SMITTEN WITH SERPENTS.
Doreen was wrong. The French did not abandon so lightly their scheme
of striking at Albion through Cinderella. They revictualled their
fleet, made good the damage done by winds and waves, and looked
forward to the accomplishment of their object within half a year or so
of their first failure. To make victory doubly sure, a second fleet
was got together in the Texel, under the command of the solid
Dutchman, De Winter, who agreed with the Gallic Directory that
now was the time or never; for the British navy was utterly
disorganised--there were mutinies among the sailors at Plymouth and at
Portsmouth, and one more serious still, under Parker, at the Nore.
What moment could be better chosen for conveying an army to Ireland
than one in which the mistress of the seas lay crippled; when the
Channel--unusual circumstance--was open to the world? Wolfe Tone,
however, did not recover his enthusiasm. The conduct of his brethren
at home, when friendly vessels were in the offing, had been
reprehensible--pusillanimous. Instead of rising and making a vigorous
effort for freedom, those who pretended to be their chiefs had
bickered and shilly-shallied among themselves--a sight to command the
scorn of honest men--and the young hero was profoundly discouraged. He
began to doubt his countrymen; yet would he not desert them though
they seemed inclined to desert themselves, but joined the Texel fleet,
under Daendels and De Winter, hoping and praying for the best. It was
a fine fleet of fifteen sail of the line and ten frigates. If the wind
would only blow fair--if the shoals and sandbanks of the Texel were
once safely passed--then success was certain. For Admiral Duncan, who
was watching, had but a few vessels under his command, and even some
of these were called home in consequence of the Nore troubles.
'Hurry then!' cried De Winter and old Daendels. 'Ship the troops, and
let us be off.'
The troops were shipped--everything was ready; but Daendels and De
Winter whistled vainly for a fair wind. The elements, as usual, were
on the side of England. Before, there had been too much wind; now, not
a breath stirred the air. The sea was a dead calm. The admirals and
generals marched up and down the deck--beautiful--in blue, with
rainbow sashes, and hats prodigious with great plumes of the three
colours. But no breeze moved a feather of the plumes. Exasperated,
they descended to the cabin to while away the time with music, while
the precious sand was dripping in the glass. De Winter had a pretty
talent on the flute, as also had Tone, and so these two warriors
obliged the company with duets--artistic trills and variations--what a
strange spectacle! But by-and-by their patience oozed out of the
flute-holes--they cursed themselves, and flung about the music in a
passion; and indeed the clerk of the weather was vexing. June was
merging into July--the mutinies were being put down--the golden
opportunity was slipping visibly away; Lord Bridport cruised out with
a fleet to watch the French at Brest; Duncan's handful became a
squadron, swinging idly at the Texel's mouth; the soldiers,
unaccustomed to close packing, showed signs of sickness; the
provisions were sensibly diminishing; unless fortune should choose to
turn her wheel with speed this expedition would be a greater fiasco
even than the other.
Meanwhile there was a panic amongst the friends of Government in
Dublin, who knew not that the elements were fighting for them. The
position of England was most critical. Should this new enterprise
succeed, what chance of succour could there be from Britain? None. She
had quite enough to do to cope with her own difficulties. There were
forty thousand soldiers who had been drafted into Ireland by degrees;
but could these be relied on? The Hessians were beery brutal wretches,
who would probably turn coward at a pinch. The Scotch and English
regiments made no secret of their abhorrence of the attitude of the
native yeomanry. As for the militia, it was disaffected, and would
certainly fling itself into the balance on the side of probable
success. The people were fiercely sullen--in a dangerous mood, like
rats prepared to spring. If the French should come and be victorious,
they would rally like one man round the tricolour, and then woe to the
small knot of tyrants! Not one of the ascendency party could hope to
escape. Not a Protestant lord or lady in the land but would be hacked
in pieces with the inevitably accompanying atrocities of internecine
strife. It was an awful prospect. My lords, who had been blindly
following the lead of the executive, looked uneasily towards the
Castle. They had done as they were bidden, aided by promises and
pensions--but of what use is a pension when your throat is cut? Were
they to be protected from the growling rabble--these hereditary
legislators, who had abused their trust--these amateur colonels who
had disgraced their cloth--this venal degraded senate which was a
byword among senates? Members of both Houses were nervous. Had
their zeal led them perhaps too far? Would it be better to hedge a
little--to permit the miserable cottagers to exist in peace? The Privy
Council debated long and anxiously. Lord Camden was frightened at the
acts which were perpetrated in his name. Mr. Speaker ventured to
remark that a line of commendation from Mr. Pitt, and a promise of
help in case of need, would be consoling to his coadjutors. Arthur
Wolfe became plunged in melancholy. He was drifting on a stream which
sickened him, towards a palpable goal which he contemplated with
terror. Was there no escape from the horror that was looming? He
looked to Lord Clare as to a helmsman who is responsible for the
safety of the crew.
