DANGER.
Through Madam Gillin Terence heard of these things, and was fretted
beyond measure in his seclusion. The plot was ripe. Vague tales of
succour were wafted from France, but the conspirators knew better now
than to lean on broken reeds. They were resolved to make a frantic
effort on their own account, independent of extraneous aid. Men can
die but once. Death by rope or musket-ball would be preferable to such
life as this--life with a brutal soldiery at free quarters in the
houses; with triangles in every barrack-yard, each bearing its
quivering burthen. Details had been laboriously gone into by Terence
and the Wexford chiefs. The project was complete in all its details.
The counties were to rise simultaneously at a given signal. The
Viceroy and the members of his privy council were each to be captured
in his bed. A detachment was to seize the artillery at Chapelizod; a
second was to storm Kilmainham and set free the patriot leaders. It
was the old plan which had always proved abortive; could it be brought
to fruition now? Horses would be in waiting, so that each leader could
escape and scamper off to assume the post allotted to him. The men
were enthusiastic, the Wexford chiefs declared, and built great hopes
on the fact of having a noble in their ranks. The only objection which
Terence's anxious eye could detect was that the lower order among the
priests were assuming an authority to which they were not entitled;
one which, by reason of their want of education, might prove
mischievous. Tone, in all his letters, had always laid stress upon
this point.
'Keep the priests out of it,' he had constantly written to Miss Wolfe
(Terence remembered it now). 'They will mean well, but are
outrageously illiterate and given to fable, which might have a
pernicious effect, their influence being enormous.'
A certain Father Roche and a Father Murphy were never weary of writing
letters, suggesting changes, offering wild advice. It would be well
for the Church militant to be nipped in the bud. The leaders now in
Kilmainham should be warned to see to this. Councillor Crosbie would
have liked more muskets and a supply of gunpowder. What a pity it was
that the French attempts had failed! After all, it was perhaps better
as it was. The pike was the weapon for Pat; and though many had been
captured, the land was bristling with them. Cars, too, would be
useful for barricades. The small farmers must be told to keep their
market-cars in constant readiness. Terence's eye scanned the details.
They were not to be improved. All was ready.
Nothing remained but to fix a day. New Year's Eve was suggested, in
order that the year 1798 might be well begun. It was amazing and
disheartening to find how impossible it was for Pat to keep a secret.
A week before the old year expired, proclamations appeared on all the
walls, which showed that Government was aware of what was doing. Each
householder was commanded, under pain of flogging, to chalk a list on
the outer door of the persons who dwelt upon his premises; with the
exception (so ran the quaint document) of those who might be suffering
from pecuniary embarrassment, whose names were to be transmitted
privately to the Lord Mayor. He was likewise bidden to see that no one
under his roof went forth into the street between nine at night and
five in the morning. Could the conspirators doubt that somehow their
every movement was reported?
Madam Gillin, who, strive to control herself as she would, was
feverishly excited about the future, discussed the plot in all its
bearings with her guest when shutters were shut and curtains drawn. It
was a marvel, she declared, that his retreat had remained so long
undiscovered. It was a narrow escape though, when the yeomanry
arrived; but that was evidently due to accident. There was no cause to
suspect treachery there. It spoke well for the country chiefs--at
least the few who had been let into the secret; for a thousand pounds
is a tidy nest-egg--a by no means despicable windfall. She liked those
leaders whom she had seen when pretending to visit her doctor in
Dublin. The best of them was a certain Mr. Bagenal Harvey--a nice
gintleman--one of the few who has much personal property at stake.
'He's prudent too, for an Irishman. And so are you, my child!' she
remarked, laying a plump hand affectionately on his arm. 'You've never
even told your mother where you're hid. I verily believe she hates me
so that, if she knew, she'd write and tell the chancellor!'
'I fear she doesn't care,' returned Terence, sadly. 'Nor does Doreen.'
The strange look of compassion flitted across the face of his hostess
which he had observed there before. She muttered something which he
did not catch, but he knew by the tone that it was uncomplimentary to
her ladyship.
'You mustn't think ill of my lady,' he said, with an attempt at
cheerfulness. 'Indeed, she so dotes on Shane that there's no room in
her heart for poor me! He quite filled up that shrine before ever I
came into the world. If I thought she would have been anxious, I would
have informed her. But nobody cared, so I told nobody--except one.'
'You told some one! Who was that?'
