ON DETACHMENT.
Ralph was soon at home in the regiment. He found his comrades a cheery
and pleasant set of men, ready to assist the newly-joined young
officers as far as they could. A few rough practical jokes were
played; but Ralph took them with such perfect good temper that they
were soon abandoned.
He applied himself very earnestly to mastering the mystery of drill,
and it was not long before he was pronounced to be efficient, and he
was then at Captain O'Connor's request appointed to his company, in
which there happened to be a vacancy for an ensign. He had had the
good luck to have an excellent servant assigned to him. Denis Mulligan
was a thoroughly handy fellow, could turn his hand to anything, and
was always good tempered and cheery.
"The fellow is rather free and easy in his ways," Captain O'Connor
told Ralph when he allotted the man to him; "but you will get
accustomed to that. Keep your whisky locked up, and I think you will
be safe in all other respects with him. He was servant to Captain
Daly, who was killed at Toulouse, and I know Daly wouldn't have parted
with him on any account. His master's death almost broke Denis' heart,
and I have no doubt he will get just as much attached to you in time.
These fellows have their faults, and want a little humoring; but, take
them as a whole, I would rather have an Irish soldier servant than one
of any other nationality, provided always that he is not too fond of
the bottle. About once in three months I consider reasonable, and I
don't think you will find Mulligan break out more frequently than
that."
Ralph never regretted the choice O'Connor had made for him, and found
Denis an excellent servant; and his eccentricities and the opinions
which he freely expressed afforded him a constant source of amusement.
A few days later Captain O'Connor came into his room. "Pack up your
kit. The company is ordered on detached duty, and there is an end to
your dancing and flirting."
"I don't know about flirting," Ralph laughed. "As far as I can see you
do enough for the whole company in that way. But where are we going
to?"
"We are ordered to Ballyporrit. An out of the way hole as a man could
wish to be buried in. It seems that there are a lot of stills at work
in the neighborhood. The gauger has applied for military aid. A nice
job we have got before us. I have had my turn at it before, and know
what it means. Starting at nightfall, tramping ten or fifteen miles
over the hills and through bogs, and arriving at last at some wretched
hut only to find a wretched old woman sitting by a peat fire, and
divil a sign of still or mash tubs or anything else. We start the
first thing to-morrow morning; so you had better get your kit packed
and your flask filled to-night. We have nineteen miles march before
us, and a pretty bad road to travel. I have just been in to Desmond's
quarters, and he is tearing his hair at the thought of having to leave
the gayeties of Cork."
"I think it is a nice change," Ralph said, "and shall be very glad to
have done with all these parties and balls. Ballyporrit is near the
sea, isn't it?"
"Yes. About a mile away, I believe. Nearly forty miles from here."
The detachment marched next morning. Ralph enjoyed the novelty of the
march, but was not sorry when at the end of the second day's tramp
they reached the village. The men were quartered in the houses of the
villagers, and the officers took rooms at the inn. Except when engaged
in expeditions to capture stills--of which they succeeded in finding
nearly a score--there was not much to do at Ballyporrit. All the
gentry resident within a wide circle called upon them, and invitations
to dinners and dances flowed in rapidly. As one officer was obliged to
remain always in the village with the detachment, Ralph seldom availed
himself of these invitations. O'Connor and Lieutenant Desmond were
both fond of society; and, as Ralph very much preferred staying
quietly in his quarters, he was always ready to volunteer to take duty
upon these occasions.
Ballyporrit lay within a mile of the sea, and Ralph, when he had
nothing else to do, frequently walked to the edge of the cliffs, and
sat there hour after hour watching the sea breaking among the rocks
three or four hundred feet below him, and the sea-birds flying here
and there over the water, and occasionally dashing down to its
surface. A few fishing boats could be seen, but it was seldom that a
distant sail was visible across the water; for not one vessel in those
days sailed for the west to every fifty that now cross the Atlantic.
The rocks upon which he sat rose in most places almost sheer up from
the edge of the sea; but occasionally they fell away, and a good
climber could make his way over the rough rocks and bowlders down to
the water's edge. As, however, there was nothing to be gained by it,
Ralph never made the attempt.
