Tom Murdock, seeing that his hopes by fair means were completely at an
end, and that matters were likely to progress in another quarter at a
rate which made it advisable not to let the leading horse get too far
ahead, determined to make a rush to the front, no matter whether
he went the wrong side of a post or not--let that be settled after.
He had left home, and left a report behind him, which he took care to
have industriously circulated, that he had gone to Armagh, and was
about to be married to "a young lady" with a large fortune, and that
he would visit the metropolis, Fermanagh, and perhaps Sligo, before he
returned. But he did not go further than an obscure public-house in a
small village in the lower part of the county of Cavan. There he met
the materials for carrying out his plan. The object of it was shortly
this--to carry away Winny Cavana by force, and bring her to a
_friend's_ house in the mountains behind the village adverted to. Here
he was to have an old buckle-beggar at hand to marry them the moment
Winny's spirit was broken to consent. This man, a degraded clergyman,
as the report went, wandered about the country in green spectacles and
a short, black cloak, always ready and willing to perform such a job;
doubly willing and ready for this particular one from the reward which
Tom had promised him. If even the marriage ceremony should fail,
either through Winny's obstinacy or the clergyman's want of spirit to
go through with it in the face of opposition, still he would keep her
for ten days or a fortnight at this _friend's_ house, stopping there
himself too; and at the end of that time, should he fail in obtaining
her consent, he would quit the country for a while, and allow her to
return home "so blasted in character" that even "that whelp" would
disown her. There was a pretty specimen of a lover--a husband!
It was now the end of June. The weather had been dry for some time,
and the nights were clear and mild; the stars shone brightly, and the
early dawn would soon present a heavy dew hanging on the bushes and
the grass. The moon was on the wane; but at a late hour of the night
it was conspicuous in the heavens, adding a stronger light to that
given by the clearness of the sky and the brilliancy of the stars.
Rathcash and Rathcashmore were sunk in still repose; and if silence
could be echoed, it was echoed by the stillness of the mountains
behind Shanvilla and beyond them. The inhabitants of the whole
district had long since retired to rest, and now lay buried in sleep,
some of them in confused dreams of pleasure and delight.
The angel of the dawn was scarcely yet awake, or he might have heard
the sound of muffled horses' feet and muffled wheels creeping along
the road toward the lane turning up to Rathcash house, about two hours
before day; and he must have seen a man with a dark mask mounted on
another muffled horse at a little distance from the cart.
Presently Tom Murdock--there is no use in simulating mystery where
none exists--took charge of the horse and cart to prevent them from
moving, while three men stole up toward the house. Ay, there is
Bully-dhu's deep bark, and they are already at the door.
"That dog! he'll betray us, boys," said one of the men.
"I'd blow his brains out if this pistol was loaded," said another;
"and I wanted Tom to give me a cartridge."
"He wouldn't let any one load but himself, and he was right; a shot
would be twiste as bad as the dog; beside, he's in the back yard, and
cannot get out. Never heed him, but to work as fast as possible."
Old Ned Cavana and Winny heard not only the dog, but the voices.
Winny's heart foretold the whole thing in a moment, and she braced her
nerves for the scene.
The door was now smashed in, and the three men entered. By this time
old Ned had drawn on his trousers; and as he was throwing his coat
over his head to got his arms into the sleeves he was seized, and ere
you could count ten he was pinioned, with his arms behind him and his
legs tied at the ankles, and a handkerchief tied across his
mouth. Thus rendered perfectly powerless, he was thrown back upon the
bed, and the room-door locked. Jamesy Doyle, who slept in the barn,
had heard the crash of the door, and dressed himself in "less than no
time," let Bully-dhu out of the yard, and brought him to the front
door, in at which he rushed like a tiger. But Jamesy Doyle did not go
in. That was not his game; but he peeped in at the window. No light
had been struck, so he could make nothing of the state of affairs
inside, except from the voices; and from what he heard he could make
no mistake as to the object of this attack. He could not tell whether
Tom Murdock was in the house or not, but he did not hear his voice.
One man said, "Come, now, be quick, Larry; the sooner we're off with
her the better."
Jamesy waited for no more; he turned to the lane as the shortest way,
but at a glance he saw the horse and cart and the man on horseback on
the road outside; and turning again he darted off across the fields as
fast as his legs could carry him.
Bully-dhu, having gained access to the house, showed no disposition to
compromise the matter. "No quarter!" was his cry, as he flew at the
nearest man to him, and seizing him by the throat, brought him to the
ground with a _sough_, where in spite of his struggles, he held him
fast with a silent, deadly grip. He had learned this much, at least,
by his encounter with the mastiff on New Year's day.
