This was disheartening. Behaviour coa.r.s.e and rude. But duty is duty.

Sirr stooped to pick up the keys, which had been tossed to his feet, and, wrapping himself in a rag of dignity, proceeded to examine the premises. It was as she said. There was no one there, though there were signs of recent occupation. Ruefully the major looked into the dining-parlour. There were no nice things laid out for his behoof.

'I've only done my duty,' he urged, as he clutched the virtuous lady's fat hand. 'Don't be cross with me. I'm glad my mission's failed, though I should have won a thousand by it--there!'

But she shook him off and swept away, murmuring over her shoulder, with sniffing nostrils, that she had done with him; would never meet him as a friend again (though her house was open to examination whensoever he was anxious for an outrage); that she would take it as a personal favour if he would save her the pain of cutting him dead in public; for under no conditions whatsoever would she consent to condone this insult.

Sirr was sorry, but shrugged his shoulders. He ordered his men to march on to Strogue. Perhaps the culprit was not gone to Wexford, but was lying perdu in the vaults of the ancient Abbey. Mrs. Gillin screamed to old Jug, from an upper window, to run round to Larry in the farm-buildings, and bid him bring out the carriage. She must go to Dublin to the doctor. Her nerves were rooned now, as well as her spirits and poor arm.

Then, closing the window, she called on the fugitives to come forth.

'There's no time to be lost,' she said. 'Sirr suspects nothing, but the other will. The serpent! He is capable of coming down himself, in a friendly way, to spend the evening; and that's more than I could endure, even for you.'

'Of whom do you speak?' asked Terence, bewildered.

'Don't chatter!' interrupted the kind lady. "Twill be twilight in an hour or so. You must get out of this before Sirr gets back, and reports to the other what he's done. Then the brute may come, and welcome. It'll be a pleasure to laugh at him. Sirr'll be an hour or so rummaging through the Abbey. Meanwhile you'll take my place in the coach. You're just my size and figure. Your arm looks awful bad. You want a doctor sadly. But that gossoon there; he can't go too, as I've always gone alone. Unlucky! He can't stay, either; that's certain.

What'll we do at all?' She tore off the soiled turban to rub her head, for the better coaxing of her ingenuity. Presently she clapped her hands. 'That's it. Ye'll go separate to the same rendezvous. You, Phil, shall go first, for ye must walk. It's like a masquerade in the good old times; yet my heart is dreadful sore--ochone!'

Rapidly Madam Gillin produced some sailor-slops which her own boatman used to wear when she took her pleasure on the bay. 'Phil will wear these and start at once,' she explained. 'His face must not be seen; it's too well known. In the boathouse yonder he'll find a coil of rope. He must bear it on his shoulders as a motive, and let a loop or two fall over his forehead. Be off now, and be careful. Take a knife, in case of accidents. Ye must be clear off before Sirr returns from the Abbey. If by ill-luck ye were to come face to face, stab at his legs. He wears a coat of mail. _I felt it with my scissors_. Away!'

Phil departed, quite glad of the excitement, delighted to break through his long and weariful incarceration.

Terence was packed in the celebrated wrapper, which once to see was never to forget. A beaver bonnet and veil covered his head. An arm was deftly bandaged. He stepped into the coach, drew up the gla.s.ses, and leaning back in the shadow as the coachman whipped his horses, began to collect his thoughts. Whew! What a whirl it was! Why dear Madam Gillin should suddenly become nervous, and wag her plumes so, he could not imagine. Unpleasant things are ofttimes for the best. Concealed in the capital itself he would be all the better able to superintend in person the proceedings of New Year's Eve. Yes! It was quite fortunate that she should thus have sent him off. He would see some of the delegates that very evening; concert pa.s.swords and signals. Five minutes' talk is worth a dozen letters. He would send round for Ca.s.sidy, who, faithful to his _role_, should be able to unravel for them the ins and outs of the Castle tactics, some of which seemed hazy. He would---- What was that? Sirr and his men! Then they had not lingered at the Abbey, but had started Dublinwards before him? No matter. All was right. The major had peered into the carriage, and, perceiving the wounded arm and well-known wrapper, had turned away his head abruptly. How cleverly Mrs. Gillin had managed the whole thing!

