GLAS-AITCH-E.
The nautico-arcadian life of Glas-aitch-e restored Doreen's mental
equilibrium by degrees, which had been sorely shaken by recent
proceedings in Dublin. There she had come to ask herself whether there
could be indeed a God with eyes to see and ears to hear, or whether
the new-fangled creed was the correct one, which spoke of a mysterious
principle--a species of magnet--in accordance with whose influence, as
a dumb machine, the affairs of the world marched in established
sequence. But in the front of this superb nature it was impossible to
hold any such cold-blooded theory. When on waking she opened her
casement to drink the brine-laden air, her youthful vigour got the
better of her sorrows. She marked, stretching on the one hand as fare
as ken could reach, the wondrous _silhouette_ of mountains, rising
tier behind tier in its series of morning changes from jetty black to
purple and then orange; or, not so far away, the chameleon cliffs
whose varieties of effect were endless. She watched the seals tumbling
in flocks; the guillemots and gannets at play, and shrieking petrels,
Cassandras of the deep; and the eagles that had their eyrie in the
dizzy crags of Malin-Head, disdaining low companionship. Then peering
down from her window-sill, straight as a plummet-line, into that
wondrously pellucid ripple, she mused of the legends of the place
concerning the McSweenys--kings of those parts; known as the McSwynes
of the unconquered axe, till Sir Amorey set his foot upon their necks;
of how the rude chieftains had built themselves this fortalice,
defended by three rows of concentric battlements, and had held it in
the teeth of Corsair-fleets till the awful day of retribution for long
thieving, when Sir Amorey Crosbie came--himself the greatest thief; of
how, by stratagem, he lured the defendants out upon the narrow strip
of sand which the waves leave bare at ebb, then scaled the rocks upon
the other side with all his merry men, and watched with laughter while
the garrison perished in the rising waters; of how their bracelets and
ornaments and collars of gold were washed up from time to time to
attest the truth of the story; of how the elfin-guard were sleeping
even now within circumjacent caves, to clatter forth in force when
wanted. If that were true, sure they would have come out long since,
seeing what their motherland had suffered. Yet, after all, not so: for
this wild region had naught to do with the throes which had racked
Erin's frame for seven centuries. It was cut off, severed as by a
spell from the world's troubles and its tragedies.
Doreen felt this strongly when she went among the people on the
mainland. Not one of them could speak anything but Gaelic--their
mental ken saw nothing beyond the arrival of the salmon, or the number
of distressful rents in a new fishing-net. They talked with awe of the
sleeping bodyguard; had pricks of conscience when they slew their
maiden-aunts; looked with compassion on Miss Wolfe when she entered
upon mundane arguments. Vainly she strove to persuade them that the
treasures which the waves threw up were relics of the Spanish
Armada--a portion of which was shattered in these ironbound creeks and
gullies. They preferred to believe in the McSwynes, and did; yet for
all that they came to adore Doreen, who was of their own faith; who
never shot her coracle upon the beach but she was sure to be
surrounded forthwith by a bevy of dancing, screaming imps that
sprawled upon the sand, that sidled up to have their heads patted like
little tame nut-brown birds; then fluttered off to herald out the fact
that the good lady had arrived ashore. The people loved her, and she
loved the people. The Irish heart is so warm, that a very little
kindness will win it--for that very reason, perhaps, their English
foes have chosen to repulse the gift, as one of too easy attainment to
be worth the winning!
Once or twice she was persuaded by her cunning aunt to accompany Shane
along the northern coast in the yacht. He was making a prodigious fuss
about the Martello towers, and it would amuse her to explore the bays
and inlets. Once--only once--she sailed down Lough Swilly, when her
cousin went thither to examine the forts of Knockalla and Inch; and
was royally entertained at the barracks of Letterkenny, by the amateur
soldiers quartered there. It was like returning into Hades after a
glimpse of the stars. The sheepish looks and bungling compliments of
the squireens could not hide from her that this was the fabric from
which the yeomanry were cut who hanged the people and burnt their
cottages.
At Letterkenny the world began again--the wicked, cruel world.
Inwardly she prayed that at least the harmless folks of Ennishowen
might be spared, though all the isle beside should have to pass under
the yoke. But the sight of these ruffians in uniform made her quail
for them. Since Fate debarred her from the right of joining her people
in their suffering, she would close her ears to their cries if she
could, and return into the world no more.
The gentry about Derry and Antrim were divided upon all subjects
except ruffianism. On this point they were in surprising concord. They
were for the most part Presbyterians. The republican nature of their
tenets disposed them to join the United Irishmen, and many entered
heartily into the conspiracy, until Government agents demonstrated
that the triumph of the popular party would bring with it Catholic
emancipation.
