CAPTAIN CLAYTON'S FIRST TRIUMPH.
It was now April, and this April was a sad month in Ireland. I do
not know why the deaths of two such men as were then murdered should
touch the heart with a deeper sorrow than is felt for the fate of
others whose lot is lower in life; why the poor widow, who has
lost her husband while doing his duty amidst outrages and unmanly
revenges, is not to be so much thought of as the sweet lady who has
been robbed of her all in the same fashion. But so it is with human
nature. We know how a people will weep for their Sovereign, and it
was with such tears as that, with tears as sincere as those shed for
the best of kings, that Lord Frederick Cavendish and Mr. Burke were
lamented. In April these two men had fallen, hacked to death in front
of the Viceregal Lodge. By whom they were killed, as I write now, no
one knows, and as regards Lord Frederick one can hardly guess the
reason. He had come over to Ireland on that very day, to take the
place which his luckier predecessor had just vacated, and had as yet
done no service, and excited no vengeance in Ireland. He had only
attended an opening pageant;--because with him had come a new Lord
Lieutenant,--not new indeed to the office, but new in his return. An
accident had brought the two together on the day, but Lord Frederick
was altogether a stranger, and yet he had been selected. Such had
been his fate, and such also the fate of Mr. Burke, who, next to him
in official rank, may possibly have been in truth the doomed one.
They were both dealt with horribly on that April morning,--and all
Ireland was grieving. All Ireland was repudiating the crime, and
saying that this horror had surely been done by American hands. Even
the murderers native to Ireland seemed to be thoroughly ashamed of
this deed.
It would be needless here to tell,--or to attempt to tell,--how one
Lord-Lieutenant had made way for another, and one Chief Secretary
for another Chief Secretary. It would be trying to do too much. In
the pages of a novel the novelist can hardly do more than indicate
the sources of the troubles which have fallen upon the country,
and can hardly venture to deal with the names and characters of
those who have been concerned. For myself, I do most cordially agree
with the policy of him in whose place Lord Frederick had this day
suffered,--as far as his conduct in Ireland can be read from that
which he did and from that which he spoke. As far as he had agreed
with the Government in their measure for interfering with the price
paid for land in the country,--for putting up a new law devised by
themselves in lieu of that time-honoured law by which property has
ever been protected in England,--I disagree. Of my disagreement
no one will take notice;--but my story cannot be written without
expressing it.
But down at Morony Castle, mingled with their sorrows, there was a
joy and a triumph; not loud indeed, not sounded with trumpets, not as
yet perfect, not quite assured even in the mind of one man; but yet
assuring in the mind of that man,--and indeed of one other,--almost
to conviction. That man was Captain Yorke Clayton, and that other man
was only poor Hunter, the wounded policeman. For such triumph as was
theirs a victim is needed; and in this case the victim, the hoped-for
victim, was Mr. Lax.
Nothing had ever been made out in regard to the murder of Terry
Carroll in the Court House at Galway. Irish mysteries are coming to
be unriddled now, but there will be no unriddling of that. Yorke
Clayton, together with Hunter and all the police of County Galway,
could do nothing in regard to that mystery. They had struggled their
very best, and, from the nature of the crime, had found themselves
almost obliged to discover the perpetrator. The press of the two
countries, the newspapers in other respects so hostile to each other,
had united in declaring that the police were bound to know all about
it. The police had determined to know nothing about it, because the
Government did not dare to bring forward such evidence. This was the
Irish Landleague view; and though it contained an accusation against
the Government for having contrived the murder itself, it was all
the better on that account. The English papers simply said that the
Galway police must be fast asleep. This man had been murdered when
in the very hands of the officers of justice. The judge had seen
the shots fired. The victim fell into the hands of four policemen.
The pistol was found at his feet. It was done in daylight, and all
Galway was looking on. The kind of things that were said by one set
of newspapers and another drove Yorke Clayton almost out of his wits.
He had to maintain a show of good humour, and he did maintain it
gallantly. "My hero is a hero still," whispered Edith to her own
pillow. But, in truth, nothing could be done as to that Galway case.
