THE BIRD AND THE FOWLER.
The three allies retired to Cassidy's chambers, to laugh at their ease
over Lord Clare's discomfiture.
'Bedad! he's losing his nerve,' Cassidy asserted, as he poured a ruby
bumper down his throat. 'Did ye see how wild he aimed--like a gossoon
that had never blazed? Maybe he's of the same kidney as the spalpeen
in the play who betune the sheets is frighted by the Banshees.'
'Richard the Third at Bosworth?' suggested Mr. Curran. 'If he gets his
deserts the chancellor's death-bed will be a fearsome spectacle.'
'It must be an awful thing to have innocent blood upon your
conscience,' Terence mused. 'Yet how many are there among us now whose
arms are steeped in it to the shoulder! Is it not strange that
confessions of murder are nearly always of some single case? Wholesale
murderers don't seem to be so troubled. The heart must be callous, I
suppose, before it becomes capable of wholesale murder. Hence
Shakespeare was wrong as to his ghosts on Bosworth Field. Richard
slept undisturbed the sleep of the infantine and just.'
Cassidy seized the bottle, and poured himself out another bumper. 'I
hate this city at night!' he said. 'Since General Lake's curfew order,
it is like a sepulchre. I vow it's pleasant to hear the patrol, or the
jolly sodger-boys returning home. What, Mr. Curran, are you off? These
are ticklish times for night-journeys. Be not too venturesome. Better
stop here. Sure I'll be glad to give you hospitality till morning.'
'And leave my Primrose to fret alone at home? No, thank you. She'll be
dying to hear how her favourite is going on. I must say I'm as
relieved as she can be that he should leave for England. One
half-fledged victim saved at any rate out of the nest from the maw of
Moiley.'
'What was Lord Clare talking of when I came up?' asked the giant,
abruptly.
'He was advising this imprudent young gentleman to make for other
shores,' grunted Curran, strapping on spatterdashes for his ride; 'and
he was right.'
'You know you don't think so in your heart,' Terence retorted. 'With
Tom Emmett and others at Kilmainham, it is more necessary than ever
that Cassidy here and I should be vigilant. We've put our hands to the
rudder, you know. We must summon hither some of the head men from
Cork, at once. If Cassidy agrees with me, we'll write the letters
before morning. It is essential that the gaps in the central committee
should be filled up.'
'Can't you see how you are playing into their hands? Poor flies, whose
feet stick in the web!' Curran sneered. 'You break from one mesh to
catch in the next. Each time you break away, the struggle becomes
harder; because the spider gums his lines, and your legs are sticky
with the gluten! Little by little, by small crafty hawls, the
executive are draining the society of all its master-minds. When they
shall be safely snared; when no leaders with any pretension to worth
are left, then they'll bring about a rising. The plan shows intimate
knowledge of Irish nature capped by British phlegm. It's enough to
make a man with his wits about him pitch himself headlong down the
nearest well.'
'We will be very prudent,' Terence said. 'Yet of what avail is
prudence with secret sleuthhounds on our track?'
Honest Phil, who had been squatting in a corner on the floor, with his
gaze fixed upon his master, could bear this talk no longer.
'Faix! it's meeself that knows who 'tis. Ochone! sad's the day, I know
it,' he murmured in the voice of tribulation.
The three turned eagerly round. 'You know who 'tis!' they cried out in
chorus.
Then Phil related all he knew of Biddy--interlarding the narrative
with many groans, in that the golden-tressed darling of his heart
should, by turning out such a shocking monster, seem to impugn his
taste.
Cassidy emptied the claret bottle, then flung it on the ground in his
boisterous way--swearing, with ogrish snapping of the jaws, that he'd
be even with the traitress; that he would throttle her with his own
big fingers.
Knitting his brows Mr. Curran walked up and down, his hands behind his
back. Terence stared at his henchman, bewildered by this new light.
After a pause Mr. Curran spoke. 'Phil's right and wrong,' he said.
'The woman may have betrayed much. But now her teeth are drawn--that's
as regards the present, I mean. What a labyrinth it is! She may rake
up old stories of the past, of which "juries of the right sort" will
make the properest use--but she can tell nothing that has happened
since the "Irish Slave" was burnt.'
