CHAPTER VII.
SMITTEN WITH SERPENTS.
Doreen was wrong. The French did not abandon so lightly their schemeof striking at Albion through Cinderella. They revictualled theirfleet, made good the damage done by winds and waves, and lookedforward to the accomplishment of their object within half a year or soof their first failure. To make victory doubly sure, a second fleetwas got together in the Texel, under the command of the solidDutchman, De Winter, who agreed with the Gallic Directory thatnow was the time or never; for the British navy was utterlydisorganised--there were mutinies among the sailors at Plymouth and atPortsmouth, and one more serious still, under Parker, at the Nore.What moment could be better chosen for conveying an army to Irelandthan one in which the mistress of the seas lay crippled; when theChannel--unusual circumstance--was open to the world? Wolfe Tone,however, did not recover his enthusiasm. The conduct of his brethrenat home, when friendly vessels were in the offing, had beenreprehensible--pusillanimous. Instead of rising and making a vigorouseffort for freedom, those who pretended to be their chiefs hadbickered and shilly-shallied among themselves--a sight to command thescorn of honest men--and the young hero was profoundly discouraged. Hebegan to doubt his countrymen; yet would he not desert them thoughthey seemed inclined to desert themselves, but joined the Texel fleet,under Daendels and De Winter, hoping and praying for the best. It wasa fine fleet of fifteen sail of the line and ten frigates. If the windwould only blow fair--if the shoals and sandbanks of the Texel wereonce safely passed--then success was certain. For Admiral Duncan, whowas watching, had but a few vessels under his command, and even someof these were called home in consequence of the Nore troubles.
'Hurry then!' cried De Winter and old Daendels. 'Ship the troops, andlet us be off.'
The troops were shipped--everything was ready; but Daendels and DeWinter whistled vainly for a fair wind. The elements, as usual, wereon the side of England. Before, there had been too much wind; now, nota breath stirred the air. The sea was a dead calm. The admirals andgenerals marched up and down the deck--beautiful--in blue, withrainbow sashes, and hats prodigious with great plumes of the threecolours. But no breeze moved a feather of the plumes. Exasperated,they descended to the cabin to while away the time with music, whilethe precious sand was dripping in the glass. De Winter had a prettytalent on the flute, as also had Tone, and so these two warriorsobliged the company with duets--artistic trills and variations--what astrange spectacle! But by-and-by their patience oozed out of theflute-holes--they cursed themselves, and flung about the music in apassion; and indeed the clerk of the weather was vexing. June wasmerging into July--the mutinies were being put down--the goldenopportunity was slipping visibly away; Lord Bridport cruised out witha fleet to watch the French at Brest; Duncan's handful became asquadron, swinging idly at the Texel's mouth; the soldiers,unaccustomed to close packing, showed signs of sickness; theprovisions were sensibly diminishing; unless fortune should choose toturn her wheel with speed this expedition would be a greater fiascoeven than the other.
Meanwhile there was a panic amongst the friends of Government inDublin, who knew not that the elements were fighting for them. Theposition of England was most critical. Should this new enterprisesucceed, what chance of succour could there be from Britain? None. Shehad quite enough to do to cope with her own difficulties. There wereforty thousand soldiers who had been drafted into Ireland by degrees;but could these be relied on? The Hessians were beery brutal wretches,who would probably turn coward at a pinch. The Scotch and Englishregiments made no secret of their abhorrence of the attitude of thenative yeomanry. As for the militia, it was disaffected, and wouldcertainly fling itself into the balance on the side of probablesuccess. The people were fiercely sullen--in a dangerous mood, likerats prepared to spring. If the French should come and be victorious,they would rally like one man round the tricolour, and then woe to thesmall knot of tyrants! Not one of the ascendency party could hope toescape. Not a Protestant lord or lady in the land but would be hackedin pieces with the inevitably accompanying atrocities of internecinestrife. It was an awful prospect. My lords, who had been blindlyfollowing the lead of the executive, looked uneasily towards theCastle. They had done as they were bidden, aided by promises andpensions--but of what use is a pension when your throat is cut? Werethey to be protected from the growling rabble--these hereditarylegislators, who had abused their trust--these amateur colonels whohad disgraced their cloth--this venal degraded senate which was abyword among senates? Members of both Houses were nervous. Hadtheir zeal led them perhaps too far? Would it be better to hedge alittle--to permit the miserable cottagers to exist in peace? The PrivyCouncil debated long and anxiously. Lord Camden was frightened at theacts which were perpetrated in his name. Mr. Speaker ventured toremark that a line of commendation from Mr. Pitt, and a promise ofhelp in case of need, would be consoling to his coadjutors. ArthurWolfe became plunged in melancholy. He was drifting on a stream whichsickened him, towards a palpable goal which he contemplated withterror. Was there no escape from the horror that was looming? Helooked to Lord Clare as to a helmsman who is responsible for thesafety of the crew.
