With the experience of past events to guide us, it would appear now
that a most unaccountable apathy existed in the English Cabinet of the
period, with regard to the plan of invasion meditated against Ireland by
France; nor is it easy to determine whether this indifference proceeded
more from ignorance of the danger, or that amount of information
concerning it, which disposed the Minister to regard it as little
important.
From whatever cause proceeding, one thing is sufficiently clear--the
emissaries of France pervaded the country in every part without
impediment or molestation; statistical information the most minute
was forwarded to Paris every week; the state of popular opinion,
the condition of parties, the amount of troops disposable by
Government--even the spirit which animated them, were reported and
commented on, and made the subject of discussion in the “bureau” of the
War Minister of France. To such an extent was this system carried, that
more than once the French authorities became suspicious regarding the
veracity of statements, from the very facility with which their details
were communicated, and hinted, that such regularity in correspondence
might be owing to the polite attentions of the English Cabinet; and to
this distrust is in a great measure to be attributed the vacillating and
hesitating policy which marked their own deliberations.
Tone's letters show the wearisome toil of his negociation; the
assurances of aid obtained after months of painful, harrassing
solicitation, deferred or made dependent on some almost impossible
conditions; guarantees demanded from him which he neither could nor
would accord; information sought, which, were they in actual possession
of the country, would have been a matter of difficult acquisition; and
after all, when the promised assistance was granted, it came coupled
with hints and acknowledgements that the independence of Ireland was
nothing in their eyes, save as inflicting a death blow to the power and
greatness of England.
In fact, neither party was satisfied with the compact long before the
time of putting it in operation arrived. Meanwhile the insurgents spared
no efforts to organize a powerful body among the peasantry, and,
at least numerically, to announce to France, a strong and effective
cooperation. Such reports were necessary to enable Tone to press his
demand more energetically; and although he never could have deceived
himself as to the inutility of such undisciplined and almost unarmed
masses, still they looked plausible on paper, and vouched for the
willingness of the people to throw off the yoke of England.
It is now well known, that the French party in Ireland was really very
small. The dreadful wrongs inflicted on the Roman Catholic church during
the Revolution could not be forgotten or forgiven by that priesthood,
who were their brethren; nor could it be supposed that they would lend a
willing aid to further a cause which began its march to freedom over the
ashes of their church. Such as were best capable of pronouncing on
the project--those educated in France---were naturally fearful of a
repetition at home of the horrible scenes they had witnessed abroad, and
thus the “patriots” lost the aid which, more than any other, could have
stirred the heart of the nation. Abstract principles of liberty are not
the most effective appeals to a people; and although the French agents
were profuse of promises, and the theme of English oppression could
be chaunted with innumerable variations, the right chord of native
sentiment was never touched, and few joined the cause, save those
who, in every country and in every age, are patriots--because they
are paupers. Some, indeed, like the young O'Donoghue, were sincere and
determined. Drawn in at first by impulses more purely personal than
patriotic, they soon learned to take a deep interest in the game, and
grew fascinated with a scheme which exalted themselves into positions of
trust and importance. The necessity of employing this lure, and giving
the adherents of the cause their share of power and influence, was
another great source of weakness.
Diversity of opinion arose on every subject; personal altercations of
the bitterest kind; reproaches and insinuations, passed continually
between them, and it needed all the skill and management of the chiefs
to reconcile, even temporarily, these discordant ingredients, and
maintain any semblance of agreement among these “United Irishmen.”
Among those who lived away from such scenes of conflict, the great
complaint was the delay. “What are we waiting for? When are we to
strike the blow?”--were the questions ever arising; and their inability
to answer such satisfactorily to the people, only increased their
chagrin and disappointment. If the sanguine betrayed impatience,
the despondent--and there are such in every cause--showed signs of
vacillation, and threw out dark hints of treachery and betrayal; while
between both were the great masses, moved by every passing rumour, and
as difficult to restrain to-day, as impossible to muster to-morrow.
