My Lords of Strogue, Vol. 2 (of 3)

by Lewis Wingfield

  CHAPTER XI.

  THE RISING OP THE TEMPEST.

  Nothing could be kinder than the stout homely lady's treatment of herguest. He seemed to have a sad sort of fascination for her. He caughther watching him sometimes with a queer expression of pity, whichbroke into amicable grins and head-shakings so soon as she foundherself detected. Norah, too, turned out to be a good-natured,unpretentious creature.

  On the whole, Terence was not surprised at his brother's choice,considering what a terror that truculent individual betrayed forhigh-bred damosels, and how little he was able to appreciate therefined fascinations of the haughty, calm Doreen.

  'It stood to reason,' so Terence argued, 'that if he were blind to theexistence of a divinity who, in semblance of a mortal maid, abode byhis fireside, then, of course, his senses must be gross, and nothingwould suit him but a house-wench.'

  Despite the draggled ball-room finery in which Norah elected to arrayherself for breakfast, in honour of the guest, he could not butperceive that she was no better than a serving-wench in mistress'sattire. But then she was a cheery, pleasant house-wench, instead of adesigning, cross one, as might have been the case. So he clasped herto his bosom, and the twain were soon fast friends.

  In the kitchen things did not go so smoothly. Phil's orders were thathe must never go out by daylight; so he sat in the kitchen all daylong, staring at Jug Coyle, the collough, who sat muttering andgrowling as she stared at him.

  For many years, when mistress of the 'Irish Slave,' Jug had nourisheda resentment against this unoffending youth, shaking a lean fist athim as he passed her door, muttering a curse when he called in for'the laste taste in life of the crayther.'

  Why? Because she was a collough and he a farrier; or, if he wasn't,why should he wield a firing-iron? Colloughs have always hatedfarriers, time out of mind, because they are rival practitioners inthe art of medicine, and the colloughs nourish a vague belief that, inthe days of the Bound Towers, the herbalists were lady-doctors, andthat they enjoyed an undisputed sway over both kine and gentlefolkuntil Crummell introduced the veterinary as a special branch ofAEsculapian science.

  He tried to ingratiate himself with the old dame by playing Peter toher Nurse; but she scorned to be so wheedled, remarking curtly, whenhe was particularly civil:

  'The curse of Crummell light on yez, breed, seed, and branch, yevillainous cow-doctor. The Lord planted our cures in the fields beforethere was no 'pothecaries.'

  Which remark being usually irrelevant, not to say incomprehensible, hemet it by a good-tempered nod, which brought the irate lady to theextreme of patience.

  The days dragged on thus but slowly. Madam Gillin was a strangemixture of bravery and pusillanimity. As we have seen, she stood interror of a particular gentleman, because he had discovered that shetook her Protestant child to mass, and had threatened to expose theawful secret. Such a matter would disturb no one at the present day;but at that time it was a heinous sin, which would have pointed thesinner out for some practical joking on the part of the Protestantsquireens. At the same time she fearlessly harboured one who was amarked man, upon whose head shortly a price might be set, who mightdrag her with him to ruin, if the worst came to the worst; and allbecause she had sworn an oath once to a dying paramour, and hadwatched, with anger mingled with sorrow, the career of the child shehad promised to protect.

  Knowing Ireland's wrongs better than he did, and learning from hearsayhow proud-stomached a boy he was, she had always dreaded that whichactually came to pass. She and Curran agreed that it would bedeplorable if he joined the popular party; but as both secretly leanedin that direction, they could not discountenance him for having thecourage to maintain, in face of danger, what they felt to be therightful cause. For all their sakes, however, she acted with femininetact. She kept him a close prisoner in a garret while it was day,sitting alone herself in the garden during fine weather, where all whopassed along the high-road might perceive a strange figure they werelittle likely to forget. At night she took him out under personalescort to take the air, bidding Phil march forty yards in front andwhistle at the first hint of danger, while Norah fulfilled the sameoffice behind; Jug meanwhile being strictly enjoined to allow nostrange foot to cross the threshold, under any pretence whatever.

  In the course of these walks they wandered by the shore, coming quiteaccidentally, sometimes, upon a group of fishermen, who bowed to theyoung man with respect, and conversed with him in long and earnestwhispers. It transpired by-and-by that some of the ubiquitousinformers were beginning to turn their attention to the rage forfishing which seemed to have arisen about Strogue Point. Then MadamGillin forbade even the solace of these nocturnal wanderings.

  It became known that many of the marked ones were journeying to andfro, in a suspicious and mysterious manner, between Wexford and Dublinand the adjacent districts. It also became a matter of public scandalthat the object of the journeys was to commune with a personage ofrank, the only one who dared to prefer his country to his class.Unwise conspirators began to babble of a lordling who would shortlylead them to certain victory--who, English though he might be bylineage, did not forget how many centuries of sojourn bound his familyto the sister island. They spoke with gratitude and pride of this_rara avis_, all the more incautiously, perhaps, because they knew himto be safely hidden beyond the ken of Sirr and of his bloodhounds.