'Her mother Jug Coyle's still living at the Little House,' Cassidy
suggested; 'maybe she----'
'Impossible. We know now that after the destruction of the shebeen
this precious young lady went to live in barracks with the soldiers.'
'Murther! and I've kissed her often,' the giant sighed with
contrition, as though by that unlucky fact virtue must have gone out
of him.
'Anyways,' added Terence, 'she could never have had a hand in the
arrest at Cutpurse Row. Somebody supplied a list of delegates. Who was
it? It's terrible not to know!'
'Therein lies the hopelessness of the whole affair,' declared Mr.
Curran, preparing to depart. 'Blindman's-buff's nothing to it. With
such wriggling in the grass it's simply putting honest heads into the
wild beast's mouth for nothing. I won't say what I should think about
it were circumstances otherwise. But as the wretched case stands, it
would be a great load off my mind, my dear boy, if you were out of the
_bagarre_.'
Cassidy scrutinised the face of Terence narrowly, who wore a look of
moody uncertainty. 'Councillor Curran's right,' he said at length.
'Better show a clean pair of heels, and save your neck.'
The young man glanced up in anger, and the other smiled with a
good-humoured nod.
'It was kind of Lord Clare,' Curran went on, walking hither and
thither, much perturbed--'it certainly was kind of him to speak as he
did. Maybe he's not so bad as I think. If so, the Lord forgive me!
That there should be a warrant for you ready signed is not surprising.
Warrants are pretty nearly dead letters just now, but it would not do
to kidnap the brother of Lord Glandore without proper authority; and
this secret foe that he spoke about is too sharp to do things
unwarily. Once taken, your life's not worth a pin's fee with the
Staghouse crew, ready to swear anything, and some one prepared to
dictate. Who have ye ever injured, Terence?--think.'
'My Lord Clare said all that!' exclaimed Cassidy, disconcerted.
Plunging his hands deep in his breeches-pockets, he whistled 'The
Sword' softly to himself, while an expression of concern puckered his
jolly lineaments.
'The hopes of the society will centre on you now,' the giant observed
presently. 'As it is, the peculiarity of the attitude ye have taken
these several months past, combined with your exalted rank, makes your
position dangerous. The society'll look to you, now that Emmett and
the rest are gone. Though all my heart's with it, it's little real use
myself'll be, worse luck--I'm stupid. Theobald told me so. Tom
Emmett's often called me a blundering booby.'
This confession was made with such deprecating humility that Terence
was touched, and held out his hand.
'You wrong yourself,' he said. 'Cheer up. We'll stand by each other.
But I'm not above taking good advice.'
'Ye'll go?' his two friends said, in different cadence.
'No, no!' replied Terence. 'That may not be. It's plain my duty's
here, and here I'll remain. But Emmett and the others were foolhardy;
for the future I'll keep myself concealed. We'll knead together a new
directory at once. A great responsibility has fallen on my shoulders
for which I am not fitted; yet I'll do my best, and play my part as
others do. It is possible, as you say, that the delegates will look up
to me. They'll want to be kept together--no easy task. Would that Miss
Wolfe were here to help!' he concluded, sighing.
A malignant shadow flitted across the giant's face, and faded. 'Hide!'
he echoed, with a bluntness which sounded a little like a taunt.
'Where can ye hide, and Sirr not find ye?'
'I'll go home to Strogue to-morrow, and then----'
'The first place they would go to if you were wanted,' objected
Curran.
'Only to look over some papers and destroy them. I know of a safe
place where they'll not find me.'
'Ah!' exclaimed the giant, with a tinge of curiosity, 'and you've
papers to destroy at Strogue?'
'Here is a scheme I've drawn out for the capture of Dublin. The lords
of the Privy Council----'
'Put it away!' roared the choleric little lawyer. 'Is it the back of
me ye want to see? I won't know these things, since I still wear the
King's silk gown, yet ye're for ever flourishing them under my nose!'
In a tantrum Mr. Curran departed, like a small snuff-scented
whirlwind, accompanied by Phil, who went to fetch his horse.
Terence and Cassidy exchanged glances, and burst into peals of
laughter.
'What a character it is!' Cassidy declared, as he busied himself with
the brewing of cold punch--a grave matter, in which his companion too
was soon equally engrossed.
