THE WILD WOOD--THE OLD MANSION-HOUSE OF FINISKEA--SECRETS, AND A
SURPRISE.
O'Connor pursued his way towards the city, following the broken
horse-track, which then traversed the low grounds which lie upon the
left bank of the Liffey. The Phoenix Park, or, as it was then called,
the Royal Park, was at the time of which we write a much wilder place
than it now is. There were no trim plantations nor stately clumps of
tufted trees, no signs of care or culture. Broad patches of shaggy
thorn spread with little interruption over the grounds, and regular
roads were then unknown. The darkness became momentarily deeper and
more deep as O'Connor pursued his solitary way; and the difficulty of
proceeding grew every instant greater, for the heavy rains had
interrupted his path with deep sloughs and pools, which became at
length so frequent, and so difficult of passage, that he was fain to
turn from the ordinary track, and seek an easier path along the high
grounds which overhang the river. The close screen of the wild gnarled
thorns which covered the upper level on which he now moved, still
further deepened the darkness; and he became at length so entirely
involved in the pitchy gloom, that he dismounted, and taking his horse
by the head, led him forward through the tangled brake, and under the
knotted branches of the old hoary thorns, stumbling among the briers
and the crooked roots, and every moment encountering the sudden
obstruction, either of some stooping branch, or the trunk of one of the
old trees; so that altogether his progress was as tedious and
unpleasant as it well could be. His annoyance became the greater as he
proceeded; for he was so often compelled to turn aside, and change his
course, to avoid these interruptions, that in the utter darkness he
began to grow entirely uncertain whether or not he was moving in the
right direction. The more he paused, and the oftener he reflected, the
more entirely puzzled and bewildered did he become. Glad indeed would
he have been that he had followed the track upon which he had at first
entered, and run the hazard of all the sloughs and pools which crossed
it; but he was now embarked in another route; and even had he desired
it, so perplexed was he, that he could not have effected his retreat.
Fully alive to the ridiculousness, as well as the annoyance of his
situation, he slowly and painfully stumbled forward, conscious that if
only he could move for half an hour or thereabout consistently in the
same direction, he must disengage himself in some quarter or another
from the entanglement in which he was involved. In vain he looked round
him; nothing but entire darkness encountered him. In vain he listened
for any sound which might intimate the neighbourhood of any living
thing. Nothing but the hushed soughing of the evening breeze through
the old boughs was audible; and he was forced to continue his route in
the same troublesome uncertainty.
At length he saw, or thought he saw, a red light gleaming through the
trees. It disappeared--it came again. He stopped, uncertain whether it
was one of those fitful marsh-fires which but mock the perplexity of
benighted travellers; but no--this light shone clearly, and with a
steady beam, through the branches; and towards it he directed his
steps, losing it now, and again recovering it, till at length, after a
longer probation than he had at first expected, he gained a clear space
of ground, intersected only by a few broken hedges and ditches, but
free from the close wood which had so entirely darkened his advance. In
this position he was enabled to discern that the light which had guided
him streamed from the window of an old shattered house, partially
surrounded by a dilapidated wall, having a few ruinous outhouses
attached to it. In this building he beheld the old mansion-house of
Finiskea, which then occupied the ground on which at present stands the
powder-magazine, and which, by a slight alteration in sound, though
without any analogy in meaning, has given its name to the Phoenix Park.
The light streamed through the diamond panes of a narrow casement; and
still leading his horse, O'Connor made his way over the broken fences
towards the old house. As he approached, he perceived several figures
moving to and fro in the chamber from which the light issued, and
detected, or thought he did so, among them the remarkable form of the
priest who had lately been his companion upon the road. As he advanced,
someone inside drew a curtain across the window, though, as O'Connor
conjectured, wholly unaware of his approach, and thus precluded any
further reconnoitering on his part.
"At all events," thought he, "they can spare me some one to put me upon
my way. They can hardly complain if I intrude upon such an errand."
With this reflection, he led his horse round the corner of the building
to the door, which was sheltered by a small porch roofed with tiles. By
the faint light, which in the open space made objects partially
discernible, he perceived two men, as it appeared to him, fast
asleep--half sitting and half lying on the low step of the door. He had
just come near enough to accost them, when, somewhat to his surprise,
he was seized from behind in a powerful grip, and his arms pinioned to
his sides. A single antagonist he would easily have shaken off; but a
reinforcement was at hand.
"Up, boys--be stirring--open the door," cried the hoarse voice of the
person who held O'Connor.
The two figures started to their feet; their strength, combined with
the efforts of his first assailant, effectually mastered O'Connor, and
one of them shoved the door open.
"Pretty watch you keep," said he, as the party hurried their prisoner,
wholly without the power of resistance, into the house.
Three or four powerful, large-limbed fellows, well armed, were seated
in the hall, and arose on his entrance. O'Connor saw that resistance
against such odds were idle, and resolved patiently to submit to the
issue, whatever it might be.
"Gentlemen that's caught peeping is sometimes made to see more than
they have a mind to," observed one of O'Connor's conductors.
Another removed his sword, and having satisfied himself that he had not
any other weapon upon his person, observed,--
"You may let his elbows loose; but jist keep him tight by the collar."
"Let the gentlemen know there's a bird limed," observed the first
speaker; and one of the others passed from the narrow hall to execute
the mission.