'A trusty old friend of long standing--true as gold, if a little
stupid--Tim Cassidy. By-the-bye, he said you didn't like him. He's
good, but not clever; though I've been a little shaken of late as to
the weakness of his intellect. It's wonderful how circumstances bring
people out!'
Madam Gillin sat bolt upright, her fat hands clasped round her fat
knees.
'You told _him!_' she cried aghast.
'Yes. Do not fear. He's playing a useful game, if a shady one. Each of
us must do what he can, you know.'
Mrs. Gillin was so taken aback that, to conceal her emotion, she
retired abruptly from the garret, and stared out of the landing-window
to consider this intelligence.
'A useful game for _himself_,' she murmured. '_He_ knows--he who has
wrecked them all--and has left this one here so long with a thousand
pounds upon his head! What can he mean? Can he in this be sincere? No.
The days of miracles are past.'
Madam Gillin had seen our friend Cassidy once without his jovial mask.
It is astonishing how deceived we are in people! We may live with them
on familiar terms for years, and discover at last by a gleam that
their real selves are quite other from what we thought. Sometimes the
gleam never comes at all. How many sons are there who never knew their
mothers? How many mothers who have never known their sons--the real
person with the veil withdrawn? Madam Gillin had seen Cassidy once
when he was himself, and felt satisfied that he could never be true
except to his own interests. Then this new position which looked the
darker for the light she could throw on it, twisted itself in her
mind, displaying all its facets. _He_ knew that the young man, on whom
so much depended, had been lying for weeks and weeks in ambush at the
Little House. Why did he leave him there? Was he waiting for the
reward to be doubled? When the moment arrived for her _protege_ to be
taken--when he chose to speak, what would become of HER? He would
surely ruin her. Could the judges save her from the penalties which
would accrue from taking a Protestant under age to mass, as well as
harbouring an arch-rebel?
'Well, I can't help it,' she said aloud, mentally tossing up the
sponge. 'I've done what I thought right. It's difficult to see the
way. He must be got out of this while there's time, and New Year's Eve
so near, too! Oh that I had learnt this before!' Painful misgivings
possessed her mind. 'Pray God and the Holy Mother that the poor boy
may be spared!' she whispered. 'Knowing what I do, it's bitterly sorry
I am for him. That proud mother of his will burn for what she's doing
some time or other, though she's happy now.'
Mrs. Gillin, argus-eyed as she thought herself, could not know that
the chatelaine of Strogue had already passed through a part of the
travail of her punishment. She had to judge by the face, which was a
mask--the face which was stony and cold enough--as cold as a face of
marble.
Suddenly (as she meditated) the buxom lady saw something which caused
her to crouch down and draw hastily back from the window.
'It's come!' she murmured; 'I felt it _here_ in my heart. What a mercy
that he told me, or it would have come on us unawares! Norah!' she
called with caution down the stairs, 'send Phil up here this minute.'
Then she sped to the garret. 'My lad,' she said quickly, 'hurry now!
Get through the trap on to the roof. Phil must do the same. I'll tidy
the place in a jiffy! Ye can both lie cosy in the valley of the roof.'
'What's the matter?' asked Terence, without moving.
'Matter enough. There's a party coming down the road. I'll stake my
head it's Sirr or some of them. They're coming to look for you!'
'Then give them some of your Lafitte, my second mother!' laughed
Terence, carelessly, 'and pack them about their business.'
'No,' Mrs. Gillin said, 'I can't explain now. They must go over the
house, and be convinced that ye're not in it; and to-night we'll pack
ye somewhere else for safety.'
There was no withstanding her energy. The two young men obeyed their
peremptory hostess, marvelling much at her. It was Sirr, sure enough.
His peculiar stoop could be recognised a mile off. Behind him were a
dozen redcoats.
Mrs. Gillin was snipping dead twigs with a large pair of scissors; she
wore a loose green kerchief over her turban, so unbecomingly arranged
that it was evident she expected no visitors. Norah was dutifully
holding a basket. How idle of the gardener to have neglected to trim
those hedges! Old Jug sat crooning in the wintry sun, her eyes
twinkling like beads from under a tangle of sandy elf-locks and
flopping cap, her favourite dudheen between her lips.
'Misthress dear!' she croaked between two puffs of smoke, 'it's the
meejor.'
But that lady was too much absorbed in gardening to hear.
'Good-day, madam,' quoth Sirr, wrinkling down his brow-tufts with a
smirk, and saluting in military fashion.