Looking back over the land the view was a dreary one. There was not a
human habitation within sight, the hills were covered with brown
heather, while in the bottoms lay bogs, deep and treacherous to those
who knew not the way across. It was rarely that a human figure was
visible. Once or twice a day a revenue man came along the edge of the
cliff, and would generally stop for a talk with Ralph.
"There was," he said, "a good deal of smuggling carried on along that
part of the coast during the war; but there is not so much of it now,
though no doubt a cargo is run now and then. It does not pay as it did
when the French ports were all closed, and there was not a drop of
brandy to be had save that which was run by the smugglers. Now that
trade is open again there is only the duty to save, and I fancy a good
many of the boats have gone out of the business. You see, the revenue
has got its agents in the French ports, and gets news from them what
craft are over there loading, and what part of the coast they come
from. Along the English coast there is still a good deal of it. There
lace pays well; but there is not much sale for lace in Ireland, and
not much sale for brandy either, excepting in the towns. The peasants
and farmers would not thank you for it when they can get home-made
whisky for next to nothing."
"I suppose that there is a good deal of that going on."
"Any amount of it, sir. For every still that is captured I reckon
there must be a hundred at work that no one dreams of, and will be as
long as barley grows and there are bogs and hills all over the
country, and safe hiding-places where no one not in the secret would
dream of searching. The boys know that we are not in their line of
business, and mind our own affairs. If it were not for that, I can
tell you, I wouldn't go along these cliffs at night for any pay the
king would give me; for I know that before a week would be out my body
would be found some morning down there on the rocks, and the coroner's
jury would bring in a verdict of tumbled over by accident, although
there wouldn't be a man of them but would know better."
"Well, I am sure I don't want to find out anything about them. I
belong to the detachment in Ballyporrit, and of course if the gauger
calls upon us we must march out and aid him in seizing a still. But
beyond that it's no affair of ours."
And yet although he so seldom saw any one to speak to, Ralph had
sometimes a sort of uncomfortable feeling that he was being watched.
Once or twice he had caught a glimpse of what he thought was a man's
head among some rocks; but on walking carelessly to the spot he could
see no signs of any one. Another time, looking suddenly round, he saw
a boy standing at the edge of some boggy ground where the land dipped
suddenly away some two hundred yards from the edge of the cliff; but
directly he saw that he was observed he took to his heels, and
speedily disappeared down the valley.
Ralph did not trouble himself about these matters, nor did he see any
reason why any one should interest himself in his movements. Had he
wandered about among the hills inland he might be taken for a spy
trying to find out some of the hidden stills; but sitting here at the
edge of the cliff watching the sea, surely no such absurd suspicion
could fall upon him. Had he been there at night the smugglers might
have suspected him of keeping watch for them; but smugglers never
attempted to run their cargoes in broad daylight, and he never came
down there after dark. One day a peasant came strolling along. He was
a powerful-looking man and carried a heavy stick. Ralph was lying on
his back looking up at the clouds and did not hear the man approach
till he was close to him, then with a quick movement he sprang to his
feet.
"I did not hear you coming," he said. "You have given me quite a
start."
"It's a fine day, yer honor, for sleeping on the turf here," the man
said civilly.
"I was not asleep," Ralph said; "though I own that I was getting on
for it."
"Is yer honor expecting to meet any one here?" the man asked. "Sure,
it's a mighty lonesome sort of place."
"No, I am not expecting any one. I have only come out for a look at
the sea. I am never tired of looking at that."
"It's a big lot of water, surely," the man replied, looking over the
sea with an air of interest as if the sight were altogether novel to
him. "A powerful lot of water. And I have heard them say that you
often come out here?"
"Yes, I often come out," Ralph assented.
"Don't you think now it is dangerous so near the edge of the cliff,
yer honor? Just one step and over you would go, and it would be ten
chances to one that the next tide would drift your body away, and
divil a one know what had become of you."
"But I don't mean to take a false step," Ralph said.
"Sure, there is many a one takes a false step when he isn't dreaming
about it; and if ye didn't tumble over by yourself, just a push would
do it."
"Yes, but there is no one to give one a push," Ralph said.
"Maybe and maybe not," the man replied. "I don't say if I was a
gentleman, and could spind me time as I liked, that I would be sitting
here on the edge of these cliffs, where you might come to harm any
minute."
