, so as to prevent a young woman from falling in love with
him. Although he were a "woodcock," the thing must go on in its own
natural course. If misfortunes did come, why misfortunes must come.
It was the same thing with any soldier or any sailor. If she were to
fall in love with some officer,--for the supposition in its vague,
undefined form was admissible even to poor Ada's imagination,--she
would not be debarred from marrying him merely by the fact that he
would have to go to the wars. Of course, as regarded Captain Yorke
Clayton, this was merely a speculation. He might be engaged to some
other girl already for anything she knew;--"or cared," as she told
herself with more or less of truth.
Captain Yorke Clayton came down by the boat that afternoon to Morony
Castle, Frank Jones having started for London two or three days
before. He reached the pier at about four o'clock, accompanied by his
faithful follower, and was there met by Mr. Jones himself, who walked
up with him to the Castle. There was a short cut across the fields to
Mr. Jones's house; and as they left the road about a furlong up from
the pier, they were surrounded by the waters which Mr. Carroll had
let in upon the Ballintubber meadows.
"You won't mind my fellow coming with us?" said Captain Clayton.
"'Your fellow,' as you call him, is more than welcome. I came across
this way because some of Pat Carroll's friends may be out on the high
road. If they fire half-a-dozen rifles from behind a wall at your
luggage, they won't do so much harm as if they shot at yourself."
"There won't be any shooting here," said Clayton, shaking his head,
"he's not had time to get a stranger down and pay him. They always
require two or three days' notice for that work; and there isn't a
wall about the place. You're not giving Mr. Pat Carroll a fair chance
for his friends. I could dodge them always with perfect security by
myself, only the beaks up in Dublin have given a strict order. As
they pay for the pistols, I am bound to carry them." Then he lifted
up the lappets of his coat and waistcoat, and showed half-a-dozen
pistols stuck into his girdle. "Our friend there has got as many
more."
"I have a couple myself," said Mr. Jones, indicating their
whereabouts, and showing that he was not as yet so used to carry
them, as to have provided himself with a belt for the purpose.
Then they walked on, chatting indifferently about the Landleaguers
till they reached the Castle. "The people are not cowards," Captain
Clayton had said. "I believe that men do become cowards when they are
tempted to become liars by getting into Parliament. An Irishman of a
certain class does at any rate. But those fellows, if they were put
into a regiment, would fight like grim death. That man there," and he
pointed back over his shoulder, "is as brave a fellow as I ever came
across in my life. I don't think that he would hesitate a moment in
attacking three or four men armed with revolvers. And gold wouldn't
induce him to be false to me. But if Mr. Pat Carroll had by chance
got hold of him before he had come my way, he might have been the
very man to shoot you or me from behind a wall, with a bit of black
crape on his face. What's the reason of it? I love that man as my
brother, but I might have hated him as the very devil."
"The force of example, sir," said Mr. Jones, as he led the way into
the quiet, modern residence which rejoiced to call itself Morony
Castle.
"What are we to do about this boy?" said Mr. Jones, when they had
seated themselves in his study.
"Are you friends with him yet?"
"No; I declared to his sisters that I would not sit down to table
with him till he had told the truth, and I have kept my word."
"How does he bear it?"
"But badly," said the father. "It has told upon him very much. He
complains to his sister that I have utterly cast him off."
"It is the oddest case I ever heard of in my life," said the Captain.
"I suppose his change of religion has been at the bottom of it--that
and the machinations of the priest down at Headford. When we
recollect that there must have been quite a crowd of people looking
on all the while, it does seem odd that we should be unable to get a
single witness to tell the truth, knowing, as we do, that this lad
was there. If he would only name two who were certainly there, and
who certainly saw the deed done, that would be enough; for the people
are not, in themselves, hostile to you."
"You know he has owned that he did see it," said the father. "And
he has acknowledged that Pat Carroll was there, though he has never
mentioned the man's name. His sisters have told him that I will not
be satisfied unless I hear him declare that Pat Carroll was one of
the offenders."
"Let us have him in, sir, if you don't mind."
"Just as he is?"
"I should say so. Or let the young ladies come with him, if you do
not object. Which of them has been most with him since your edict
went forth?"
Mr. Jones declared that Edith had been most with her brother, and the
order went forth that Edith and Florian should be summoned into the
apartment.
Ada and Edith were together when the order came. Edith was to go down
and present herself before Captain Yorke Clayton.
"Mercy me!" said Edith jumping up, "I hope they won't shoot at him
through the window whilst I am there."
"Oh! Edith, how can you think of such a thing?"
"It would be very unpleasant if some assassin were to take my back
hair for Captain Clayton's brown head. They're very nearly the same
colour."
And Edith prepared to leave the room, hearing her brother's slow,
heavy step as he passed before the door.
"Won't you go first and brush your hair?" said Ada; "and do put a
ribbon on your neck."
"I'll do nothing of the kind. It would be a sheer manoeuvring to
entrap a man who ought to be safeguarded against all such female
wiles. Besides, I don't believe a bit that Captain Clayton would know
the difference between a young lady with or without a ribbon. What
evidence I can give;--that's the question."
So saying, Edith descended to her father's room.
She found Florian with his hand upon the door, and they both
entered the room. I have said that Captain Clayton was a remarkably
good-looking man, and I ought, perhaps, to give some explanation of
the term when first introducing him to the reader in the presence of
a lady who is intended to become the heroine of this story; but it
must suffice that I have declared him to be good-looking, and that
I add to that the fact that though he was thirty-five years old, he
did not look to be more than five-and-twenty. The two peculiarities
of his face were very light blue eyes, and very long moustachios.
"Florian and I have come to see the latter-day hero," said Edith
laughing as she entered the room; "though I know that you are so done
up with pistols that no peaceable young woman ought to come near
you." To this he made some sportive reply, and then before a minute
had passed over their heads he had taken Florian by the hand.