  Now as week followed week, and month glided after month, it chancedthat my Lord Clare departed to the bath of Harrogate to drink thewaters for his health. By a singular coincidence, Mr. Pitt alsotravelled thitherward. It was, of course, a coincidence; but folks didsay--well, no matter what they said.

  When Lord Clare returned to the Irish metropolis, he discovered, withconcern, that the secret committee of Lords--the Wehmgericht who stillperformed in the shadow unholy and illegal deeds--had requested theViceroy to issue a certain warrant.

  Lord Camden, rather pleased for once to act upon his separate account,mumbled that the lords were quite right to keep their own nest clean;that it was shocking to think that one of their body should sofearfully misbehave himself. He went further. Other younger sons of anadventurous turn might follow this pernicious example. Not only musthe be taken forthwith, but must also be made an example of. Hisbrother might object possibly--that nice loyal young nobleman, who hadassisted in building many Martello towers; but his outcry, should hepresume to make one, must be stopped by timely courtesy. The Glandoresof Strogue were earls; why should they not be created marquises?

  So my Lord Camden delivered the warrant, which had for long been lyingin his escritoire, to Major Sirr, and offered, as well, a reward of athousand guineas for the culprit, alive or dead.

  Quite a tremor went through both Houses. One of the nobles! This wasserious. A few thousand peasants, more or less, mattered to nobody;but it was a pity to touch the _noblesse_. Then they talked ofLafayette, who was a marquis, whilst this was only an earl's youngerson, and soon felt quite comfortable; even applauded the Viceroy'stimely severity.

  Lord Clare was more troubled, when he learned these things, than hisenemies would have deemed possible. He wrote to his dear old friend atGlas-aitch-e, bidding her not grieve too much. It was done in hisabsence. He dared not openly interfere in favour of her misguided son,but would make a personal request to Mr. Pitt to urge his Majesty toclemency. He had done much work for Mr. Pitt (forgetting to state howdirty that work was); and no doubt his boon would be granted. If not,still must his loving mother not despair. Prison bars might be sawn;turnkeys were very shortsighted. There were boats about, and men toman them.

  He never doubted for a moment that the reward would be claimed. Howblind both Curran and his _protege_ had been not to guess histransparent riddle! My lady wrote back in course of time, deploring,in bitter terms, the blow which had befallen the family; the dartwhich had transfixed her heart. And my Lord Clare was no little amazedto perceive, or to seem to perceive, that my lady took her anguishcalmly. Either sh
e was a Stoic, or more unfeeling as to her offspringthan he liked to consider a lady to be who was also his old friend.

  Thus did events unroll themselves, till one fine day a party ofyeomanry, more intoxicated even than they usually were, took it intotheir wise heads to investigate the Little House. Happily thechatelaine was at home to defend her penates, whilst old Jug shriekedmaledictions on the party like a frantic Chorus. Madam Gillin stoutly(in both senses of the word) spread her redundant charms across herentrance-stone, daring them one and all to come forward and strike awoman. She threatened them--Catholic though she was--with thevengeance of the Bar. Was she not the chosen ally of my Lords Clonmelland Carleton--those gay and festive judges--who held her company andher wine in such deservedly high esteem? Did not even the graduallysaddening attorney-general--Mr. Arthur Wolfe--count her among hisfriends? Woe be to the military gentlemen who should outrage hersacred hearth. They might come in and do their worst, for she hadnaught to hide. What could she have to hide? But she warned them, invery positive language indeed, that they would rue the day they didit. They were abashed, but loath to retire, after drunken blustering,before a mere woman's tongue. Such a woman and such a tongue! Wouldshe give the boys some drink? the captain coaxingly suggested. Shepertinently retorted that if they or some of their kidney had notalready destroyed the shebeen, which she had set up for the benefit ofarid throats, drink might be got in plenty without stealing it from alone woman. Yet would she even give them drink if they'd promise to beoff. Not special drink, such as the judges drank, but some other, byno means despicable.