Now the Ulster men of the middle and upper class were Orange as well
as Presbyterian. They looked upon a Catholic as a toad--an unclean
thing which had no business to be created--which must be hurried out
of life without delay, as a lesson to their Maker to make such
mistakes no more.
Therefore, upon this fact being made quite plain to them, their
patriotic ardour cooled amazingly, and they bade fair to rival the
excesses of their brethren down south.
At this very dinner a tipsy young 'half-mounted' told as a fine joke a
tale of what had happened at Armagh when he went there 't'other day to
buy a horse. A certain rapscallion,' he said, 'was suspected of having
some gunpowder concealed, contrary to the mandate of his Majesty.
Shots had been heard in the neighbourhood of his cabin--that was
enough. He denied the charge, and so must be made to confess. How was
it done? Mighty ingeniously, i' faith! He was hung up by the heels
with a rope full of twist, by which means he whirled round most
laughably, like a bird before the fire; while the soldiers lashed him
with their belts to make him speak. But his stupid old father spoiled
the joke; for upon his son calling on him for help he up with a
turf-spade and broke a soldier's pate open; upon which, of course, the
old fool had to be disembowelled.' The other sparks laughed with great
he-haws at; this funny anecdote, till one of them, looking at Miss
Wolfe, thought 'maybe the leedy didn't loike it.' And Shane, surprised
that his stiff cousin should be such a milksop, changed the subject to
the building of his towers. The stone being handy, they would take but
little time, he said. So soon as his task was complete he would send
down the yacht for these agreeable young sons of Mars, and entertain
them at his quaint old castle.
'It was indeed moighty koind in his lordship, to be sure; anything
they could do to obleege,' etc., etc. So there was a great shaking of
hands and display of newly-acquired military salutes, and everybody
was charmed with everybody, except Doreen, who voted them bears and
brutes, whilst they thought her stuck-up.
After this episode, nothing could induce her to revisit Letterkenny.
She spent her time in daydreams, drifting about in her coracle for
hours, to return dripping wet, but, in a hazy way, more than half
content. There is never much snow in Ennishowen, because brine is
inimical to snow; but in winter there is much rain and mist and dense
sea-fog, which penetrates to the bones and chills them. When the
revolving cycle brought fine weather, she liked to establish herself
by her window, to watch the strange glory of the dawn, sitting, as she
smilingly observed, in her 'Grianan,' or sun-chamber. And what a
spectacle it was to lull a vexed spirit into peace! First, as light
crept near, she was aware of nothing but a vast sheet of pearl--above,
below, around--without line to mark where earth or sea joined heaven.
Her enchanted prison seemed the centre of an orient jewel, through
which the light of heaven filtered dimly. She occupied a magician's
castle, suspended by mystic agency in a translucent ether of opal hue.
The illusion was complete, for presently tiny cloudlets of rose and
grey flecked the space above, to be repeated in dappled reflections on
the still mirror below, which as yet knew no rim. Cloudlets overhead;
cloudlets far down, under the hanging castle. Then, by imperceptible
degrees, the opal flushed to brass with spots of tarnish (where
seaweed banks shone through). Then a ridge of palest pink loomed into
shape from nothingness, warming slowly to blood-red, and darkening to
Tyrian purple--and the misty film was rent and crumbled, and lo! there
was the rim to the still mirror--the glorious rim of that noble
mountain-chain, now turned to a sharply-defined deep-blue--in unison
with sky and water.
Doreen was comforted for the day when nature chose thus to open the
casket for her; and rowed, or fished over the garden parapet, and was,
by reason of her new peacefulness, more soft than heretofore with her
aunt; and even strove sometimes to make herself agreeable to Shane. My
lady marked the improvement as a good omen of success, but was not
quite satisfied; for there was mixed with the damsel's good behaviour
a cool indifference which suggested a carelessness of what should next
befall.
When Shane was cross (alas! he grew crosser as he grew bored),
Doreen's face never lost its calm. If it had, her aunt would have felt
more easy, for it would have shown that the young lady noticed her
cousin's moods. But no; she was kindly and polite--was not even
shocked, as his mother was, when my lord made a boon-companion of the
skipper of his yacht, hobbing and nobbing till both master and man
were magnificently drunk. My lady was really displeased at this, for
it wounded her pride that the head of the house should condescend to
such companionship. Squireens from Letterkenny would have been better;
but then they might have made love to the young lady, and my lady had
settled in her mind that nobody must do that but Shane.
