THE RISING OP THE TEMPEST.
Nothing could be kinder than the stout homely lady's treatment of her
guest. He seemed to have a sad sort of fascination for her. He caught
her watching him sometimes with a queer expression of pity, which
broke into amicable grins and head-shakings so soon as she found
herself detected. Norah, too, turned out to be a good-natured,
unpretentious creature.
On the whole, Terence was not surprised at his brother's choice,
considering what a terror that truculent individual betrayed for
high-bred damosels, and how little he was able to appreciate the
refined fascinations of the haughty, calm Doreen.
'It stood to reason,' so Terence argued, 'that if he were blind to the
existence of a divinity who, in semblance of a mortal maid, abode by
his fireside, then, of course, his senses must be gross, and nothing
would suit him but a house-wench.'
Despite the draggled ball-room finery in which Norah elected to array
herself for breakfast, in honour of the guest, he could not but
perceive that she was no better than a serving-wench in mistress's
attire. But then she was a cheery, pleasant house-wench, instead of a
designing, cross one, as might have been the case. So he clasped her
to his bosom, and the twain were soon fast friends.
In the kitchen things did not go so smoothly. Phil's orders were that
he must never go out by daylight; so he sat in the kitchen all day
long, staring at Jug Coyle, the collough, who sat muttering and
growling as she stared at him.
For many years, when mistress of the 'Irish Slave,' Jug had nourished
a resentment against this unoffending youth, shaking a lean fist at
him as he passed her door, muttering a curse when he called in for
'the laste taste in life of the crayther.'
Why? Because she was a collough and he a farrier; or, if he wasn't,
why should he wield a firing-iron? Colloughs have always hated
farriers, time out of mind, because they are rival practitioners in
the art of medicine, and the colloughs nourish a vague belief that, in
the days of the Bound Towers, the herbalists were lady-doctors, and
that they enjoyed an undisputed sway over both kine and gentlefolk
until Crummell introduced the veterinary as a special branch of
AEsculapian science.
He tried to ingratiate himself with the old dame by playing Peter to
her Nurse; but she scorned to be so wheedled, remarking curtly, when
he was particularly civil:
'The curse of Crummell light on yez, breed, seed, and branch, ye
villainous cow-doctor. The Lord planted our cures in the fields before
there was no 'pothecaries.'
Which remark being usually irrelevant, not to say incomprehensible, he
met it by a good-tempered nod, which brought the irate lady to the
extreme of patience.
The days dragged on thus but slowly. Madam Gillin was a strange
mixture of bravery and pusillanimity. As we have seen, she stood in
terror of a particular gentleman, because he had discovered that she
took her Protestant child to mass, and had threatened to expose the
awful secret. Such a matter would disturb no one at the present day;
but at that time it was a heinous sin, which would have pointed the
sinner out for some practical joking on the part of the Protestant
squireens. At the same time she fearlessly harboured one who was a
marked man, upon whose head shortly a price might be set, who might
drag her with him to ruin, if the worst came to the worst; and all
because she had sworn an oath once to a dying paramour, and had
watched, with anger mingled with sorrow, the career of the child she
had promised to protect.
Knowing Ireland's wrongs better than he did, and learning from hearsay
how proud-stomached a boy he was, she had always dreaded that which
actually came to pass. She and Curran agreed that it would be
deplorable if he joined the popular party; but as both secretly leaned
in that direction, they could not discountenance him for having the
courage to maintain, in face of danger, what they felt to be the
rightful cause. For all their sakes, however, she acted with feminine
tact. She kept him a close prisoner in a garret while it was day,
sitting alone herself in the garden during fine weather, where all who
passed along the high-road might perceive a strange figure they were
little likely to forget. At night she took him out under personal
escort to take the air, bidding Phil march forty yards in front and
whistle at the first hint of danger, while Norah fulfilled the same
office behind; Jug meanwhile being strictly enjoined to allow no
strange foot to cross the threshold, under any pretence whatever.
In the course of these walks they wandered by the shore, coming quite
accidentally, sometimes, upon a group of fishermen, who bowed to the
young man with respect, and conversed with him in long and earnest
whispers. It transpired by-and-by that some of the ubiquitous
informers were beginning to turn their attention to the rage for
fishing which seemed to have arisen about Strogue Point. Then Madam
Gillin forbade even the solace of these nocturnal wanderings.
It became known that many of the marked ones were journeying to and
fro, in a suspicious and mysterious manner, between Wexford and Dublin
and the adjacent districts. It also became a matter of public scandal
that the object of the journeys was to commune with a personage of
rank, the only one who dared to prefer his country to his class.
Unwise conspirators began to babble of a lordling who would shortly
lead them to certain victory--who, English though he might be by
lineage, did not forget how many centuries of sojourn bound his family
to the sister island. They spoke with gratitude and pride of this
_rara avis_, all the more incautiously, perhaps, because they knew him
to be safely hidden beyond the ken of Sirr and of his bloodhounds.