But Lord Clare's nerves did not desert him at this crisis. His clearintellect told him that it was too late for hedging; now there was noretreat. King George hated the Catholics, and would smile on those whoevilly entreated them. Mr. Pitt had sketched out a plan of action longago, which must be carried out faithfully to the letter. Mr. Pitt haddecided that Cinderella must be put on the rack; that her limbs mustbe given a good wrenching; and that afterwards--so soon as she shouldknow by experience what agony really is--she should be tucked upcosily and made comfortably bedridden for the rest of her naturalexistence. It stood to reason that she would scream--so would you or Iif thus surgically treated; but when once we grow used to it, there isa charm about being bedridden. People come to amuse us--to feed uswith dainty things; they coddle us and comfort us, and we are reallynot unhappy. Therefore, although these unfortunate mutinies hadsomewhat complicated the case, it would never do to blench at socritical a moment. Having put his hand to the wheel, my lordchancellor knew that he must look steadily forward, and not backward.His countrymen must be taught that any _regime_ would be better thanthe one under which they groaned; the senate must be made so to commititself that it could never raise its head again so long as the worldrolled; then what would be easier than to consummate the originalplan, to abolish the senate, and absorb Ireland by stratagem into thebody of a complete British empire--one and indivisible?
So wrote the chancellor to Mr. Pitt, who replied in courteouslanguage; for his chief puppet was jumping admirably: he would soon bebattered and worn out--would then have to be replaced by another. Butthe doll was not past service yet--it was still gay and bright withpaint; was still capable of dancing: so Mr. Pitt wrote civil lettersto Lord Clare, bidding him not to stick at trifles. Thus supported,Lord Clare spoke clearly at the Council Board. Desperate diseases mustbe met with desperate remedies, he said. Arthegal, figure of justicein the Faery Queen, is armed with an iron flail. The people arefurious, are they? Then they must be made more furious still. When youwant to tame a lion do you pat him? No, or he would rend you. Youstrike him with whips--touch him with red-hot irons. To be governed hemust be ruled by fear; and so is it with the people of this island.Having gone as far as we have, it will never do to show that we'reafraid of them. They must be ground down--must be rendered so passiveby exhaustion that, French or no French, they will be too weak to domuch harm. In the first place we'll arrest those lads again who havebeen playing the fool too long. We will make a plunge at the leaders,so that if the Gauls should happen to arrive, they will find nobody inauthority to co-operate with them.
Lord Camden endorsed these sentiments, mumbling platitudes aboutself-preservation; that it has unpleasant duties, but that manyunpleasant things have to be done, etc., etc., and the council brokeup; my Lord Clare strutting forth to give his orders, Arthur Wolfemov
ing slowly homeward with a worn and troubled face. Then by defthints and nods and winks, my Lord Clare brought those who served himto know what was expected of them. He rallied the members of theHouses on their nervousness.
'You wear his Majesty's uniform, my lords and gentlemen,' he said. 'Ipresume you would not wish to be mere carpet-knights. The Irish alwayswere good fighters. You will defend the King's rights if it comes to abrush with the rabble?' He gave the squireens to understand that theywere fine jovial fellows, with a strong sense of humour and a subtleappreciation of a practical joke. 'Now that recent invention ofyours,' he observed airily, 'of wringing confession from a man byhanging him, then cutting him down before his soul has had time toescape, is vastly droll!'
Thereupon the jolly boys, determined to win yet further commendation,and delighted to give vent unrestrained to the native brutality ofuneducated man, set their wits to work and gave birth to otherinventions. We know that a demand invariably creates a supply. Thegentlemen of the yeomanry vied one with the other in cultivation oftheir inventive faculty and the result was an array of practicaljokes, novel and splendid indeed! Even the great French reign ofterror was thrown into the shade. The French, as we all know, are notinventive or witty. A guillotine--a constant flow of blood and fallingheads; a boat with a trap-door to drown people by the dozen--amusingrather for a minute, then nauseously dull and monotonous. The jollyIrish boys were much wittier than this, and more ingenious; and yet,by one of the strange chances of history, people shudder still overRobespierre and Marat and their doings, and are absolutely carelessand ignorant as to what was done at home not ninety years ago.