Why had she taken such a fancy to him? If he were her own son, she could not be more loving and considerate.--What was that? A man bending under a load. Phil, of course. How slow he walked! Sirr's men seemed stepping out. Please Heaven they would not overtake him. No.

And if they did, what then? A boor with a burthen of rope. A guilty conscience; how it racks and torments us about nothing!

Hark! a sound--audible through the rumbling coach-wheels. A shout--a cry! Unable to resist the impulse, Terence lowered a gla.s.s and protruded his head, with the beaver bonnet and veil. Great heavens!

The soldiers had gained on Phil, whose burthen impeded movement; had, from sheer brutality, torn it from him and disclosed his features. He had been recognised! Sirr saw through the trick, and shook his fist with balked fury. He was gesticulating in the road. Some soldiers were hailing the coach from afar, but Larry whipped his horses with a will.

Some more, jumping a ditch, had broken through a hedge and vanished.

Poor Phil! he would be murdered. Was it not base to leave him thus unaided? Yet--the Cause. Terence felt that his life was not his own.

Eagerly he looked backwards as the road took a loop-turn. He must see the last of poor Phil--probably the very last of his faithful henchman. Phil had ceased struggling. Terence drew in his head, and, man though he was, burst into a flood of tears. Poor, faithful Phil!

What a sad end!

Half-way betwixt Strogue and Dublin the road leaves the sh.o.r.e, and winds inland with an intricate series of doubles--arranged so for the benefit of certain small villa-holders, round whose tiny properties the way meanders. Terence forgot this fact, so absorbed was he in the fate of his attached servant, otherwise he would have seen his danger, and, throwing off his disguise, would have trusted to a hare's tactics in the open. But, clad in woman's attire, he was weeping like a woman, and bemoaning his fate, when the carriage came to a standstill with a shock. A detachment of soldiers, taking a short cut, had come upon the carriage, and, springing on the bits, had thrust back the horses on their haunches.

Deception was futile now. Dragging off the ign.o.ble bonnet and wrapper, Terence sprang lightly out, and drawing a pistol, prepared to barter his life against as many of the foe as possible.

One man shot poor Larry on his box, lest he should take part in the scuffle; another hamstrung the off-horse, which whinnied, and leaped up with pain. The shot was answered by a hulloo and rush of feet.

Through the hedge-gap appeared Sirr, breathless but foaming, urging on his men, two of whom dragged Phil, an inert ma.s.s, between them.

'Murther!' groaned Phil. 'That the masther should be tuk, and through me!'

'Yes,' jeered Sirr; 'we have him now. Having detected you, I knew at once that he could not be far off!'

Terence discharged his pistols with good effect. A man fell to each of them. Then, drawing a dagger, he leaned his back against a tree.

Sirr, as his way was on these occasions, withdrew to the rear, content with egging on his hounds from a safe distance. The men waited for a second, watching the eye of the man who stood at bay. Phil saw his opportunity, and took it. With a jerk he freed himself, stabbed one fellow, and, lunging at another, slipped, and tumbled on the moist earth. But he was not to be thus foiled. Wriggling along the ground, he reached Major Sirr, and slashed him across both legs, who, springing into the air with a howl, tossed away the sword-cane that he had unsheathed and fell disabled. Phil caught it, and stabbed the shrieking major again and again till it broke. 'Right she was!' he said; 'the dastard does wear mail!'

The diversion seemed likely to save Terence, who, turning, sped swiftly along the furrows, favoured by sinking twilight.

'Run, masther, run!' Phil screamed. 'Please the Lord, he'll be safe yet.'

'Dead or alive!' howled Sirr, who clawed the ground with his fingers in his pain.

A man levelled his musket and fired. Terence turned like a top, dropped on his knees, then struggling up, moved on as swiftly as before. Another fired, but missed. The fugitive flew on, but not so fast. A mere youth outstripped him, and stooping down in front, tripped him by the feet. Both fell heavily. The bigger of the two being uppermost--his right arm swinging loose--made a desperate effort to throttle the boy with his left hand. It took several men, pressing his chest with heavy muskets, to tear his prey from him, and bind him in such a way as to prevent further resistance.

Terence and Phil were taken to the provost, whilst Sirr (vowing vengeance especially against the latter) was borne away to have the wounds dressed which disfigured his comely calves.

Madam Gillin sat at home in a perspiration, waiting for news. No news!