Now as week followed week, and month glided after month, it chanced
that my Lord Clare departed to the bath of Harrogate to drink the
waters for his health. By a singular coincidence, Mr. Pitt also
travelled thitherward. It was, of course, a coincidence; but folks did
say--well, no matter what they said.
When Lord Clare returned to the Irish metropolis, he discovered, with
concern, that the secret committee of Lords--the Wehmgericht who still
performed in the shadow unholy and illegal deeds--had requested the
Viceroy to issue a certain warrant.
Lord Camden, rather pleased for once to act upon his separate account,
mumbled that the lords were quite right to keep their own nest clean;
that it was shocking to think that one of their body should so
fearfully misbehave himself. He went further. Other younger sons of an
adventurous turn might follow this pernicious example. Not only must
he be taken forthwith, but must also be made an example of. His
brother might object possibly--that nice loyal young nobleman, who had
assisted in building many Martello towers; but his outcry, should he
presume to make one, must be stopped by timely courtesy. The Glandores
of Strogue were earls; why should they not be created marquises?
So my Lord Camden delivered the warrant, which had for long been lying
in his escritoire, to Major Sirr, and offered, as well, a reward of a
thousand guineas for the culprit, alive or dead.
Quite a tremor went through both Houses. One of the nobles! This was
serious. A few thousand peasants, more or less, mattered to nobody;
but it was a pity to touch the _noblesse_. Then they talked of
Lafayette, who was a marquis, whilst this was only an earl's younger
son, and soon felt quite comfortable; even applauded the Viceroy's
timely severity.
Lord Clare was more troubled, when he learned these things, than his
enemies would have deemed possible. He wrote to his dear old friend at
Glas-aitch-e, bidding her not grieve too much. It was done in his
absence. He dared not openly interfere in favour of her misguided son,
but would make a personal request to Mr. Pitt to urge his Majesty to
clemency. He had done much work for Mr. Pitt (forgetting to state how
dirty that work was); and no doubt his boon would be granted. If not,
still must his loving mother not despair. Prison bars might be sawn;
turnkeys were very shortsighted. There were boats about, and men to
man them.
He never doubted for a moment that the reward would be claimed. How
blind both Curran and his _protege_ had been not to guess his
transparent riddle! My lady wrote back in course of time, deploring,
in bitter terms, the blow which had befallen the family; the dart
which had transfixed her heart. And my Lord Clare was no little amazed
to perceive, or to seem to perceive, that my lady took her anguish
calmly. Either she was a Stoic, or more unfeeling as to her offspring
than he liked to consider a lady to be who was also his old friend.
Thus did events unroll themselves, till one fine day a party of
yeomanry, more intoxicated even than they usually were, took it into
their wise heads to investigate the Little House. Happily the
chatelaine was at home to defend her penates, whilst old Jug shrieked
maledictions on the party like a frantic Chorus. Madam Gillin stoutly
(in both senses of the word) spread her redundant charms across her
entrance-stone, daring them one and all to come forward and strike a
woman. She threatened them--Catholic though she was--with the
vengeance of the Bar. Was she not the chosen ally of my Lords Clonmell
and Carleton--those gay and festive judges--who held her company and
her wine in such deservedly high esteem? Did not even the gradually
saddening attorney-general--Mr. Arthur Wolfe--count her among his
friends? Woe be to the military gentlemen who should outrage her
sacred hearth. They might come in and do their worst, for she had
naught to hide. What could she have to hide? But she warned them, in
very positive language indeed, that they would rue the day they did
it. They were abashed, but loath to retire, after drunken blustering,
before a mere woman's tongue. Such a woman and such a tongue! Would
she give the boys some drink? the captain coaxingly suggested. She
pertinently retorted that if they or some of their kidney had not
already destroyed the shebeen, which she had set up for the benefit of
arid throats, drink might be got in plenty without stealing it from a
lone woman. Yet would she even give them drink if they'd promise to be
off. Not special drink, such as the judges drank, but some other, by
no means despicable.
She showed the officers into the dining-parlour; produced for them a
few bottles of undeniable Lafitte, bidding Norah act Hebe (who
objected not at all), and ordering Jug to distribute jorums of whisky
among the common men upon the lawn. It soon became an orgie. One man
said something rude to Jug about her erring Biddy with the carroty
poll, which sent the hag into a fury. If Biddy was sliding from the
straight path, the sin must lie on her head, not her mother's. They
were spalpeens, she yelled, who would rot some time--the sooner the
better. When should come Judgment-day they would not awake, ne'er a
recreant sowl of them, having long ago been absorbed by lean pigs that
were their betters. One man bade her keep a civil tongue, or it would
be the worse for her. A riot ensued, which the mistress of the
dwelling hurried forth to quell. Before the officers could interfere,
Madam Gillin had received a scratch upon her arm, which she exhibited
in the moonlight, swearing she was 'kilt entirely,' with an
accompaniment of screams from Norah, who was really terrified. The
judges should hear of the outrage--my lords Clonmell and Carleton--she
vociferated, and the rapscallions should be drummed out of the
regiment for insulting lone women who had friends among the great. The
party stole away, ashamed of the din, but Madam Gillin made capital of
the incident. Bandaging her arm in bloody linen, she drove into the
capital, laid a complaint there, and made believe to see a surgeon.