"I have no fear of coming to harm," Ralph answered; "and I should be
sorry for any one who tried. I always carry a pistol. Not that I think
there is any chance of having to use it but it's always as well to be
prepared."
"It is that, yer honor, always as well; but I don't think I should be
always coming out here if I was you."
"Why not, my good fellow? I harm no one, and interfere with no one.
Surely it is open to me to come here and look at the sea without any
one taking offense at it."
"That's as it may be, yer honor. Anyhow I have told you what I think
of it. Good-morning to you."
"I wonder what that fellow meant," Ralph said, looking after him. "He
meant something, I feel certain, though what it is I can't imagine. I
thought it was as well to let him know that I had a pistol handy,
though he didn't look as if he intended mischief. I suppose after this
I had better not come here so often, though I have not the remotest
idea in the world why I should annoy any one more by standing here
than if I was standing on the cliff in front of Dover Castle. However,
it certainly is a lonely place, and I should have precious little
chance if two or three men took it into their heads to attack me
here."
"They are queer people these Irish peasants of yours, O'Connor," Ralph
said as they sat at dinner that evening.
"What's the matter with them now, Conway?"
"One can't even go and look at the sea from their cliffs without their
taking it amiss," and Ralph related the conversation he had had with
the peasant, adding that he was convinced he had been watched whenever
he went there.
"It is curious, certainly," the captain said when he had finished. "No
doubt they think you are spying after something; but that would not
trouble them unless there was something they were afraid of your
finding out. Either there has been something going on, or there is
some hiding-place down there on the face of the cliff, where maybe
they have a still at work. Anyhow, I don't think I should neglect the
warning, Conway. You might be killed and thrown over the cliff, and no
one be the wiser for it. I should certainly advise you to give up
mooning about."
"But there is nothing to do in this wretched village," Ralph said
discontentedly.
"Not if you stop in the village, I grant; but you might do as Desmond
and I do when we are off duty; go over and take lunch at the Ryans',
or Burkes', or any of the other families where we have a standing
invitation. They are always glad to see one, and there's plenty of fun
to be had."
"That's all very well for you, O'Connor. You are a captain and a
single man, and one of their countrymen, with lots to say for
yourself; but it is a different thing with me altogether. I can't drop
in and make myself at home as you do."
"Why, you are not shy, Conway?" O'Connor said in affected horror.
"Surely such a disgrace has not fallen on his majesty's Twenty-eighth
Regiment that one of its officers is shy? Such a thing is not recorded
in its annals."
"I am afraid it will have to be recorded now," laughed Ralph. "For I
own that I am shy; if you call shy, feeling awkward and uncomfortable
with a lot of strange people, especially ladies."
"Do not let it be whispered outside," O'Connor said, "or the
reputation of the regiment is gone forever among Irish girls. Desmond,
this is a sad business. What are we to do with this man? You and I
must consult together how this thing is to be cured."
"No, no, O'Connor," Ralph said earnestly, knowing how fond O'Connor
was of practical jokes, and dreading that he and the lieutenant would
be putting him in some ridiculous position or other. "You will never
cure me if you set about it. I shall get over it in time; but it's the
sort of thing that becomes ten times worse if you attempt to cure it."
"We must think it over, my lad," O'Connor said seriously. "This is a
serious defect in your character; and as your commanding officer I
consider it my bounden duty, both for your sake and that of the
regiment, to take it into serious consideration and see what is to be
done. You may never have such a chance again of being cured as you
have here; for if a man goes away from Ireland without being cured of
shyness his case is an absolutely hopeless one. Desmond, you must turn
this matter seriously over in your mind, and I will do the same. And
now it is time for us to be starting for the dance at the Regans'. I
am sorry you can't go with us, Desmond, as you are on duty."
"I shall be very glad to take your duty, Desmond," Ralph said eagerly.
"I told you so this morning, and I thought you agreed."
"As your commanding officer," O'Connor said gravely, "I cannot permit
the exchange to be made, Mr. Conway. You have your duty to perform to
the regiment as well as Mr. Desmond, and your duty clearly is to go
out and make yourself agreeable. I am surprised after what I have just
been saying that you should think of staying at home."