Careless of their companion's strait, who they thought ought to be
able to defend himself, the other two fellows--and powerful fellows
they were--proceeded to the bed-room to their left; they had locked
the door to their right, leaving poor old Ned tied and insensible on
the bed. Winny was now dressed and met them at the door.
"Are you come to commit murder?" she cried, as they stopped her in the
doorway; "or have you done it already? Let me to my father's room."
"The sorra harm on him, miss, nor the sorra take the hair of his head
well hurt no more nor your own. Come, put on your bonnet an' cloak,
an' come along wid us; them's our ordhers."
"You have a master, then. Where is he? where is Tom Murdock?--I knew
Tom _Murder_ should have been his name. Where is he, I say?"
"Come, come, no talk; but on wid your bonnet and cloak at wanst."
"Never; nor shall I ever leave this house except torn from it by the
most brutal force. Where is your master, I say? Is he afraid of the
rope himself which he would thus put round your necks?"
"Come, come, on wid your bonnet an' cloak, or, be the powers, we'll
take you away as you are."
"Never; where is your master, I say?"
"Come, Larry, we won't put up wid any more of her pillaver; out wid
the worsted."
Here Biddy Murtagh rushed in to her mistress's aid; but she was soon
overpowered and tied "neck and heels," as they called it, and thrown
upon Winny's bed. They had the precaution to gag her also with a
handkerchief, that she might not give the alarm, and they locked the
door like that at the other end of the house.
Larry, whoever he was, then pulled a couple of skeins of coarse
worsted from his pocket, while his companion seized Winny round the
waist, outside her arms; and the other fellow, who seemed expert, soon
tied her feet together, and then her hands. A thick handkerchief was
then tied across her mouth.
"Take care to lave plenty of braithin' room out iv her nose, Larry,"
said the other ruffian; and, thus rendered unable to move or scream,
they carried her to the road and laid her on the car. The horseman in
the mask asked them where the third man was, and they replied that he
must have "made off" from the dog, for that they neither saw nor
heard him after the dog flew at him.
This was likely enough. He was the only man of the party in whom Tom
Murdock could not place the most unbounded confidence.
"The cowardly rascal," he said. "We must do without him."
But he had _not_ made off from the dog.
The cart was well provided--_to do Tom Murdock justice_--with a
feather-bed over plenty of straw, and plenty of good covering to keep
out the night air. They started at a brisk trot, still keeping the
horses' feet and the wheels muffled; and they passed down the road
where the reader was once caught at a dog-fight.
But to return, for a few minutes, to Rathcash house. Bully-dhu was
worth a score of old Ned Cavana, even supposing him to have been at
liberty, and free of the cords by which he was bound. The poor old man
had worked the handkerchief by which he had been gagged off his mouth,
by rubbing it against the bed-post. He had then rolled himself to the
door; but further than that he was powerless, except to ascertain, by
placing his chin to the thumb-latch, for he had got upon his feet,
that it was fastened outside. He then set up a lamentable demand for
help--upon Winny, upon Biddy Murtagh, and upon Bully-dhu. The dog was
the only one who answered him, with a smothered growl, for he still
held fast by the grip he had taken of the man's throat. Poor Bully!
you need not have been so pertinacious of that grip--the man has been
_dead_ for the last ten minutes! Finding that it was indeed so, from
the perfect stillness of the man, Bully-dhu released his hold, and lay
licking his paws and keeping up an angry growl, in answer to the old
man's cries.
We must leave them and follow Jamesy Doyle across the fields, and see
if it was cowardice that made him run so fast from the scene of
danger. Ah, no! Jamesy was not that sort of a chap at all. He was
plucky as well as true to the heart's core. Nor was his intelligence
and judgment at fault for a moment as to the best course for him to
adopt. Seeing the fearful odds of three stout men against him, he knew
that he could do better than to remain there, to be tied "neck and
crop" like the poor old man and Biddy. So, having brought Bully-dhu
round and given him 'his cue, he started off, and never drew breath
until he found himself outside Emon-a-knock's window at Shanvilla, on
his way to the nearest police station.
"Are you there, Emon?" said he, tapping at it.
"Yes," Emon replied from his bed; "who are you, or what do you want?"
"Jamesy Doyle from Rathcash house. Get up at wanst! They have taken
away Miss Winny."
