While the above exploits were being performed by Jamesy Doyle and the
police, a sad scene indeed was being enacted at the bridge. Winny
Cavana, whose bonds had been loosed, had rushed to where Emon lay with
his head in his father's lap, while the two policemen, Cotter and
Donovan, moved up with their prisoner. They not only handcuffed him,
but had tied his legs together, and threw him on the side of the road,
"to wait their convenience," while they rendered any assistance they
could to the wounded man.
The father had succeeded in stanching the blood, which at first had
poured freely from the wound. With the assistance of one of the
police, while the other was tying the prisoner, he had drawn his son
up into a sitting posture and leaned him against the bank at the side
of the road, and got his arm round him to sustain him. He was not shot
dead; but was evidently very badly wounded. He was now, however,
recovering strength and consciousness, as the blood ceased to flow.
"Open your eyes, Emon dear, if you are not dead, and look at your own
Winny," she said; "your mad Winny Cavana, who brought you here to be
murdered! Open your eyes, Emon, if you are not dead! I don't ask you
to speak."
Emon not only opened his eyes, but turned his face and looked upon
her. Oh, the ghastly smile he tried to hide!
"Don't speak, Emon; but tell me with your eyes that you are not dying.
No, no, Emon--Emon-a-knock! demon as he is, he could not murder you.
Heaven would not permit so much wickedness!"
Emon looked at her again. A faint but beautiful smile--beautiful now,
for the color had returned to his cheeks--beamed upon his lips as he
shook his head.
"Yes, yes, he has murdered him," sobbed the distracted father; "and I
pity you, Winny Cavana, as I hope you will pity his poor mother; to
say nothing of myself."
"No, no, do not say so! He will not die, he _shall_ not die!" And she
pressed her burning that's to his marble forehead. It was smooth as
alabaster, cold as ice.
"Win--ny Ca--va-na, good-by," he faintly breathed in her ear. "My
days, my hours, my very moments are numbered. I feel death trembling
in every vein, in every nerve. I could--could--have--lived for
you--Winny; but even--to--die for you--is--a blessing,
because--successful. One last request--Winny, my best beloved, is
--all--I have--to ask; spare me--a spot in Rathcash--chapel-yard, in
the space allotted to--the--Cavanas. I feel some wonderful strength
given me just now. It is a special mercy that I may speak with you
before I go. But, Winny, my own precious, dearest love, do not deceive
yourself. If I reach home to receive my mother's blessing before I
die, it is the most--" and he leaned his head against his father's
breast.
"No more delay!" cried Winny energetically, "Time is too precious to
be lost; bring the cart here, and let us take him home at once, and
send for the doctor. Oh, policeman, one of you is enough to
remain with the prisoner here; do, like a good man, leave your gun and
belts here, and run off across the fields as fast as you can, and
bring Dr. Sweeney to Rathcash house."
"To Shanvilla," faintly murmured the wounded man; "and bring Father
Farrell."
"Yes, yes, to Shanvilla, to be sure," repeated Winny; "my selfish
heart had forgotten his poor mother."
Emon opened his eyes at the word mother, and smiled. It was a smile of
thanks; and he closed them again.
The policeman had obeyed her request in a moment; and, stripped of ail
incumbrances, he was clearing the hedges, ditches, and drains toward
Dr. Sweeney's.
They then placed Lennon, as gently as if he were made of wax, into the
cart, his head lying in Winny's lap, and his hand clasped in hers,
while the distracted father led the horse more like an automaton than
a human being. They proceeded at a very gentle pace, for the cart had
no springs, and Winny knew that a jolt might be fatal if the blood
burst forth afresh. The policeman followed with his prisoner at some
distance; and ere long, for the dawn had become clear, he saw his
comrades coming on behind him, a long way off. But there was evidently
a man beside themselves and Jamesy Doyle. He sat down by the side of
the road until they came up.
How matters stood was then explained to Sergeant Driscoll aside.
Cotter told him he had no hopes that ever Lennon would reach home
alive; that Donovan had gone off across the country for the doctor and
the priest, and his _carabine_ and belts were on the cart.
"We will take that prisoner from you, Cotter," said Driscoll, "and do
you get on to the cart as fast as you can; you may be of use. I don't
like to bring this villain Murdock in sight of them; you need not say
we have got him at all. We will go on straight to the barrack by the
lower road, and let you go up to Lennon's with the cart. But see here,
Cotter--do not speak to the wounded man at all, and don't let anybody
else speak to him either. We don't want a word from him; sure we all
saw it as plain as possible."
