CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

MARTIAL LAW.

I spent the rest of that day in wandering over the familiar haunts on Fanad, in the vain hope of encountering Tim. Towards night, worn-out with weariness and excitement, I abandoned the quest, and dropped back on the tide to Rathmullan.

The place was full of reports of the new orders which had come from Dublin for the disarming of the people, and of the military rigour with which soldiers and magistrates between them were putting their powers into force. Nearly a hundred stands of arms had, it was rumoured, been captured the day before at Milford, and one man who resisted the search had been hung summarily on the nearest tree.

As I sat screened off in a quiet corner of the inn over my supper, a new-comer entered and joined the group who were discussing the news of the day in the public-room.

"Well?" was the greeting of one or two as he entered.

"Whisht, boys! we're done intirely," said the new-comer.

"How done? Did he not pa.s.s that road?"

"He did; but never a hair of him was singed."

"I knew Paddy was a botch with the gun," said one; "there should have been better than him for such a job. Was he taken?"

"'Deed, I don't know how it all happened, but you're out about Paddy.

He did his best, I'm told, and there were two to second him. But the job had got wind, and Paddy got a shot in the arm before he could let fly. And they tell me the other two are taken."

A cry of consternation went round the audience. "If Flanagan's one of them--"

"The very boy."

"It'll be a bad job for us all, then, for Flanagan will save his skin if twenty others swing for it. Where is he?"

"At Knockowen for the night."

"No news of Tim Gallagher?"

"Not a word. It's a wonder what's keeping him. He's badly wanted."

"'Deed, you may say so. He's the only gineral we have."

"As for Flanagan," said some one else, "I'm thinking he may not have toime to turn king's evidence. They're making quick work of the boys now. Is there no getting him away out of that before he tells?"

"Knockowen's guarded like a fort, with a troop of horse quartered in it."

"Dear, oh! Do the rest of the boys know of it?"

"Ay, and they've scattered. And I'm thinking that is what we'd best do, in case Flanagan names names."

"You're roight," said the chief speaker, rising. "By the powers, there'll be a big reckoning for all this when Tim comes home."

And they trooped out into the road.

All this was disturbing enough, and decided me to be early at my appointment with his honour in the morning.

"Yet," said I to myself, "men who can talk thus above their breath in a public inn are not the sort of men that will turn the land upside down.

What would Lord Edward say if he could hear them--or Tim, for the matter of that?"

It was scarcely eight o'clock next morning when I pulled boldly up to his honour's pier and moored my boat.

At the garden entrance stood a trooper on guard, who brought his gun to the port and demanded what I wanted, "I am here to see his honour, at his bidding."

"What is your name?"

"Barry Gallagher."

The soldier gave a whistle, and a comrade from within approached, to whom he spoke a few words.

"Wait there!" said the sentinel to me, closing the gate as if I were a beggar, and resuming his pacing to and fro.

I swallowed my pride as best I could. If I had been fool enough to flatter myself I was to be welcomed with open arms and made much of for yesterday's exploit, this was a short way of undeceiving me. For a quarter of an hour I kicked my heels on the narrow causeway, looking up sometimes at the windows of the house for a chance glimpse of my little lady. How would she meet me after all these years? Would it be mere graciousness to one who had done her a service, or something more? I should soon know.

The sentinel presently opened the gate and beckoned me to approach.

"Pa.s.s, Gallagher," said he, motioning me to follow his comrade.

The latter conducted me up the garden, and round the house to the yard, where a strange scene met my eyes.

A soldier stood on guard at each doorway. In the middle of the open s.p.a.ce was a table, and at it three chairs, in which sat his honour, another gentleman, and a choleric-looking man in the uniform of a captain of horse. Standing before the table handcuffed, and in the custody of three policemen, stood Flanagan and his comrade, whom I had last left back to back on Black Hill Road.

His honour recognised my arrival with a cold nod, and Flanagan, who was apparently under examination at the moment, scowled viciously. The other prisoner, who seemed as much fool as knave, looked with white face first at his judges, then at the doors, and finally with a listless sigh straight before him.

"How many does your society consist of?" his honour's fellow-magistrate was inquiring of Flanagan as I arrived.

"Och, your honour, there you puzzle me," began the shifty informer; "it might be--"

The officer brought his fist down on the table with a sound which brought all the soldiers about the place to attention, and made the prisoners start.

"Speak out, sir, or you shall swing on that hook on the wall in two minutes."

"Arrah, colonel dear, sure I'm telling you. There's forty-eight sworn men, and that's the truth."

"You are the secretary," said the magistrate. "Give me a list of their names."

"'Deed, sir, my memory is not what it was, and the book--"

"Here 'tis, captain," said a soldier, advancing with a salute, and holding out a small copy-book; "it was found on him."

"That will do," said the magistrate, putting it down without examining it. "Who is your captain or leader?"

"Who's the captain?" repeated the prisoner vaguely.