Lady Camden grew terrified at reports which reached her ears. LordCamden shut himself up at the Viceregal Lodge, and promenaded thePh[oe]nix Park, round which was a protecting military cordon. Lordsand ladies left Dublin furtively. Some for England--some for theirfamily acres in the far west; impelled--some by fear--some by thepromptings of the chancellor--a few only by a sense of duty to theirtenantry.
A certain earl set up a triangle in his barrack-yard, and was neverweary of flaying the backs of the neighbouring peasants. To suchlengths went he and his, that an English colonel, also quarteredthere, was forced to expostulate with his lordship, to the chagrin ofthe latter. My Lord Downshire retired to his hills, and kept hisregiment within bounds. Indeed, he and my Lord Powerscourt wereseverely rebuked by the chancellor--the latter especially; for hedared to say that his tenants had been armed at his own expense forthe protection of property, not for the commission of murders--uponwhich the chancellor groaned aloud; for this was a malignant exampleto others. My Lord Powerscourt, however, was not to be persuaded. Helocked up his grand house in Dublin, and revisited it no more untilthe legislative struggle took place which concluded the century.
Nothing could be more dismal than the Irish capital now. There was aspecies of curfew at sunset, after which few ventured in the street.Major Sirr and his myrmidons glided hither and thither on theirdevilish errand of cajoling men to their destruction. It was thebusiness of these miscreants to provide victims for the lash by anymeans. Bands of drunken yeomanry awoke the midnight echoes with theirshouting as they returned from breaking into a dwelling, or fromflogging victims in the riding-school. For Claudius Beresford'sriding-school had been turned by one of the practical jokes into atorture-chamber, where men, kidnapped on mere suspicion, were draggedand tied up, and lacerated without mercy night and day; whilstscurrying passers-by fled onward with their fingers in their ears.Some died under the lash--some swooned, to wake up idiotsafterwards--some recovered, to wear till death livid welts upon theirbacks and inextinguishable hatred in their hearts.
My Lady Camden, growing more and more apprehensive--for her lord'sbabble was incoherent--resolved to go down into the city and see forherself what passed there. She drove her four ponies along OrmondQuay, which was as deserted as if the town were plague-stricken; theyswerved, and well-nigh upset her ladyship, for a single naked figurecame tearing round a corner with wild yells and windmill arms, who,rushing past, flung himself over the parapet into the Liffey.Helter-skelter behind him came the hounds--in scarlet coats andpipe-clayed cross-belts--but the lady-lieutenant saw them not. Theagonised victim of a joke wore a pitched cap upon his head, which wasset ablaze and was grilling his living brains. This pleasantry wasspoiled, for the wretch had presence of mind left to seek oblivion inthe water. But another joke succeeded, which bade fair to end badlyfor the jokers. The Viceroy's lady lay back in a dead faint. Herponies galloped along the street with her, their reins catching roundtheir legs. The joke might have ended in the breaking of herexcellency's precious neck. As soon as possible after this episode,she retired to England, and my Lord Clare made capital out of thecircumstance. Were not the people behaving disreputably, when even thewife of the King's representative had thought it necessary to takerefuge in flight? There had been, he averred, a new project to stormKilmainham and set the criminals at liberty. To what a horrid nationwas it his destiny to belong!