But Lord Clare's nerves did not desert him at this crisis. His clear
intellect told him that it was too late for hedging; now there was no
retreat. King George hated the Catholics, and would smile on those who
evilly entreated them. Mr. Pitt had sketched out a plan of action long
ago, which must be carried out faithfully to the letter. Mr. Pitt had
decided that Cinderella must be put on the rack; that her limbs must
be given a good wrenching; and that afterwards--so soon as she should
know by experience what agony really is--she should be tucked up
cosily and made comfortably bedridden for the rest of her natural
existence. It stood to reason that she would scream--so would you or I
if thus surgically treated; but when once we grow used to it, there is
a charm about being bedridden. People come to amuse us--to feed us
with dainty things; they coddle us and comfort us, and we are really
not unhappy. Therefore, although these unfortunate mutinies had
somewhat complicated the case, it would never do to blench at so
critical a moment. Having put his hand to the wheel, my lord
chancellor knew that he must look steadily forward, and not backward.
His countrymen must be taught that any _regime_ would be better than
the one under which they groaned; the senate must be made so to commit
itself that it could never raise its head again so long as the world
rolled; then what would be easier than to consummate the original
plan, to abolish the senate, and absorb Ireland by stratagem into the
body of a complete British empire--one and indivisible?
So wrote the chancellor to Mr. Pitt, who replied in courteous
language; for his chief puppet was jumping admirably: he would soon be
battered and worn out--would then have to be replaced by another. But
the doll was not past service yet--it was still gay and bright with
paint; was still capable of dancing: so Mr. Pitt wrote civil letters
to Lord Clare, bidding him not to stick at trifles. Thus supported,
Lord Clare spoke clearly at the Council Board. Desperate diseases must
be met with desperate remedies, he said. Arthegal, figure of justice
in the Faery Queen, is armed with an iron flail. The people are
furious, are they? Then they must be made more furious still. When you
want to tame a lion do you pat him? No, or he would rend you. You
strike him with whips--touch him with red-hot irons. To be governed he
must be ruled by fear; and so is it with the people of this island.
Having gone as far as we have, it will never do to show that we're
afraid of them. They must be ground down--must be rendered so passive
by exhaustion that, French or no French, they will be too weak to do
much harm. In the first place we'll arrest those lads again who have
been playing the fool too long. We will make a plunge at the leaders,
so that if the Gauls should happen to arrive, they will find nobody in
authority to co-operate with them.
Lord Camden endorsed these sentiments, mumbling platitudes about
self-preservation; that it has unpleasant duties, but that many
unpleasant things have to be done, etc., etc., and the council broke
up; my Lord Clare strutting forth to give his orders, Arthur Wolfe
moving slowly homeward with a worn and troubled face. Then by deft
hints and nods and winks, my Lord Clare brought those who served him
to know what was expected of them. He rallied the members of the
Houses on their nervousness.
'You wear his Majesty's uniform, my lords and gentlemen,' he said. 'I
presume you would not wish to be mere carpet-knights. The Irish always
were good fighters. You will defend the King's rights if it comes to a
brush with the rabble?' He gave the squireens to understand that they
were fine jovial fellows, with a strong sense of humour and a subtle
appreciation of a practical joke. 'Now that recent invention of
yours,' he observed airily, 'of wringing confession from a man by
hanging him, then cutting him down before his soul has had time to
escape, is vastly droll!'
Thereupon the jolly boys, determined to win yet further commendation,
and delighted to give vent unrestrained to the native brutality of
uneducated man, set their wits to work and gave birth to other
inventions. We know that a demand invariably creates a supply. The
gentlemen of the yeomanry vied one with the other in cultivation of
their inventive faculty and the result was an array of practical
jokes, novel and splendid indeed! Even the great French reign of
terror was thrown into the shade. The French, as we all know, are not
inventive or witty. A guillotine--a constant flow of blood and falling
heads; a boat with a trap-door to drown people by the dozen--amusing
rather for a minute, then nauseously dull and monotonous. The jolly
Irish boys were much wittier than this, and more ingenious; and yet,
by one of the strange chances of history, people shudder still over
Robespierre and Marat and their doings, and are absolutely careless
and ignorant as to what was done at home not ninety years ago.