"Well, of course, if you want me to go I will go," Ralph said
reluctantly. "But I don't know the Regans, and don't want to."
"That is very ungracious, Conway. Mr. Regan is a retired pork merchant
of Cork. He has given up his business and bought an estate here, and
settled down as a country gentleman. They say his father was a
pig-driver in Waterford. That's why he has bought a place on this side
of the county. But people have been rather shy of them; because,
though he could buy three-fourths of them up, his money smells of
pork. Still, as the election is coming on, they have relaxed a bit.
He's got the militia band, and there will be lashings of everything;
and his girls are nice girls, whether their father sold pork or not.
And it would be nothing short of cruel if we, the representatives of
his majesty's army, did not put in an appearance; especially as we
have doubtless eaten many a barrel of his salt pork at sea. So put on
your number one coatee and let's be off."
With a sign Ralph rose to carry out his orders, and he would have been
still more reluctant to go had he observed the sly wink that passed
between his captain and lieutenant.
"He is quite refreshing, that boy," O'Connor said as the door closed
behind Ralph. "That adventure in the West Indies showed he has plenty
of pluck and presence of mind; but he is as shy as a girl. Though I
don't know why I should say that, for it's mighty few of them have any
shyness about them. He will grow out of it. I was just the same myself
when I was his age."
Lieutenant Desmond burst into a roar of laughter.
"I should have liked to have known you then, O'Connor."
O'Connor joined in the laugh.
"It's true though, Desmond. I was brought up by two maiden aunts in
the town of Dundalk, and they were always bothering me about my
manners; so that though I could hold my own in a slanging match down
by the riverside, I was as awkward as a young bear when in genteel
company. They used to have what they called tea-parties--and a fearful
infliction they were--and I was expected to hand round the tea and
cakes, and make myself useful. I think I might have managed well
enough if the old women would have let me alone; but they were always
expecting me to do something wrong, and I was conscious that whatever
they were doing they had an eye upon me.
"It's trying, you know, when you hear exclamations like this: 'The
saints presarve us! if he hasn't nearly poked his elbow into Mrs.
Fitzgerald's eye!' or, 'See now, if he isn't standing on Miss Macrae's
train!' One day I let a cup of coffee fall on to old Mrs. O'Toole's
new crimson silk dress. It was the first she had had for nine years to
my knowledge, and would have lasted her for the rest of her natural
life. And if you could have heard the squall she made, and the
exclamations of my aunts, and the general excitement over that
wretched cup of coffee, you would never have forgotten it.
"It had one good result, I was never asked to hand things round again
and was indeed never expected to put in an appearance until the
tea-things were taken away. I suffered for months for that silk dress.
My aunts got two yards of material and presented them to Mrs. O'Toole;
and for weeks and weeks I got short allowance of butter to my bread
and no sugar in my tea, and had to hear remarks as to the necessity
for being economical. As for Mrs. O'Toole she never forgave me, and
was always saying spiteful things. But I got even with her once. One
evening the doctor, who was her partner at whist, was called out, and
I was ordered to take his place. Now, I played a pretty good game at
whist, better than the doctor did by a long chalk I flattered myself;
but I didn't often play at home unless I was wanted to make up a
table, and very glad I was to get out of it, for the ill-temper of
those old harridans when they lost was something fearful.
"It was only penny points, but if they had been playing for five
pounds they couldn't have taken it more to heart; and of course if I
had the misfortune of being their partner they put it down entirely to
my bad play. Well, we held good cards, and at last we only wanted the
odd trick to win. I held the last trump. Mrs. O'Toole was beaming as
she led the best spade, and felt that the game was won. I could not
resist the temptation, but put my trump on her spade, led my small
card, and the game was lost. Mrs. O'Toole gave a scream and sank back
in her chair almost fainting, and when she recovered her breath and
her voice went on like a maniac, and had a desperate quarrel with my
aunts. I made my escape, and three days later, to my huge delight, was
sent off to Dublin and entered the university. I only stayed there
about six months, when a friend of my father's got me a commission;
but that six months cured me of my shyness."
"I am not surprised," Desmond laughed; "it can only have been skin
deep, I fancy, O'Connor."
