Before day broke the stir and bustle of the household awoke me, and
had it not been for the half-open door, which permitted a view of the
proceedings in the kitchen, I should have been sadly puzzled to remember
where I was. The cheerful turf fire, the happy faces, and the pleasant
voices all reminded me of the preceding night, and I lay pondering over
my fortunes, and revolving within myself many a plan for the future.
In all the daydreams of ambition in which youth indulges, there is this
advantage over the projects of maturer years,--the past never mingles
with the future. In after life our bygone existence is ever tingeing the
time to come; the expectations friends have formed of us, the promises
we have made to our own hearts, the hopes we have created, seem to
pledge us to something which, if anattained, sounds like failure. But
in earlier years, the budding consciousness of our ability to reach the
goal doea but stimulate us, and never chills our efforts by the dread
of disappointment; we have, as it were, only bound ourselves in
recognizances with our own hearts,--the world has not gone bail for us,
and our falling short involves not the ruin of others, nor the loss of
that self-respect which is but the reflex of the opinion of society. I
felt this strongly; and the more I ruminated on it, the more resolutely
bent was I to adopt some bold career,--some enterprising path, where
ambition should supply to me the pleasures and excitements that others
found among friends and home.
I now perceived how unsuitable would be to me the quiet monotony of
a peasant's life; how irksome the recurrence of the same daily
occupations, the routine of ceaseless labor, the intercourse with
those whose views and hopes strayed not beyond their own hedgerows. A
soldier's life appeared to realize all that I looked for; but then
the conversation of the piper recurred to me, and I remembered how he
painted these men to me as mere hireling bravos, to whom glory or fame
was nothing,--merely actuated by the basest of passions, the slaves of
tyranny. All the atrocities he mentioned of the military in the past
year came up before me, and with them the brave resistance of the people
in their struggle for independence. How my heart glowed with enthusiasm
as I thought over the bold stand they had made, and how I panted to be
a man, and linked in such a cause! Every gloomy circumstance in my own
fate seemed as the result of that grinding oppression under which my
country suffered,--even to the curse vented on me by one whose ruin
and desolation lay at my own father's door. My temples throbbed, and
my heart beat painfully against my side, as I revolved these thoughts
within me; and when I rose from my bed that morning, I was a rebel with
all my soul.
The day, like the preceding one, was stormy and inclement; the rain
poured down without ceasing, and the dark, lowering sky gave no promise
of better things. The household of the cottage remained all at home, and
betook themselves to such occupations as indoor permitted. The women sat
down to their spinning-wheels; some of the men employed themselves in
repairing their tools, and others in making nets for fishing: but all
were engaged. Meanwhile, amid the sounds of labor was mixed the busy hum
of merry voices, as they chatted away pleasantly, with many a story
and many a song lightening the long hours of the dark day. As for me, I
longed impatiently for Darby's return: a thousand half-formed plans were
flitting through my mind; and I burned to hear whether Basset was still
in pursuit of me; what course he was adopting to regain me within his
control; if Darby had seen my friend Bubbleton, and whether he showed
any disposition to befriend and protect me. These and such like thoughts
kept passing through my mind; and as the storm would shake the rude
door, I would stand up with eagerness, hoping every moment to see
him enter. But the day moved on, and the dusky half-light of a wintry
afternoon was falling, and Darby made not his appearance. When I spoke
of him to the others, they expressed no surprise at his absence, merely
remarking that he was always uncertain,--no one knew when to expect him;
that he rarely came when they looked for him, and constantly dropped in
when no one anticipated it.
“There he is now, then!” said one of the young men, springing up and
opening the door; “I hear his voice in the glen.”
“Do you see him, Maurice?” cried Malone. “Is it him?”
The young man stepped back, his face pale as death, and his mouth partly
open.
He whispered a word in the old man's ear; to which the other
responded,--“Where?”
The youth pointed with his finger. “How many are they?” was his next
question, while his dark eye glanced towards the old musket that hung on
the wall above the fire.
“Too many,--too many for us,” said Maurice, bitterly.
