"To blazes wid you, and don't bother me--no, I'm not--I've tied my handkerchy about the place I was shot in, an' stopped the blood--eh--here--well done, Mark--hem--Phil Hart, I mane--bravo--see--that now--instead of bleatin' like a dyin' sheep, I've stopped the blood, an' here I am able to stand and walk. Come," said he, approaching his companion, "where are you shot?--let us see?"

He stooped down, and on examining the Wound by the light of the moon, perceived at once that it was not all imagination and evil conscience.

He consequently forced him to his legs, then bound up the wound with the fellow's handkerchief just as he had done his own, and in a few minutes they were able to resume their journey, slowly, it is true, and on the part of Ratigan, whose wound was the more serious, with a good deal of difficulty and pain, notwithstanding his hardihood.

In the meantime, M'Carthy was soon overtaken by the friendly Whiteboy, whose speed; of foot was indeed extraordinary. On seeing, the dagger in his pursuer's hand--for such he deemed him to be--he had prepared himself for resistance, the fact being, than in consequence of their blackened faces, and the state of perturbation and excitement in which he felt himself, he was in no condition to recognize any of the party unless by their voices.

"Don't be alarmed," exclaimed the stranger, approaching him, "I have saved your life for this night most likely, by takin' the, life of them that intended to murder you."

"I certainly feel," replied M'Carthy, "that I owe my life to you, and I know not what return I can make you for it. But why should I speak so, since I am ignorant of your name, as well as of everything whatsoever concerning you? As to the other two persons, I cannot understand why they should attempt to murder me, as I am not conscious of having given offence to, any person."

"You have never given offence to them," replied the stranger; "but unfortunately this, part of the country's in such a state of feelin' at the present time, that it's as aisy to find one man to murdher another as it would be to get a man to shoot a dog. No, sir; you never offended these men, but they were set on to take your life by a man who hates you."

"Well, since you have been on more than one occasion so generous to me, can you not let me know who that person is?"

"No, sir; that man has a hundred--ay, ten hundred eyes through the counthry--in the shape of spies--and five times as many hands any time he may wish for them. You may thank a friend of yours for sendin' me to save your life this night. Your family have been friends to him and to me too, although you don't know it. As for me, I go with him heart an'

hand in puttin' down the t.i.thes, but I'll always save the life of a friend, if I can; and indeed I have been forced to shoot these two men, in ordher to save yours to-night. I must go now and see what state they're in--whether alive or dead; but before. I go, listen:--tell the procthor that he has a fearful account to meet, and that soon; let neither him nor his sons be fool-hardy; say to him, that the wisest thing he can do is to remove himself and his family into the town of Lisnagola; or, if he won't do that, to keep his house half-filled with fire-arms; for I tell you now, the time is not long till he'll need them all. Tell them not to go out at night at all, or even by day, unless well armed; and do you yourself take the same advice; and now good-night. But, listen again: there, you see, is the spot below there, where the car was to meet you; but there's no car in it, and even if there was, I wouldn't recommend you to go on it; and if you're goin'

to O'Driscol's don't go up the avenue, but by the back way, behind the garden, for it's very likely there's another man--and a fearful man, on the look-out for you, in case you should be missed by us. Farewell, for the present."

A few minutes brought this kind-hearted Whiteboy back to the spot where Hourigan and his companion, who was also his cousin, fell. He was a good deal surprised, but still highly gratified, at not finding them where they had fallen, as it was a 'proof to him that his aim at either had not been fatal, as he certainly had no intention of taking their lives, or of rendering them any greater injury than the infliction of such wound as might put an end to their pursuit of M'Carthy. On advancing a little farther, he saw them proceeding, by a different but shorter path towards the inland country; and being now satisfied, from their appearance, that they had not been mortally wounded, he left them to reach home as best they might, and proceeded himself in another direction.

CHAPTER XI.--The Sport Still Continued.