Mr. Lax was still in custody, and was advised by counsel not to give
any account of himself at that time. It was indecent on the part of
the prosecution that he should be asked to do so. So said the lawyers
on his side, but it was clear that nobody in the court and nobody in
Galway could be got to say that he or she had seen him do it. And
yet Yorke Clayton had himself seen the hip of the stooping man. "I
suppose I couldn't swear to it," he said to himself; and it would
be hard to see how he could swear to the man without forswearing
himself.
But while this lamentable failure was going on, success reached him
from another side. He didn't care a straw what the newspapers said
of him, so long as he could hang Mr. Lax. His triumph in that respect
would drown all other failures. Mr. Lax was still in custody, and
many insolent petitions had been made on his behalf in order that he
might be set free. "Did the Crown intend to pretend that they had any
shadow of evidence against him as to the shooting of Terry Carroll?"
"No;--but there was another murder committed a day or two before.
Poor young Florian Jones had been murdered. Even presuming that Lax's
hand cannot be seen visible in the matter of Terry Carroll, there is,
we think, something to connect him with the other murder. The two, no
doubt, were committed in the same interest. The Crown is not prepared
to allow Lax to escape from its hands quite yet." Then there were
many words on the subject going on just at the time at which Lax
especially wanted his freedom, and at which, to tell the truth, Yorke
Clayton was near the end of his tether in regard to poor Florian.
In the beginning of his inquiry as to the Ballyglunin murder, he
entertained an idea that Lax, after firing the shot, had been seen
by that wicked car-driver, who had boycotted Mr. Jones in his great
need. The reader will probably have forgotten that Mr. Jones had
required to be driven home to Morony Castle from Ballyglunin station,
and had been refused the accommodation by a wicked old Landleaguer,
who had joined the conspiracy formed in the neighbourhood against
Mr. Jones. He had done so, either in fear of his neighbours, or
else in a true patriot spirit--because he had gone without any
supper, as had also his horses, on the occasion. The man's name was
Teddy Mooney, the father of Kit Mooney who stopped the hunting at
Moytubber. And he certainly was patriotic. From day to day he went
on refusing fares,--for the boycotted personages were after all more
capable of paying fares than the boycotting hero of doing without
them,--suffering much himself from want of victuals, and more on
behalf of his poor animal. He saw his son Kit more than once or twice
in those days, and Kit appeared to be the stancher patriot of the
two. Kit was a baker, and did earn wages; but he utterly refused to
subsidise the patriotism of his father. "If ye can't do that for the
ould counthry," said Kit, "ye ain't half the man I took ye for." But
he refused him a gallon of oats for his horse.
It was not at once that the old man gave way. He went on boycotting
individuals till he hadn't a pair of breeches left to sit upon, and
the non-boycotted tradesmen of the little towns around declined to
sit upon his car, because the poor horse, fed upon roadside grasses,
refused to be urged into a trot. "Tare and ages, man, what's the good
of it? Ain't we a-cutting the noses off our own faces, and that with
the money so scarce that I haven't seen the sight of a half-crown
this two weeks." It was thus that he declared his purpose of going
back to the common unpatriotic ways of mankind, to an old pal, whom
he had known all his days. He did do so, but found, alas! that his
trade had perished in the meanwhile or forced itself into other
channels.
The result was that Teddy Mooney became very bitter in spirit, and
was for a while an Orangeman, and almost a Protestant. The evil
things that had been done to him were terrible to his spirit. He had
been threatened with eviction from ten acres of ground because he
couldn't pay his rent; or, as he said, because he had declined to
drive a maid-servant to the house of another gentleman who was also
boycotted. This had not been true, but it had served to embitter
Teddy Mooney. And now, at last, he had determined to belong to the
other side.
