"Then we can hold them," said Westmore.

"That's all I want," rejoined Renoux briskly. "I just want to check them and hold them until your Government can send its agents here. I know I have no business to do this--probably I'll get into trouble.

But I can't sit still and twirl my thumbs while people blow up a ca.n.a.l belonging to an ally of France, can I?"

"Hark!" motioned Barres. "They're singing! Poor devils. They're like Cree Indians singing their death song."

"I suppose," said Westmore sombrely, "that deep in each man's heart there remains a glimmer of hope that he, at least, may come out of it."

Renoux shrugged:

"Perhaps. But they are brave, these Irish--brave enough without a skinful of whiskey. And with it they are entirely reckless. No sane man can foretell what they will attempt." He turned to include Alost and Souchez: "I think there can be only one plan of action for us, gentlemen. We should string out here along the edges of the woods.

When they leave the tavern we should run for the landing and get into the shack that stands there--a rickety sort of boat-house on piles,"

he explained to Westmore and Barres. "There is the path through the woods." He pointed to the left, where a trodden way bisected the wood-road. "It runs straight to the landing," he added.

Alost, at a sign from him, started off westward through the woods.

Souchez followed. Renoux leaned back against a big walnut tree and signified that he would remain there.

So Barres and Westmore moved forward to the right, very cautiously, circling the rear of the old brick hotel where a line of ruined horse-sheds and a rickety barn screened them from view of the hotel's south windows.

So close to the tavern did they pa.s.s that they could hear the noisy singing very distinctly and see through the open windows the movement of shadowy figures under the paling light of a ceiling lamp.

Westmore ventured nearer in hopes of getting a better view from the horse-sheds; and Barres crept after him through the rank growth of swale and weeds.

"Look at them!" whispered Westmore. "They're in a sort of uniform, aren't they?"

"They've got on green jackets and stable-caps! Do you see that stack of rifles in the corner of the tap-room?"

"There's Skeel!" muttered Westmore, "the man in the long cloak sitting by the fireplace with his face buried in his hands!"

"He looks utterly done in," whispered Barres. "Probably he can't manage that gang and he begins to realise it. Hark! You can hear every word of that thing they're singing."

Every word, indeed, was a yell or a shout, and distinct enough at that. They were roaring out "Green Jackets":

"_Oh, Irish maids love none but those Who wear the jackets green!_"

--all lolling and carousing around a slopping wet table--all save Murtagh Skeel, who, seated near the empty fireplace with his white face buried between his fingers, never stirred from his att.i.tude of stony immobility.

"There's Soane!" whispered Barres, "that man who just got up!"

It was Soane, his cap c.o.c.ked aslant on his curly head, his green jacket unb.u.t.toned, a tumbler aloft in his unsteady clutch.

"Whurroo!" he yelled. "_Gu ma slan a chi mi!--fear a' Bhata!_" And he laid a reckless hand on Skeel's cloaked shoulder. But the latter never stirred; and Soane, winking at the company, flourished his tumbler aloft and broke into "The Risin' o' the Moon":

"Oh, then tell me, Shawn O'Ferrall, Phwere the gatherin' is to be!

In th' ould shpot be the river;-- Sure it's known to you an' me!"

And the others began to shout the words:

"_Death to every foe and traitor!

Forward! Strike the marchin' tune, And hurrah, me lads, for freedom!

'Tis the risin' of the moon!_

"At the risin' of the moon, At the risin' of the moon, And a thousand blades are flashin'

At the risin' of the moon!"

"Here's to Murtagh Skeel!" roared Soane, "_An gille dubh ciardubh!_ Whurroo!"

Skeel lifted his haggard visage, slowly looked around, got up from his stool.

"In G.o.d's name," he said hoa.r.s.ely, "if you're not utterly shameless, take your rifles and follow me. Look at the sun! Have you lads gone stark mad? What will McDermott think? What will Kelly Walsh say? It's too late to weigh anchor now; but it isn't too late to go aboard and sober up, and wait for dark.

"If you've a rag of patriotism left you'll quit your drinking and come with me!"

"Ah, sure, then, Captain dear," cried Soane, "is there anny harrm in a bite an' a sup f'r dyin' lads befoor they go whizzin' up to glory?"

"I tell you we should be aboard! _Now!_"

Another said:

"Aw, the cap's right. To h.e.l.l with the booze. Come on, youse!" And he began to b.u.t.ton his green jacket. Another got up on unsteady legs:

"Sure," he said, "there do be time f'r to up anchor an' shquare away for Point Dalhousie. Phwat's interferin', I dunno."

"A Canadian cruiser," said Skeel with dry bitterness. "Get aboard, anyway. We'll have to wait for dark."

There was a reluctant shuffle of feet, a careless adjusting of green jackets and caps, a reaching for rifles.

"Come on," whispered Barres, "we've got to get to the landing before they do."

They turned and moved off swiftly among the trees. Renoux saw them coming, understood, turned and hurried southward to warn Alost and Souchez. Barres and Westmore caught glimpses of them ahead, striding along the trodden path under the trees, and ran to overtake them.

"They're going aboard," said Barres to Renoux. "But they will probably wait till dark before starting."

"They will unless they're stark mad," said Renoux, hurrying out to the southern borders of the wood. But no sooner had he arrived on the edge of the open swale country than he uttered an exclamation of rage and disgust, and threw up his hands helplessly.

It was perfectly plain to the others what was happening--and what now could not be prevented.

There lay the big, swift power boat, still at anchor; there stood the ramshackle wharf and boat-house. But already a boat had put off from the larger craft and was being rowed parallel with the sh.o.r.e toward the mouth of a marshy creek.

Two men were rowing; a third steered.

But what had suddenly upset Renoux was the sight of a line of green jackets threading the marsh to the north, led by Skeel, who was already exchanging handkerchief signals with the men in the boat.

Renoux glanced at his prey escaping by an avenue of which he had no previous knowledge. It was death to go out into the open with pistols and face the fire of half a dozen rifles. No man there had any delusions concerning that.

Souchez had field-gla.s.ses slung around his neck. Renoux took them, gazed at the receding boat, set his teeth hard.

"Ferez!" he growled.