  She showed the officers into the dining-parlour; produced for them afew bottles of undeniable Lafitte, bidding Norah act Hebe (whoobjected not at all), and ordering Jug to distribute jorums of whiskyamong the common men upon the lawn. It soon became an orgie. One mansaid something rude to Jug about her erring Biddy with the carrotypoll, which sent the hag into a fury. If Biddy was sliding from thestraight path, the sin must lie on her head, not her mother's. Theywere spalpeens, she yelled, who would rot some time--the sooner thebetter. When should come Judgment-day they would not awake, ne'er arecreant sowl of them, having long ago been absorbed by lean pigs thatwere their betters. One man bade her keep a civil tongue, or it wouldbe the worse for her. A riot ensued, which the mistress of thedwelling hurried forth to quell. Before the officers could interfere,Madam Gillin had received a scratch upon her arm, which she exhibitedin the moonlight, swearing she was 'kilt entirely,' with anaccompaniment of screams from Norah, who was really terrified. Thejudges should hear of the outrage--my lords Clonmell and Carleton--shevociferated, and the rapscallions should be drummed out of theregiment for insulting lone women who had friends among the great. Theparty stole away, ashamed of the din, but Madam Gillin made capital ofthe incident. Bandaging her arm in bloody linen, she drove into thecapital, laid a complaint there, and made believe to see a surgeon.Every day for many days she drove into town and back again, closelydraped in shawls, with ensanguined bandages exposed. Long ago sheperceived that if Terence was to consent to continued imprisonment,his mind must be set at rest by communication with the Directory. Hechafed so in his cage that she dreaded sometimes whether he might notescape in the night while the kindly gaoleress slept. Therefore,knowing what a hue-and-cry there was after him--or rather after theunlucky thousand pounds reward--she became in some sort a conspiratorherself, going daily to and fro to see her doctor, who was no otherthan one of the new delegates, and who thus was enabled to communewith the lordling in spite of Sirr and his battalion of watchers.

  There was a lull of expectation in Dublin. Reports flew over thecity--no one could tell how or whence they came--reports which setquiet citizens quivering in their beds. Hints of murder, rapine,kidnapping, explosion. Rumour swept howling over the city. The Castlewould be blown into the air; it was known that the train was laid,that the match was ready. The lives of the Viceroy and his ministerswere not worth a groat. What wonder if loyal yeoman souls were yetfurther set aflame? What wonder if the terrified senate acquiescedwithout murmuring at the line of action which the loyalists pursued.Soon so many prospective victims choked the alleys of theRiding-school that extra triangles had to be set up elsewhere. TheRoyal Exchange itself echoed with the thud of the cat; the screams ofthe victims for mercy could be heard in the viceregal apartments hardby. Happily for Lady Camden's peace of mind, she had fled long since.Soldiers were sent out at free quarters to the right and left, withhints that it would be well that their hosts should not forget theircoming. Virgins were tossed naked in blankets, while their fathers andbrothers were compelled to watch their shame. The pitch-cap was indaily use; gunpowder was exploded in the hair. A new and splendid jestwas invented by a merry dog. Why not _picket_ the recalcitrant scum?What better joke than to poise an insolent fellow barefoot upon apointed stake? His movements would be mirth-inspiring--so grotesqueand comical! The only drawback was (as experiment showed) that hefainted all too soon. No; decidedly there was nothing better than theold-fashioned lash. Men swooned under it no doubt; some died; somewent raving mad. But even when these misfortunes chanced there wasdiversion to be had from the expectant moans of those who wereawaiting a like fate. Some even lost consciousness before they weretied up at all. Such a lack of humorous perception was disgusting.Why, a rat in a pit gives sport, though his fate is predetermined. Aman, though low-born, should shame to be less plucky than a rat! Itwas rather amusing, and salutary to a certain point in its results, toshoot down children--babes and sucklings--before their mothers' eyes.Yet no! there was so little variety in the behaviour of the mothers.They all rocked themselves and stretched their palms to heaven. It wasmonotonous and dull. Even the imagination of the squireens, spurred asit was by enterprising colonels, began to flag. Perhaps, after all,they were not so very much more witty or more inventive than theFrench in the Reign of Terror. Their superiors grew ashamed of them,forgetting that in our imperfect state there is a limit to the humanintellect. They grew ashamed of their own dearth of ingenuity, beingby this time so swinish and sodden with alcohol and blood-quaffing,that the English and Scotch regiments turned their backs on them,declining to associate with their Irish comrades at all, even understress of orders and of whisky.

  Winter had come again; not white this time, but red--a dusky red, byreason of the shadow of that thunderous cloud which, bloated now, wason the eve of bursting. If there is a limit set to the torturingingenuity of fiends, so is there--by Divine ordinance--to theendurance even of slaves. A roar swept across the land--a roar ofexpostulation with the Most High in that He had slept too long. Sureman was not created only for the sake of torment. Children were notborn merely to be ripped asunder--virgins to be ravished--men to bedone to death by inches? Why, whilst the sun smiled on earth for goodand bad alike--its glory heightened by a casual vapour-fleck--wasIreland alone exempted from the boon of light? The last trump had notyet sounded. Why was Erin alone to be a hell? Messengers moved likeants on the earth's surface. Something was preparing. After manydelays and feints the real crisis was at hand at last. The cloud,three years ago no bigger than a hand, blackened the horizon. Even thechancellor's stony face grew wan--his nature of adamant faltered--whenhe surveyed the darkened heavens, hushed in an awful stillness, andwaited for what might come. For a moment he trembled like Frankensteinbefore the monster he had fashioned.