'Bless the pigs, meejor! is it you?' she cried, throwing down her
scissors. 'Ye've called to ask after my arm? It's mighty kind! The
ruffin gave my poor hand a terrible wrench, and sprains are slow to
cure. The bleeding's stopped this long while, but the docthor's eating
the sowl out of me. I go to be bandaged three times a week. It's not
your boys, meejor, that would outrage a leedy so!'
Major Sirr was disconcerted, and began to stammer:
'Glad ye're better, madam--hugely glad! I would not for the world do
anything disagreeable to a lady--but business is business, isn't it?'
'What's up?' cried the amazed little woman.
'I'm here, I regret to say, on painful business. May we come inside?
Thank you!'
'The meejor's always welcome,' affably returned the other, with one of
those superb but ceremonious curtseys wherewith she was wont to
electrify the Viceroy. Then, plucking off the kerchief, she whispered
audibly to Norah, 'Begorrer, it's rooned we are! To be seen with a
square of green silk round mee ould noddle! But the meejor won't
tell.'
Major Sirr observed with sorrow that the lady was not so cordial as
usual. There was an air of suspicious virtue with the ears set back
which distressed him, for he was really partial to her, though he
loved her claret better.
''Tis with deepest pain----' he was beginning, when she cut him short.
'Give tongue!' she said curtly. 'What ails you?'
This was a slap in the face. He was accustomed to be fondled and
caressed by those whom it was his painful duty to flay alive. She
could not be so hoighty-toighty if afraid.
'You are right,' he returned; 'business is business. I regret to say I
must search your house, for I've reason to know that Councillor
Crosbie is concealed here. I advise you to produce him, and have done
with it.'
Oh, Major Sirr! Major Sirr! You should have sent your better-half to
cope with Mrs. Gillin. What are a dozen men against one woman, in a
battle of wits? What are two dozen men against one woman whose blood
is roused, who stands like a tigress 'twixt her whelp and danger?
Major Sirr expected her to change colour, to betray at least a quiver
of the lip, a tremor of the fingers; then, recovering herself, to deny
largely and pour forth claret with effusion. Such signs would have
been the sure tokens of guilt, and he would have known how to act
accordingly.
Instead of this she stabbed him, rather too hard for playfulness, with
her scissors, and skipped away laughing with elephantine grace. Then
wagging her turban at him (which was wofully awry), she set her hands
akimbo on her high waistband, thereby sending her elbows almost to the
level of her ears, and remarked with unusual bluntness:
'Pah! ye stink of the Staghouse! Stale blood and brains! Go on,
hangman; do your worst. Mr. Crosbie _was_ here--has been here for
weeks. I won't deny, since ye know all about it. If ye hadn't been a
dolt, ye'd have found him long ago. Why, he walked out with Norah each
evening on the shore. He was here when the yeoman blackguards wounded
and hurt my arm. Do ye think, if it was otherwise, I'd have stooped to
give them drink? Not likely! Mr. Crosbie _was_ here, but the bird's
flown. You may well look glum. Sorra a drop of the crathur your men'll
get out of me this day. Go, search the house; turn it inside out. He
lived in the right-hand garret. Ye'll find some of his things about,
though he's in Wexford by this time. Here are all my keys (except the
cellar key). Search!'
This was disheartening. Behaviour coarse and rude. But duty is duty.
Sirr stooped to pick up the keys, which had been tossed to his feet,
and, wrapping himself in a rag of dignity, proceeded to examine the
premises. It was as she said. There was no one there, though there
were signs of recent occupation. Ruefully the major looked into the
dining-parlour. There were no nice things laid out for his behoof.
'I've only done my duty,' he urged, as he clutched the virtuous lady's
fat hand. 'Don't be cross with me. I'm glad my mission's failed,
though I should have won a thousand by it--there!'
But she shook him off and swept away, murmuring over her shoulder,
with sniffing nostrils, that she had done with him; would never meet
him as a friend again (though her house was open to examination
whensoever he was anxious for an outrage); that she would take it as a
personal favour if he would save her the pain of cutting him dead in
public; for under no conditions whatsoever would she consent to
condone this insult.
Sirr was sorry, but shrugged his shoulders. He ordered his men to
march on to Strogue. Perhaps the culprit was not gone to Wexford, but
was lying perdu in the vaults of the ancient Abbey. Mrs. Gillin
screamed to old Jug, from an upper window, to run round to Larry in
the farm-buildings, and bid him bring out the carriage. She must go to
Dublin to the doctor. Her nerves were rooned now, as well as her
spirits and poor arm.