Lady Camden grew terrified at reports which reached her ears. Lord
Camden shut himself up at the Viceregal Lodge, and promenaded the
Ph[oe]nix Park, round which was a protecting military cordon. Lords
and ladies left Dublin furtively. Some for England--some for their
family acres in the far west; impelled--some by fear--some by the
promptings of the chancellor--a few only by a sense of duty to their
tenantry.
A certain earl set up a triangle in his barrack-yard, and was never
weary of flaying the backs of the neighbouring peasants. To such
lengths went he and his, that an English colonel, also quartered
there, was forced to expostulate with his lordship, to the chagrin of
the latter. My Lord Downshire retired to his hills, and kept his
regiment within bounds. Indeed, he and my Lord Powerscourt were
severely rebuked by the chancellor--the latter especially; for he
dared to say that his tenants had been armed at his own expense for
the protection of property, not for the commission of murders--upon
which the chancellor groaned aloud; for this was a malignant example
to others. My Lord Powerscourt, however, was not to be persuaded. He
locked up his grand house in Dublin, and revisited it no more until
the legislative struggle took place which concluded the century.
Nothing could be more dismal than the Irish capital now. There was a
species of curfew at sunset, after which few ventured in the street.
Major Sirr and his myrmidons glided hither and thither on their
devilish errand of cajoling men to their destruction. It was the
business of these miscreants to provide victims for the lash by any
means. Bands of drunken yeomanry awoke the midnight echoes with their
shouting as they returned from breaking into a dwelling, or from
flogging victims in the riding-school. For Claudius Beresford's
riding-school had been turned by one of the practical jokes into a
torture-chamber, where men, kidnapped on mere suspicion, were dragged
and tied up, and lacerated without mercy night and day; whilst
scurrying passers-by fled onward with their fingers in their ears.
Some died under the lash--some swooned, to wake up idiots
afterwards--some recovered, to wear till death livid welts upon their
backs and inextinguishable hatred in their hearts.
My Lady Camden, growing more and more apprehensive--for her lord's
babble was incoherent--resolved to go down into the city and see for
herself what passed there. She drove her four ponies along Ormond
Quay, which was as deserted as if the town were plague-stricken; they
swerved, and well-nigh upset her ladyship, for a single naked figure
came tearing round a corner with wild yells and windmill arms, who,
rushing past, flung himself over the parapet into the Liffey.
Helter-skelter behind him came the hounds--in scarlet coats and
pipe-clayed cross-belts--but the lady-lieutenant saw them not. The
agonised victim of a joke wore a pitched cap upon his head, which was
set ablaze and was grilling his living brains. This pleasantry was
spoiled, for the wretch had presence of mind left to seek oblivion in
the water. But another joke succeeded, which bade fair to end badly
for the jokers. The Viceroy's lady lay back in a dead faint. Her
ponies galloped along the street with her, their reins catching round
their legs. The joke might have ended in the breaking of her
excellency's precious neck. As soon as possible after this episode,
she retired to England, and my Lord Clare made capital out of the
circumstance. Were not the people behaving disreputably, when even the
wife of the King's representative had thought it necessary to take
refuge in flight? There had been, he averred, a new project to storm
Kilmainham and set the criminals at liberty. To what a horrid nation
was it his destiny to belong!