It is not surprising that at this juncture he should have found anannoying stumbling-block in Curran. That worthy could do nothing butprotest; but people who protest can make themselves very disagreeable,especially if they chance to peer further than the mob, and choose totell what they see. Cassandra was only a mad woman, but we all knowhow unpleasant she could make herself. Curran had a clear head, asharp wit, a biting tongue, and he exercised all three in the House ofCommons, much to Lord Clare's displeasure. Now we have all learnedthat as we mount the rungs of the social ladder, society bows more andmore before conventionality. Such a thing is 'vulgar'--such another'low;' why or wherefore nobody can tell, though it probably arisesfrom the fact that the more rarified the atmosphere, the moreartificial become those who breathe it, the less liable to think forthemselves, the more ready to lean on others' crutches, the morelikely to be shocked at the enunciation of new problems, which theyare too idle or too prejudiced or too stupid or too sluggish totrouble about sifting for themselves. It might be taken for grantedthat the senators of both Houses were aware--down in theirsoul-caves--how base was their line of conduct. But for the sake oftheir own interest, they had agreed to fence themselves about with aquickset of make-belief, for the concealment of their shame and theprotection of their phantom-honour. It was a very vexatious thing,then, for a man who was gifted with an epigrammatic way ofcrystallising truths to make a snuffy little Solomon Eagle ofhimself--to persist in uncovering cancers which were decorouslysheeted over, to unveil sores which were neatly trimmed about withsham roses.
Lord Clare, in his wrath, resolved to make another attempt to crushthe viper. He set a specially rowdy band of jokers at free quarters atthe Priory. They rollicked about, frightened Sara out of her wits,drank the lawyer's best whisky; but that vexed him not, for he wasincorrigibly hospitable. He locked himself into his bedroom with hischild, and droned out, to soothe her, a fantasia on the violoncello.It may possibly have soothed Sara (though she was in awful trepidationlest young Robert should ride up and perceive how she was insulted),but it most certainly succeeded in irritating the jovial sons of Marsin the dining-parlour below. They yelled to Curran to come forth. Hecame. They took his violoncello and smashed it into bits. Sara quailedlest her father's choler should outstrip his reason; but he onlymurmured:
'They are actors, playing parts which are set down for them;' andaddressing them, said, with scorching contempt: 'Sirs, you are senthere to insult, under his own roof, a man old enough to be yourparent, and a young lady whose health is delicate. I sorrow to thinkthat you are Irish, and that the fine cloth you wear should notexclusively be used by gentlemen.' Then, passing through their midst,he saddled his nag, and, trotting into town, related his story to hisfriend Arthur Wolfe.
The attorney-general was terribly distressed. This stream, on whosebosom he had elected to sail, was taking him--whither? He flew to ElyPlace, scolded the chancellor in terms which made the autocratstare--in such terms of burning reproach that the latter saw he hadmade a
blunder; that he had outstripped prudence, and sulkily signedthe order to remove the obnoxious soldiery.
But he was not to be turned from his purpose by any maunderingsentimentality on the part of the attorney-general. It was necessary,was it, to leave Mr. Curran alone? That was a pity, but all the morereason for a display of energy in another quarter. In pursuance of hisdetermination, so sweetly expressed in metaphor, to tame the lion withblows and hot irons, Lord Clare proceeded, as chancellor of theUniversity, to hold a visitation there, in order publicly to deplorethe doings of the undergraduates.
The worthy gentleman was pained, he said. Alma Mater had taken thefell disease, the contagious epidemic (there could be no doubt aboutit), the only remedy against the spread of which was cautery. A numberof students were ignominiously expelled; foremost amongst them RobertEmmett, (who was conspicuous for a tendency to inconvenient argument,)although his tutor, Mr. Graves, pleaded hard for him. Robert, filledwith glee, rushed off to his brother's office to tell the gloriousnews--that he, boy though he were, had been deemed worthy of themartyr's crown. But when he reached the place he found that there wereto be other martyrs besides himself. For the second time the house ofhis brother Tom was attacked and gutted. As he turned into the street,the presses were being pitched out of window, the types strewn in themire, the tables and office-stools broken up to make a bonfire.Knitting his brows, he crossed his arms and stood watching theyeomanry at play; then wheeling about, he made the best of his way toCutpurse Row, where, in the cellar of a crazy tenement, the patriotswere accustomed to assemble, instead of riding out to the 'IrishSlave,' as they used more warily to do, before the destruction of theshebeen.
Russell, Bond, Dease, and others were there, delegates of the societyfor Dublin and its environs. Robert, looking round, perceived Cassidyfidgeting in a corner. Terence was not present. Cassidy observed this,and growled with disappointment between his teeth.
Tom Emmett was finishing a speech, wherein he declared to his audiencethat his opinions were changed. The French were coming; were, indeed,expected hourly. But it would not do to wait for them, as on a latedisastrous occasion; a blow must be struck, a heavy and united blow.If the French came to follow it up, so much the better. The shockingbehaviour of the friends of Government was becoming hourly moreunbearable; the outrages committed by soldiers at free-quarters dailymore flagrant and atrocious. He spoke with Irish hyperbole and aburning fervour of conviction which just suited the temper of hishearers.