It is necessary to say here, that Moylan had not the slightest intention of sending Mr. Purcel's car to meet our friend M'Carthy, inasmuch as he never for a moment supposed that this devoted youth was likely to leave the mountains alive. His own egregious vanity, engrafted on a cowardly, jealous, and malignant disposition, prompted him, ever since he had been induced by the pedlar, out of a mere banter, to suppose that he had engaged the affections of Julia Purcel, to look upon this young man as a person that ought to be got out of his way. In this manner there was, indeed, a peculiar combination of circ.u.mstances against M'Carthy; for it so happened that Moylan, whilst anxious to wreak his own jealousy and hatred upon him, was, at the same time, executing the will of another individual who stood behind the scenes. On every side, then, M'Carthy was surrounded by mortal dangers that were completely veiled in obscurity. During this very night it was resolved to a.s.sa.s.sinate him, be the consequences what they might; and if he should escape, in the one instance, he was to be sought after in whatever house he took refuge, with the exception only of Purcel's, which his enemies were, for the present, afraid to attack. Every avenue and road leading to it however, was watched, with a hope that if he escaped elsewhere, they might shoot him down from, behind a hedge.

The condition of all secret and illegal societies in Ireland is, indeed, shocking and most detestable, when contemplated from any point of view whatsoever. In every one of them--that is, in every local body or branch of such conspiracy--there is a darker and more secret cla.s.s, comparatively few in number, who undertake to organize the commission of crimes and outrages; and who, when they are controlled by the peaceably-disposed and enemies to bloodshed, always fall back upon this private and blood-stained clique, who are always willing to execute their sanguinary behests, as it were, _con amore_. In other cases, however, as we have stated before, even the virtuous and reluctant are often compelled, by the dark and stern decrees of these desperate ruffians, to perpetrate crimes from which they revolt. It was, therefore, in pursuance of these abominable principles that the arrangements for M'Carthy's murder were made on the night in question.

Jerry Joyce perceiving, as he had feared, that M'Carthy did not return to dinner, at once came to the determination that he would go to Finnerty's, where, from his connection with Whiteboyism, he knew that a meeting of them was to be held on that night. He accordingly armed himself with a ease of pistols, which he had been allowed to keep for the preservation of his master's family and premises, in case they should be attacked. He had not gone, however, within two miles of the mountains, when he met Mogue on His way home, carrying M'Carthy's, or rather John Purcel's double gun, and other shooting gear.

"Why, Mogue," said he, "how does this come? Where's Mr. M'Carthy from you?"

"Oh! that I may never sin--but sure I know I will--for I'm a great sinner--G.o.d forgive me!--but anyhow, that I may never sin, if I'm worth the washin'! Oh! Jerry, darlin', sick a killin' day as we had I never pa.s.sed, an' I'm well accustomed to the mountains. Sure, now, Jerry, if you have one s.p.u.n.k of common charity in your composition, you'll take me up on your back and carry me home, otherwise I'll lie down on the road, and either die at wanst or sleep it out till mornin'."

"But that's not tellin' me where you left Mr. M'Carthy," replied Jerry, whose apprehensions were not at all lessened by this indirect and circuitous answer. "Where is he, and what has become of him?"

"Of all the mists that ever riz out o' the airth, or fell from the blessed heavens above as--glory be to the name of G.o.d! we had it on the mountains this whole day. Why, now, Jerry, a happy death to me, but you might cut it with a knife, at the very least, an' how we got through it, I'm sure, barrin' the Providence of G.o.d, I dunna. But indeed we're far from bein' worthy of the care He takes of us."

While speaking, he had, as an ill.u.s.tration of his fatigue, taken his seat upon the gra.s.sy ditch, which bounded in the road, and altogether enacted the part of a man completely broken down by over-exertion.

"But, Mogue, my pious creature, you're not tellin' us where you left--"

"Why, then, salvation to you, for one Jerry, do you think it's ait him I did? Sound asleep in Frank Finnerty's I left him, where he'll be well taken care of. Oh! thin, if ever a poor inoffensive young gintleman--for sure he's that by birth, as we say, at all events, as well as by larnin'--was brought to death's door with this day's work, he was. I thought to flatther him home if he could come, but it was no go. An'

thin, agin, I thought it was a sin to ax' him; an' so for a afraid they'd be alarmed at home, I was on my way to make all your minds aisy.

An' whisper hether, Jerry--not that I look upon Frank Finnerty an the man he ought to be, for we all know the narrow escape he had for the murder of Tom Whisky's son--still an' all, he's safe wid Finnerty, bekaise he knows that we know where he is, and that if anything happened him we'd hould him accountable."