"I will give Conway his first lesson to-night," the captain said.
Dancing had already begun when Captain O'Connor and Ralph drove up in
a dog-cart to the Regans', who lived some four miles from Ballyporrit.
O'Connor introduced Ralph to his host, and then hurried away. In a
short time he was deep in conversation with Miss Tabitha Regan, who
was some years younger than her brother, and still believed herself to
be quite a girl. She was gorgeously arrayed with a plume of nodding
feathers in her headdress.
"You are looking splendid to-night, Miss Regan," O'Connor said in a
tone of deep admiration. "You do not give your nieces a chance."
"Ah! you are flattering me, Captain O'Connor."
"Not at all, Miss Regan; it's quite a sensation you make. My young
friend Conway was tremendously struck with your appearance, and asked
me who that splendid woman was." Which was true enough, except for the
word "splendid;" for as they had walked through the room Ralph's eyes
had fallen upon her, and he had exclaimed in astonishment, "Who on
earth is that woman, O'Connor?"
"He is dying to be introduced to you. He is a little young, you know;
but of good family, and may come into a lot of money one of these
days. Only son, and all that. May I introduce him?"
"How you do go on, Captain O'Connor," Miss Tabitha said, much
flattered. "By all means introduce him."
O'Connor made his way back to Ralph.
"Come along, Ralph; I will introduce you to our host's sister, Miss
Regan. Charming creature, and lots of money. Awfully struck with your
appearance. Come on, man; don't be foolish," and, hooking his arm in
Ralph's, he led him across the room to the lady Ralph had before
noticed.
"Miss Regan, this is my brother-officer, Mr. Conway, Ralph, this is
Miss Regan, our host's sister, although you would take her for his
daughter. Miss Regan, Mr. Conway is most anxious to have the pleasure
of the next dance with you if you are not engaged."
Ralph murmured something in confirmation, and Miss Regan at once stood
up and placed her hand in his arm. Ralph gave a reproachful glance at
his captain as he moved away. Fortunately, he was not called upon to
say much, for Miss Regan burst out:
"It is too bad of you not having been here before, Mr. Conway--quite
rude of you. Captain O'Connor has spoken of you frequently, and we
girls have been quite curious to see you. There is the music striking
up. I think we had better take our places. I suppose as I am at the
head of my brother's house we had better take the place at the top."
Ralph never forgot that dance. Miss Regan danced with amazing
sprightliness, performing wonderful steps. Her ostrich plumes seemed
to whirl round and round him, he had a painful feeling that every one
was grinning, and a mad desire to rush out of the house and make
straight for his quarters.
"Your aunt is going it," Captain O'Connor remarked to one of the
daughters of the house with whom he was dancing. "She sets quite an
example to us young people."
The girl laughed. "She is very peculiar, Captain O'Connor; but it is
cruel of you to laugh at her. I do wish she wouldn't wear such
wonderful headdresses; but she once went to court a good many years
ago at Dublin, and somebody told her that her headdress became her,
and she has worn plumes ever since."
"I am not laughing at her, Miss Regan," O'Connor said gravely; "I am
admiring her. Conway is doing nobly too."
"I think he looks almost bewildered," the girl laughed. "It's a shame,
Captain O'Connor. I was standing quite close by when you introduced
him, and I could see by your face that you were playing a joke upon
him."
"I was performing a kindly action, Miss Regan. The lad's young and a
little bashful, and I ventured to insinuate to your aunt that he
admired her."
"Well, you shall introduce him to me next," the girl said. "I like his
looks."
"Shall I tell him that, Miss Regan?"
"If you do I will never speak to you again."
As soon as the dance was over Captain O'Connor strolled up with his
partner to the spot where Miss Tabitha was fanning herself violently,
Ralph standing helplessly alongside.
"That was a charming dance, Miss Regan. You surpassed yourself. Let me
recommend a slight refreshment; will you allow me to offer you my arm?
Miss Regan, allow me to introduce my brother-officer, Mr. Conway."
Ralph, who had not caught the name, bowed to the girl thus left
suddenly beside him and offered her his arm.
"Why, you look warm already, Mr. Conway," she began.
"Warm is no word for it," Ralph said bluntly. "Did you see that
wonderful old lady I have been dancing with?"