'We must heed no more,' he cried, 'the glare of hired soldiery oraristocratic yeomanry. War, and war alone, must occupy every mind andevery hand in Ireland, till its oppressed soil be purged of all itsenemies. Vengeance, Irishmen! vengeance on your oppressors! Rememberthe crimes of years! Remember their burnings, their torturings, theirlegal murders! Remember Orr!'
At the end of a long peroration he paused for breath; and Cassidy, whowas evidently anxious to 'catch the speaker's eye,' trolled forth inhis rich voice the words which were becoming familiar to every one'slips:
'What rights the brave? The sword! What frees the slave? The sword! What cleaves in twain the despot's chain, and makes his gyves and dungeons vain? The sword!'
All present took up the chorus, and looked towards the giants asthough waiting for the next verse; but he raised his hand for silence,and said:
'Bedad, ye're right, friends. The sword's the only thing for poor Pat.But be careful now. Where's the young lordling who makes himself sobusy?'
'Councillor Crosbie should have been here,' returned a delegate.'Maybe he's bin detained.'
Cassidy smiled a smile of meaning, and leisurely surveying the knot ofmen before him, replied with a dry cough:
'Maybe he has! Let's hope it's upon honest business. I've come here togive ye a word of warning, a friendly hint I gleaned up at the Castle.I'd advise none of yez to go back to their own homes this day.'
'Why? Speak out, man. We are all friends here,' said Tom Emmett,calmly.
'Becase ye'll chance to find visitors if you do,' was the bluntrejoinder. 'Now I'm off.'
Robert Emmett eagerly corroborated the giant's hint. He had seen thesoldiery but now in his brother's house. It was likely that if one wasattacked, the dwellings of the rest would likewise receive a visit. Itwould never do for the prime movers in the conspiracy all to betrapped. Perhaps it was a false alarm, though. At Tom Emmett's aseditious print was published, which it was a wonder had been sparedso long. The case of the delegates was different, for strict secrecyhad been maintained concerning them. None save the members themselvesknew who formed the central committee. Government spies had no meansof knowing their names. In this at least they were cautious. That theyhad all taken the oath, was neither here nor there. If Governmentintended of a sudden to lay hands upon every Irishman who had takenthe oath, they would do well to follow Herod's example at once, andorder a general massacre. No, no. It was absolutely impossible thateither my Lords Clare or Camden, or Secretary Cooke, could possiblyknow who all the leading spirits were by whose agency the vast machineof conspiracy was set in motion. Tom Emmett must disappear for awhile. His paper put him too much _en evidence_. It was good offaithful Cassidy to keep his ears open. Blunderer though he was, andlamentable as had more than once been the fruit of his blundering, yetwas he now and then most useful, and deserved a special vote of thanksfrom the Directory, which then and there they passed on him.
Apparently he was modest as well as virtuous, for in the cackle whichfollowed his announcement he departed, his flat face aglow, his eyestwinkling with satisfaction at their compliments.
'So Emmett's paper was to be stopped at last,' they said one toanother. 'The only marvel was that it should have been permitted soprolonged an existence. The last mouth which had lifted up its voiceto speak the truth was to be gagged. It was indeed time to draw thesword.
Then Robert proudly told of his expulsion from Alma Mater; of my LordClare's overbearing mien at the visitation; of the many warm handswhich had gripped his, as, disgraced but proud, he quitted thequadrangle.
Tom, his eye kindling with emotion, laid his hand upon his youngerbrother's head.
'Robert,' he said, 'what e'er betide, if, in the conflict which isimminent, we two be separated, the one who survives will be proud ofhim who's fallen. We shall conquer. Erin shall be free! But many mustfirst lay down their lives for her! I pray God that it may be Hispleasure to spare yours!'