'A good brew,' Terence announced, presently, amid solemn silence.
'We'll sit up all night, for there's much to be done. To-morrow I
shall vanish from the world--in the body.'
'It's curious that you should ever have turned Croppy, Master
Terence,' the giant mused, as with cuffs turned up he peeled the
lemons. 'You--a member of the Englishry, who may become my Lord
Glandore to-morrow--fond as his lordship is of fighting. But then, of
course, ye'd change your politics. Sure your head'll come to be worth
a big lot, if the rising doesn't succeed--a power of money, surelie!'
'But it _shall_ succeed!' returned Terence, cheerily, 'Then it will be
our turn to offer rewards. What will Lord Clare be worth, think you?'
'He'll never fly,' asserted the giant, eyeing his punch with lazy
satisfaction. 'When Ould Ireland's fought her fight and conquered,
we'll find he's died game in the streets somewhere. His behaviour on
the Green to-night was quare, though--devilish quare!--It's absent in
the body ye say ye'll be?' he asked, after a pause; 'but present in
the spirit, I hope, for Erin's sake?'
'Never fear! One more glass of punch, and then to work. You think
the first place Sirr would look for me would be at Strogue? But if,
seeing the danger, I had fled from Strogue? Where would he search
for me then? In the liberties about St. Patrick's--the Wicklow
Hills--anywhere but in the neighbourhood of Strogue. Yet no
neighbourhood could be so convenient. Men go fishing there in little
boats, and may land from time to time without causing suspicion. If
there was an alarm, it would be strange if I could not conceal myself
among the rocks, or get across to Ireland's Eye, and baffle pursuers
somehow till I was fetched away.'
'It's a pity, councillor, that the shebeen was burnt!'
'Better than the shebeen, old friend! Now I'll tell you a secret. You
can keep a secret? Of course you can, for my sake and that of the good
cause. That old figure of fun, Mrs. Gillin--whom my mother hates, for
some odd reason--has, for some other odd reason, taken a fancy to me.
That's funny, isn't it? She told me one day, that if ever I needed
help which she could give, I might rely on her. Now where could I
better conceal myself than at the Little House? It's within easy
access of Dublin. No one is aware that I even know her, for we haven't
exchanged more than half a dozen words in our lives. Though she's a
Catholic, her daughter isn't; and, being anxious to make that young
person my Lady Glandore, she naturally is interested in the
aristocratic party. At the same time she feels the position of her
co-religionists. I've been credibly informed so. Isn't that a good
idea? Her place is in a manner sacred. She's a friend of all the
judges.'
Cassidy ruminated, and whistled a soft air.
'A capital idea indeed! Then ye'll disappear, and I'll not see ye,
maybe, for months--that is, till the signal's given.'
'How so?'
'Madam Gillin and I aren't friends. She'd not like to see me hanging
about her doors. It wouldn't be prudent, neither. You'll be afther
playing your big part while I play my little one. I'm right with the
Castle people, as yourself knows well. Sirr likes me, so does
Secretary Cooke. I'll ingratiate myself still more wid 'em. When the
signal comes, maybe we might take the lord-lieutenant in his bed. It's
worth considering. Anyhow, I'd better seem cool with the society. I
won't come to the Little House. Don't talk to her of me--'twould vex
the mistress.'
Terence trimmed the lamp, knitting his brows the while.
'I hardly like your intimacy with the Castle-folk,' he said. 'It seems
scarcely manly to worm out their secrets under a mask of friendship.'
Cassidy burst into one of his great laughs.
'Oh murther, Master Terence!' he cried, wiping the tears from his
eyes. 'Ye'll never win Erin's battles if ye're so lofty. We must fight
men wid their own weapons if we'd beat 'em. That's true generalship.
They set their spies on us. We set ours on them. That's quits, I know,
though I am a booby. Take your pen now. Here's a list of the country
delegates: mark out who ye think'll be best, while I brew another
bowl.'
'No more, Cassidy, my friend! Let's keep our heads clear for
business.'
'Be aisy! One more'll do neither of us harm.'