The women, who had gathered around the speaker, looked at each other
with an expression of utter wretchedness, when one of them, breaking
from the others, rushed into the little inner room off the kitchen, and
slammed the door violently behind her. The next instant the sound of
voices was heard from the room, as if in altercation. Malone turned
round at once, and throwing the door wide open, called out,--
“Be quiet, I say; there's not a moment to be lost. Maurice, put that gun
away; Shamus, take up your net again; sit down, girls.”
At the same instant he drew from his bosom a long horse pistol,
and having examined the loading and priming, replaced it within his
waistcoat, and sat down on a chair beside the fire, his strongly marked
countenance fixed on the red blaze, while his lips muttered rapidly some
words to himself.
“Are ye ready there?” he cried, as his eyes were turned towards the
small door.
“In a minit,” said the woman from within.
At the same instant the sounds of voices and the regular tramp of men
marching were heard without.
“Halt! stand at ease!” called out a deep voice; and the clank of the
muskets as they fell to the ground was heard through the cabin.
Meanwhile, every one within had resumed his previous place and
occupation, and the buzz of voices resounded through the kitchen as
though no interruption whatever had taken place. The latch was now
lifted, and a sergeant, stooping to permit his tall feather to pass in,
entered, followed by a man in plain clothes.
The latter was a short, powerfully-built man, of about fifty; his hair,
of a grizzly gray, contrasted with the deep purple of his countenance,
which was swollen and bloated; the mouth, its most remarkable feature,
was large and thick-lipped, the under-lip, projecting considerably
forward, and having a strange, convulsive motion when he was not
speaking.
“It's a hard day. Mister Barton,” said Malone, rising from his seat, and
stroking down his hair with one hand; “won't ye come over and take an
air at the fire?”
“I will, indeed, Ned,” said he, taking the proffered seat, and
stretching out his legs to the blaze. “It's a severe season we have. I
don't know how the poor are to get in the turf; the bogs are very wet
entirely.”
“They are, indeed, sir; and the harvest 'ill be very late getting in
now,” said one of the young men, with a most obsequious voice. “Won't ye
sit down, sir?” said he to the sergeant.
A nod from Mister Barton in acquiescence decided the matter, and the
sergeant was seated.
“What's here, Mary?” said Barton, striking the large pot that hung over
the fire with his foot.
“It's the boys' dinner, sir,” said the girl.
“I think it wouldn't be a bad job if we joined them,” replied he,
laughingly,--“eh, sergeant?”
“There 'ill be enough for us all,” said Malone; “and I'm sure ye're
welcome to it.”
The table was quickly spread, the places next the fire being reserved
for the strangers; while Malone, unlocking a cupboard, took down a
bottle of whiskey, which he placed before them, remarking, as he did
so,--
“Don't be afeard, gentlemen, 'tis Parliament.”
“That 's right, Malone. I like a man to be loyal in these bad times;
there's nothing like it. (Faith, Mary, you're a good cook; that's as
savory a stew as ever I tasted.) Where 's Patsey now? I have n't seen
him for some time.”
The girl's face grew dark red, and then became as suddenly pale; when,
staggering back, she lifted her apron to her face, and leaned against
the dresser.
“He's transported for life,” said Malone, in a deep, sepulchral voice,
while all his efforts to conceal agitation were fruitless.
“Oh, I remember,” said Barton, carelessly; “he was in the dock with the
Hogans. (I 'll take another bone from you, Ned. Sergeant, that 's a real
Irish dish, and no bad one either.)”
“What's doing at the town to-day?” said Malone, affecting an air of easy
indifference.
“Nothing remarkable, I believe. They have taken up that rascal. Darby
the Blast, as they call him. The major had him under examination this
morning for two hours; and they say he 'll give evidence against the
Dillons, (a little more fat, if ye please;) money, you know, Ned, will
do anything these times.”
