A month later, Ludar and the maiden and I stood on a cliff in Cantire
which overlooks the Irish coast. The September sun was dipping
wrathfully on the distant Donegal heights, kindling, as he did so, the
headlands of Antrim with a crimson glow. Below us, the Atlantic surged
heavily and impatiently round the rugged Mull. Opposite--so near, it
seemed we might almost shout across--loomed out, sheer from the sea, the
huge cliff of Benmore, dwarfing the forelands on either hand, and
looking, as we saw it then, anything but the Fair Head which people call
it. Scarcely further, on our right, lapped in the lurid water, lay the
sweet Isle of Raughlin, ablaze with heather, and resounding with its
chorus of sea-birds. A finer scene you could scarce desire. A scene
which one day, when the sun is high and the calm water blue, may glisten
before you like a vision of heaven; or, on a wild black day of storm,
may frown over at you like a prison wall of lost souls; or (as it seemed
to-night), like the strange battlements of a wizard's castle, which,
while you dread, you yet long to enter.
We looked across the narrow channel in silence. I could mark Ludar's
eyes flash and his great chest heave, and knew that he thought of his
exiled father and his ravished castle. The maiden at his side, as she
turned her fair face to the setting sun, half hopefully, half
doubtfully, thought perhaps of her unknown home and her unremembered
father. As for me, my mind was charged with wonder at a scene so
strange and beautiful, and yet with loneliness as I recalled that for
me, at least, there waited no home over there.
"The sun has gone," said the maiden presently, laying her hand on
Ludar's arm.
He said nothing; but took the little hand captive in his, and stood
there, watching the fading glow.
Then she began to sing softly; and I, knowing they needed not my help,
left them.
I remember, as I made my way, stumbling through the thick heather,
towards the little village, feeling that this trouble of mine would be
less could I tell it to some one; and then, I know not how, I fancied
myself telling it to sweet Jeannette; and how prettily she heard me,
with her bright eyes glistening for my sake, and her hand on my arm,
just as a minute ago I had seen that maiden's hand on Ludar's. Heigho!
I who called myself a man was becoming a girl! Happily the heather was
thick and the path steep, so that I presently had some other care for my
head to busy itself with.
So I came down to the little bay, and set the boat in readiness for to-
morrow's voyage, and then, having nought else to do (for the old nurse
was abed already), I curled myself up in my corner and fell asleep,
dreaming of I know not what.
Now, you are not to suppose that from the time we dropped anchor in
Leith Roads till now our travels had been easy. On the contrary, the
perils we had met by sea had been nothing to those we encountered by
land. Well for us, in parting company with the _Misericorde_ (which we
left in the hands of the honest pilot to render up to the Frenchman's
agents in Scotland), we had taken each our pistol and sword. For scarce
had we set foot in Edinburgh, but we were called to use them. Sometimes
it was to protect the maiden from the gallants of the Court, who deemed
each pretty face their private game, and were amazed to find Ludar and
me dispute their title. Sometimes it was to defend ourselves from the
hungry redshanks who itched to dig their daggers into some body, little
matter whose. Sometimes it was from rogues and vagabonds whose mouths
watered at the sight of the box. Sometimes it was from the officers,
who took us one day for English spies, and the next for lords in
disguise. As for the poet, the day of our landing he had fled for his
life from the terrors of the place, and so we lost him.
I cannot tell what battles we fought, what knocks we got, or what we
gave in return; how night by night we slept, sword in hand, at the
maiden's door; how day by day we sought to escape from the city and
could not; how at length, under cover of a notable fray in the streets,
we fled back to Leith, where we found a boat and so reached Falkirk.
From there, how like so many gipsies we wandered over the hills and
among the deep valleys till we came to Lennox, and so once more met the
sea on the other side. Then, by what perils of storm and current, in a
small row-boat, we crossed to the wild Isle of Arran, on which we were
well-nigh starved with hunger and drowned with the rains. And at last,
how, using a fine day, we made across to Cantire, where, so soon as
Ludar declared his name, we were hospitably received by the McDonnells
there, and promised a safe conduct over to Ireland.
From the wild men here--half soldiers, half mariners--we heard--not that
I could understand a word of their tongue, but Ludar and the old nurse
could--that Sorley Boy, Ludar's father, was already across, hiding in
the Antrim Glynns, where, joined by many a friendly clan, he was waiting
his chance to swoop down on the English and recapture his ancient
fortress. Turlogh Luinech O'Neill, the maiden's father, we heard, was
still lending himself to the invaders, and in return for the Queen's
favour, holding aloof, if not getting ready to fall upon the McDonnells
when the time came. Of these last, Alexander, Ludar's brother, first
and favourite son of the great Sorley Boy (for Donnell, the eldest of
all, had been slain in battle), was reputed, next to his father, the
bravest; he was also in the Glynns; but James and Randal, his other
brothers, were in the Isles, raising the Scots there, and waiting the
signal to descend with their gallow-glasses on the coveted coast.