It was five o'clock before Terence was satisfied with his work. He had
a task which was uncongenial to his habits, for he was more skilful
with the rod or gun than with ink; and it was a matter of grievous
slavery and toil to draw up a series of letters, such as should
explain clearly to the country leaders of the United Irishmen the full
bearing of the late disaster.
Tom Emmett, Neilson, Russell, Bond, were in duress. A temporary
arrangement must be come to, lest the French should arrive and find
the patriots chaotic. No time was to be lost, for they might appear at
any moment, when it would be above all things needful that French and
Irish should be prepared to act in concert without loss of time. He,
the writer (old college-friend as they knew of the incarcerated
leaders, late special envoy also to France), was willing to co-operate
with the rest in forming a provisional committee, etc., etc.
Wearied and worn out with the unaccustomed mental effort, he dropped
the pen at last from his stiffened fingers, and, wrapping his
riding-cloak around him, sank well-nigh at once into deep slumber;
while Cassidy, instead of following so good an example, placed the
bundle of letters in his long-flapped pocket, and stood for a minute
looking down upon the sleeper.
'The dark colleen may never be mine,' he muttered between his teeth,
while he wagged his bullet-head; 'but she'll not be yours neither, my
fine fellar!' Then, peering out into the silent street which was
paling wan in the early dawn, he stole forth on tiptoe, over the body
of Phil, lying prostrate across the passage, and opening the door
stealthily, made the best of his way towards the Castle.
The day was half spent before Terence woke. The giant, who could turn
his hand to most things, washed and aglow with health, was busily
preparing breakfast: broiling steaks over a fire, fussing hither and
thither as merry as a grig, assisted by Phil, who was kept on the
broad grin by his lively sallies.
'The commander-in-chief of the national army is taking it out of
Murphy while he can!' he roared in his jolly voice. 'Well, let him
lie, God bless him! By-and-by it's little he'll see of Murphy--riding
about all night along the ranks to encourage his troops for the
battle. What! awake, Master Terence? I've bin up this long while. Your
letters are on the road. I've tidied up the room, and opened some
tipple for your meal. What'll I get from ye, gineral? Is it your
_eu-de-shamp_ that ye'll be making me? It's glad I'll be of the
office. I've bad news, though, for ye too. I met Sirr just now, who
was on the prowl. The French expedition's come to grief again! No
mather! we'll fight now for ourselves--bad luck to the mounseers, they
are chicken-hearted! That at least is the official news, arrived from
London a few hours ago.'
Terence rubbed his eyes and stared, unable on first awaking to realise
such disastrous intelligence. Then he dipped his head in a basin of
water which Phil presented to him, tidied his dress, combed out his
long hair, and caught it back with a ribbon in the accustomed manner.
After that he set to work upon a luscious steak with the energy of
youth, and washed it down with claret, while Cassidy, too, made pretty
play with knife and fork--both of them too preoccupied for speech.
Another French fiasco! How strangely fortune favoured England! This
time the fleets had remained weather-bound, unable to start at all
until the golden moments were gone--till opportunity had slid into the
past. It was too bad. Terence's blood boiled whilst he assuaged his
tremendous appetite--so did Cassidy's, finding vent as usual in loud
oaths and noisy execrations.
After breakfast the two shook hands and parted--when to meet
again?--when and how?--under what strangely altered auspices? It was
agreed that the members of the new Directory should communicate in the
first instance with Terence, in person, somewhere on the shore near
the Little House where he was to hide. The letters would speedily
reach their destinations, Cassidy assured him. This new turn of events
might induce Government to take active measures of some kind. What
would they do? Repent them of their evil ways and take to leniency,
or, thinking they had their victim quite at their mercy, still further
goad and harass her? What would Terence's private enemy do--he of whom
my Lord Clare so mysteriously spoke?
With so many spies about, it was almost inevitable that the active
part that the young councillor was playing would become known to
Government. Would they wink at this backsliding of an aristocrat--or
would they make an example of him by putting a heavy price upon his
head? Be that as it might, it would never do, in Cassidy's opinion,
for him to share the fate of Emmett and the others. The giant was
vehement on this point. He must go into hiding forthwith, and employ
the most extreme precautions lest Sirr should discover his lair.