“You ought to know that, sir,” said Maurice, with such an air of assumed
innocence as actually made Barton look ashamed. In an instant, however,
he recovered himself, and pretended to laugh at the remark. “Your
health, sergeant; Ned Malone, your health; ladies, yours; and boys,
the same.” A shower of “thank ye, sir's,” followed this piece of
unlooked-for courtesy. “Who's that boy there, Ned?” said he, pointing to
me as I sat with my eyes riveted upon him.
“He's from this side of Banagher, sir,” said Malone, evading the
question.
“Come over here, younker. What 's his name?”
“Tom, sir.”
“Come over, Tom, till I teach you a toast. Here's a glass, my lad;
hold it steady, till I fill you a bumper. Did you ever hear tell of the
croppies?”
“No, never!”
“Never heard of the croppies! Well, you're not long in Ned Malone's
company anyhow, eh? ha! ha! ha! Well, my man, the croppies is another
name for the rebels, and the toast I 'm going to give you is about them.
So mind you finish it at one pull. Here now, are you ready?”
“Yes, quite ready,” said I, as I held the brimming glass straight before
me.
“Here 's it, then,--
“'May every croppy taste the rope.
And find some man to hang them;
May Bagnal Harvey and the Pope
Have Heppenstal to hang them!'”
I knew enough of the meaning of his words to catch the allusion, and
dashing the glass with all my force against the wall, I smashed it
into a hundred pieces. Barton sprang from his chair, his face dark with
passion. Clutching me by the collar with both hands, he cried out,--
“Halloo! there without, bring in the handcuffs here! As sure as my name
's Sandy Barton, we 'll teach you that toast practically, and that ere
long.”
“Take care what you do there,” said Malone, fiercely. “That young
gentleman is a son of Matthew Burke of Cremore; his relatives are not
the kind of people to figure in your riding-house.”
“Are you a son of Matthew Burke?”
“I am.”
“What brings you here then? why are you not at home?”
“By what right do you dare to ask me? I have yet to learn how far I am
responsible for where I go to a thief-catcher.”
“You hear that, sergeant? you heard him use a word to bring me into
contempt before the people, and excite them to use acts of violence
towards me?”
“No such thing. Mister Barton!” said Malone, coolly; “nobody here has
any thought of molesting you. I told you that young gentleman's name
and condition, to prevent you making any mistake concerning him; for his
friends are not the people to trifle with.”
This artfully-put menace had its effect. Barton sat down again, and
appeared to reflect for a few minuted; then taking a roll of paper from
his pocket, he began leisurely to peruse it. The silence at this moment
was something horribly oppressive.
“This is a search-warrant, Mr. Malone,” said Barton, laying down the
paper on the table, “empowering me to seek for the body of a certain
French officer, said to be concealed in these parts. Informations on
oath state that he passed at least one night under your roof. As he
has not accepted the amnesty granted to the other officers in the late
famous attempt against the peace of this country, the law will deal
with him as strict justice may demand; at the same time, it is right you
should know that harboring or sheltering him, under these circumstances,
involves the person or persons so doing in his guilt. Mr. Malone's
well-known and tried loyalty,” continued Barton, with a half grin
of most malicious meaning, “would certainly exculpate him from any
suspicion of this nature; but sworn informations are stubborn things,
and it is possible, that in ignorance of the danger such a proceeding
would involve--”
“I thought the thrubbles was over, sir,” interrupted Malone, wiping his
forehead with the back of his hand, “and that an honest, industrious
man, that minded his own business, had nothing to fear from any one.”
“And you thought right,” said Barton, slowly and deliberately, while
he scanned the other's features with a searching look; “and that is the
very fact I'm come to ascertain. And now, with your leave, we'll first
search the house and offices, and then I 'll put a little interrogatory
to such persons as I think fit, touching this affair.”
“You're welcome to go over the cabin whenever you like,” said Malone,
rising, and evidently laboring to repress his passionate indignation at
Barton's coolness.
Barton stood up at the same moment, and giving a wink at the sergeant to
follow, walked towards the small door I've already mentioned. Malone's
wife at this started forward, and catching Barton's arm, whispered a few
words in his ear.
“She must be a very old woman by this time,” said Barton, fixing his
sharp eyes on the speaker.