"That is my aunt, Mr. Conway; but she is rather wonderful all the
same."
Ralph had thought before that he was as hot as it was possible for a
man to be; but he found now that he was mistaken.
"I beg your pardon," he stammered. "I did not catch your name; but of
course I oughtn't to have said anything."
"I wonder you didn't see the likeness," the girl said demurely. "My
aunt considers there is a great likeness between us."
"I am sure I cannot see it the least bit in the world," Ralph said
emphatically; "not the smallest. But I hope you forgive me for that
unfortunate remark; but the fact is, I felt a little bewildered at the
time. I am not much of a dancer, and your aunt is really so energetic
that I had to exert myself to the utmost to keep up with her."
"I think you did admirably, Mr. Conway. We quite admired you both.
There," she said laughing at Ralph's confusion, "you need not be
afraid about my not forgiving you for the remark. Everyone knows that
Aunt Tabitha and we girls never get on very well together; and she
does make herself dreadfully ridiculous, and I think it was too bad of
Captain O'Connor putting you up with her."
"Thank you, Miss Regan," Ralph said earnestly. "The fact is I haven't
joined long, and I don't care much for parties. You see, I have only
left school a few months, and haven't got accustomed to talk to ladies
yet; and O'Connor--who is always up to some fun or other--did it just
to cure what he calls my shyness. However, I can quite forgive him
now."
"I don't think you are so very shy, Mr. Conway," Miss Regan said with
a smile. "That last sentence was very pretty, and if I had not hold of
your arm I should make you a courtesy."
"No, please don't do that," Ralph said, coloring hotly. "I didn't mean
anything, you know."
"Now, don't spoil it. You meant I suppose, what was quite proper you
should mean, that Captain O'Connor by introducing me to you had made
up for his last delinquency."
"Yes, that is what I did mean," Ralph agreed.
"Captain O'Connor tells me that you have been through all sorts of
adventures, Mr. Conway--been carried off by a French privateer, and
taken to a pirate island, and done all sorts of things."
"The 'all sorts of things' did not amount to much, Miss Regan. I made
myself as useful as I could, and picked up French; and at last when
the privateer sailed away I walked down to the shore and met our
sailors when they landed. There was, I can assure you, nothing in any
way heroic about the part I had to play."
"Still it was an adventure."
"Oh! yes, it was that; and upon the whole I think I liked it, except
when there was a chance of having a fight with our own people."
"That would have been dreadful. What would you have done?"
"Well, I certainly wouldn't have fought; but what I should have done
would, I suppose, have depended upon circumstances. I suppose I should
have jumped overboard if I had the chance."
"And is it true what Captain O'Connor was saying, that you had to do
like the other pirates on the island?"
"I don't know that there was anything particular they did, except to
get drunk, and I didn't do that."
"He hinted that the rule was that each man had to take a wife from the
people they captured."
"What nonsense!" Ralph exclaimed indignantly. "The idea of my taking a
wife. You mustn't believe what Captain O'Connor says, Miss Regan;
except, of course," he added slyly, "when he is saying pretty things
to you."
"I think you will do, Mr. Conway," the girl laughed, "Six months in
Ireland and you will be able to give Captain O'Connor points if you go
on as well as you are doing. You have paid two very nicely-turned
compliments in ten minutes. But there, our dance is finished."
"May I have another later on, Miss Regan?"
"Yes. Let me see; I am engaged for the next five. You can have the
sixth if you like, if you haven't secured my aunt for that."
"You are getting on, Conway," Captain O'Connor said as they drove away
from the Regans. "I have had my eye upon you. Three dances with Polly
Regan, beside taking her down to supper."
"It was too bad of you putting me on to her aunt in that way."
O'Connor laughed. "It was a capital thing for you, youngster, and
paved the way for you with Polly; who, by the way, is not such a
respectful niece as she might be. But she is a very nice little girl.
I had thought of making up in that quarter myself, but I see it's no
use now."
"None at all," Ralph said seriously. "We are not actually engaged,
you, know, but I think we understand each other."
"What!" Captain O'Connor exclaimed in a changed voice. "You are not
such a young ass as to get engaged before you have joined three
months?"