When an Irishman does make up his mind to serve the other side he
is very much determined. There is but the meditation of two minutes
between Landleaguing and Orangeism, between boycotting landlords and
thorough devotion to the dear old landlord. When Kit Mooney had first
laid down the law to his father, how he ought to assist in boycotting
all the enemies of the Landleague, no one saw his way clearer than
did Teddy Mooney. "I wouldn't mind doing without a bit or a sup,"
he said, when his son explained to him that he might have to suffer
a little for the cause. "Not a bit or a sup when the ould counthry
wants it." He had since had a few words with his son Kit, and was
now quite on the other side of the question. He was told that
somebody had threatened to cut off his old mare's tail because he
had driven Phil D'Arcy. Since that he had become a martyr as well as
an Orangeman, and was disposed to go any length "for the gintl'men."
This had come all about by degrees--had been coming about since poor
Florian's murder; and at last he wrote a letter to Yorke Clayton, or
got someone else to write it:
"Yer Honour,--It was Lax as dropped Master Flory. Divil a doubt about
it. There's one as can tell more about it as is on the road from
Ballyglunin all round. This comes from a well-wisher to the ould
cause. For Muster Clayton."
When Captain Clayton received this he at once knew from whom it
had come. The Landleaguing car-driver, who had turned gentlemen's
friend, was sufficiently well known to history to have been talked
about. Clayton, therefore, did not lose much time in going down to
Ballyglunin station and requiring to be driven yet once again from
thence to Carnlough. "And now, Mr. Teddy Mooney," he said, after they
had travelled together a mile or two from Ballyglunin, and had come
almost to the spot at which the poor boy had been shot, "tell me what
you know about Mr. Lax's movements in this part of the world." He
had never come there before since the fatal day without having three
policemen with him, but now he was alone. Such a man as Teddy Mooney
would be most unwilling to open his mouth in the presence of two or
more persons.
"O Lord, Captain, how you come on a poor fellow all unawares!"
"Stop a moment, Mr. Mooney," and the car stopped. "Whereabouts was it
the young gentleman perished?"
"Them's the very shot-holes," said Teddy, pointing up to the
temporary embrasure, which had indeed been knocked down half a score
of times since the murder, and had been as often replaced by the
diligent care of Mr. Blake and Captain Clayton.
"Just so. They are the shot-holes. And which way did the murderer
run?" Teddy pointed with his whip away to the east, over the ground
on which the man had made his escape. "And where did you first see
him?"
"See him!" ejaculated Teddy. It became horrible to his imagination as
he thought that he was about to tell of such a deed.
"Of course, we know you did see him; but I want to know the exact
spot."
"It was over there, nigh to widow Dolan's cottage."
"It wasn't the widow who saw him, I think?"
"Faix, it was the widow thin, with her own eyes. I hardly know'd
him. And yet I did know him, for I'd seen him once travelling from
Ballinasloe with Pat Carroll. And Lax is a man as when you've once
seen him you've seen him for allays. But she knowed him well. Her
husband was one of the boys when the Fenians were up. If he didn't go
into the widow Dolan's cabin my name's not Teddy Mooney."
"And who else was there?"
"There was no one else; but only her darter, a slip of a girl o'
fifteen, come up while Lax was there. I know she come up, because I
saw her coming jist as I passed the door."
Captain Clayton entered into very friendly relations with Teddy
Mooney on that occasion, trying to make him understand, without any
absolute promises, that all the luck and all the rewards,--in fact,
all the bacon and oats,--lay on the dish to which Mr. Lax did not
belong. Under these influences Teddy did become communicative--though
he lied most awfully. That did not in the least shock Captain
Clayton, who certainly would have believed nothing had the truth been
told him without hesitation. At last it came out that the car-driver
was sure as to the personality of Lax,--had seen him again and again
since he had first made his acquaintance in Carroll's company, and
could swear to having seen him in the widow's cabin. He knew also
that the widow and her daughter were intimate with Lax. He had not
seen the shot fired. This he said in an assured tone, but Captain
Clayton had known that before. He did not expect to find anyone who
had seen the shot fired, except Mr. Jones and Peter. As to Peter
he had his suspicions. Mr. Jones was certain that Peter had told
the truth in declaring that he had seen no one; but the Captain had
argued the matter out with him. "A fellow of that kind is in a very
hard position. You must remember that for the truth itself he cares
nothing. He finds a charm rather in the romantic beauty of a lie. Lax
is to him a lovely object, even though he be aware that he and Lax be
on different sides. And then he thoroughly believes in Lax; thinks
that Lax possesses some mysterious power of knowing what is in his
mind, and of punishing him for his enmity. All the want of evidence
in this country comes from belief in the marvellous. The people
think that their very thoughts are known to men who make their name
conspicuous, and dare not say a word which they suppose that it is
desired they shall withhold. In this case Peter no doubt is on our
side, and would gladly hang Lax with his own hand if he were sure he
would be safe. But Lax is a mysterious tyrant, who in his imagination
can slaughter him any day; whereas he knows that he shall encounter
no harm from you. He and poor Florian were sitting on the car with
their backs turned to the embrasure; and Peter's attention was given
to the driving of the car,--so that there was no ground for thinking
that he had seen the murderer. All the circumstances of the moment
ran the other way. But still it was possible."