"Great heaven I do you say so? Here, father, get up in a jiffy and
dress yourself. They have taken away Winny Cavana, and we must be off
to the rescue like a shot. Come in, Jamesy, my boy." And while they
were "drawing on" their clothes, they questioned him as to the
particulars.
But Jamesy had few such to give them, as the reader knows; for, like a
sensible boy, he was off for help without waiting for particulars.
The principal point, however, was to know what road they had taken.
Upon this Jamesy was able to answer with some certainty, for ere he
had started finally off, he had watched them, and he had seen the cart
move on under the smothered cries of Winny; and he heard the horseman
say, "Now, boys, through the pass between 'the sisters.'"
"They took the road to the left from the end of the lane, that's all I
know; so let you cut across the country as fast as you can, an' you'll
be at Boher before them. Don't delay me now, for I must go on to the
police station an' hurry out the sargent and his men; if you can
clog them at the bridge till I cam' up with the police, all will be
rights an' we'll have her back wid us. I know very well if I had a
word wid Miss Winny unknown to the men, she would have sent me for the
police; but I took you in my way--it wasn't twenty perch of a round."
"Thank you, Jamesy, a thousand times! There, be off to the sergeant as
fast as you can; tell him you called here, and that I have calculated
everything in my mind, and for him and his men to make for
Boher-na-Milthiogue bridge as fast as possible. There, be off, Jamesy,
and I'll give you a pound-note if the police are at the bridge before
Tom Murdock comes through the pass with the cart."
"You may keep your pound, man! I'd do more nor that for Miss Winny."
And he was out of sight in a moment.
The father and son were now dressed, and, arming themselves with two
stout sticks, they did not "let the grass grow under their feet." They
hurried on until they came to the road turning down to where we have
indicated that our readers were once caught at a dog-fight. Here Emon
examined the road as well as he could by the dim light which
prevailed, and found the fresh marks of wheels. He could scarcely
understand them. They were not like the tracks of any wheels he had
ever seen before, and there were no tracks of horses' feet at all,
although Jamesy had said there was a horseman beside the horse and
cart.
Emon soon put down these unusual appearances--and he could not well
define them for want of light--to some cunning device of Tom Murdock;
and how right he was!
"Come on, father," said he. "I am quite certain they have gone down
here. I know Tom Murdock has plenty of associates in the county Cavan,
and the pass between 'the sisters' is the shortest way he can take.
Beside, Jamesy heard him say the words. Our plan must be to cut across
the country and get to Milthiogue bridge before they get through the
pass and so escape us. What say you, father--are you able and willing
to push on, and to stand by me? Recollect the odds that are against
us, and count the cost."
"Emon, I'll count nothing; but I'll--
"Here, father, in here at this gap, and across by the point of Mullagh
hill beyond; we must get to Boher before them."
"I'll count no cost, Emon, I was going to tell you. I'm both able and
willing, thank God, to stand by you. You deserve it well of me, and so
do the Cavanas. God forbid I should renuage my duty to you and them!
Aren't ye all as wan as the same thing to me now?"
Emon now knew that his father knew all about Winny and him.
"Father," said he, "that is a desperate man, and he'll stop at
nothing."
"Is it sthrivin' to cow me you are, Emon?"
"No, father; but you saw the state my mother was in as we left."
"Yes, I did, and why wouldn't she? But shure that should not stop us
when we have right on our side; an' God knows what hoult, or distress,
that poor girl is in, or what that villain may do to her; an' what
state would your mother be in if you were left a desolate madman all
your life through that man's wickedness?"
These were stout words of his father, and almost assured Emon that all
would be well.
"Father," he continued, "if we get to the bridge before them, and can
hold it for half an hour, or less, the police will be up with Jamesy
Doyle, and we shall be all right."
The conversation was now so frequently interrupted in getting over
ditches and through hedges, and they had said so much of what they had
to say, that they were nearly quite silent for the rest of the way,
except where Emon pointed out to his father the easiest place to get
over a ditch, or through a hedge, or up the face of a hill. Both
their hearts were evidently in their journey. No less the father's
than the son's: the will made the way.
The dappled specks of red had still an hour to slumber ere the dawn
awoke, and they had reached the spot; there was the bridge, the
Boher-na-Milthiogue of our first chapter, within a stone's throw of
them. They crept to the battlement and peered into the pass. As yet no
sound of horse or cart, or whispered word, reached their ears.
"They must be some distance off yet, father," said Emon; "thank God!
The police will have the more time to be up."
"Should we not hide, Emon?"