That looked well. It was dawn before she sought her couch, determined to try and sleep. A hubbub aroused the three occupants of the Little House. What was it? eight o'clock! An enormous detachment of soldiers'

wives, with kettles, equipage, and baggage, demanding hospitality, producing an official order to that effect. Free quarters; and for women, too--the dirty, drunken drabs! Madam Gillin clasped her fat hands in anguish. Then the stratagem must have been discovered. One had been taken--which? or both? Oh, Heaven! Would no one tell her?

A blowsy wife, more compa.s.sionate than the rest, said that all the world knew by this time that the meejor had won the big reward.

Madam Gillin tightened her lips, and said no more, while Jug whistled lamentations through her gums. 'It's the curse of Crummell on the farriers--breed, seed, and branch. If he'd gone alone he'd have been safe.' Which, in all probability, was true enough, though not because Phil chose to wield a firing-iron. But Madam Gillin would not listen to her nurse. Poor lad! To be taken without striking a blow--without even the threadbare satisfaction which belongs to a leader of forlorn hopes--of laying down life, perhaps, but at a heavy price. What an unjust world it is! Mrs. Gillin felt it more and more.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE HURRY.

Mr. Pitt's scheme was doing well. Protestants and Catholics, the upper and the lower cla.s.s, having been successfully set at each other's throats--the leading spirits of the popular party being snugly caged--the executive thought the moment come to harvest their Dead-sea apples. The capture of Terence was accomplished at a fortunate moment; for things had gone too far now for the project of resistance to be tamely abandoned. The proposed rising was perforce postponed that the harried Directory might for a fourth time reorganise itself. Ill-luck haunted that Directory. Tone, inaugurator of the society, was a broken-spirited exile; Emmett, Neilson, Russell, Bond, zealous disciples of their prophet, languished in Kilmainham; the Honourable Terence Crosbie (most promising blossom on the stem) lay wounded--delirious from fever--within the provost. None of the projectors of rebellion were permitted to take part in it; yet it was evident that the days of meek endurance were at an end. The places of the absent were supplied by men, ambitious but incapable: small country gentlemen of limited attainment, or farmers of little culture, who were speedily swallowed by the flood, to be supplanted in turn by furious fanatics, as ignorant but more unscrupulous than they.

Nothing was attempted on New Year's Eve. January and February pa.s.sed; March and April came, and were gone. Lord Clare wondered whether he had been too precipitate, and digested Sully's saying: 'Pour la populace ce n'est jamais par envie d'attaquer qu'elle se souleve, mais par impatience de souffrir.' Had the people not suffered enough yet?

The yeomanry motto had been, 'Soyons freres, ou je t'a.s.somme!' and n.o.bly they had acted on it. The people glared and showed their fangs, ready and willing for the fray; but they were leaderless. Those who in the emergency affected to command, racked by indecision, put off the important moment. Rebel and royalist frowned silently one at the other, lance in rest, both itching to go to work, both declining the odium of the first move. It was the last brief lull of stillness before the bursting of the storm--of the storm which had been so long in bursting. Dublin was uncertain how to proceed. If the Croppies would rise and gain one decisive victory, then Dublin, joining them openly, would turn and tear its rulers. On the other hand, should the Croppies encounter tribulation the capital would grovel at the mumbling Viceroy's feet, presenting both cheeks to the smiter with expressions of Christian meekness.

It was an anxious time for the lord-lieutenant and his Privy Council.

To the chancellor's disgust General Abercromby (who supplanted Carhampton), on whom he had counted for friendly co-operation as commander of the forces, chose this awkward period of uncertainty to retire.

'Nothing,' he bluffly said, 'could justify the behaviour of Government. If the two Houses of Parliament chose to turn their motherland into a slaughter-house, dire retribution would be sure to fall upon them some day. At all events he, a stranger, would have nothing to do with political crimes.' And so he went away; and the supreme command was accepted _pro tem_, by General Lake, till such time as a fit subst.i.tute could be selected.