“Upwards of ninety, sir, and bedridden for twelve years,” said the
woman, wiping a tear away with her apron.
“And how comes it she's so afraid of the soldiers, if she's doting?”
“Arrah! they used to frighten her so much, coming in at night, and
firing shots at the doore, and drinking and singing songs, that she
never got over it; an that's the rayson. I 'll beg of your honor not to
bring in the sergeant, and to disturb her only as little as you can, for
it sets her raving about battles and murders, and it 's maybe ten days
before we 'll get her mind at ease again.”
“Well, well, I'll not trouble her,” said he, quickly, “Sergeant, step
back for a moment.”
With this he entered the room, followed by the woman whose uncertain
step and quiet gesture seemed to suggest caution.
“She 's asleep, sir,” said she, approaching the bed. “It 's many a day
since she had as fine a sleep as that. 'T is good luck you brought us
this morning, Mister Barton.”
“Draw aside the curtain a little,” said Barton, in a low voice, as if
fearing to awake the sleeper.
“'Tis rousing her up, you'll be, Mister Barton, she feels the light at
wanst.”
“She breathes very long for so old a woman,” said he somewhat louder,
“and has a good broad shoulder, too. T 'd like, if it was only for
curiosity, just to see her face a little closer. I thought so! Come,
captain; it 's no use--”
A scream from the woman drowned the remainder of the speech, while at
the same instant one of the young men shut-to the outside door, and
barred it. The sergeant was immediately pinioned with his hands behind
his back, and Malone drew his horse-pistol from his bosom, and holding
up his hand, called out,--
“Not a word,--not a word! If ye spake, it will be the last time ever
you 'll do so!” said he to the sergeant
At the same moment, the noise of a scuffle was heard in the inner room,
and the door burst suddenly open, and Barton issued forth, dragging in
his strong hands the figure of a young, slightly-formed man. His coat
was off, but its trousers were braided with gold, in military fashion;
and his black mustache denoted the officer. The struggle of the youth to
get free was utterly fruitless; Barton's grasp was on his collar, and he
held him as though he were a child.
[Illustration: The Struggle 059]
Malone stooped down towards the fire, and, opening the pan of his
pistol, examined the priming; then, slapping it down again, he stood
erect, “Barton,” said he, in a tone of firm determination I heard him
use for the first time,--“Barton, it 's bad to provoke a man with the
halter round his neck. I know what 's before me well enough now. But
see, let him escape; give him two hours to get away, and here I 'll
surrender myself your prisoner, and follow you where you like.”
“Break in the door, there, blast ye!” was the reply to this offer, as
Barton shouted to the soldiers at the top of his voice. Two of the young
men darted forward as he spoke, and threw themselves against it. “Fire
through it!” cried Barton, stamping with passion.
“You will have it, will you, then?” said Malone, as he ground his teeth
in anger; then raising his pistol, he sprang forward, and holding it
within a yard of Barton's face, shouted out, “There!”
The powder flashed in the lock, and quick as its own report. Barton
hurled the Frenchman round to protect him from the ball, but only in
time to receive the shot in his right arm as he held it uplifted. The
arm fell powerless to his side; while Malone, springing on him like a
tiger, grasped him in his powerful grip, and they both rolled upon the
ground in terrible conflict. The Frenchman stood for an instant like one
transfixed; then, bursting from the spot, dashed through the kitchen to
the small room I had slept in. One of the young men followed him. The
crash of glass and the sounds of breaking woodwork were heard among the
other noises; and at the same moment the door gave way in front, and the
soldiers with fixed bayonets entered at a charge.
“Fire on them I fire on them!” shouted Barton, as he lay struggling on
the ground; and a random volley rang through the cabin, filling it with
smoke.