Such, briefly, was the condition of the party into which Mark O'Donoghue
threw his fortune in life, as reckless of his fate as he was ignorant
of the precise objects in view, or the means proposed for their
accomplishment.
His influence among the people was considerable. Independently of all
claims resulting from his name and family, he was individually a great
favourite with them. Personal courage and daring--skill in every manly
exercise, and undaunted resolution--are gifts which, when coupled with
a rough, good nature, and a really kind heart, are certain of winning
their way among a wild and uncultivated people; and thus, Herbert, who
scarcely ever uttered a harsh word--whose daily visits to the sick were
a duty Sir Archy expected from him--whose readiness to oblige was the
theme of every tongue, was less their favourite than his brother.
This influence, which, through Lanty Lawler, was soon reported to the
delegates in Dublin, was the means of Mark's being taken into special
confidence, and of a command being conferred on him, for the duties
and privileges of which, he was informed, a few days would sufficiently
instruct him.
Nearly a week had elapsed from the day on which Kate addressed her note
to Mark, and he had not yet returned home. Such absences were common
enough; but now, she felt an impatience almost amounting to agony,
at the thought of what treasonable and dangerous projects he might be
engaged in, and the doubt became a torture, how far she ought to conceal
her own discovery from others.
At length came the evening before her own departure from
Carrig-na-curra, and they were seated around the tea-table, thoughtful
and silent by turns, as are they who meet for the last time before
separation. Although she heard with pleasure the announcement that
Herbert would be her companion to the capital, where he was about to
take up his residence as a student in Trinity College, her thoughts
wandered away to the gloomier fortunes of Mark, darker as they now
seemed, in comparison with the prospects opening before his brother.
Of all the party, Herbert alone was in good spirits. The career was
about to begin which had engrossed all his boyish ambition--the great
race of intellect his very dreams had dwelt upon. What visions did he
conjure of emulative ardour to carry off the prize among his companions,
and win fame that might reflect its lustre on all his after life. From
his very childhood, Sir Archy had instilled into him this thirst for
distinction, wisely substituting such an ambition for any other less
ennobling. He had taught him to believe that there would be more true
honour in the laurels there won, than in all the efforts, however
successful, to bring back the lost glories of their once proud house.
And now he was on the very threshold of that career his heart was
centred in. No wonder is it, then, if his spirits were high, and his
pulse throbbing. Sir Archy's eyes seldom wandered from him; he seemed
as if reading the accomplishment of all his long teaching; and as he
watched the flashing looks and the excited gestures of the boy, appeared
as though calculating how far such a temperament might minister to, or
mar his future fortune.
The O'Donoghue was more thoughtful than usual. The idea of approaching
solitude, so doubly sad to those advanced in life, depressed him. His
evenings, of late, had been passed in a happy enjoyment he had not known
for years before. Separation to the young is but the rupture of the ties
of daily intercourse--to the old, it has all the solemn meaning of a
warning, and tells of the approach of the last dreadful parting, when
adieux are said for ever. He could not help those gloomy forebodings,
and he was silent and depressed.
Kate's attention wandered from the theme of Herbert's anticipated
pleasures, to think again of him, for whom none seemed now interested.
She had listened long and anxiously for some sound to mark his coming,
but all was still without, and on the road, for miles, the moonlight
showed no object moving; and, at last, a deep reverie succeeded to this
state of anxiety, and she sat lost to all around her. Meanwhile, Sir
Archy, in a low, impressive voice, was warning Herbert of the dangers of
involving himself in any way in the conflicts of party politics, then so
high in Dublin.
He cautioned him to reject those extreme opinions so fascinating to
young minds, and which either give an unwarrantable bias to the judgment
through life, or which, when their fallacy is detected, lead to a
reaction as violent, and notions as false. “Win character and reputation
first, Herbert: gain the position from which your opinions will come
with influence, and then, my boy, with judgment not rashly formed, and a
mind trained to examine great questions--then, you may fearlessly enter
the lists, free to choose your place and party. You cannot be a patriot
this way, in the newspaper sense of the term.--It is possible, too, our
dear Kate may deem your ambition a poor one----”
“Kate, did you say?--Kate, uncle,” said she, raising her head, with a
look of abstraction.