The att.i.tude of pugnacious Pat, eager for the fight, but lance in rest, could not be permitted to endure. That those who were wont to tread on the tails of each other's coats at Donnybrook should in incongruous fashion a.s.sume patience like that of St. Simon Stylites was merely an insult to their masters. A little more humour must be displayed by the friends of England--a few more jokes, quite broad ones now. A dozen or so of judicious murders, a grand confiscation of poor men's cattle, a few more virgins ravished--a real sharp touch of the spur, in fact. The jokers acted with a will, and the desired effect was gained. Kildare rose on the 23rd of May. Simultaneous attacks of a timorous kind were made on various strongholds, of which one only could be p.r.o.nounced successful. The barrack of Prosperous was surprised in the night, the commandant killed, and a few officers sacrificed, the place committed to the flames. This was encouraging, and Government could well afford the loss of a few lives. But the rebels needed a deal of spurring; they were still too craven for an important venture; their hands were unnerved; their blood was chilled by fear of treachery. Oh! degenerate scions of turbulent Keltic kings!

The boys of Kildare, who were the first, casting distrust aside, to take the field, had been ground too low to allow the lamp of patriotism to burn steadily. After an abortive effort of a few days they sued for mercy. Slaves of the soil, hewers of wood and drawers of water, they were doomed to be; their leaders saw it now, and roundly told them so, and they retorted on their leaders. Both indeed were sadly below the mark. If those who endeavoured to command were unable to manage their rabble, the latter were no better than the most innocent of savages. In presence of the foe they forgot the little drilling they had learned, danced forward like children, with hats on pikes and wild gestures of defiance, and tumbled pellmell over each other, hit or alarmed at the first blare of musketry. The business of the disciplined cohorts was simply to stand quiet until the gibbering simpletons advanced to an easy distance; then to cut them down as the sickle mows the corn, in serried heaps upon the furrows. The boys of Kildare sued for mercy, and were graciously informed that if they would come to the Gibbet-Rath on the Curragh, within given hours on a certain day, and there deliver up all weapons of offence, they might be permitted to return to bondage and be happy. They came, having been a.s.sured that General Dundas had received permission from the Castle to show clemency. Thirteen cartloads of pikes were delivered on the plain. General Duff, who, a.s.sisted by the colonel of the Foxhunters, was acting for Dundas, bade the rebels make of these a heap, and confessing on their knees their insolence and wickedness, beg the King's pardon humbly. The craven wretches obeyed, for no vestige of courage was left in them. Bereft even of the courage to die, they kneeled, praying that the agony of death might be past. They kneeled, with misery too intense for speech, on the great plain, with heads bowed and hands clutched together--a spectacle of human abjectness harrowing enough to have made the angels weep.

'Charge!' shouted General Duff, 'and spare no rebel!'

The obedient Foxhunters (so called from the brushes they wore in their helmets) hacked down with their sabres the defenceless peasants to the number of three hundred and more. There were eighty-five widows in one single street of Kildare that afternoon. It is but fair to say that no part of the infamy of this splendid joke attaches to General Dundas, for the ma.s.sacre was shown to have taken place without his knowledge or consent. Duff and the colonel of the Foxhunters must bear the brunt of it alone, along with other jests of equal brilliancy. A few of the victims managed to scuttle off, hiding in furze-bushes or behind walls, and reached Kildare at nightfall, to tell the tale of butchery.

A woman who lay ill ten miles off, woke (so it is said) from a vision of her husband weltering in gore, and nothing would appease her but that her daughter and aged father should go forth to seek him. They were met by knots of country-folk flying along the road in wildest excitement.

'Bad news, old man!' they wailed as they pursued their course like a whirl of wraiths. 'Our friends lie kilt--G.o.d rest their sowls--_all_--on the Curragh, this day!'

Old man and grandchild harnessed a horse and car, determined to learn more. The gloaming rested on the plain when they reached the Gibbet-Rath.

Two hundred bodies were turned over before they came upon the one they sought. Its hands moved, in an effort to stanch a wound with a remnant of an old cravat, and in the increasing darkness they chanced to observe the flutter. But for that movement, where so many around were still, they might have pa.s.sed by their bread-winner. Filled with thankfulness in that he yet lived, they stretched him on the car, for prudence' sake in corpse-like att.i.tude, shaded his eyes with a hat, sprinkled some soiled hay over his prostrate form, and hurried home in haste. But a rumour somehow got wind that 'the Croppies were getting alive again,' and so the military were sent round to scour the adjacent country to make certain that no such untoward circ.u.mstance occurred.