Ralph burst into a laugh. "That's good," he said. "It is not often I
get a rise out of you, O'Connor."
"Well, you did there fairly," the captain admitted, joining in the
laugh. "I thought for a moment you were serious."
"No," Ralph said. "I may make a fool of myself in other directions;
but I don't think I am likely to in that sort of way."
"Prior attachment--eh?" Captain O'Connor asked quizzically.
"Ah, that's a secret, O'Connor," Ralph laughed. "I am not going to lay
my heart bare to such a mocker as you are."
When they reached the village they found a body of twenty men drawn up
opposite their quarters.
"Is that you, O'Connor?" the lieutenant asked as the trap stopped.
"Just after you had gone the gauger came in and requested that a party
might accompany him at three o'clock this morning to hunt up a still
among the hills. I am glad you are back in time, as I did not like
going away without there being any one in charge here. It's a
nuisance; for it is just beginning to rain. However, it can't be
helped."
"I will go if you like Desmond," Ralph said, jumping down. "I should
like a good tramp this morning after that hot room."
"Are you quite sure you would like it?" the lieutenant asked.
"Quite sure. Beside, it's my turn for duty this morning; so that
really it's my place to go with them, if Captain O'Connor has no
objection."
"Not the least in the world, Conway. I don't suppose Desmond has any
fancy for tramping among the hills, and if you have, there is no
reason in the world why you should not go."
A couple of minutes sufficed to exchange the full-dress regimentals
for undress uniform, covered by military greatcoat, then Ralph hurried
out just as the excise officer came up.
"We are going to have a damp march of it, Mr. Fitzgibbon," Ralph said.
"All the better, sir. There will be a thick mist on the hills that
will hide us better even than night. There is a moon at present, and
as likely as not they will have a boy on watch. Are you ready, sir?"
"Quite ready. Attention! Form fours! March!" and the little party
started.
"How far are we going?" Ralph asked the revenue officer.
"About seven miles, sir. It's about half-past three now; we shall be
there somewhere about six. It does not begin to be light until seven,
so there is no particular hurry."
"I hope you know the way, Mr. Fitzgibbon? It is so dark here I can
scarcely see my hand. And if we get into the fog you talk about it
will be as black as ink."
"Oh, I know the way," the officer said confidently. "We keep along the
road for two miles, then turn up a track leading up a valley, follow
that for three miles; then branch to the right, cross over one or two
slight rises, and then follow another slight depression till we are
within a hundred yards of the place. I could find my way there with my
eyes shut."
"That sounds easy enough," Ralph said; "but I know how difficult it is
finding one's way in a fog. However, we must hope we shall get there
all right. Sergeant, have the men got anything in their haversacks?"
"Yes, sir. Captain O'Connor ordered them to take their breakfast
ration of bread, and he told me to see that their water bottles were
filled; and--" (and here he moved closer up to Ralph, so that he
should not be heard by the men) "he gave me a couple of bottles of
whisky to mix with the water, and told me to fill the bottles myself,
so that the men shouldn't know what was in them till they had their
breakfast; otherwise there would be none left by the time they wanted
to eat their bread. He is always thoughtful the captain is."
"That's a very good plan, sergeant. I shall bear it in mind myself for
the future. They will want something before they get back after a
fourteen-mile march."
The fine mist continued steadily as they tramped along; but the night
seemed to grow darker and darker. They turned off from the road; and
as they began to ascend the track along the valley the cloud seemed to
settle round them. The excise officer walked ahead, keeping upon the
path. Ralph followed as closely as he could in his footsteps; but
although almost touching him he could not make out his figure in the
darkness.
"Tell the men to follow in single file, sergeant," he said; "keeping
touch with each other. As long as we are on the beaten track we know
we are right, but there may be bowlders or anything else close by on
one side or the other."
Marching as closely as they could to each other the party proceeded.
"How on earth are you going to find the place where we turn off, Mr.
Fitzgibbon?" Ralph asked.
"We shall find it easy enough sir. The path regularly forks, and there
is a pile of stones at the junction, which makes as good a guide as
you can want on a dark night. We can't miss that even on a night like
this."
Ralph had struck a light with his flint and steel, and looked at his
watch at the point where they turned off from the road, and he did the
same thing two or three times as they went along.