“Yes, my dear, I was speaking o' some of the dangers that beset the
first steps in political opinion, and telling Herbert that peril does
not always bring honour.”
“True, sir--true: but Mark----” She stopped, and the blush that covered
her face suffused her neck and shoulders. It was not till her lips
pronounced the name, that she detected how inadvertently she had
revealed the secret of her own musings.
“Mark, my sweet Kate is, I trust, in no need of my warnings; he lives
apart from the struggle, and were it otherwise, he is older, and more
able to form his opinions than Herbert, here.”
These words were spoken calmly, and with a studious desire to avoid
increasing Kate's confusion.
“What about Mark?” cried the O'Donoghue, suddenly aroused by the mention
of the name. “It's very strange he should not be here to say 'good-bye'
to Kate. Did any one tell him of the time fixed for your departure?”
“I told him of it, and he has promised to be here,” said Herbert; “he
was going to Beerhaven for a day or two, for the shooting; but, droll
enough, he has left his gun behind him.”
“The boy's not himself at all, latterly,” muttered the old man. “Lanty
brought up two horses here the other day, and he would not even go to
the door to look at them. I don't know what he's thinking of.”
Kate never spoke, and tried with a great effort to maintain a look of
calm unconcern; when, with that strange instinct so indescribable and so
inexplicable, she felt Sir Archy's eyes fixed upon her, her cheek became
deadly pale.
“There, there he comes, and at a slapping pace, too!” cried Herbert;
and, as he spoke, the clattering sound of a fast gallop was heard
ascending the causeway, and the next moment the bell sent forth a loud
summons.
“I knew he'd keep his word,” said the boy, proudly, as he walked to meet
him. The door opened, and Frederick Travers appeared.
So unexpected was the disappointment, it needed all Sir Archy's
practised politeness to conceal from the young Guardsman the
discomfiture of the rest: nor did he entirely succeed, for Frederick
was no common observer, and failed not to detect in every countenance
around, that his was not the coming looked for.
“I owe a thousand apologies for the hour of my visit, not to speak of
its abruptness,” said he, graciously; “but we only learned accidentally
to-day that Herbert was going up to Dublin, and my father sent me to
request he would join our party.”
“He is about to enter college,” said Sir Archy, half fearing to direct
the youth's mind from the great object of his journey.
“Be it so,” said Fred, gaily; “we'll talk Virgil and Homer on the road.”
“I'm afraid such pleasant companionship may put Greece and Rome in the
background,” said Sir Archy, drily.
“I'll answer for it he'll be nothing the worse for the brief respite
from study; besides you'd not refuse me his company, when I tell you
that otherwise I must travel alone. My father in his wisdom having
decided to despatch me half a day in advance, to make preparations for
his arrival. Is that quite fair, Miss O'Donoghue?”
“I protest I think not, as regards us. As for you,” added she, archly,
“I should say, so accomplished a traveller always finds sufficient to
amuse him on the least interesting journey. I remember a little theory
of yours on that subject; you mentioned it the first time I had the
pleasure to meet you.”
The allusion was with reference to the manner in which Travers made her
acquaintance in the Bristol packet, and the cool assurance of which,
she, with most womanly pertinacity, had not yet forgiven. Travers, who
had often felt ashamed of the circumstance, and had hoped it long since
forgotten, looked the very picture of confusion.
“I perceive Sir Archibald has not taught you to respect his native
proverb, Miss O'Donoghue, and let 'by-gones be by-gones.'”
“I hae taught her nothing Scotch, sir,” replied Sir Archy, smiling; “but
to love a thistle, and that e'en, because it has sting.”
“Not from those that know how to take it, uncle,” said she, archly, and
with a fond expression that lit up the old man's face in smiles.