It is not surprising that at this juncture he should have found an
annoying stumbling-block in Curran. That worthy could do nothing but
protest; but people who protest can make themselves very disagreeable,
especially if they chance to peer further than the mob, and choose to
tell what they see. Cassandra was only a mad woman, but we all know
how unpleasant she could make herself. Curran had a clear head, a
sharp wit, a biting tongue, and he exercised all three in the House of
Commons, much to Lord Clare's displeasure. Now we have all learned
that as we mount the rungs of the social ladder, society bows more and
more before conventionality. Such a thing is 'vulgar'--such another
'low;' why or wherefore nobody can tell, though it probably arises
from the fact that the more rarified the atmosphere, the more
artificial become those who breathe it, the less liable to think for
themselves, the more ready to lean on others' crutches, the more
likely to be shocked at the enunciation of new problems, which they
are too idle or too prejudiced or too stupid or too sluggish to
trouble about sifting for themselves. It might be taken for granted
that the senators of both Houses were aware--down in their
soul-caves--how base was their line of conduct. But for the sake of
their own interest, they had agreed to fence themselves about with a
quickset of make-belief, for the concealment of their shame and the
protection of their phantom-honour. It was a very vexatious thing,
then, for a man who was gifted with an epigrammatic way of
crystallising truths to make a snuffy little Solomon Eagle of
himself--to persist in uncovering cancers which were decorously
sheeted over, to unveil sores which were neatly trimmed about with
sham roses.
Lord Clare, in his wrath, resolved to make another attempt to crush
the viper. He set a specially rowdy band of jokers at free quarters at
the Priory. They rollicked about, frightened Sara out of her wits,
drank the lawyer's best whisky; but that vexed him not, for he was
incorrigibly hospitable. He locked himself into his bedroom with his
child, and droned out, to soothe her, a fantasia on the violoncello.
It may possibly have soothed Sara (though she was in awful trepidation
lest young Robert should ride up and perceive how she was insulted),
but it most certainly succeeded in irritating the jovial sons of Mars
in the dining-parlour below. They yelled to Curran to come forth. He
came. They took his violoncello and smashed it into bits. Sara quailed
lest her father's choler should outstrip his reason; but he only
murmured:
'They are actors, playing parts which are set down for them;' and
addressing them, said, with scorching contempt: 'Sirs, you are sent
here to insult, under his own roof, a man old enough to be your
parent, and a young lady whose health is delicate. I sorrow to think
that you are Irish, and that the fine cloth you wear should not
exclusively be used by gentlemen.' Then, passing through their midst,
he saddled his nag, and, trotting into town, related his story to his
friend Arthur Wolfe.
The attorney-general was terribly distressed. This stream, on whose
bosom he had elected to sail, was taking him--whither? He flew to Ely
Place, scolded the chancellor in terms which made the autocrat
stare--in such terms of burning reproach that the latter saw he had
made a blunder; that he had outstripped prudence, and sulkily signed
the order to remove the obnoxious soldiery.
But he was not to be turned from his purpose by any maundering
sentimentality on the part of the attorney-general. It was necessary,
was it, to leave Mr. Curran alone? That was a pity, but all the more
reason for a display of energy in another quarter. In pursuance of his
determination, so sweetly expressed in metaphor, to tame the lion with
blows and hot irons, Lord Clare proceeded, as chancellor of the
University, to hold a visitation there, in order publicly to deplore
the doings of the undergraduates.
The worthy gentleman was pained, he said. Alma Mater had taken the
fell disease, the contagious epidemic (there could be no doubt about
it), the only remedy against the spread of which was cautery. A number
of students were ignominiously expelled; foremost amongst them Robert
Emmett, (who was conspicuous for a tendency to inconvenient argument,)
although his tutor, Mr. Graves, pleaded hard for him. Robert, filled
with glee, rushed off to his brother's office to tell the glorious
news--that he, boy though he were, had been deemed worthy of the
martyr's crown. But when he reached the place he found that there were
to be other martyrs besides himself. For the second time the house of
his brother Tom was attacked and gutted. As he turned into the street,
the presses were being pitched out of window, the types strewn in the
mire, the tables and office-stools broken up to make a bonfire.
Knitting his brows, he crossed his arms and stood watching the
yeomanry at play; then wheeling about, he made the best of his way to
Cutpurse Row, where, in the cellar of a crazy tenement, the patriots
were accustomed to assemble, instead of riding out to the 'Irish
Slave,' as they used more warily to do, before the destruction of the
shebeen.
Russell, Bond, Dease, and others were there, delegates of the society
for Dublin and its environs. Robert, looking round, perceived Cassidy
fidgeting in a corner. Terence was not present. Cassidy observed this,
and growled with disappointment between his teeth.
Tom Emmett was finishing a speech, wherein he declared to his audience
that his opinions were changed. The French were coming; were, indeed,
expected hourly. But it would not do to wait for them, as on a late
disastrous occasion; a blow must be struck, a heavy and united blow.