After some little delay, O'Connor, who awaited the result with more of
curiosity and impatience than of alarm, was conducted by two of the
armed men who had secured him through a large passage terminating in a
chamber, which they also traversed, and by a second door at its far
extremity found entrance into a rude but spacious apartment, floored
with tiles, and with a low ceiling of dark plank, supported by
ponderous beams. A large wood fire burned in the hearth, beside which
some half dozen men were congregated; several others were seated by a
massive table, on which were writing materials, with which two or three
of them were busily employed; a number of open letters were also strewn
upon it, and here and there a brace of horse-pistols or a carbine
showed that the party felt neither very secure, nor very much disposed
to surrender without a struggle, should their worst anticipations be
realized, in any attempt to surprise them.
Most of those who were present bore, in their disordered dress and
mud-soiled boots, the evidence of recent travel. They were lighted
chiefly by the broad, uncertain gleam of the blazing wood fire, in
which the misty flame of two or three wretched candles which burned
upon the table shone pale and dim as the last stars of night in the red
dawn of an autumnal sun. In this strong and ruddy light the groups of
figures, variously attired, some seated by the table, and others
standing with their ample cloaks still folded around them, acquired by
the contrast of broad light and shade a character of picturesqueness
which had in it something wild and imposing. This singular tableau
occupied the further end of the room, which was one of considerable
length, and as the prisoner was led forward to the bar of the tribunal,
those who composed it eyed him sternly and fixedly.
"Bind his hands fast," said a lean and dark-featured man, with a
singularly forbidding aspect and a deep, stern voice, who sat at the
head of the table with a pile of papers beside him. Spite of O'Connor's
struggles, the order was speedily executed, and with such good-will
that the blood almost started from his nails.
"Now, sir," continued the same speaker, "who are you, and what may your
errand be?"
"Before I answer your questions you must satisfy me that you have
authority to ask them," replied O'Connor. "Who, I pray, are you, who
dare to seize the person, and to bind the limbs of a free man? I shall
know this ere one of your questions shall have a reply."
"I have seen you, young sir, before--scarce an hour since," observed
one of those who stood by the hearth. "Look at me, and say do you
remember my features?"
"I do," replied O'Connor, who had no difficulty in recognizing those of
the priest who had parted from him so abruptly on that evening--"of
course I recollect your face; we rode side by side from Leixlip
to-day."
"You recollect my caution too--you cannot have forgotten that,"
continued the priest, menacingly. "You know how peremptorily I warned
you against following me, yet you have dogged me here; on your own head
be the consequences--the fool shall perish in his folly."
"I have _not_ dogged you here, sir," replied O'Connor; "I seek my way
to Dublin. The river banks are so soft that a horse had better swim
than seek to keep them; I therefore took the upper ground, and after
losing myself among the woods, at length saw a light, reached it, and
here I am."
The priest heard the statement with a sinister smile.
"A truce to these inventions, sir," said he. "It is indeed _possible_
that you speak the truth, but it is in the highest degree _probable_
that you lie; it is, in a word, plain--satisfactorily plain, that you
followed me hither, as I suspected you might have done; you have dogged
me, sir, and you have seen all that you sought to behold; you have seen
my place of destination and my company. I care not with what motive you
have acted--that is between yourself and your Maker. If you are a spy,
which I shrewdly suspect, Providence has defeated your treason, and
punished the traitor; if mere curiosity impelled you, you will remember
that ill-directed curiosity was the sin which brought death upon
mankind, and cease to wonder that its fruits may be bitter to yourself.
What say you, young man?"
"I have told you plainly how I happened to reach this place," replied
O'Connor; "I have told you once--I will repeat the statement no more;
and once again I ask, on what authority you question me, and dare thus
to bind my hands and keep me here against my will?"
"Authority sufficient to satisfy our own consciences," rejoined the
priest. "The responsibility rests not upon you; enough it is for you to
know that we have the power to detain you, and that we exercise that
power, as we most probably shall _another_, still less conducive to
your comfort."
"You have the power to make me captive, I admit," rejoined
O'Connor--"you have the power to murder me, as you threaten, but though
power to keep or kill is all the justification a robber or a bravo
needs, methinks such an argument should hardly satisfy a consecrated
minister of Christ."
The expression with which the priest regarded the young man grew
blacker and more truculent at this rebuke, and after a silence of a few
seconds he replied,--
"We are doubly authorized in what we do--ay, trebly warranted, young
traitor. God Almighty has given us the instinct of self-defence, which
in a righteous cause it is laudable to consult and indulge; the Church,
too, tells us in these times to deal strictly with the malignant
persecutors of God's truth; and lastly, we have a royal warranty--the
authority of the rightful king of these realms, investing us with
powers to deal summarily with rebels and traitors. Let this satisfy
you."
"I honour the king," rejoined O'Connor, "as truly as any man here,
seeing that _my_ father lost all in the service of his illustrious
sire, but I need some more satisfactory assurance of his delegated
authority than the bare assertion of a violent man, of whom I know
absolutely nothing, and until you show me some instrument empowering
you to act thus, I will not acknowledge your competency to subject me
to an examination, and still resolutely protest against your detaining
me here."
"You refuse, then, to answer our questions?" said the hard-featured
little person who sat at the far end of the table.
"Until you show authority to put them, I peremptorily _do_ refuse to
answer them," replied the young man.
The little person looked expressively at the priest, who appeared to
hold a high influence among the party. He answered the look by
saying,--
"His blood be upon his own head."
"Nay, not so fast, holy father; let us debate upon this matter for a
few minutes, ere we execute sentence," said a singularly noble-looking
man who stood beside the priest. "Remove the prisoner," he added, with
a voice of command, "and keep him strictly guarded."
"Well, be it so," said he, reluctantly.
The little man who sat at the head of the table made a gesture to those
who guarded O'Connor, and the order thus given and sanctioned was at
once carried into execution.