Poor mother! How earnestly she schemed, and how little came of her
scheming! With what angelic self-denial she endured the ghostly
whisperings of the chairs and tables, which would keep babbling of
that past, however much she stopped her ears. Shane made no effort to
woo his cousin. On the contrary, her superior manners and serene airs
provoked him, by causing him to feel how inferior he himself was to
her. Norah never made him feel this, for she did dreadfully vulgar
things sometimes, for which he liked her as he chid her--things
which would have made his mother's white hair stand straight up on
end--tricks which the colleen had learnt from her good-natured
plebeian mamma. Now he never would have dared to chide Miss Wolfe; for
even in her wildest escapades--when conversing with mysterious young
men at night, or galloping helter-skelter over the country--she
carried matters with so high a hand that even my lady herself was
routed. Indeed Shane, though far enough off, was nearer to love than
she was, for he felt something akin to a good wholesome hatred of his
cousin, whilst she was only indifferent to him.
The fact was, that Shane, not being fond of booklore, became sullen
and fiercely sulky, as week followed week and he found himself a
prisoner with no prospect of release. He had a suspicion that he had
been trapped. Yet, while he revolted at the thought of it, his nature
was too weak to permit of his shaking himself free without, at least,
somebody's friendly countenance.
Now and then he ventured to suggest that there really was no reason
why they should not return to Strogue. The French fiasco had put an
end to danger from the Continent, as well as to the pretensions of the
United Irishmen. What was his mother's opinion? Surely she must be
tired of being cooped up, much as she seemed to love the place--(love
it! poor lady!)--for she never went on shore among the benighted
Catholics, being content, as a change, to make a solemn progress on
the lough on calm days, rowed by ten sturdy rowers. Should her son
order the yacht to take in bag and baggage? Should he send a messenger
on horseback, to announce their proximate arrival in Dublin?
To all of these insidious proposals my lady merely opposed a quiet
negative, producing budgets from her pocket--voluminous letters from
Lord Clare--upon the events which were passing in the capital.
According to him, affairs grew worse and worse, instead of better. The
perverseness of his countrymen was appalling to an enlightened mind.
There was no knowing what might happen. His dear old friend's second
son was behaving ill. Happily, the loyal behaviour of the elder one
would be counted as righteousness to the family, by a forgiving and
benignant Government.
'It was evident from this,' she declared, with a decision there was no
gainsaying, 'that Shane must do as he was doing. Terence might choose
to disgrace himself; so Shane's conduct must be all the more
immaculate.' (My lady's voice did not falter as she discussed this
delicate matter. Doreen merely frowned and turned away.) 'It was the
duty of Shane, for the sake of the honour of the Glandores, to keep
staunch to the side of Government--the side of law and order--and the
best way of doing that was by stopping where he was.'
Shane groaned in spirit, but submitted, and cursed the patriots by all
his gods--empty-headed, crack-brained fools--who thus stood betwixt
him and pleasure. He pined for Norah, for Cherokee suppers, Blaster
orgies. Why, he was almost forgetting what a duel was like! His rapier
was rusting on the wall. He became crabbed in his enforced idleness;
pinched viciously the satin skins of his pet dogs, instead of stroking
them; took more and more to claret; was constantly making trips to
Letterkenny.
With the exception of Lord Clare's occasional budgets, the party
received little news, save garbled accounts from Letterkenny barracks.
My lady insisted upon reading her own letters aloud, for the benefit
of her niece; but that young person heeded not the chancellor's
prosing, being serenely occupied in following the gyrations of a
seamew, or the eccentric movements of a fishing cormorant, so that
oft-reiterated abuse of her friends troubled her temper in nowise; and
her aunt marvelled how it could be that the froward girl should have
become proper and submissive, like well-behaved young ladies.
Is it not singular how to some people we unaccountably and invariably
are impelled to show only the ugly or seamy side, which forms part of
all our characters, and how to others we, without special effort,
always turn the best? My lady and Doreen, though they dwelt together,
never really knew each other. At times Doreen considered my lady mad;
always harsh and disagreeable; while it was never given to my lady to
detect the unselfish devotion and the strong worship of all that is
beautiful and free, and the overpowering horror of all that is unjust
and base, which was the better phase of her niece's character.
As for the newspapers, nothing could be gleaned from them. So soon as
a paper became popular, it was acquired by money or threats (with the
exception of Tom Emmett's, which ran its rigs unchecked), and
patriotism gave way to padding. There was little Irish intelligence.
The Dublin prints might as well have been edited at Sierra Leone; and
Doreen turned with impatience from their dulness. She received few
letters herself, for there was no one to write to her except the
proscribed, and, of course, it would not do for treasonable
correspondence to pass through the hands of Lord Glandore, who amused
himself by sailing to Rathmelton for the bag. There was no convenient
shebeen here, where notes might cunningly be dropped; no useful Biddy
or Jug Coyle--not even a handy cabin; for, whilst the peasantry round
Dublin were one and all ready to do anything for the cause, those of
Ennishowen cared not about it. And she was not sorry for this. With
the French fiasco her hopes had melted--she knew too well the
discordant elements which composed the Irish Directory. All that had
kept its members together had been the expectation of French
assistance--now that that was over they would fall asunder, and
Cinderella would sit down again amongst the ashes. And was it not
indeed better so? The wrath of God was kindled, for some reason which
she knew not, against unhappy motherland. Was it not better, then,
that her sons should accept their bondage with meekness rather than
waste their blood uselessly? Doreen's contentment sprang in the first
instance from the nipping of despair. A moment comes to us in our sore
trouble, when we fold our arms and murmur, 'By God's mercy there is a
limit to the sense of feeling. We have reached that limit, and will
feel no more;' and, strange as it may seem, with that resolve comes an
impression of calm, which, in its way, is a sort of negative
happiness. We have lost something, we are bereft of something which
above all things we valued, yet we seem vaguely better for the loss.