"Certainly; and if the police come up before they do, they should hide
also. That villain is mounted; and if a strong defence of the pass was
shown too soon, he would turn and put spurs to his horse."
As he spoke a distant noise was heard of horses' feet and unmuffled
wheels. The muffling had all been taken off as soon as they had
reached the far end of the pass between the mountains, and they were
now hastening their speed.
"The odds will be fearfully against us, father," said Emon, who now
felt more than ever the dangerous position he had placed his father
in, and the fearful desolation his loss would cause in his mother's
heart and in his home. He felt no fear for himself. "You had better
leave Tom himself to me, father. I know he will be the man on
horseback. Let you lay hold of the horse's head under the cart, and
knock one of the men, or both, down like lightning, if you can. You
have your knife ready to cut the cords that tie her?"
"I have, Emon; and don't you fear me; one of them shall tumble at all
events, almost before they know that we are on them. I hope I may kill
him out an' out; we might then be able for the other two. Do you think
Tom is armed?" he added, turning pale. But it was so dark Emon did not
see it.
"I am not sure, but I think not He cannot have expected any
opposition."
"God grant it, Emon! I don't want to hould you back, but don't be
'fool-hardy,' dear boy."
"Do you want to cow me, father, as you said yourself, just now?"
"No, Emon. But stoop, stoop, here they are."
Crouching behind the battlements of the bridge, these two resolute men
waited the approach of the cavalcade. As they came to the mouth of the
pass the elder Lennon sprang to the head of the horse under the cart,
and, seizing him with his left hand, struck the man who drove such a
blow as felled him from the shaft upon which he sat. Emon had already
seized the bridle of the horseman who still wore the mask, and pushing
the horse backward on his haunches, he made a fierce blow at the
rider's head with his stick. But he had darted his heels--spurs he
had none--into his horse's sides, which made him plunge forward,
rolling Emon on the ground. Forward to the cart the rider then rushed,
crying out, "On, on with the cart!" But Lennon's father was still
fastened on the horse's head with his left hand, while with his right
he was alternately defending himself against the two men, for the
first had somewhat recovered, who were in charge of it.
Tom Murdock would have ridden him down also, and turned the battle in
favor of a passage through; but Emon had regained his feet, and was
again fastened in the horse's bridle, pushing him back on his
haunches, hoping to get at the rider's head, for hitherto his blows
had only fallen upon his arms and chest. Here Tom Murdock felt the
want of the spurs, for his horse did not spring forward with life and
force enough upon his assailant.
A fearful struggle now ensued between them. The men at the cart had
not yet cleared their way from the desperate opposition given
them by old Lennon, who defendant himself ably, and at the same time
attacked them furiously. He had not time, however, to cut the cords by
which Winny was bound. A single pause in the use of his stick for that
purpose would have been fatal. Neither had he been successful in
getting beyond his first position at the horse's head. During the
whole of this confused attack and defence, poor Winny Cavana, who had
managed to shove herself up into a sitting posture in the cart,
continued to cry out, "Oh, Tom Murdock, Tom Murdock! even now give me
up to these friends and be gone, and I swear there shall never be a
word more about it."
But Tom Murdock was not the man either to yield to entreaties, or to
be baffled in his purpose. He had waled Edward Lennon with the butt
end of his whip about the head and shoulders as well as he could
across his horse's head, which Lennon had judiciously kept between
them, at times making a jump up and striking at Tom with his stick.
Matters had now been interrupted too long to please Tom Murdock, and
darting his heels once more into his horse's sides, he sprang forward,
rolling young Lennon on the road again.
"All right now, lads!" he cried; "on, on with the cart!" and he rode
at old Lennon, who still held his ground against both his antagonists
manfully.
But all was not right. A cry of "The police, the police!" issued from
one of the men at the cart, and Jamesy Doyle with four policemen were
seen hurrying up the boreen from the lower road.
Perhaps it would be unjust to accuse Tom Murdock of cowardice even
then--it was not one of his faults--if upon seeing an accession of
four armed policemen he turned to fly, leaving his companions in for
it. One of them fled too; but Pat Lennon held the other fast.
As Tom turned to traverse the mountain pass back again at full speed,
Lennon, who had recovered himself, sprang like a tiger once more at
the horse's head. Now or never he must stay his progress.
Tom Murdock tore the mask from his face, and, pulling a loaded pistol
from his breast, he said: "Lennon, it was not my intention to injure
you when I saw you first spring up from the bridge to-night; nor will
I do so now, if your own obstinacy and foolhardy madness does not
bring your doom upon yourself. Let go my horse, or by hell I'll blow
your brains out! this shall be no mere tip of the hurl, mind you." And
he levelled the pistol at his head, not more than a foot from his
face.
