One afternoon, when it was blowing too hard to allow Dermot to put to
sea in his boat, he had gone to the vicarage to obtain his usual
instruction, carrying with him some fish he had caught, as a present to
the vicar's niece. After he had received his instruction and was about
to take his departure, Miss O'Reilly called him back to thank him for
the fish which he had brought her.
"By-the-bye!" observed Mr Jamieson, "Dermot can take the pony which I
wish to send for young Lord Fitz Barry, and the cloak which he left here
the other day."
Dermot had not often ridden; but where is the Irish boy who would not
undertake to mount the most fiery steed, if he was asked to do so?
He gladly promised to take the pony and cloak to the castle. It was
already late in the day, but he observed that "that did not matter," as
it must be a dark night in which he could not find his way home. The
pony was, however, in the field, and some more time elapsed before he
was caught. Miss O'Reilly then bethought her, that Dermot had been a
long time without food, and insisted on his taking some before he set
off in that blustering evening. It was thus almost dark before he left
the vicarage for the castle. He looked down on the bay: the frigate
still lay at anchor there, the wind being still from the north.
"If the wind shifts a little more to the west, she will have to put to
sea," thought Dermot. "It will not do for her to remain in the bay with
the wind blowing in from the west, and with such often rolls in here,
enough to cast the stoutest ship high upon the beach, or to dash her to
fragments should she touch the rocks."
Dermot rode on, not, however, very fast, as the little animal was
unwilling to leave his own home, not guessing the comfortable quarters
to which he was bound. The wind brought up a heavy shower of rain and
hail; Dermot was doubtful whether he ought to shelter himself under the
young lord's cloak. "Still," he thought, "it will not be the worse for
being on my shoulders, and I shall be wet through and well-nigh frozen
before I reach the castle, if I am to sit on this animal's back exposed
to the storm."
He wisely therefore, having overcome his scruples, put on the cloak, and
continued his course as fast as the pony would condescend to go towards
the castle.
Just as the frigate was hid from his view by some intervening downs, he
thought he saw the men going aloft to loose the topsails, an indication
of the ship being about to get under weigh.
"It is the wisest thing that can be done," he thought to himself. "She
can easily stand off until the summer gale is over, and run no risk of
being driven on shore."
He was already at no great distance from the castle, when suddenly from
behind some rocks and bushes which lay near the road, a number of men
sprang up and seized the bridle of his pony. He was too much astonished
to cry out, or to ask what was their purpose in thus attacking him.
By the expressions that they uttered, however, he soon discovered that
they were under the impression that they had got possession of the young
lord.
"Now," he thought to himself, with admirable presence of mind, "the best
thing I can do is to hold my tongue, and just see what they intended to
do with him. I would a great deal rather that they caught hold of me,
to whom it matters not what harm they do, than the young lord. I would
willingly save him for his sweet sister's sake, and for his too, for he
is a kind boy, with a gentle heart. I am sure of that. There is no
pride or haughtiness about him. If there were, I should not feel
disposed to serve him. No, I could not do that. Well, I will see what
these men want to do with him. They will be rather surprised and
enraged may be when they find whom they have got, instead of the young
lord."
These thoughts passed rapidly through Dermot's mind, as he saw that he
was surrounded by an armed band of men. They did not attempt to pull
him from his pony, but turning round the animal's head, they led him
across the country inland at a rapid rate, a man holding the rein on
either side with a firm grasp, to prevent the little animal from falling
over the rough ground they were traversing.
Dermot firmly kept to his resolution of saying nothing. The night was
so dark, that had it not been for his knowledge of the direction from
which the wind blew, he would have been unable to guess where he was
going. In a short time, however, he found the wind blew directly in his
teeth. He knew that they must be travelling north, and also, from the
character of the ground, that they had already passed beyond the
vicarage, and that they could be at no great distance from his own home.
Now they turned once more to the west, and he felt sure they were
approaching the sea. The ground became more and more wild and rugged,
and he guessed by feeling that they continued to ascend for some
distance, that they had reached a range of wild hills which lay in that
direction.