If the French came to follow it up, so much the better. The shocking
behaviour of the friends of Government was becoming hourly more
unbearable; the outrages committed by soldiers at free-quarters daily
more flagrant and atrocious. He spoke with Irish hyperbole and a
burning fervour of conviction which just suited the temper of his
hearers.
'We must heed no more,' he cried, 'the glare of hired soldiery or
aristocratic yeomanry. War, and war alone, must occupy every mind and
every hand in Ireland, till its oppressed soil be purged of all its
enemies. Vengeance, Irishmen! vengeance on your oppressors! Remember
the crimes of years! Remember their burnings, their torturings, their
legal murders! Remember Orr!'
At the end of a long peroration he paused for breath; and Cassidy, who
was evidently anxious to 'catch the speaker's eye,' trolled forth in
his rich voice the words which were becoming familiar to every one's
lips:
'What rights the brave? The sword!
What frees the slave? The sword!
What cleaves in twain the despot's chain, and makes his
gyves and dungeons vain? The sword!'
All present took up the chorus, and looked towards the giants as
though waiting for the next verse; but he raised his hand for silence,
and said:
'Bedad, ye're right, friends. The sword's the only thing for poor Pat.
But be careful now. Where's the young lordling who makes himself so
busy?'
'Councillor Crosbie should have been here,' returned a delegate.
'Maybe he's bin detained.'
Cassidy smiled a smile of meaning, and leisurely surveying the knot of
men before him, replied with a dry cough:
'Maybe he has! Let's hope it's upon honest business. I've come here to
give ye a word of warning, a friendly hint I gleaned up at the Castle.
I'd advise none of yez to go back to their own homes this day.'
'Why? Speak out, man. We are all friends here,' said Tom Emmett,
calmly.
'Becase ye'll chance to find visitors if you do,' was the blunt
rejoinder. 'Now I'm off.'
Robert Emmett eagerly corroborated the giant's hint. He had seen the
soldiery but now in his brother's house. It was likely that if one was
attacked, the dwellings of the rest would likewise receive a visit. It
would never do for the prime movers in the conspiracy all to be
trapped. Perhaps it was a false alarm, though. At Tom Emmett's a
seditious print was published, which it was a wonder had been spared
so long. The case of the delegates was different, for strict secrecy
had been maintained concerning them. None save the members themselves
knew who formed the central committee. Government spies had no means
of knowing their names. In this at least they were cautious. That they
had all taken the oath, was neither here nor there. If Government
intended of a sudden to lay hands upon every Irishman who had taken
the oath, they would do well to follow Herod's example at once, and
order a general massacre. No, no. It was absolutely impossible that
either my Lords Clare or Camden, or Secretary Cooke, could possibly
know who all the leading spirits were by whose agency the vast machine
of conspiracy was set in motion. Tom Emmett must disappear for a
while. His paper put him too much _en evidence_. It was good of
faithful Cassidy to keep his ears open. Blunderer though he was, and
lamentable as had more than once been the fruit of his blundering, yet
was he now and then most useful, and deserved a special vote of thanks
from the Directory, which then and there they passed on him.
Apparently he was modest as well as virtuous, for in the cackle which
followed his announcement he departed, his flat face aglow, his eyes
twinkling with satisfaction at their compliments.
'So Emmett's paper was to be stopped at last,' they said one to
another. 'The only marvel was that it should have been permitted so
prolonged an existence. The last mouth which had lifted up its voice
to speak the truth was to be gagged. It was indeed time to draw the
sword.
Then Robert proudly told of his expulsion from Alma Mater; of my Lord
Clare's overbearing mien at the visitation; of the many warm hands
which had gripped his, as, disgraced but proud, he quitted the
quadrangle.
Tom, his eye kindling with emotion, laid his hand upon his younger
brother's head.
'Robert,' he said, 'what e'er betide, if, in the conflict which is
imminent, we two be separated, the one who survives will be proud of
him who's fallen. We shall conquer. Erin shall be free! But many must
first lay down their lives for her! I pray God that it may be His
pleasure to spare yours!'