Then, closing the window, she called on the fugitives to come forth.
'There's no time to be lost,' she said. 'Sirr suspects nothing, but
the other will. The serpent! He is capable of coming down himself, in
a friendly way, to spend the evening; and that's more than I could
endure, even for you.'
'Of whom do you speak?' asked Terence, bewildered.
'Don't chatter!' interrupted the kind lady. ''Twill be twilight in an
hour or so. You must get out of this before Sirr gets back, and
reports to the other what he's done. Then the brute may come, and
welcome. It'll be a pleasure to laugh at him. Sirr'll be an hour or so
rummaging through the Abbey. Meanwhile you'll take my place in the
coach. You're just my size and figure. Your arm looks awful bad. You
want a doctor sadly. But that gossoon there; he can't go too, as I've
always gone alone. Unlucky! He can't stay, either; that's certain.
What'll we do at all?' She tore off the soiled turban to rub her head,
for the better coaxing of her ingenuity. Presently she clapped her
hands. 'That's it. Ye'll go separate to the same rendezvous. You,
Phil, shall go first, for ye must walk. It's like a masquerade in the
good old times; yet my heart is dreadful sore--ochone!'
Rapidly Madam Gillin produced some sailor-slops which her own boatman
used to wear when she took her pleasure on the bay. 'Phil will wear
these and start at once,' she explained. 'His face must not be seen;
it's too well known. In the boathouse yonder he'll find a coil of
rope. He must bear it on his shoulders as a motive, and let a loop or
two fall over his forehead. Be off now, and be careful. Take a knife,
in case of accidents. Ye must be clear off before Sirr returns from
the Abbey. If by ill-luck ye were to come face to face, stab at his
legs. He wears a coat of mail. _I felt it with my scissors_. Away!'
Phil departed, quite glad of the excitement, delighted to break
through his long and weariful incarceration.
Terence was packed in the celebrated wrapper, which once to see was
never to forget. A beaver bonnet and veil covered his head. An arm was
deftly bandaged. He stepped into the coach, drew up the glasses, and
leaning back in the shadow as the coachman whipped his horses, began
to collect his thoughts. Whew! What a whirl it was! Why dear Madam
Gillin should suddenly become nervous, and wag her plumes so, he could
not imagine. Unpleasant things are ofttimes for the best. Concealed in
the capital itself he would be all the better able to superintend in
person the proceedings of New Year's Eve. Yes! It was quite fortunate
that she should thus have sent him off. He would see some of the
delegates that very evening; concert passwords and signals. Five
minutes' talk is worth a dozen letters. He would send round for
Cassidy, who, faithful to his _role_, should be able to unravel for
them the ins and outs of the Castle tactics, some of which seemed
hazy. He would---- What was that? Sirr and his men! Then they had not
lingered at the Abbey, but had started Dublinwards before him? No
matter. All was right. The major had peered into the carriage, and,
perceiving the wounded arm and well-known wrapper, had turned away his
head abruptly. How cleverly Mrs. Gillin had managed the whole thing!
Why had she taken such a fancy to him? If he were her own son, she
could not be more loving and considerate.--What was that? A man
bending under a load. Phil, of course. How slow he walked! Sirr's men
seemed stepping out. Please Heaven they would not overtake him. No.
And if they did, what then? A boor with a burthen of rope. A guilty
conscience; how it racks and torments us about nothing!
Hark! a sound--audible through the rumbling coach-wheels. A shout--a
cry! Unable to resist the impulse, Terence lowered a glass and
protruded his head, with the beaver bonnet and veil. Great heavens!
The soldiers had gained on Phil, whose burthen impeded movement; had,
from sheer brutality, torn it from him and disclosed his features. He
had been recognised! Sirr saw through the trick, and shook his fist
with balked fury. He was gesticulating in the road. Some soldiers were
hailing the coach from afar, but Larry whipped his horses with a will.
Some more, jumping a ditch, had broken through a hedge and vanished.
Poor Phil! he would be murdered. Was it not base to leave him thus
unaided? Yet--the Cause. Terence felt that his life was not his own.
Eagerly he looked backwards as the road took a loop-turn. He must see
the last of poor Phil--probably the very last of his faithful
henchman. Phil had ceased struggling. Terence drew in his head, and,
man though he was, burst into a flood of tears. Poor, faithful Phil!