Robert turned white, though his heart was stout. He was brave with thehighest of all bravery, for though the sight of a cut finger made himill, yet was he determined now to face the sea of blood, if need were,without blenching. His was a higher courage than that common one whichlooks on danger without fear. He knew that in action he should be inmortal dread; but he knew too that, upheld by duty, he wouldnevertheless be always in the van. A thought crossed his mind whichbrought with it a momentary tremor. When the fiery cross was at lastlighted--when the hands of kinsmen were at each other's throats--whenDublin was burning--her gutters running red--what would be the fate ofdelicate sensitive natures like that of Sara--of sweet, pale SaraCurran, round whose form his heart-strings were softly wrappingthemselves? What if he were to fall? what if fortune should not smileupon the patriots? He was quite aware that Heaven frequently delightsin persecuting those who do well, and showering favours on the mostundeserving, almost offering a premium for evildoing. Therefore,however just the cause of Erin, it was possible that her probation wasnot over--in such a case what would become of Sara, and such as her?Dear gentle Primrose! He thrust the unwelcome thought aside. Therewere enough lugubrious subjects which might not be escaped, withoutwilfully conjuring up baleful images. He returned the pressure of hisbrother's hand, and with ardent eyes upraised, broke out into songonce more, in which all joined solemnly, as though offering up awar-hymn:
'What shelter's right? The sword! What makes it might? The sword! What strikes the crown of tyrants d
own-- And answers with its flash the frown? The sword!'
Truly there must have been something ill-omened about this specialhymn. For the second time it served to cloak the advancing footstepsof the enemy. For the second time it was interrupted by the rap of thesame unfriendly fingers.
Somebody was knocking--somebody gave the password 'Mr. Green.' It mustbe Terence. He had promised to come, in order that a military schemeof his might be discussed; one of which Emmett approved highly, thoughstupid Cassidy had affected to laugh at it. Certainly it must beTerence, who bade fair to become the leader they had all been sighingfor so long in vain. Why did not some one run and open the door? It isbut poor manners to keep a gentleman waiting in the street. Robert washastening to do so--for he loved Terence dearly--when he was stoppedby the old woman who kept the house.
'Whisht! Master Robert, darlint,' she said in a terrified whisper.'Sure, I looked from the garret window and saw the glint of bayonets.For the love of the Holy Mother have a care!'
Swiftly the boy climbed the stairs and looked out. The hag's aged eyeshad not deceived her. The street was surrounded by a cordon ofsoldiers, who stopped passengers at either end at the bayonet's point.A guard of yeomanry was stationed at the front door; another at theprivate back-entrance, which was accessible by a tortuous passage intoa side-street. A short person with hooked beak, eyes too closetogether, shaded by brows which met in a tuft over his nose, wasknocking. It was Major Sirr. How could he know of this back-entrance?How did he know that the watchword was 'Mr. Green'? There was of asurety hideous treachery somewhere!
Robert returned to his comrades and told them who was outside. ThenCassidy had been muddleheaded once again! The news he had brought wasworse than none, for it was misleading. Instead of bidding them escapeforthwith from Cutpurse Row, he had told them to avoid their homes.The houses was surrounded. _The secret back entrance upon which theyrelied was known_. Who was the Judas?
Having revealed so much, how much more might he not reveal? Withtroubled brain and clouded eye Tom Emmett looked on one and thenanother of the haggard faces before him.
The knocking continued. Some step must be taken. Happily half a dozenof the delegates were absent. The town-major might smoke out the nest.Some of the hornets were abroad. This was a mercy. The entire broodwould not be taken. Who were the absent ones? Terence! Tom Emmettwrung his hands together as the light broke on him. How blind! It wasto him Cassidy had vaguely pointed. What a snake in the grass, withhis clever military plan and pinchbeck enthusiasm! Tom remembered nowthe behaviour of Miss Wolfe to her cousin at the ball. Her veiledwarnings. She was as true as steel. Alas! She could aid them no longerwith her counsels. She had seen through her cousin, and, her familyfeeling coming into jarring juxtaposition with her devotion to unhappyErin, had retired from the field, too deeply wounded to take anyfurther part in the affray. Yes! It must be Councillor Crosbie who wasthe Judas. Tom Emmett saw it now that it was too late. In a few hastywords he conveyed his impression to his brother.
Robert opened his mouth indignantly to defend the councillor; but heonly sighed, for, from whatever side the treachery came, it wassoul-wearing. His forebodings of a few minutes since crowded up againlike visions in a nightmare. A pitfall had been cunningly prepared forthe patriots to their undoing. A few were yet abroad who might take aresponsible part, but this was a withering blow. Treachery? Of coursethere was. It was altogether a bewildering occupation to pass trustedcharacters and names in mental review with an eye to the detection ofthe traitor. That there was a traitor there could now be no doubt, butRobert swore to himself with sturdy faith, that, be he whom he might,his name was not Terence Crosbie!