"Well," replied Jerry, affecting a satisfaction which, however, he did not feel, "I'm glad he's safe; for, as you say, Mogue, although Frank Finnerty is pretty well known, still what could tempt him to harm Mr.

M'Carthy?"

"I know that," said Mogue; "still an' all, the nerra foot I'd brought him to his house, only we stumbled on it out o' the mist, by mere accident, an' by coorse it was the next to us. Goodness' sake, Jerry, carry these things home for me, will you? I'm not able to mark the ground--do, avick, an' I'll offer up a pathran avy for you before I lay down my head this night, tired as I am."

"Well, begad, it's myself that would, Mogue, but you see, as I'm out for a while, an' so near my poor mother's, throth I'll slip over and see how she is, the crature; only for that, Mogue, I'd lighten you of the shootin' things wid a heart an' a half."

"But sure you can see your poor mother, the crature, any other evenin'?

Do come back, Jerry, an' I'll do twiste as much for you agin. Oh!

oh! milia murther! I'm not able to get on my legs. Give me your hand, Jerry--oh! oh!--well, well--what's this at all? Jerry, achora, don't desart me now, 'an me in the state you see. I'll never get home by myself--that's what I won't--mavrone, oh! what's this?--I'm fairly kilt."

"Well, but the thruth is, Mogue," replied his companion, "that I got a message from my mother, sayin' that she's not well, and wishes most partiklarly to see me about my sisther Shibby's marriage. Now, Mogue, you're a pious and religious boy, an' would be the last to encourage me to neglect a parent's wishes: ay, or that would allow me to do so, even if I intended it; throth I know it's a scoulden' you'd give me if I did."

Mogue's flank was completely turned; he was, in fact, most adroitly taken upon his own principle; his egregious vanity was ticked by this compliment to his piety; and, as he was at no time a person of firm character, he gave way.

Thought Jerry to himself, as he left this plausible hypocrite, to proceed home under his affected fatigue, "I know there's mischief on foot to-night, for if there wasn't I an' others 'ud be summoned to this meetin'; there will be n.o.body there, I suppose, but the black squad or the bloodmen. It'll go hard wid me, at any rate, but I'll send one there that'll bring Mr. M'Carthy from among them without suspicion; an' so here goes to lose no time about it."

He then plunged into the most solitary and remote fields, and pursued his way, anxious, if possible, to meet no one, much less any of those who belonged, as he said, "to the black squad."

Of late, the state of public feeling upon the subject of t.i.thes had become so violent and agitated, that Mr. Purcel's immediate friends found it almost a matter involving their personal safety to dine with him. At all events, such of them as accepted his hospitality took care to leave his house very early, and to keep themselves well armed besides. On the evening in question, no one had been invited but M'Carthy and Fergus O'Driscol. The heroic magistrate, however, ever since the receipt of the threatening letter, would not suffer his son (who certainly partic.i.p.ated in none of his father's cowardice), to dine abroad at all, lest his absence and well-known intrepidity might induce the Whiteboys, or other enemies of law, to attack the house when its princ.i.p.al defence was from home. The evening, therefore, hung heavy on their heads at Longshot Lodge, which was the name of Purcel's residence, especially upon that of the fair Julia, who felt not merely disappointed, but unusually depressed' by the unaccountable absence of her lover, knowing as she did, the turbulence which prevailed in the country. She scarcely ate any dinner, and in the course of a short time retired to her own room, which commanded a view of the way by which he should approach the house, where she watched, cas.e.m.e.nt up, until she heard a foot in the avenue, which, however, her acute ear, well accustomed to McCarthy's, soon told her was not that of her lover. On looking more closely she perceived, however, that it was Mogue Moylan; and, unable to restrain her impatience, she raised the window still higher, and called down as Mogue pa.s.sed under it, on his way round to the kitchen, but in a low, earnest voice, with, as Mogue thought, a good deal of confidential in it, "Is that Mogue?"

"Eh!" he exclaimed, struck almost on the instant into a state of ecstacy; "Is that Miss Julia?"

"Yes, Mogue," she replied, in the same low voice, "I do not wish to run the risk of speaking to you from this; stay there, and I will go to one of the windows of the front parlor."