Cassidy, being known as his friend, would make a point of never taking
the air in that direction. He would hang about the Castle
ostentatiously, and report what he might have to say to some prominent
member of the society, who would take up his abode in Dublin. Indeed
he thought it would be wise to abuse the society in public--to declare
that once he had been seduced by specious argument into joining it,
but that now he saw the error of his ways, and sang 'Peccavi.'
Much as he disliked his method, Terence was obliged to confess that
the giant was right, and felt at the same time a small internal
marvelling in that he was really shrewd and rather astute--by no means
the hopeless bungler that Emmett had considered him.
He took hearty leave of his friend, and, accompanied by Phil, made the
best of his way to Strogue. It was a gloomy place to live alone in, as
he had discovered since the departure of the family. Even his
brother's sneers and his mother's coldness were better than this
chilling solitude. He lived at this time in his own little chambers in
the 'young men's wing' under the armoury, gaining access to them by
his own private door, so that the Abbey was to all intents and
purposes shut up, being only inhabited by a few old retainers who
dwelt away over the stable-yard at the other side of the house. To his
dismay his things had been disturbed--he detected the fact at once. By
whom? How tiresome old family servants are! Disobeying orders, they
will rummage and clean by fits and starts, regardless of the havoc
they innocently make. Then Terence remembered that neither old Kathy
nor her spouse, Tim the coachman, were more given to cleanliness than
Irish domestics usually are.
This must have been a sudden and most inconvenient gush of virtue! He
would at once give Tim and Kathy a vigorous bit of his mind. They
should be convinced for ever after that obedience is the most cardinal
of all the virtues as far as servants are concerned, standing indeed
before cleanliness. They should shiver and quake in their shoes after
the jobation their young master would administer. But instead of
quaking they both lifted up their voices and howled, swearing that
young masther was distraught. Go among his bits of things indeed! Not
they. Sorra a haporth of dusting had they done. Why should they, since
master agreed with them that it was waste of labour? Kathy had stepped
in to make the bed, but finding it undisturbed, had stepped out again
at once. Then somebody else must have been there. Who could have an
interest in the few scraps of property which were of no value at all
except to their owner? The fishing-rods were overset--the cupboards
had been rifled--the precious collection of hackles (apple of Phil's
eye) were strewn on the floor as if somebody had been in haste,
searching for some special object which he could not find.
The owner of the treasures began to look grave. Who would steal his
things--things moreover which were not worth stealing? None of the
peasantry about. Irish peasants, though they will pick off their man
blithely from behind a stone, are little given to petty pilfering.
Terence looked around, and his heart beat fast. Nothing had been taken
except--his papers! Rough drafts of manifestoes, over which, in the
hot zeal of youth, he had consumed the oil of midnight. Projects for
the capture of the gaols--rough plans; the very documents which, being
compromising and not particularly useful, he had come hither to
destroy. How silly and imprudent not to have destroyed them sooner!
Sirr for months past had been in the habit of making forcible entries
into houses, on the chance of unearthing treason. What more likely
than that he should think of making a perquisition upon Councillor
Crosbie, who flaunted his opinions before the world in the outward
form of a green tabinet neckerchief? Fool--babyish dolt! Idiot! Every
one had spoken about that necktie. In a passion he tore it from his
throat, and hurled it out of the open window. Conduct more childish
still! The evil was done. Could it be remedied? His smooth forehead
puckered itself into wrinkles as he strove to remember what the bundle
of documents contained. Three forms of manifesto--to be printed and
placarded so soon as Dublin should be taken. The rules and regulations
of the society. A memorandum of prominent members--oh, horror! He knew
he had been suspected of treachery by some. This list, incautiously
kept, might bring about the death of many. Would he not be guilty, by
gross carelessness, of their murder? Would they not have a right to
curse him as they swung?
For a while his spirit was invaded by the same rush of unworthiness
which had so unnerved Tom Emmett when he was arrested. He too felt the
bitter sense of upbraiding humiliation with which Tom had asked
himself what right had one, who was incapable of common prudence, to
traffic thus rashly with the lives of other men? Do his duty! Was it
his duty to put himself forward in this affair, or was it merely a
culpable personal vanity disguised as self-sacrifice? He strove
earnestly to settle that question--so earnestly that Phil, who watched
him, was aghast at his distress, and endeavoured by humble barks and
frolicking: to cheer his master from the dumps. To no purpose. With
grief be it admitted that his master cursed him roundly, abused him
with such unnecessary harshness that the poor fellow slunk away with
tears in his eyes, under pretence of fetching the green kerchief. Big
drops of sweat stood on the young man's brow. His brains had never in
all his years been so tried as during the last few months. Only those
usually unused to thought can tell of the dreadful addled feeling of
helplessness which comes upon the muddled intellect during its first
feeble struggles into work.