The knocking became louder--more peremptory. There was no escape.There was nothing for it but submission. With dry lustrous eyes TomEmmett bade his brother go and open the door.
There would be a trial--a court-martial. Vain mockery! Would theresult be execution--or lifelong servitude--or banishment? Thechief of the Irish Directory felt the humbling conviction that he wasnot fit for his post. Like Phaeton he had leapt into the sun-chariot.He had been fooled and toyed with. The precious deposit whosecare he had presumptuously accepted was shattered through hisfault--yes--certainly through his fault. He should have been morecautious in accepting Crosbie's overtures. Precious lives would now besacrificed--the cause gravely compromised, if not altogether ruined.Execution--lifelong servitude? How wildly did Tom Emmett long at thismoment for the former--how gladly would he have hugged the rope--howjoyfully would he even have walked to the riding-school whereBeresford and his fellow-devils carried on their fiendish work! Anypersonal pain--the more poignant the more welcome! Anything whichmight rouse the hapless patriot from the grinding weight which crushedhim now, as prone on his face he lay sobbing on a form.
Many an encouraging hand was laid upon his shoulder.
'Cheer up, man! we're in the same boat,' the delegates murmured. 'It'sthe chance of war--of an ignoble war waged in the dark against honestmen by an ignoble adversary. Fortune is cruel to us; but we'll snapour fingers in her face. If we are to die, let us die as men--not intears like women. Rouse up, Tom! rouse up, boy! Put on a good front.Open the door, Robert. If they have learned to probe thus deeply inour secrets, they will know more--enough to hang us every one. There'sno good in battling with them.'
Major Sirr entered, and saluted his victims with one of the elaboratemilitary evolutions which had become the vogue. Tom Emmett startedfrom the form, and held himself erect. A paper caught his eyes. Heclutched and tore it into fragments.
'Gentlemen, you are my prisoners!' Major Sirr said, with a portentoussword-wave. 'It's no good resisting. I'm glad to see you know betterthan to resist. Here is my warrant--made out in all your names. Wewill go, if you please, in the first instance to Castle-yard; then toKilmainham, where you'll meet your friends.' He smiled at Tom Emmettwith a sinister smile, and stirred the fluttering fragments of paperwith his swordpoint. 'What's this?' he said, the tuft of eyebrowswrinkling down his nose. 'I know what it is--a list of your precioussociety, I dare say. Ye're mighty fond of waging war on paper,gentlemen! Look here now! All we want to know of ye we do know--orcould speedily learn. I might have those bits picked up and gluedtogether. But I won't, for 'tisn't worth my while. There! Come,gentlemen, march! Dease--where's Dease? I saw him but now. We mustn'tlose him, for he's a docthor, and Kilmainham's terrible full of sick!Dease, where are yez? I have him on the list.'
But the delegate who answered to the name of Dease had no intention ofvisiting Kilmainham. Upon the first entrance of Sirr, he had withdrawnin the confusion to an upper room, and making use of his surgicalknowledge, had severed the femoral artery. When the soldiers found himhe was dying; which aggravated Sirr no little, who was proud of hismasterly treatment of the hornet's nest.
'Come, put out a nimble leg!' he cried crossly. 'We've parleyed toolong. To business! to business!'
Between a double file of soldiers the delegates were marched off, downseveral streets, to Castle-yard, while the populace looked on,dull-browed. They attempted no rescue. It is probable that fewrealised what band it was which was being thus openly conducted to itsfate (many such bands passed along Dublin streets)--that few wereaware that in this little knot were centred the hopes of deliverancefor which all were praying.
They were gone. Only Robert Emmett and Major Sirr were left behind.
'Am I to go with you? I will go,' Robert said.
The major looked at him, and gave way to a sepulchral cachinnation.Then by his action he belied the language he had used just now. Withthe greatest care and deliberation he stooped and picked up the tornscraps of paper. When they were bestowed to his satisfaction in awallet, he looked at Robert and laughed again, wrinkling his sinistereyebrow tuft:
'Adieu, my lad! and good luck!' he grunted. 'No, no! We don't want youyet, my little cockatrice! All in good time--when ye're fledged!Good-bye! or rather _au revoir!_'
My Lords of Strogue, Vol. 2 (of 3) Page 7