Ludar, had he been alone, would have stayed, I think, to join them.
But, with the maiden there, he could think of naught until he had
rendered her up safely to her father, foeman though he might be. So to-
morrow we were to sail for Castleroe, Turlogh's fort on the western bank
of the River Bann, whence, having left our charge, we would repair,
Ludar said, sword in hand to his father's camp.
At daybreak we quitted the McDonnells' hut in which we had sheltered and
went down to the little harbour in the bay. The long Atlantic waves
thundered in from the west as if they would bar our passage, and I
wondered much at the peril of crossing that angry channel in so frail a
craft.
But Ludar laughed when I questioned him.
"These galleys," said he, "have carried my fathers on stormier seas than
this--ay, and the maiden's fathers too; therefore they may be trusted to
carry you now, Humphrey."
"I care naught for myself," said I, "and you know it. Nay, Ludar, if it
comes to that, I had as soon be under those waves as upon them."
He looked at me in his strange solemn way.
"Friend," he said, "you are unhappy. Was it always so, or is it because
I, with a great happiness in me, see more than I once did? Humphrey,"
added he, "that maiden has said to me that she loves me. Can you credit
it?"
I locked his hand in mine. Would that I could show him to you as he
stood there; his face ablaze with triumph, yet almost humbled with his
good fortune. Then, as he looked on me, the blaze softened into a look
of pity.
"I am selfish," said he, "while you are far away from her you love. Yet
I could not help telling it, Humphrey. Heaven give you the same secret
one day to tell me! But here she comes. Take her beside you at the
helm. As for me, the light is too strong in my eyes for me to steer. I
must be alone here in the prow, till the world take shape again."
The galley was a long open boat with a single square sail, and thwarts
for twelve rowers. To-day six sturdy Scots took the oars, all
McDonnells, who wondered much that Ludar should lie forward, leaving the
fair maid and me at the helm. As for the old nurse, whose courage
revived as the opposite headlands rose up to view, she ensconced herself
amidships, and crooned in her native tongue with the rowers. We needed
to row many a mile, round the island, before we could hope to hoist our
sail. Yet, I could not help marvelling at the vigour of the oarsmen,
and at the speed and steadiness of our boat over the billows.
The maiden, who by her blushes when we first met that morning had
confirmed Ludar's story, was content enough to sit in the stern with me,
while he courted solitude in the prow. She sat a long while silent,
looking seaward, and, I think, with the self-same light in her eyes
which dimmed those of Ludar. Presently, however, she turned her face to
me and said, almost suddenly:
"Humphrey, tell me more of that maiden you spoke about. Why does she
not love you?"
I knew not what to say, the question was so unlooked for. I tried to
laugh it off.
"Ask her that," said I. "Why should she? I am not Sir Ludar."
"No," said she gently, and then her face blushed once more, and she
dropped silent, looking away seaward.
I was sorry for my churlish speech, and feared it had given her offence.
But here I was wrong, for presently she said again:
"Is she the little maid who talks to you at home in French, and whom you
carried in your arms. Tell me more of her, Humphrey."
To please her I obeyed. And somehow, as I recalled all the gentle ways
of my sweet little mistress, and the quaint words she had spoken, and,
in fancy, saw once again her bright face, and remembered how she had
always taken my part and chased away the clouds from my brow--somehow I
knew not how, the memory seemed very pleasant to me; and I called to
mind more yet, and wondered with myself how little I had had her in my
thoughts since last we parted that cruel day in Kingston street.
As I talked, the maiden listened, her eyes stealing now and again to
where Ludar lay wrestling with his mighty happiness in the prow, and
then returning, half frightened, half pitying, to encourage me to tell
her more. Which I did. And then, when all was said, she asked again:
"And why does she not love you?"
"Indeed," replied I, "I never asked her. Nor do I know if I love her
myself."
She smiled at that.
"May I answer for you? No? At least I love her, Humphrey, and for her
sake and yours she shall be a sister to me and--"
"And Ludar," said I, as she stopped short.
"Yes, to me and Ludar."
Then we fell to talk about Ludar, and so the day wore on, till, as the
sun stood over our heads, we breasted the fair Island of Raughlin.
Here Ludar, with gloomy face, came astern to tell a story.