Robert turned white, though his heart was stout. He was brave with the
highest of all bravery, for though the sight of a cut finger made him
ill, yet was he determined now to face the sea of blood, if need were,
without blenching. His was a higher courage than that common one which
looks on danger without fear. He knew that in action he should be in
mortal dread; but he knew too that, upheld by duty, he would
nevertheless be always in the van. A thought crossed his mind which
brought with it a momentary tremor. When the fiery cross was at last
lighted--when the hands of kinsmen were at each other's throats--when
Dublin was burning--her gutters running red--what would be the fate of
delicate sensitive natures like that of Sara--of sweet, pale Sara
Curran, round whose form his heart-strings were softly wrapping
themselves? What if he were to fall? what if fortune should not smile
upon the patriots? He was quite aware that Heaven frequently delights
in persecuting those who do well, and showering favours on the most
undeserving, almost offering a premium for evildoing. Therefore,
however just the cause of Erin, it was possible that her probation was
not over--in such a case what would become of Sara, and such as her?
Dear gentle Primrose! He thrust the unwelcome thought aside. There
were enough lugubrious subjects which might not be escaped, without
wilfully conjuring up baleful images. He returned the pressure of his
brother's hand, and with ardent eyes upraised, broke out into song
once more, in which all joined solemnly, as though offering up a
war-hymn:
'What shelter's right? The sword!
What makes it might? The sword!
What strikes the crown of tyrants down--
And answers with its flash the frown?
The sword!'
Truly there must have been something ill-omened about this special
hymn. For the second time it served to cloak the advancing footsteps
of the enemy. For the second time it was interrupted by the rap of the
same unfriendly fingers.
Somebody was knocking--somebody gave the password 'Mr. Green.' It must
be Terence. He had promised to come, in order that a military scheme
of his might be discussed; one of which Emmett approved highly, though
stupid Cassidy had affected to laugh at it. Certainly it must be
Terence, who bade fair to become the leader they had all been sighing
for so long in vain. Why did not some one run and open the door? It is
but poor manners to keep a gentleman waiting in the street. Robert was
hastening to do so--for he loved Terence dearly--when he was stopped
by the old woman who kept the house.
'Whisht! Master Robert, darlint,' she said in a terrified whisper.
'Sure, I looked from the garret window and saw the glint of bayonets.
For the love of the Holy Mother have a care!'
Swiftly the boy climbed the stairs and looked out. The hag's aged eyes
had not deceived her. The street was surrounded by a cordon of
soldiers, who stopped passengers at either end at the bayonet's point.
A guard of yeomanry was stationed at the front door; another at the
private back-entrance, which was accessible by a tortuous passage into
a side-street. A short person with hooked beak, eyes too close
together, shaded by brows which met in a tuft over his nose, was
knocking. It was Major Sirr. How could he know of this back-entrance?
How did he know that the watchword was 'Mr. Green'? There was of a
surety hideous treachery somewhere!
Robert returned to his comrades and told them who was outside. Then
Cassidy had been muddleheaded once again! The news he had brought was
worse than none, for it was misleading. Instead of bidding them escape
forthwith from Cutpurse Row, he had told them to avoid their homes.
The houses was surrounded. _The secret back entrance upon which they
relied was known_. Who was the Judas?
Having revealed so much, how much more might he not reveal? With
troubled brain and clouded eye Tom Emmett looked on one and then
another of the haggard faces before him.
The knocking continued. Some step must be taken. Happily half a dozen
of the delegates were absent. The town-major might smoke out the nest.
Some of the hornets were abroad. This was a mercy. The entire brood
would not be taken. Who were the absent ones? Terence! Tom Emmett
wrung his hands together as the light broke on him. How blind! It was
to him Cassidy had vaguely pointed. What a snake in the grass, with
his clever military plan and pinchbeck enthusiasm! Tom remembered now
the behaviour of Miss Wolfe to her cousin at the ball. Her veiled
warnings. She was as true as steel. Alas! She could aid them no longer
with her counsels. She had seen through her cousin, and, her family
feeling coming into jarring juxtaposition with her devotion to unhappy
Erin, had retired from the field, too deeply wounded to take any
further part in the affray. Yes! It must be Councillor Crosbie who was
the Judas. Tom Emmett saw it now that it was too late. In a few hasty
words he conveyed his impression to his brother.
Robert opened his mouth indignantly to defend the councillor; but he
only sighed, for, from whatever side the treachery came, it was
soul-wearing. His forebodings of a few minutes since crowded up again
like visions in a nightmare. A pitfall had been cunningly prepared for
the patriots to their undoing. A few were yet abroad who might take a
responsible part, but this was a withering blow. Treachery? Of course
there was. It was altogether a bewildering occupation to pass trusted
characters and names in mental review with an eye to the detection of
the traitor. That there was a traitor there could now be no doubt, but
Robert swore to himself with sturdy faith, that, be he whom he might,
his name was not Terence Crosbie!