It is like the expression of peace which all blind faces wear, though
their most precious treasure has been stolen--the sense of sight.
Doreen shrank from probing her own feelings with regard to Terence.
Certainly his conduct distressed her more than seemed warranted by
circumstances. She did not love him. No, not so bad as that, happily.
She liked him as a fond sister might like a brother many years her
junior, with a good-humoured satisfaction when he did well--for
instance, when he made a splendid leap out hunting, or a particularly
felicitous shot with his gun; and a feeling of pained displeasure when
he did ill. And she told herself that he had behaved very ill, so ill
that the fact of his existence must be erased from the tablets of her
memory. That he should prove to be so double-dyed a traitor, so
despicable and dastardly a schemer, filled her soul with horror.
Being a hero-worshipper, she had always despised him in a kindly
superior way, for he was sleek and contented and commonplace, blessed
with a good digestion; had looked on his grovelling contentment with
pity, and is not pity contempt clothed in tenderness? To have been so
interesting Manfred must have had a terrible digestion; while as for
the Corsair, I know that in private he suffered from dyspepsia. Whilst
taking it for granted that Terence was too easy-going ever to become
truly heroic, his cousin had warmed to him on the night at the
theatre, when his indignation induced him to take the oath. That all
that fervour should have been craftily assumed for the purpose of
deceit was too repulsive a subject for reflection, and she put it from
her. Maybe if she had calmly brought her mind to bear on it, she might
have perceived that she was hasty, and have remembered that it is not
right to condemn criminals unheard. But she had caught a glimpse of
two ugly facts, and withdrew her gaze from them at once without
further inquiry.
Somebody was a traitor. The delegates had been betrayed more than once
under the cloak of friendship. My lady had told her distinctly (or in
her haste she thought so) that Terence had done the evil deed, for the
paltry wage of five hundred pounds. She had deemed that her cousin at
least was honest, and before thrusting his image from her sight, had
felt, with a soreness for which she could not account, that she would
have been very, very glad if she could have pronounced him innocent.
Doreen, though she diverted her attention from the painful subject,
was wondrously interested--down in her inmost heart--in the guilt or
innocence of Terence, and felt a feeble flutter there, whose cause, if
she had understood it, would have disgusted her. As it was, the
flutter in time died a natural death, and, disillusioned, she sank
into the apathetic condition of one who drifts and is content to
drift--a rudderless resignation which is beyond despondency--an utter
hopelessness with which his behaviour, though she wist it not, may
have had something to do.
Not long after her arrival at Glas-aitch-e she received a letter from
her father, in which was enclosed another, with whose seal the upright
gentleman had refrained from tampering. It was brought to him by an
aged crone, who extracted a solemn promise that he would not open it.
'If ye promise,' she said, 'I'll believe ye, Arthur Wolfe, for ye're a
good man, or ye would not be given so good a child.'
The eccentricity of the speech pleased the attorney-general, who sent
on the letter. It was from his godson Theobald, and Doreen recognised
with gratitude the delicate tact which induced her father to pretend
that he did not know from whom it came. It removed from her mind the
portion of its load which was endured on his behalf; for the young
hero was safe. His vessel escaped as by a miracle through the centre
of the English fleet. Hoche too was safe. Both were to join the army
of the Sambre and Meuse at once. He spoke no more of help from France;
was evidently as disappointed as Miss Wolfe was. The dream was over.
His sword belonged to the French Republic now, his uniform was that of
a French general. He must carve a name for himself among the ranks of
the foes of France. Doreen thanked God that his pure young life had
not been idly thrown away. Might it be reserved for glorious deeds on
behalf of Erin in the future? It was not likely. Better far that he
too should have abandoned hope; for Ireland was prostrate, never to
rise either in his lifetime or in hers. All they could do was to bear
as humbly as they might, shading their eyes from cruel sights--waiting
as serenely as was possible for the call to a less hateful world.
So Doreen considered the seabirds and the transparent deeps, and
patted little savages on the pate, and smiled her quiet smile, and
made believe to be tranquilly resigned; though all the while she was
entranced--numbed as by a spell.