"Well," thought Mogue, "it is come to this at last? oh, thin, but I was a blackguard haythen an' nothing else ever to think of you, Letty Lenehan, or any low-born miscreant like you. The devil blow her aist, waist, north, and south, the flipen' blazes, and to think o' the freedoms she used to take wid me, as if she was my aquils; but sure, dam her cribs! whatever I intended to do, it wasn't to marry her, an' can I forget, moreover, the day she gave me the b.l.o.o.d.y nose, when I only went to take a small taste o' liberty wid the thief."

In the course of a minute or two, Julia made her appearance at the window, with, in fact, a blushing face, if it could have only been seen with sufficient light. Now that she stood within a couple of yards of Moylan, she felt all the awkwardness and embarra.s.sment of the task she had undertaken, which was to inquire, without seeming to feel any personal interest, as to the cause of her lover's absence. In addition to the prevailing agitation, and the outrages arising from if, she had heard of so many accidents with sportsmen, so many guns had burst, so many explosions had taken place, and so many lives had been lost, that her warm fancy pictured his death in almost every variety of way in which a gun could occasion it. Owing to all this, she experienced a proportionable share of confusion and diffidence in managing her inquiries with proper address, and without betraying any suspicion of her motives.

"Mogue," said she, "I--hem--hem--I hope you don't feel fatigued after your sport'?"

"Ah, then, there it comes," thought Mogue; "how the crature feels for me! an' even if I did, Miss Julia, sure one kind word when I come home is fit to cure it."

"And you are sure to get that, Mogue," replied Julia, who took it for granted that he referred to Letty Lenehan, "but whisper," she proceeded, still speaking in a low voice, from an apprehension of being heard making the proposed inquiries by any of her family, "are you alone?"

"I am, indeed, Miss Julia," he replied in a tone of such coaxing and significant confidence, as would have been irresistibly laughable had she understood why he used it, "I am alone, Miss Julia, and you needn't be either ashamed or daunted in sayin' whatever you like to me--maybe I could guess what you're goin' to say, but I declare to you, and that my bed may be in heaven, but, say what you will, you'll find me--honor bright--do you understand that, Miss Julia?"

"Well, I think I do, Mogue, and if I didn't think so, I wouldn't have watched your return to-night as I did, or been here to speak to you on the subject you say you--know."

"An' sure, Miss Julia, you might a known, for some time past that I knew it; didn't I look like one that was up to it? An' listen hether, Miss Julia, my family was all honor bright; we wor great people in our day; sure we owned a big sweep of country long ago an' wor great sogers. We fought against the Sa.s.senaghs, the dirty English bodaghs, an' because there was a lot of us ever an' always hanged from time to time, that's the raison why we have sich a hatred to the English law still, one an'

all of us. Sure my grandfather, glory be to G.o.d, was hanged for killin'

a Sa.s.senagh gauger, and my own father, Miss Julia, did his endeavors to be as great as the best of them, knowin' no other way for to vex and revinge himself upon the dirty Sa.s.senaghs of the country; for sure, you know yourself, it's full o' them'--ay, about us in all directions. Be borried a horse in a private way from one o' them, but then he escaped from that; he next had a 'bout at what they call'd perjury, although it was well known to us all that it was only his thumb he kissed, and, any how, the thing was done upon a Protestant Bible; but, at all events, he went an' honest and honorably, as far as gettin' himself transported for parjury. I hope you understhand, Miss Julia, that I'm accountin' for any disparagin' observations you might a' heard against us, an' showin' you why we acted as we did."

"But, Mogue," said she, smiling at this most incomprehensible piece of family history, "I hope you don't intend to imitate the example or to share the fate of so many of your family!"

"You really hope so; now do you really hope so, Miss Julia?"

"Unquestionably; for granting you marry, as, I dare say you intend, would it not be a melancholy prospect for your wife to--"

"Why, then I do intend it; are you not satisfied, Miss Julia? and what is more, although it's my intention to violate the law in a private and confidential way, still I have no intention of bein' either hanged or transported by it; that I may be happy if I have--No, for the sake of that wife, Miss Julia, do you understand, it's my firm intention to die in my bed if I can; I hope you feel that there's comfort in that."