"Never, with life!" cried Lennon; and he aimed a blow at Tom's
pistol-arm. Ah, fatal and unhappy chance! His stick had been raised to
strike Tom Murdock down, and he had not time to alter its direction.
Had he struck the pistol-arm upward, it might have been otherwise; but
the blow of necessity descended. Tom Murdock fired at the same moment,
and the only difference it made was, that instead of his brains having
been blown out, the ball entered a little to one side of his left
breast.
Lennon jumped three feet from the ground, with a short, sudden shout,
and rolled convulsively upon the road, where soon a pool of bloody mud
attested the murderous work which had been done.
The angel of the dawn now awoke, as he heard the report of the pistol
echoing and reverberating through every recess in the many hearts of
Slieve-dhu and Slieve-bawn. Tom Murdock fled at full gallop; and the
hearts of the policemen fell as they heard the clattering of his
horse's feet dying away in quadruple regularity through the mountain
pass.
Jamesy Doyle, who was light of foot and without shoe or stocking,
rushed forward, saying, "Sergeant, I'll follow him to the end of the
pass, an' see what road he'll take." And he sped onward like a
deer.
"Come, Maher," said the sergeant, "we'll pursue, however hopeless.
Cotter, let you stop with the prisoner we have and the Young woman;
and let Donovan stop with the wounded man, and stop the blood if he
can."
Sergeant Driscol and Maher then started at the top of their speed, in
the track of Jamesy Doyle, in full pursuit.
There were many turns and twists in the pass between the mountains. It
was like a dozen large letter S's strung together.
Driscol stopped for a moment to listen. Jamesy was beyond their ken,
round one or two of the turns, and they could not hear the horse
galloping now.
"All's lost," said the sergeant; "he's clean gone. Let us hasten on
until we meet the boy; perhaps he knows which road he took."
Jamesy had been stooping now and then, and peering into the coming
lights to keep well in view the man whom he pursued. Ay, there he was,
sure enough; he saw him, almost plainly, galloping at the top of his
speed. Suddenly he' heard a crash, and horse and rider rolled upon
the ground.
"He's down, thank God!" cried Jamesy, still rushing forward with some
hope, and peering into the distance. Presently he saw the horse trot
on with his head and tail in the air, without his rider, while a dark
mass lay in the centre of the road.
"You couldn't have betther luck, you bloodthirsty ruffian, you!" said
Jamesy, who thought that it was heaven's lightning that, in justice,
had struck down Tom Murdock; and he maintained the same opinion ever
afterward. At present, however, he had not time to philosophize upon
the thought, but rushed on.
Soon he came to the dark mass upon the road. It was Tom Murdock who
lay there stunned and insensible, but not seriously hurt by the fall.
There was nothing of heaven's lightning in the matter at all. It was
the common come-down of a stumbling horse upon a bad mountain road;
but the result was the same.
Jamesy was proceeding to thank God again, and to tie his legs, when
Tom came to.
Jamesy was sorry the man's _thrance_ did not last a little longer,
that he might have tied him, legs and arms. With his own handkerchief
and suspenders. But he was late now, and not quite sure that Tom
Murdock would not murder him also, and "make off afoot."
Here Jamesy thought he heard the hurried step of the police coming
round the last turn toward him, and as Tom was struggling to his feet,
a bright thought struck him. He "whipt" out a penknife he had in his
pocket, and, before Tom had sufficiently recovered to know what he was
about, he had cut his suspenders, and given the waist-band of his
trousers a _slip_ of the knife, opening it more than a foot down the
back.
Tom had now sufficiently recovered to understand what had happened,
and to know the strait he was in. He had a short time before seen a
man named Wolff play Richard III. in a barn in C.O.S.; and if he did
not roar lustily, "A horse, a horse! my kingdom for a horse!" he
thought it. But his horse was nearly half a mile away, where a green
spot upon the roadside tempted him to delay a little his journey home.
Tom was not yet aware of the approach of the police. He made a
desperate swipe of his whip, which he still held in his hand, at the
boy, and sprung to his feet. But Jamesy avoided the blow by a side
jump, and kept roaring, "Police, police!" at the top of his voice. Tom
now found that he had been outwitted by this young boy. He was so
hampered by his loose trousers about his heels that he could make no
run for it, and soon became the prisoner of Sergeant Driscol and his
companion. Well done, Jamesy!