'Twas neither brief nor merry; but, as he told it with flashing eyes and
voice which rose and fell with the dashing waves, we listened with
heaving bosoms. 'Twas of a boy, who once played with his comrades on
that self-same Island of Raughlin. How in the pleasant summer time he
had learned from his noble brothers to draw the bow, and, child as he
was, to brandish the spear. How maidens were there, some of whom he
called his sisters; and how they sang the wild legends of the coast and
told him tales of lovers and fairies and heroes. And how, now and again
a white boat came over from the mainland, and on it a noble warrior,
gigantic in form, with his yellow locks streaming in the breeze, and the
sun flashing on his gilded collar and naked sword. That noble man was
the boy's father, and the scarcely less noble form at his side, less by
a head than his sire, yet taller by a head than most of his clansmen,
was the boy's elder brother. And how the boy followed these two
wherever they went, and begged them to take him to the wars on the
mainland; and they smiled and bade him wait ten years. So he was left
with the women and children on the island, while the men went off in
galleys to fight the invader. Then one fatal day, how they woke to see
white-sailed ships in the offing and boats of armed men landing on the
shore, and how in doubt and terror women and children and old men
hastened to yonder castle on the hill, and begged the few armed men
there stand to their guard.
"Then," said Ludar, with thunder in his face, "the strangers spread like
flies over the fair island and surrounded the castle. To resist was
useless. The armed men offered to yield if the women and children and
old men were spared. 'Yield, then,' said the captain, and the gate was
opened. Then the false villains shouted with laughter, and slew the
armed men before the eyes of the helpless captives. 'Bring a torch!'
shouted some. 'Drive them back into their kennel!' shouted others.
Then a cry went up, so terrible that on the light summer breeze it
floated to the mainland, to where on the headland the noble father of
that boy stood, like a statue of horror, as the flames shot up. The
wretched captives fought among themselves who should reach the door and
die on the sword of the enemy rather than by the fire. That boy saw his
playmates tossed in sport on the swords of their murderers, and heard
his sisters shriek to him--boy as he was--to slay them before a worse
death befel. Then he forgot all, except that when, days after, he
awoke, he was in the heart of a deep cave into which the sea surged,
carrying with it corpses. For a week he stayed there, tended by a rough
shepherd, living on seaweed and fish, and well-nigh mad with thirst. At
last came a boat; and when that boy woke once more he was in the castle
of his noble father, whose face was like the midnight, and whose once
yellow hair was as white as the snow."
"That is the story," said Ludar. "I was that boy."
"And the murderers," said I, falteringly, for I guessed the answer.
"The murderers, Humphrey," said he, "were of the same race as your worst
enemy and mine."
This gloomy story cast a cloud over our voyage; until, after long
silence, during which we sat and watched the rocky coast of the ill-
omened Island, the maiden said:
"Sir Ludar, there are older stories of Raughlin than yours. Listen
while I sing you of the wedding of Taise Taobhgheal, which befel there
when yonder hill was crowned by a beautiful white city, with houses of
glass, and when warriors shone in golden armour."
Then she sang a brave martial ballad of a famous battle, which was
fought on those coasts for the hand of the beautiful Taise Taobhgheal.
And the clear music of her voice, to which the rowers lent a chorus,
helped charm away the sadness of Ludar's tale, and while away the time
till, having rounded the island, we hoisted our brown sail and flew upon
the waves past the great organ-shaped cliffs of the mainland.
The sun had long set behind the western foreland ere we caught ahead of
us the roar of the surf on the bar which lay across the river's mouth.
Our rowers had passed that way many a time before, and plunged us
headlong into the mighty battle of the waters where river and sea met.
For a short minute it seemed as if no boat could live in such a whirl;
but, before we well knew the danger, we were in calm water within the
bar, sailing gaily down the broad, moonlit river.
Then Ludar and the maiden grew sad at the parting which was to come; and
I, being weary of the helm, left them and went forward.
Beautiful the river was in the moonlight, with the woods crowding down
to its margin, broken now and again by rugged knolls or smooth shining
meadows. To me it was strange to be in Ireland and yet have all remind
me of my own Thames, all except the wild chant of the foreign rowers.
Many a mile we rowed then, or rather glided. For Ludar bade the men
slacken speed and let the night spend itself before we presented
ourselves at Castleroe. Therefore we took in the oars after a while and
floated idly on the tide.
The old nurse came forward to where I sat, very dismal and complaining.
"Ochone!" said she. "This has been a sore journey, Master Humphrey. My
bones ache and my spirits are clean gone. Musha! it's myself would fain
be back in London town after all. There'll be none to know Judy O'Cahan
here; and I've nigh forgotten the speech and manners of the place
mysel'. And my heart sinks for the sweet maiden."