"It's an hour and twenty minutes since we turned off, Mr. Fitzgibbon.
Even allowing for our stoppages when we have got off the path, we
ought to be near the turning now."
"Yes, I fancy we are not far off now, sir. I can feel that we are
rising more sharply, and there is a rise in the last hundred yards or
so before we reach the place where the road forks. We had better go a
little more slowly now, sir."
Another five minutes there was a stumble and a fall in front of Ralph.
"Halt!" he exclaimed sharply. "What is it, Mr. Fitzgibbon?"
"I have fallen over the pile of stones," the officer said, "and hurt
myself confoundedly."
"Don't you think we had better halt till daylight?"
"I think we can keep on, sir. The nearer we get there the better; and
if we should miss the path we can halt then and wait till daybreak."
"Well, we can do that," Ralph agreed.
"I will go on ahead, sir, twenty or thirty yards at a time and then
speak, and you can bring the men on to me, then I will go on again. It
will be slow work, but I can keep the path better if I go at my own
pace."
Ralph agreed, and they proceeded in this manner for some time.
"I don't think we are on the track now," Ralph said at last.
"Oh, yes, we are," the officer replied confidently.
Ralph stooped and felt the ground. "The grass is very short," he
observed, "but it is grass."
The officer followed his example.
"Oh, it is only a track now," he said. "Just a footpath, and the grass
is not worn off. I am convinced we are right."
"Well," Ralph said, "just go a little way to the right and left, and
see if the grass gets longer. It seems to me all the same."
The officer did so, and was obliged to own that he could not perceive
any difference. Ralph now spread his men out in a line and directed
them to feel on the ground to see if they could discover the track.
They failed to do so, and Ralph then ordered them together again.
"We will halt here, sergeant, till daylight. It's no use groping about
in the dark. For anything we know we may be going exactly in the wrong
direction. The men can of course sit down if they like; and they may
as well eat a piece of bread and try their water-bottles. But tell
them not to eat more than half their ration. We may be longer before
we get out of this than we expect."
The order was given, the men piled their arms and seated themselves on
the short turf. Presently Ralph heard a sudden exclamation of surprise
and satisfaction as one of the men tasted the contents of his
water-bottle, and in a minute there was a buzz of talk. Before scarce
a word had been spoken; the men had been marching in a sort of sulky
silence, disgusted at being taken from their beds for work they
disliked, and at their long march through the damp night air; but
their satisfaction at this unexpected comfort loosened their tongues.
Pipes were produced and lighted, and the discomfort of the situation
altogether forgotten. Desmond had handed to Ralph the flask and packet
of sandwiches he had prepared for himself, and he, too, felt less
strongly the chilling effects of the damp and darkness after partaking
of them. The excise officer had also made his preparations.
"We should be more certain as to our whereabouts if we had stopped at
that heap of stones as I proposed, Mr. Fitzgibbon."
"I don't deny, sir, you were right as it has turned out; only I
wouldn't have believed that I could have missed the path, and I did
want to get close to the place before we were observed. I knew that we
couldn't actually surprise them till morning; for the hut lies some
distance in a bog, and there would be no crossing it unless we could
see. Still if we could have got to the edge without the alarm being
given, they would not have time to hide the things before we reached
them. I have ridden across this place many a time after dark, and
never missed my way."
"That was the sagacity of your horse more than your own, I expect,"
Ralph said. "A horse can find his way along a path he has once
traveled better than any man can do. In the first place, I think he
can see better in the night; and in the second, he has some sort of
instinct to guide him. However, I don't suppose it much matters; we
shall find the path easily enough in the morning. And, as you said,
the mist will hide our movements quite as effectually as the darkness
would do."
At last the morning began to break in a dim misty light, and as it
grew stronger they were able to perceive how dense was the fog that
surrounded them. At three paces distant they were invisible to each
other.
"It does not seem to me that we are much better off than we were
before, so far as finding the path lies. What do you think?"
"It looks bad, certainly," the officer admitted reluctantly. "I am
awfully sorry I have led you into this mess."
"It can't be helped," Ralph said. "We must make the best of matters.
At any rate it's better than it was, and the mist is not nearly as
heavy as when we were marching up that valley."