All this time he had kept his senses wide awake, nor did he allow
himself to feel the slightest fear of what was likely to happen.
"No great harm can come to me," at length he thought to himself; "and if
it does, what matters it? There are those who will look after my
mother, and I shall have saved the young lord from some plot which these
ruffians have formed against him."
All this time the people round him were speaking the native Irish,
little supposing that their prisoner understood every word they said.
He was at length able to gather from their conversation that they
intended to hold the young lord as a hostage, threatening, if the
demands they proposed making were not granted, that they would kill him
in revenge.
At length, he was ordered to dismount, and he found himself led forward
through a narrow passage, with rocks on either side, which conducted
them into the interior of a cave. It was of considerable size, the roof
and sides covered apparently with smoke, probably the result of the
illicit distillery which existed, or had existed there. It was dimly
lighted by a lamp fixed on a projecting point of the rock. This enabled
Dermot to see that a number of arms were piled up along one side,
muskets, pikes, and swords. There were two small field-pieces, and what
he supposed to be cases of ammunition. Had the light been greater he
would probably have been at once discovered. As it was, however, he was
led forthwith to the farther part of the cave, where he was told to take
his seat on a rough bed-place.
"We'll be after bringing your food directly," said a man, the first
person who had spoken to him since his capture. "You will be quiet now,
and not attempt to run away; for we should shoot you if you did without
the slightest ceremony. You understand that? Or stay, if we were to
bind one of your feet to the leg of this bunk, we should have you more
secure, I'm thinking."
Dermot, adhering to his resolution, said nothing in return, but allowed
himself to be secured as the man proposed. He laughed, however, to
himself at the thought of the ease with which he could immediately
liberate himself should he wish to do so, and wrapping himself closely
in the cloak, the better to conceal his figure and dress, should by
chance a gleam of light fall upon him, he lay down on the bunk.
Other persons now continued to arrive, until the cave was full of men,
the greater part of whom were peasants or small farmers; at least their
comrades treated them with but little ceremony.
As Dermot, however, was watching what took place, he heard the men
whispering to each other, "It's him! It's him; he's come to lead us, no
fear now."
Just then a man appeared at the entrance of the cave. As he advanced
with a confident, indeed somewhat swaggering step, towards the table in
the centre, all the men rose from their seats and greeted him in various
tones of welcome.
He told them that he had been narrowly watched, that he had had no
little difficulty in escaping his enemies and their enemies, that he was
thankful to find himself among them, and prepared to undertake any
enterprise, however hazardous, which might tend to forward their great
and glorious cause--the overthrow of their Saxon tyrants and the
establishment of the Irish race as the lords and rulers of their
country.
He said a great deal more to the same effect, which was eagerly listened
to by the assembled rebels.
"Long life to the O'Higgins, he's the boy for us," resounded through the
cavern, or at least words to that effect in the native Irish, the only
language spoken by those present.
The O'Higgins spoke it, but Dermot remarked that he did so with some
difficulty.
The conspirators seemed highly delighted at having made so valuable a
prize, and began, in no subdued voices, to discuss their future plans
and proceedings.
Dermot listened eagerly, anxious to catch every word that was uttered.
He found that they were a band of United Irishmen, as the rebels were
generally called at that time, and that in spite of the ill-success of
their undertaking in the north, they proposed carrying out a rising in
that part of the country. Their first object was to attack the Castle
of Kilfinnan, where they hoped to find a supply of arms and a large
amount of booty. They expected also to extract a considerable sum for
the ransom of the prisoners they might capture in the castle, and, if
not, they proposed putting them all to death, in revenge for the
execution of their fellow-rebels, which had taken place in other parts
of the country.
The chief impediment to their plan was the continuance of the frigate on
the coast. They were anxious to devise some plan by which she might be
drawn off to another part of Ireland, or induced, at all events, to put
to sea. Some of the boldest of the party proposed collecting a flotilla
of boats, and taking possession of her, in the belief that they could
land her guns and other arms, and thus obtain the means of better
competing with the royal troops.