The knocking became louder--more peremptory. There was no escape.
There was nothing for it but submission. With dry lustrous eyes Tom
Emmett bade his brother go and open the door.
There would be a trial--a court-martial. Vain mockery! Would the
result be execution--or lifelong servitude--or banishment? The
chief of the Irish Directory felt the humbling conviction that he was
not fit for his post. Like Phaeton he had leapt into the sun-chariot.
He had been fooled and toyed with. The precious deposit whose
care he had presumptuously accepted was shattered through his
fault--yes--certainly through his fault. He should have been more
cautious in accepting Crosbie's overtures. Precious lives would now be
sacrificed--the cause gravely compromised, if not altogether ruined.
Execution--lifelong servitude? How wildly did Tom Emmett long at this
moment for the former--how gladly would he have hugged the rope--how
joyfully would he even have walked to the riding-school where
Beresford and his fellow-devils carried on their fiendish work! Any
personal pain--the more poignant the more welcome! Anything which
might rouse the hapless patriot from the grinding weight which crushed
him now, as prone on his face he lay sobbing on a form.
Many an encouraging hand was laid upon his shoulder.
'Cheer up, man! we're in the same boat,' the delegates murmured. 'It's
the chance of war--of an ignoble war waged in the dark against honest
men by an ignoble adversary. Fortune is cruel to us; but we'll snap
our fingers in her face. If we are to die, let us die as men--not in
tears like women. Rouse up, Tom! rouse up, boy! Put on a good front.
Open the door, Robert. If they have learned to probe thus deeply in
our secrets, they will know more--enough to hang us every one. There's
no good in battling with them.'
Major Sirr entered, and saluted his victims with one of the elaborate
military evolutions which had become the vogue. Tom Emmett started
from the form, and held himself erect. A paper caught his eyes. He
clutched and tore it into fragments.
'Gentlemen, you are my prisoners!' Major Sirr said, with a portentous
sword-wave. 'It's no good resisting. I'm glad to see you know better
than to resist. Here is my warrant--made out in all your names. We
will go, if you please, in the first instance to Castle-yard; then to
Kilmainham, where you'll meet your friends.' He smiled at Tom Emmett
with a sinister smile, and stirred the fluttering fragments of paper
with his swordpoint. 'What's this?' he said, the tuft of eyebrows
wrinkling down his nose. 'I know what it is--a list of your precious
society, I dare say. Ye're mighty fond of waging war on paper,
gentlemen! Look here now! All we want to know of ye we do know--or
could speedily learn. I might have those bits picked up and glued
together. But I won't, for 'tisn't worth my while. There! Come,
gentlemen, march! Dease--where's Dease? I saw him but now. We mustn't
lose him, for he's a docthor, and Kilmainham's terrible full of sick!
Dease, where are yez? I have him on the list.'
But the delegate who answered to the name of Dease had no intention of
visiting Kilmainham. Upon the first entrance of Sirr, he had withdrawn
in the confusion to an upper room, and making use of his surgical
knowledge, had severed the femoral artery. When the soldiers found him
he was dying; which aggravated Sirr no little, who was proud of his
masterly treatment of the hornet's nest.
'Come, put out a nimble leg!' he cried crossly. 'We've parleyed too
long. To business! to business!'
Between a double file of soldiers the delegates were marched off, down
several streets, to Castle-yard, while the populace looked on,
dull-browed. They attempted no rescue. It is probable that few
realised what band it was which was being thus openly conducted to its
fate (many such bands passed along Dublin streets)--that few were
aware that in this little knot were centred the hopes of deliverance
for which all were praying.
They were gone. Only Robert Emmett and Major Sirr were left behind.
'Am I to go with you? I will go,' Robert said.
The major looked at him, and gave way to a sepulchral cachinnation.
Then by his action he belied the language he had used just now. With
the greatest care and deliberation he stooped and picked up the torn
scraps of paper. When they were bestowed to his satisfaction in a
wallet, he looked at Robert and laughed again, wrinkling his sinister
eyebrow tuft:
'Adieu, my lad! and good luck!' he grunted. 'No, no! We don't want you
yet, my little cockatrice! All in good time--when ye're fledged!
Good-bye! or rather _au revoir!_'