CHAPTER VII. KEVIN STREET.
How this long, melancholy day wore on I cannot say. To me it was asgloomy in revery as in its own dismal aspect; the very sounds of mirththat issued from the cabin beneath grated harshly on my ear; and themerry strains of Darby's pipes and the clear notes of his rich voiceseemed like treachery from one who so lately had spoken in terms ofheart-breathing emotion of his countrymen and their wrongs. While,therefore, my estimation for my companion suffered, my sorrow for thecause that demanded such sacrifices deepened at every moment, and Ipanted with eagerness for the moment when I might take my place amongthe bold defenders of my country, and openly dare our oppressors to thebattle. All that M'Keown had told me of English tyranny and oppressionwas connected in my mind with the dreadful scene I had so lately been awitness to, and for the cause of which I looked no further than an actof simple hospitality. From this I wandered on to the thought of thosebrave allies who had deserted their career of Continental glory to shareour almost hopeless fortunes here; and how I burned to know them, andlearn from them something of a soldier's ardor.
Night had fallen when the fitful flashing of lamps between the tall elmsthat lined the banks announced our approach to the capital. There issomething dreadfully depressing in the aspect of a large city, to thepoor, unfriended youth, who without house or home is starting upon hislife's journey. The stir, the movement, the onward tide of population,intent on pleasure or business, are things in which he has no part. Theappearance of wealth humiliates, while the sight of poverty affrightshim; and, while every one is animated by some purpose, he alone seemslike a waif thrown on the shores of life, unclaimed, unlocked for. Thusdid I feel among that busy crowd who now pressed to the deck, gatheringtogether their luggage, and preparing for departure. Some home awaitedeach of these,--some hearth, some happy faces to greet their coming. ButI had none of these. This was a sorrowful thought; and as I broodedover it, my head sank upon my knees, and I saw nothing of what was goingforward about me.
"Tom," whispered a low voice in my ear,--"Master Tom, don't delay, mydear; let us slip out here. The soldiers want me to go with them totheir billets, and I have promised; but I don't mean to do it."
I looked up. It was Darby, buttoned up in his coat, his pipes unfastenedfor the convenience of carriage.
"Slip out after me at the lock here; it 's so dark we 'll never beseen."
Keeping my eye on him, I elbowed my way through the crowded deck, andsprang out just as the boat began her forward movement.
"Here we are, all safe!" said Darby, patting me on the shoulder. "Andnow that I 've time to ask you, did you get your dinner, my child?"
"Oh yes; the captain brought me something to eat."
"Come, that's right, anyhow. Glory be to God! I ate heartily of somebacon and greens; though the blackguards--bad luck to them for thesame!--made me eat an orange lily whole, afraid the _greens_, as theysaid, might injure me."
"I wonder. Darby," said I, "that you haven't more firmness than tochange this way at every moment."
"Firmness, is it? Faix, it's firm enough I'd be, and Stiff, too, if Idid n't. Sure it 's the only way now at all. Wait, my honey, till thetime comes round for ourselves, and faix, you 'll never accuse me ofcoorting their favor; but now, at this moment, you perceive, we must doit to learn their plans. What do you think I got to-night? I learned allthe signs the yeos have when they 're drinking together, and what theysay at each sign. Thers 's a way they have of gripping the two littlefingers together that I'll not forget soon."
For some time we walked on at a rapid pace, without exchanging more thanan occasional word. At last we entered a narrow, ill-lighted street,which led from the canal harbor to one of the larger and widerthoroughfares.
"I almost forget the way here," said Darby, stopping and looking abouthim.
At last, unable to solve the difficulty, he leaned over the half-doorof a shop, and called out to a man within, "Can you tell where is KevinStreet?"
"No. 39?" said the man, after looking at him steadily for a moment.
Darby stroked down one side of his face with his hand slowly; a gestureimmediately imitated by the other man.
"What do you know?" said Darby.
"I know 'U,'" replied the man.
"And what more?"