Every day for many days she drove into town and back again, closely
draped in shawls, with ensanguined bandages exposed. Long ago she
perceived that if Terence was to consent to continued imprisonment,
his mind must be set at rest by communication with the Directory. He
chafed so in his cage that she dreaded sometimes whether he might not
escape in the night while the kindly gaoleress slept. Therefore,
knowing what a hue-and-cry there was after him--or rather after the
unlucky thousand pounds reward--she became in some sort a conspirator
herself, going daily to and fro to see her doctor, who was no other
than one of the new delegates, and who thus was enabled to commune
with the lordling in spite of Sirr and his battalion of watchers.
There was a lull of expectation in Dublin. Reports flew over the
city--no one could tell how or whence they came--reports which set
quiet citizens quivering in their beds. Hints of murder, rapine,
kidnapping, explosion. Rumour swept howling over the city. The Castle
would be blown into the air; it was known that the train was laid,
that the match was ready. The lives of the Viceroy and his ministers
were not worth a groat. What wonder if loyal yeoman souls were yet
further set aflame? What wonder if the terrified senate acquiesced
without murmuring at the line of action which the loyalists pursued.
Soon so many prospective victims choked the alleys of the
Riding-school that extra triangles had to be set up elsewhere. The
Royal Exchange itself echoed with the thud of the cat; the screams of
the victims for mercy could be heard in the viceregal apartments hard
by. Happily for Lady Camden's peace of mind, she had fled long since.
Soldiers were sent out at free quarters to the right and left, with
hints that it would be well that their hosts should not forget their
coming. Virgins were tossed naked in blankets, while their fathers and
brothers were compelled to watch their shame. The pitch-cap was in
daily use; gunpowder was exploded in the hair. A new and splendid jest
was invented by a merry dog. Why not _picket_ the recalcitrant scum?
What better joke than to poise an insolent fellow barefoot upon a
pointed stake? His movements would be mirth-inspiring--so grotesque
and comical! The only drawback was (as experiment showed) that he
fainted all too soon. No; decidedly there was nothing better than the
old-fashioned lash. Men swooned under it no doubt; some died; some
went raving mad. But even when these misfortunes chanced there was
diversion to be had from the expectant moans of those who were
awaiting a like fate. Some even lost consciousness before they were
tied up at all. Such a lack of humorous perception was disgusting.
Why, a rat in a pit gives sport, though his fate is predetermined. A
man, though low-born, should shame to be less plucky than a rat! It
was rather amusing, and salutary to a certain point in its results, to
shoot down children--babes and sucklings--before their mothers' eyes.
Yet no! there was so little variety in the behaviour of the mothers.
They all rocked themselves and stretched their palms to heaven. It was
monotonous and dull. Even the imagination of the squireens, spurred as
it was by enterprising colonels, began to flag. Perhaps, after all,
they were not so very much more witty or more inventive than the
French in the Reign of Terror. Their superiors grew ashamed of them,
forgetting that in our imperfect state there is a limit to the human
intellect. They grew ashamed of their own dearth of ingenuity, being
by this time so swinish and sodden with alcohol and blood-quaffing,
that the English and Scotch regiments turned their backs on them,
declining to associate with their Irish comrades at all, even under
stress of orders and of whisky.
Winter had come again; not white this time, but red--a dusky red, by
reason of the shadow of that thunderous cloud which, bloated now, was
on the eve of bursting. If there is a limit set to the torturing
ingenuity of fiends, so is there--by Divine ordinance--to the
endurance even of slaves. A roar swept across the land--a roar of
expostulation with the Most High in that He had slept too long. Sure
man was not created only for the sake of torment. Children were not
born merely to be ripped asunder--virgins to be ravished--men to be
done to death by inches? Why, whilst the sun smiled on earth for good
and bad alike--its glory heightened by a casual vapour-fleck--was
Ireland alone exempted from the boon of light? The last trump had not
yet sounded. Why was Erin alone to be a hell? Messengers moved like
ants on the earth's surface. Something was preparing. After many
delays and feints the real crisis was at hand at last. The cloud,
three years ago no bigger than a hand, blackened the horizon. Even the
chancellor's stony face grew wan--his nature of adamant faltered--when
he surveyed the darkened heavens, hushed in an awful stillness, and
waited for what might come. For a moment he trembled like Frankenstein
before the monster he had fashioned.