A yell of anguish burst forth at the moment; and one of the women lay
stretched upon the hearth, her bosom bathed in blood. The scene was
now a terrible one; for although overpowered by numbers, the young men
rushed on the soldiers, and regardless of wounds, endeavored to wrest
their arms from them. The bayonets glanced through the blue smoke, and
shouts of rage and defiance rose up amid frightful screams of suffering
and woe. A bayonet stab in the side, received I know not how, sent
me half fainting into the little room through which the Frenchman had
escaped. The open window being before me, I did nob deliberate a second,
but mounting the table, crept through it, and fell heavily on the turf
outside. In a moment after I rallied, and staggering onwards, reached a
potato field, where, overcome by pain and weakness, I sank into one of
the furrows, scarcely conscious of what had occurred.
Weak and exhausted as I was, I could still hear the sounds of the
conflict that raged within the cabin. Gradually, however, they grew
fainter and fainter, and at last subsided altogether. Yet I feared to
stir; and although night was now falling, and the silence continued
unbroken, I lay still, hoping to hear some well-known voice, or even
the footstep of some one belonging to the house. But all was calm, and
nothing stirred; the very air, too, was hushed,--not a leaf moved in the
thin, frosty atmosphere. The dread of finding the soldiers in possession
of the cabin made me fearful of quitting my hiding place, and I did not
move. Some hours had passed over ere I gained courage enough to raise my
head and look about me.
My first glance was directed towards the distant highroad, where I
expected to have seen some of the party who attacked the cabin, but
far as my eye could reach, no living thing was to be seen; my next was
towards the cabin, which, to my horror and amazement, I soon perceived
was enveloped in a thick, dark smoke, that rolled lazily from the
windows and doorway, and even issued from the thatched roof. As I
looked, I could hear the crackling of timber and the sound of wood
burning. These continued to increase; and then a red, forked flame shot
through one of the casements, and turning upwards, caught the thatch,
where, passing rapidly across the entire roof, it burst into a broad
sheet of fire, which died out again as rapidly, and left the gloomy
smoke triumphant.
Meanwhile a roaring sound, like that of a furnace, was heard from
within; and at last, with an explosion like a mortar, the roof burst
open, and the bright blaze sprang forth. The rafters were soon enveloped
in fire, and the heated straw rose into the air, and floated in thin
streaks of flame through the black sky. The door cases and the window
frames were all burning, and marked their outlines against the dark
walls: and as the thatch was consumed, the red rafters were seen like
the ribs of a skeleton; but they fell in one by one, sending up in their
descent millions of red sparks into the dark air. The black wall of the
cabin had given way to the heat, and through its wide fissure I could
see the interior, now one mass of undistinguishable ruin: nothing
remained, save the charred and blackened walls.
I sat gazing at this sad sight like one entranced. Sometimes it seemed
to me as a terrible dream; and then the truth would break upon me with
fearful force, and my heart felt as though it would burst far beyond my
bosom. The last flickering flame died away, the hissing sounds of
the fire were stilled, and the dark walls stood out against the bleak
background in all their horrible deformity, as I rose and entered
the cabin. I stood within the little room where I had slept the night
before, and looked out into the kitchen, around whose happy hearth
the merry voices were so lately heard. I brought them up before me, in
imagination, as they sat there. One by one I marked their places in my
mind, and thought of the kindness of their welcome to me, and the words
of comfort and encouragement they spoke' The hearth was now cold
and black; the pale stars looked down between the walls, and a chill
moonlight flickered through the gloomy ruin. My heart had no room for
sorrow; but another feeling found a place within it: a savage thirst for
vengeance,--vengeance upon those who had desecrated a peaceful home, and
brought blood and death among its inmates! Here was the very realization
before my eyes of what M'Keown had been telling me; here the horrible
picture he had drawn of tyranny and outrage. In the humble cottagers I
saw but simpleminded peasants, who had opened their doors to some poor
unfriended outcast,--one who, like myself, had neither house nor home.
I saw them offering their hospitality to him who sought it, freely and
openly; and at last adventuring all they possessed in the world, rather
than betray him,--and their reward was this! Oh, how my heart revolted
at such oppression! how my spirit fired at such indignity! I thought a
life passed in opposition to such tyranny were too short a vengeance;
and I knelt me down beside that blackened hearth, and swore myself its
enemy to the death.