What a sad end!
Half-way betwixt Strogue and Dublin the road leaves the shore, and
winds inland with an intricate series of doubles--arranged so for the
benefit of certain small villa-holders, round whose tiny properties
the way meanders. Terence forgot this fact, so absorbed was he in the
fate of his attached servant, otherwise he would have seen his danger,
and, throwing off his disguise, would have trusted to a hare's tactics
in the open. But, clad in woman's attire, he was weeping like a woman,
and bemoaning his fate, when the carriage came to a standstill with a
shock. A detachment of soldiers, taking a short cut, had come upon the
carriage, and, springing on the bits, had thrust back the horses on
their haunches.
Deception was futile now. Dragging off the ignoble bonnet and wrapper,
Terence sprang lightly out, and drawing a pistol, prepared to barter
his life against as many of the foe as possible.
One man shot poor Larry on his box, lest he should take part in the
scuffle; another hamstrung the off-horse, which whinnied, and leaped
up with pain. The shot was answered by a hulloo and rush of feet.
Through the hedge-gap appeared Sirr, breathless but foaming, urging on
his men, two of whom dragged Phil, an inert mass, between them.
'Murther!' groaned Phil. 'That the masther should be tuk, and through
me!'
'Yes,' jeered Sirr; 'we have him now. Having detected you, I knew at
once that he could not be far off!'
Terence discharged his pistols with good effect. A man fell to each of
them. Then, drawing a dagger, he leaned his back against a tree.
Sirr, as his way was on these occasions, withdrew to the rear, content
with egging on his hounds from a safe distance. The men waited for a
second, watching the eye of the man who stood at bay. Phil saw his
opportunity, and took it. With a jerk he freed himself, stabbed one
fellow, and, lunging at another, slipped, and tumbled on the moist
earth. But he was not to be thus foiled. Wriggling along the ground,
he reached Major Sirr, and slashed him across both legs, who,
springing into the air with a howl, tossed away the sword-cane that he
had unsheathed and fell disabled. Phil caught it, and stabbed the
shrieking major again and again till it broke. 'Right she was!' he
said; 'the dastard does wear mail!'
The diversion seemed likely to save Terence, who, turning, sped
swiftly along the furrows, favoured by sinking twilight.
'Run, masther, run!' Phil screamed. 'Please the Lord, he'll be safe
yet.'
'Dead or alive!' howled Sirr, who clawed the ground with his fingers
in his pain.
A man levelled his musket and fired. Terence turned like a top,
dropped on his knees, then struggling up, moved on as swiftly as
before. Another fired, but missed. The fugitive flew on, but not so
fast. A mere youth outstripped him, and stooping down in front,
tripped him by the feet. Both fell heavily. The bigger of the two
being uppermost--his right arm swinging loose--made a desperate effort
to throttle the boy with his left hand. It took several men, pressing
his chest with heavy muskets, to tear his prey from him, and bind him
in such a way as to prevent further resistance.
Terence and Phil were taken to the provost, whilst Sirr (vowing
vengeance especially against the latter) was borne away to have the
wounds dressed which disfigured his comely calves.
Madam Gillin sat at home in a perspiration, waiting for news. No news!
That looked well. It was dawn before she sought her couch, determined
to try and sleep. A hubbub aroused the three occupants of the Little
House. What was it? eight o'clock! An enormous detachment of soldiers'
wives, with kettles, equipage, and baggage, demanding hospitality,
producing an official order to that effect. Free quarters; and for
women, too--the dirty, drunken drabs! Madam Gillin clasped her fat
hands in anguish. Then the stratagem must have been discovered. One
had been taken--which? or both? Oh, Heaven! Would no one tell her?
A blowsy wife, more compassionate than the rest, said that all the
world knew by this time that the meejor had won the big reward.
Madam Gillin tightened her lips, and said no more, while Jug whistled
lamentations through her gums. 'It's the curse of Crummell on the
farriers--breed, seed, and branch. If he'd gone alone he'd have been
safe.' Which, in all probability, was true enough, though not because
Phil chose to wield a firing-iron. But Madam Gillin would not listen
to her nurse. Poor lad! To be taken without striking a blow--without
even the threadbare satisfaction which belongs to a leader of forlorn
hopes--of laying down life, perhaps, but at a heavy price. What an
unjust world it is! Mrs. Gillin felt it more and more.