And Captain Clayton was of opinion that Peter was beginning to be
moved from the determined know-nothingness of his primary evidence.
He had seen the flash. And then, as his master had run up the bank,
he didn't know whether he hadn't caught the flying figure of a man.
"I had the poor boy's head on my knees, Captain Clayton; and how is a
poor man to look much about him then?"
In this condition stood Captain Clayton's mind in regard to Peter,
when he heard, for the first time, a word about the widow Dolan and
the widow Dolan's daughter.
The woman swore by all her gods that she knew nothing of Lax. But
then she had already fallen into the difficulty of having been
selected as capable of giving evidence. It generally happens that no
one first person will be found even to indicate others, so that there
is no finding a beginning to the case. But when a witness has been
indicated, the witness must speak.
"The big blackguard!" exclaimed Mrs. Dolan, when she heard of the
evil that had been brought her; "to have the imperence to mention my
name!"
It was felt, all the country through, to be an impertinence,--for
anybody to drag anybody else into the mess of troubles which was
sure to arise from an enforced connection with a law court. Most
unwillingly the circumstances were drawn from Mrs. Dolan, and with
extreme difficulty also from that ingenious young lady her daughter.
But, still, it was made to appear that Lax had taken refuge in their
cottage, and had gone down from thence to a little brook, where he
effected the cleansing of his pistol. The young lady had done all in
her power to keep her mother silent, but the mother had at last been
tempted to speak of the weapon which Lax had used.
Now there was no further question of letting Lax go loose from
prison! That very irate barrister, Mr. O'Donnell, who was accustomed
to speak of all the Landleague criminals as patriotic lambs,--whose
lamb-like qualities were exceeded only by their patriotism,--did not
dare to intimate such a wish any further. But he did urge, with all
that benevolence for which he was conspicuous, that the trial should
come on at that immediate spring assizes. A rumour had, however,
already reached the ears of Captain Clayton, and others in his
position, that a great alteration was to be effected in the law.
This, together with Mrs. Dolan's evidence, might enable him to hang
Mr. Lax. Therefore the trial was postponed;--not, indeed, with
outspoken reference as to the new measure, but with much confidence
in its resources.
It would be useless here to refer to that Bill which was to have
been passed for trying certain prisoners in Ireland without the
intervention of a jury, and of the alteration which took place in
it empowering the Government to alter the venue, and to submit such
cases to a selected judge, to selected juries, to selected counties.
The Irish judges had remonstrated against the first measure, and the
second was to be first tried, so that should it fail the judges might
yet be called upon to act.
Such was the law under which criminals were tried in 1882, and the
first capital convictions were made under which the country began to
breathe freely. But the tidings of the law had got abroad beforehand,
and gave a hope of triumph to such men as Captain Clayton. Let a man
undertake what duty he will in life, if he be a good man he will
desire success; and if he be a brave man he will long for victory.
The presence of such a man as Lax in the country was an eyesore to
Captain Clayton, which it was his primary duty to remove. And it was
a triumph to him now that the time had come in which he might remove
him. Three times had Mr. Lax fired at the Captain's head, and three
times had the Captain escaped. "I think he has done with his guns and
his pistols now," said Captain Clayton, in his triumph.