Cotter then hastened on, and soon overtook the cart. He merely said,
in explanation of being by himself, that his comrades had come up, and
that he had given his prisoner to them and hastened on to see if he
could be of any use.
Winny soon suggested a use for the kind-hearted man--to help poor Pat
Lennon into the cart, and to lead the horse. This was done without
stirring hand or foot of the poor sufferer; and the father lay at
Emon's other side scarcely less like death than he was himself.
When they came to the end of the road which turned to Rathcash and
Shanvilla, Winny, as was natural, could have wished to go to Rathcash.
She knew not how her poor father had been left, or what might be his
fate. She could not put any confidence in the assurance of such
ruffians, that a hair of his head should not be hurt; and did not one
of the villains remain in the house? Yes, Winny, one of them _did
remain_ in the house, but he _did no harm to your father_.
With all her affection and anxiety on her father's account, Winny
could not choose but to go on to Shanvilla. The less moving poor Emon
got the better, and to get from under his head now and settle him
afresh would be cruel, and might be fatal. Winny, therefore, sat
silent as Cotter turned the horse's head toward Shanvilla, where, ere
another half-hour had added to the increasing light, they had arrived.
Winny Cavana, who knew what a scene must ensue when they came to the
door, had sent on Cotter to the house; the father again taking his
place at the horse's head. He was to tell Mrs. Lennon that an accident
had happened--no, no, not _that_; but that Emon had been hurt;
and that they were bringing him home quietly for fear of exciting him.
These precautions were of no use. Mrs. Lennon had waited but for the
word "hurt," which she understood at once as importing something
serious. She rushed from the house like a mad woman, and stood upon
the road gazing up and down. Fortunately Winny had the forethought to
stop the cart out of sight of the house to give Cotter time to execute
his mission, and calm Mrs. Lennon as much as possible. It was a lucky
thought, and Cotter, who was a very intelligent man, was equal to the
emergency.
As Mrs. Lennon looked round her in doubt, Cotter cried out, "Oh, don't
go that road, Mrs. Lennon, for God's sake!" and he pointed in the
direction in which the cart was not. It was enough; the ruse had
succeeded; and Mrs. Lennon started off at full speed, clapping her
hands and crying out: "Oh! Emon, Emon, have they killed you at last?
have they killed you? Oh! Emon, Emon, my boy, my boy!" And she clapped
her hands, and ran the faster. She was soon out of sight and hearing.
"Now is your time," said Cotter, running back to the cart; "she is
gone off in another direction, and we'll have him on his bed before
she comes back."
They then brought the cart to the door, and in the most gentle and
scientific manner lifted poor Emon into the house and laid him on his
bed.
"God bless you, Winny!" he said, stretching out his hand. "Don't, like
a good girl, stop here now. Return to your poor father, who must be
distracted about you. I'm better and stronger, thank God, and will be
able to see you again before I--"
"Whist, whist, Emon mavourneen, don't talk that way; you are better,
blessed be God! I must, indeed, go home, Emon, as you say, for my
heart is torn about my poor father. God bless you, Emon, my own Emon!"
And she stooped down and kissed his pale lips.
Cotter and she then left the house and made all the speed they could
toward Rathcash. They had not gone very far when Cotter heard Mrs.
Lennon coming back along the road, and they saw her turn in toward her
own house.
Bully-dhu having satisfied himself that nothing further was to be
apprehended from the senseless form of a man upon the kitchen floor,
and finding it impossible to burst open the door where his master was
confined, thought the next best thing that he could do was to bemoan
the state of affairs outside the house, in hope of drawing some help
to the spot. Accordingly he took his post immediately at the
house-door, still determined to be on the safe side, for fear the man
was scheming. Here he set up a long dismal and melancholy howl.
"My father is dead," said Winny; "there is the Banshee."
"Not at all, Miss Winny; that is a dog."
"It is all the same; Bully-dhu would not cry that way for nothing;
there is somebody dead, I'm sure."
"It is because he knew you were gone, Miss Winny, and he did not know
where to look for you; that's all, you may depend."
"Thank you, Cotter; the dog might indeed do that same. God grant it is
nothing worse!"
By this time they were at the door, and Cotter followed Bully-dhu into
the house. Winny, without looking right or left, rushed to her
father's room. She found it locked, but, quickly turning the key, she
burst in. It was now broad daylight, and she saw at a glance her
father stretched upon the bed, still bound hand and foot. She flew to
the table, and taking his razor cut the cords. The poor old man was
quite exhausted from suspense, excitement, and the fruitless physical
efforts he had been making to free himself.