After a time he grew calmer, as the one bright point stood out
distinctly. It was not the vanity of power--the attribute of
Jack-in-office, which had galvanised his careless nature into serious
purpose. Look at it how he would, he was clearly above such meanness.
He had no personal ambition--that was what Doreen had constantly
dinned into his ears with scorn--and he had wished that, to please
her, he could have become ambitious. But it was out of the question.
He liked the world--its bright sun, its flowers, its myriad life--but
with no desire for exclusive possession of its delights. He was not
discontented with his lot, even though his brother was rude sometimes,
and his mother cold and unaffectionate. His only troubles had been his
trivial debts; they alone had stirred his brains to scheming, and he
had borne them good-humouredly as his share of the ills of life. He
thought Doreen bewitching--deliriously delightful. Her he would fain
possess as his own--his very own. There was nothing specially
ambitious in that; for the lowly sparrow, as well as the stately fowl
of Cochin, is justified in seeking out a mate--the best who will
accept him. No; he was indolently, comfortably content to take the
world as he found it, making excuses for its bumps, palliating its
disagreeables--until that time when his eyes had been opened as though
scales had fallen from them. Since then he was an altered man; sobered
by the shock of suddenly perceiving the precipice on which his country
stood. At first he had refused to gauge the depth of the abyss; it was
so much pleasanter to turn aside to dally with the flowers. Then the
upright courage which had hitherto lain dormant spoke, bidding him
mark Erin's loveliness--commanding him to stretch out his hand to stay
her tottering form, whispering sternly that if she fell before his
eyes without an effort made to save, the guilt of her shattered limbs
would haunt him for evermore.
No! His conscience absolved him of personal ambition. If Erin were
saved through his agency he would be content to retire again into the
background--well-paid by her grateful smile. His error had been great,
because its consequences might be serious. But humanity is prone to
error. Youth must learn experience by stumbling. A man must expect to
receive many stabs who fights with a concealed enemy. He must practise
prudence, make no movement without exceeding caution; but at the best
what a disheartening conflict--what a one-sided fight!
Terence had received two blows this very day. France could not be
depended on for help. Twice within less than a year had she made
herself a laughing-stock. And now--this capture of his papers, which,
if the foe were relentless, would compromise him hopelessly. It was
more than ever needful to conceal himself, if his life were to be of
real use before he laid it down. Trouble seasons the character
quickly. The young man was already beginning to calculate expediencies
with gravity and precision. If he was spared, time might make of him a
valuable champion.
He whistled Phil, who came up fawning like a hound that is forgiven.
'Follow me. And whatever you do, keep your tongue within your teeth,'
he said. Then calling Kathy, he flung to her the key of his little
door, remarking that he was called to Cork on business, and might be
long detained. If my lady should write (alas! she never wrote) the
letters might wait.
Then, followed by his faithful henchman who shouldered his fire-iron
as though meaning business, he turned out of the great gate up the
by-lane which led, before meandering elsewhere, to the back-entrance
of the Little House; rung the bell, and waited to see the mistress.
Madam Gillin answered it in person, bedizened in a weird wrapper, a
wisp of soiled crape wound over the curl-papers about her head and
under her chin like a cerecloth. Her sleeves were tucked up above the
elbow. In her hand she bore a rolling-pin; her fingers wore a cuticle
of dough. Expressing no surprise, she remarked simply:
'I expected you before this. There is no one in the house but myself,
Norah, and the collough, my ould nurse. She's to be trusted. Ye're
welcome, and your man. Come here, Norah; kiss your brother-in-law as
will be some day. You may kiss me too, for I mean to be your
aunt-in-law. Look me in the eyes. A handsome fellar! I know more of
you than ye'll ever know yourself, unless the Holy Mother wills it.
Come in, for we may be watched; and bar the door.'