These and many other schemes were freely discussed by the rebels. After
some time another person entered the cavern. Dermot looked up and saw
by the light of the lamp, which fell on his countenance, that the new
comer was no other than Father O'Rourke. He and the O'Higgins greeted
each other warmly. It was evident that they were looked upon as the
leaders of the undertaking. The one active in a spiritual capacity,
urging on the infatuated men the justice of their cause and promising
them his own prayers and the protection of heaven, and telling them to
go on and conquer; the other inviting them to follow him, and promising
them the victory. Father O'Rourke particularly advocated the most
energetic measures. He even advised that they should at once march
towards the castle, and, exposing the young lord to view, threaten to
hang him if the gates were not opened to admit them.
This plan was, however, overruled by others, who declared that the
frigate still lay in the bay, and that whatever the Earl might do, their
appearance on the shore would certainly bring the shot of her guns about
their ears.
"And what are you afraid of, comrades?" exclaimed Father O'Rourke. "If
they do, cannot I give each of you the blessed picture of Saint Patrick,
and won't that, worn about your neck, guard you from the shot of the
enemy? Ah, if you knew the value of those blessed amulets, you would
all of you be anxious to purchase them. No soldier should ever think of
going into battle without such a safeguard. Have I not been offering up
prayers day and night for the last month for your success, and are you
such heretics as to believe that they have all been uttered in vain?
No, trust me, let us go and attack the castle this night or to-morrow at
farthest, and depend upon it, we shall gain such a victory as will make
all the people in the country around rise up and join us. They only
want to see a little success, and Ireland shall have her own again.
What, boys! are we to be kept down by the red-coats, and the vile
heretics who call George the Third king? No, I say again. Ireland for
the Irish. May Saint Patrick and all the blessed Saints fight for us,
and we will have true liberty once more in the green Isle of old Erin!"
While listening to the address of the priest, very similar to many
others uttered then, and even at the present day, by the so-called
pastors of the Romish Church in Ireland, Dermot was thinking over what
he should attempt to do. He knew perfectly well from the way his feet
had been tied to the bed, that he could liberate himself immediately;
but how to steal out of the cavern without being observed was the
difficulty; even should the chief body of the rebels go to sleep, it was
not likely that they would leave the cavern without a guard. If he
could escape, however, he thought his best plan would be to hasten off
to the castle, to which he felt sure he could find his way, and give
notice of the plans of the conspirators.
"The Earl probably does not dream of an attack being made on his
residence, and will not certainly be prepared," thought Dermot to
himself. "Perhaps the rebels will steal towards the chief door and
break it open before any one within can stop them. The frigate, too, if
she has not sailed already, will very likely go away, or be misled by
the treacherous information those people will send on board. Now, if I
could steal away without their finding out who I am, they will not
suspect that their plans are discovered as they know that the young lord
would not understand what had been said." Dermot's great desire
therefore was to escape from the cavern. He found that not only was it
expected that the country around would rise and attack all the
Protestant dwelling-houses in the neighbourhood, but that a French
squadron with troops would come off the coast and support their cause.
This, altogether, was terrible news, and Dermot felt that it was most
important it should be conveyed without delay to Kilfinnan Castle, the
principal seat in that neighbourhood.
Dermot had never liked Father O'Rourke, and he had now still less cause
to admire him. He guessed, too, from the character of the man, that
although he would encourage the people round to rebel, he was not likely
to run himself into danger. He was not surprised, therefore, after
hearing him inflame the passions and ardour of his misguided countrymen,
to see him quietly take his departure after uttering his blessing and
promising them success if they would follow his injunctions.
We must now return to the vicarage. Scarcely had Dermot left the house
on the pony, than Miss O'Reilly began to regret that she had allowed him
to go. She went to the door and felt the blast blowing keenly from the
north, and knowing the lateness of the hour, she feared that he would be
benighted long before he could reach the castle. She would willingly
have despatched some one to him, but she had no person to send.