"Why, what ails her?" I asked. "Has she not come to her father's
house?"
"Ay, ay, so it's called, so it's called. 'Tis Turlogh owns Castleroe,
but 'tis my Lady of Cantire owns Turlogh. He durst not bless himself if
she forbid. She wants no English step-daughters, I warrant ye; or if
she do, 'twill be to buy and sell with, and further her own greedy
plans. I know my Lady; and I know how it will fare with my sweet maid.
I tell thee, Master Humphrey, Turlogh, brave lad as he was, must now do
as his grand Lady bids, and 'twere better far the maiden had stayed in
her nunnery school."
"Why, Judy," said I, "you forget he sent to England for her; and that
now, since this voyage began, she has found a protector who will ease
both the lord and lady of Castleroe of her charge."
She laughed.
"Little you know, master 'prentice. But there comes the dawn."
Sure enough, in the east, the grey crept up the sky; and at the same
time the banks on either side of us rose steeply, while the roar of a
cataract ahead warned us that our journey's end was come.
We waited yet another hour, moored under the bank till the sun lifted
his forehead above the hill. Then the note of a bugle close at hand
startled us, and Ludar bade us disembark.
Castleroe was a house perched strongly on the western bank of the river,
with a moat round, and a drawbridge separating the outer courtyard from
the house itself.
As we approached we were loudly challenged by a sentry who called to us
in broad English.
"Who goes there? Halt! or by my life you shall have a taste of my
musket if you advance further."
My heart leapt to my mouth. 'Twas not at hearing the English speech
once more, but because the fellow's voice itself was familiar to me.
And when a moment later its owner came in view, I saw the man I had met
once on the road to Oxford, the same Tom Price who had gone near hanging
me for a Jesuit, and afterwards had tempted me to take service in the
troop of his master, Captain Merriman, for these Irish wars.
Was it much wonder I gasped aloud, as I saw him?
"Tell Turlogh Luinech O'Neill," said Ludar, advancing, "that his
daughter is come from England, with her ancient nurse. And take us to
him, that we may deliver our charge safely into his hands."
"Ludar," cried I, taking him by the arm. "Halt, for Heaven's sake!
This is one of Captain Merriman's men!"
The soldier looked round as I spoke, and recognised me in a trice.
"Hillo!" cried he; "what have we here? My little Jesuit, Lord Mayor of
London, as I'm a sinner! And in what brave company! Sure, they told me
my lady expected visitors; and here he is with his sweetheart, and old
mother, and private chaplain. Woe's me, the flag is not aloft! So,
lad, thou'rt come to join our wars after all, and tell the captain about
that duck-weed? And thou shalt, my little Humphrey--you see I even
remember your name."
"One word, Tom Price," said I, breathlessly, "as you are an honest man.
Is the captain here?"
"Here! He is my lady's honoured guest this three weeks, since he
arrived here in a temper enough to sour the countryside. Why, hadst
thou run away with his own sweetheart, thou couldst not--"
"Is my father, is Turlogh Luinech O'Neill here, then?" asked the maiden,
coming up.
"Thy father!" said the soldier gasping. "Why I took thee for-- And art
thou, then," said he, pulling off his cap, "art thou--"
"Yes, yes," said she, "I am Rose O'Neill. Pray say, is my father here?"
"Madam," said he, "he left us a week ago for his Castle at Toome.
Howbeit my lady--"
"Ludar," said the maiden, "back to the boat, quick! I will not go in
here."
"Nay, fair angel," said a voice at our side, "now we have found our
truant bird, we must cage her."
It was Captain Merriman himself, smirking, hat in hand.
Before he could well speak the words, Ludar had sprung at his throat,
and hurled him to the ground.
Then ensued a pitiful uproar. The guard, in a moment, turned out upon
us. It was useless for two men to stand against twenty; our McDonnells
at the boat were beyond call. We fought as long as we could; nor was it
till Ludar received a gun shot in his arm, and I a slash that laid bare
my cheek-bone, that we knew the game was up. The maiden had been
carried off into the house; the old nurse lay in a swoon; three men,
besides the captain, were disabled. As for us, we could but stagger to
the gateway more dead than alive. Once outside, the gate was closed.
The guard from within sent a few flying shots after us, one of which
lightened me of my little finger, and another missed Ludar's knee.
Then, seeing us gone and hearing the shouts of our McDonnells, who, at
the noise of the shots, had come up to help us, they forbore to follow
further and let us get clear.
And it was in this manner we brought Rose O'Neill safely to her father's
house at Castleroe.