"Thank God, father!" she exclaimed; "I hope you are not hurt."
"No, dear. Give me a sup of milk, or I will choke."
Poor Winny, in the ignorance of her past habits, called out to Biddy
to bring her some.
Biddy answered with a smothered cry from the inner room. Cotter flew
to the door and unlocked it. In another moment he had set her free
from her cords, and she darted across the kitchen to minister to the
old man's wants at Winny's direction.
Poor Bully-dhu then pointed out to Cotter the share he had taken in
the night's work, and it might almost be said quietly "gave himself
up." At least he showed no disposition to escape. He lay down at the
dead man's head, sweeping the floor with an odd wag of his bushy tail,
rather proud than frightened at what he had done. That it was his
work, Cotter could not for a moment doubt. The man's throat had by
this time turned almost black, and there were the marks of the dog's
teeth sunk deep at each side of the windpipe, where the choking grip
of death had prevailed.
Cotter then brought a quilt from the room where he had released Biddy
Murtagh, and spread it over the corpse, and was bringing Bully-dhu out
to the yard, when he met Jamesy Doyle at the door. Jamesy took charge
of him at once, and brought him round to the yard, where for the
present he shut him up in his wooden house; but he did not intend to
neglect him.
Jamesy told Cotter that Sergeant Driscoll and his men had taken their
prisoners safe to the barracks, and desired him to tell Cotter to join
them as soon as soon as possible.
"I cannot join them yet awhile, Jamesy; we have a corpse in the
house."
"God's mercy! an' shure it's not the poor ould masther?" said Jamesy.
"No; I don't know who he is. He must have been one of the
depredators."
"An' th' ould masther done for him!--God be praised? More power to his
elbow!"
"No, Jamesy, it was not the old master. It was Bully-dhu that choked
him--see here;" and he turned down the quilt.
"The divil a word of lie you're tellin', sir; dear me, but he gev' him
the tusks in style. Begorra, Bully, I'll give you my own dinner
to-day, an' tomorrow, an' next day for that. See, Mr. Cotter, how the
Lord overtakes the guilty at wanst, sometimes. Didn't he strike down
Tom Murdock wid lightning, an' he batin' me out a horseback? an I'd
never have cum up wid him only for that."
Cotter could not help smiling at Jamesy's enthusiasm.
"What are you laughin' at, Mr. Cotter? Maybe it's what you don't give
in to me; but I tell you I seen the flash of lightning take him down
ov the horse, as plain as the daylight. Where's Miss Winny?"
"Whist, whist, boy, don't be talking that way. Never heed Miss Winny;
she's with her father. I would not like her to see this dead man here;
don't be talking so loud. Is there any place we could draw him into,
until we find out who he is?"
"An' _I'd_ like to show him to Miss Winny, for Bully-dhu's sake. Will
I call her?"
"If you do, I'll stick you with this, Jamesy," said Cotter, getting
angry, and tapping his bayonet with his finger.
"Begorra, an' that's not the way to get me to do anything, I can tell
you; for I--"
"Well, there's a good boy, James; you have proved your cell one
tonight; and now for God's sake don't fret poor Miss Winny worse than
what she is already, and it would nearly kill her to see this dead man
here now--it would make her think of some one else dead,
Jamesy--_thigum thu_?
"_Thau_, begorra--you're right enough."
"Where can we bring him to? is there any outhouse or place?"
"To be sure there is; there's the barn where I sleep; cum out wid him
at wanst. I'll take him by the heels, an' let you dhraw him along the
floore by his shoulders."
There was a coolness and intrepidity about all Jamesy's acts and
expressions which surprised Cotter. With all his experience he had
never seen the same in so young a boy--except in a hardened villain;
and he had known Jamesy for the last four years to be the very
contrary. Cotter, however, was not philosopher enough to know that an
excess of principle, and a total want of it, might produce the same
intrepidity of character.
Cotter took the dead man under the shoulders and drew him along, while
Jamesy took him by the feet and pushed him.
Neither Winny, nor Biddy, nor the old man knew a word about this part
of the performance. Jamesy saw the propriety of keeping it to himself
for the present. Cotter locked the barn-door and took away the key
with him. He told Jamesy that he would find out from the other
prisoner "who the corpse was," and that he would call again with
instructions in the course of the day. He then hastened to the
barrack, and Jamesy went in to see Miss Winny and the ould masther.
The message which Cotter had sent her by Jamesy was this--"To keep up
her heart, and to hold herself in readiness for a visit from the
resident magistrate before the day was over."