The Guardsman was less at his ease than usual; and, having arranged the
matter of his visit satisfactorily, arose to take his leave.
“Then you'll be ready for me at eight, Herbert. My father is a martinet
in punctuality, and the phæton will not be a second behind time;
remember that, Miss O'Donoghue, for he makes no exception, even for
ladies.”
He moved towards the door, then turning suddenly, said--
“By-the-bye, have you heard any thing of a movement in the country here
about us? The Government have apparently got some information on the
subject, but I suspect without any foundation whatever.”
“To what extent does this information go?” said Sir Archy, cautiously.
“That I can't tell you; all I know is, that my father has just received
a letter from the Castle, stating that we are living in the very midst
of an organised rebellion, only waiting the signal for open revolt.
“That same rebellion has been going on, to my knowledge, something more
than forty years” said the O'Donoghue, laughing; “and I never knew of
a Lord Lieutenant or Chief Secretary who didn't discover the plot, and
save the kingdom: always leaving a nest egg of treason for his successor
to make a character by.”
“I'm no' so sure it will not come to a hatching yet,” said Sir Archy,
with a dry shake of the head.
“If it is to come, I wish with all my heart it might while I have a
chance of being a spectator,” said Travers; then suddenly remembering
that the levity of the remark might not please the others, he muttered a
few words about a hope of better prospects, and withdrew.
During this brief colloquy, Kate listened with breathless interest to
learn some fact, or even some well-grounded suspicion which might serve
to put Mark on his guard; but nothing could be more vague and indecisive
than Travers's information, and it was evident that he had not concealed
any thing he knew. Was he in a position to learn more, was the next
question to herself--might he not be able to ascertain where the
suspicion of Government rested, and on whom? Her decisions were seldom
but the work of a second, and as soon as this thought struck her, she
determined to act upon it. Slipping noiselessly from the room, she
hastily threw a shawl around her, and hurried from the house by a small
postern door, which, leading down to the high road, was considerably
shorter than the causeway by which Travers must pass.
It was no time for the indulgence of bashfulness, and indeed her
thoughts were far too highly excited by another's destiny to leave any
room to think of herself; and short as the path was, it sufficed to let
her arrange her plan of procedure, even to the very words she should
employ.
“I must not tell him it is for Mark,” said she; “he must think it is a
general desire to save any rash or misguided enthusiast from ruin. But,
here he comes;” and at the same instant the figure of a man was seen
approaching, leading his horse by the bridle. The dark shadow of the
castle fell across the road at the spot, and served to make the form
dim and indistinct. Kate waited not for his coming nearer, but advancing
hastily towards him, cried out--
“Captain Travers, I have a favour to ask of you--one, which my coming
thus to seek----”
“Say no more, Kate, lest I hear what was never intended for my ears,”
said a low, deep voice.
“Mark--cousin Mark, is this you,” cried she, with mingled pleasure and
shame.
“Yes,” replied he, in a tone of still deeper gravity; “I grieve to
disappoint you--it is me.”
“Oh, Mark, mistake me not--do not wrong me,” said she, laying her hand
affectionately on his arm. “I have longed so much to see you--to speak to
you, ere we went away.”
“To see _me_--to speak to _me_,” said he, stepping back, and letting the
moonlight fall full upon his features, now pale as death; “it was not
_me_ you expected to meet here.”
“No, Mark, but it was for you I came; I wished to serve--perhaps to save
you. I know your secret, Mark, but it is safe with me.”
“And I know yours, young lady,” retorted he, bitterly. “I cannot say how
far my discretion will rival your own.”
[Illustration: 259]
As he spoke, a horseman darted rapidly past, and as he emerged from the
shadow, turned round in his saddle, stared fixedly at the figures before
him, and then taking off his hat, said--
“Good-night, Miss O'Donoghue.”
When Kate-recovered the shock of this surprise, she found herself
alone--Mark had disappeared; and she now returned slowly to the castle,
her heart torn with opposing emotions, among which wounded pride was not
the least poignant.