While standing at the door, she heard a voice, singing one of the wild
and plaintive airs of the country, down in the valley beneath the
vicarage. She knew by the sounds that the singer was drawing nearer and
nearer the house.
"It is poor mad Kathleen," she said to herself, "though she has but a
small amount of brains, yet she is fleet of foot, and would soon
overtake the lad, and bring him back to the house. It would be better
to do that, than let him go on with the pony he ill knows how to
bestride."
The song continued, and in a short time the singer stood in front of the
vicarage.
"Well, Kathleen, what brings you here?" asked Miss O'Reilly, addressing
her in a kind tone.
"What brings me here takes me wherever I list to go, my own free will,"
answered the mad girl, who was still young, and possessed of an amount
of beauty which made those who saw her feel even more sympathy and
compassion than they might have done, had her appearance been less
attractive.
"You are good and kind, Kathleen," said Miss O'Reilly; "you would do me
a kindness, I know, if I were to ask you."
"That I would, lady!" answered the girl, in the broken Saxon which was
spoken by not many of the peasantry in that part of Ireland; "I would do
anything to serve you, just say what it is."
Miss O'Reilly, in a few words, explained to Kathleen what she wished to
have done.
"You know him, you know young Dermot O'Neil?"
"Oh yes, I know him well; he is a gentle lad and a good one, and I would
gladly serve him, as I would you, lady."
Miss O'Reilly again endeavoured to impress upon the wandering mind of
the poor girl what she was to do, and then begged her to hasten off to
overtake Dermot. However, neither she nor Miss O'Reilly were aware of
the distance Dermot would have got before Kathleen could overtake him.
The mad girl went singing on as was her wont for some time, till
suddenly she became unusually silent. She had not gone far when she
heard the loud talking of a body of men approaching her.
"Those voices at this time of the evening bode no good," she said to
herself. "They are some of the rebels who they say are about the
country. I never loved such. I will hide and watch to see what they
are about."
She accordingly concealed herself among the rocks and uneven ground with
which the road was bounded. The tramp of feet approached, coming from
the direction of the castle, and she saw some men leading a pony on
which a lad was mounted, hurriedly proceeding towards the north.
From what she had heard from Miss O'Reilly, she at once concluded that
the person she had seen in the hands of the insurgents must be Dermot
himself.
"Now the next thing I have to do," she thought, "is to follow and try to
find out where they are taking him to. Surely they will not do him an
injury, but still they have no right to carry him off; of that I am
certain."
Gathering her cloak around her, she quickly followed the footsteps of
the party she had seen pass. She had to keep at a cautious distance,
lest in crossing any open space, she might have been discovered, but
where a person in their right mind might have hesitated, she went on
fearlessly. The road was rough and up and down hill, but she continued
her pursuit till the party suddenly came to a halt.
"Oh!" she said to herself; "I know the spot where they have gone to;
shall I go on, or shall I go back to Miss O'Reilly and tell her how I
have been defeated in fulfilling her directions?"
In spite of the distance she determined to follow the latter course.
The astonishment of Miss O'Reilly was very great when, at a late hour in
the evening, Kathleen appeared and told her what had befallen young
Dermot.
Miss O'Reilly instantly consulted her uncle, who fortunately was at
home.
"There is something wrong going forward, at all events," he observed.
"But why the rebels should have made Dermot prisoner is more than I can
say. However, perhaps you can persuade Kathleen to go back to the cave
and endeavour to release him. I don't know what else we can do. In the
morning I will ride over to the castle and consult with the Earl. He
should be informed that a rising of some sort is on foot through the
country, though I do not suppose it is of much consequence."
Kathleen was perfectly ready to undertake the release of Dermot if she
could accomplish it, and she promised at all events to enter the cavern
and to communicate with him.
"He is a wise lad, and it will be a wise thing to do as he bids me," she
observed.
"But you must be weary, Kathleen," said Miss O'Reilly; "you will want
some refreshment before you set out again to-night."
"No, no, when the mind's at work the body requires no food," said the
mad girl, and she burst forth in a wild song which showed the excitement
under which she was labouring.