"I know 'N'"
"That 'ill do," said Darby, shaking hands with him cordially. "Now, tellme the way, for I have no time to spare."
"Begorra! you 're in as great haste as if ye were Darby the Blasthimself. Ye 'll come in and take a glass?"
Darby only laughed, and again excusing himself, he asked the way; whichhaving learned, he wished his newly-made friend good-night, and weproceeded.
"They know you well hereabouts; by name, at least," said I, when we hadwalked on a little.
"That they do," said Darby, proudly. "From Wexford to Belfast there's few does n't know me; and they 'll know more of me, av I 'm right,before I die."
This he spoke with more of determination than I ever heard him usepreviously.
"Here 's the street now; there 's the lamp,--that one with the twoburners there. Faix, we 've made good track since morning, anyhow."
As he spoke we entered a narrow passage, through which the street lampthrew a dubious half-light. This conducted us to a small paved court,crossing which we arrived at the door of a large house. Darby knockedin a peculiar manner, and the door was speedily opened by a man whowhispered something, to which M'Keown made answer in the same low tone.
"I 'm glad to see you again," said the man, louder, as he made way forhim to pass.
I pushed forward to follow, when suddenly a strong arm was stretchedacross my breast, and a gruff voice asked,--"Who are you?"
Darby stepped back, and said something in his ear. The other replied,sturdily, in the negative; and although Darby, as it appeared, usedevery power of persuasion he possessed, the man was inexorable.
At last, when the temper of both appeared nearly giving way. Darbyturned to me, and said,--"Wait for me a moment, Tom, where you are, andI 'll come for you."
So saying, he disappeared, and the door closed at the same time, leavingme in darkness on the outside. My patience was not severely taxed; erefive minutes the door opened, and Darby, followed by another person,appeared.
"Mr. Burke," said this latter, with the tone of voice that at oncebespoke a gentleman, "I am proud to know you." He grasped my hand warmlyas he spoke, and shook it affectionately. "I esteem it an honor to beyour sponsor here. Can you find your way after me? This place is neverlighted; but I trust you 'll know it better ere long."
Muttering some words of acknowledgment, I followed my unseenacquaintance along the dark corridor.
"There's a step, here," cried he; "and now mind the stairs."
A long and winding flight conducted us to a landing, where a candle wasburning in a tin sconce. Here my conductor turned round.
"Your Christian name is Thomas, I believe," said he. At the same moment,as the light fell on me, he started suddenly back, with an air ofmingled astonishment and chagrin. "Why, M'Keown, you told me--" The restof the sentence was lost in a whisper.
"It 's a disguise I made him wear," said Darby. "He 'd no chance ofescaping the country without it."
"I 'm not speaking of that," retorted the other, angrily.
"It is his age, I mean; he's only a boy. How old are you, sir?" continuedhe, addressing me, but with far less courtesy than before.
"Old enough to live for my country; or die for it either, if need be,"said I, haughtily.
"Bravo, my darling!" cried the piper, slapping me on the shoulder withenthusiasm.
"That's not exactly my question," said the stranger, smilinggood-naturedly; "I want to know your age."
"I was fourteen in August," said I.
"I had rather you could say twenty," responded he, thoughtfully. "Thisis a sad mistake of yours, Darby. What dependence can be placed on achild like this? He's only a child, after all."
"He's a child I'll go bail for wi
th my head," said Darby.
"Your head has fully as much on it as it is fit to carry," said theother, in a tone of rebuke. "Have you told him anything of the objectand intentions of this Society? But of course you have revealedeverything. Well, I 'll not be a party to this business. Younggentleman," continued he, in a voice of earnest and impressive accent,"all I know of you is the few particulars this man has stated respectingyour unfriended position, and the cruelty to which you fear to exposeyourself in trusting to the guardianship of Mr. Basset. If these reasonshave induced you, from recklessness and indifference, to risk your life,by association with men who are actuated by high and noble principles,then, I say, you shall not enter here. If, however, aware of the objectand intentions of our Union, you are desirous to aid us, young thoughyou be, I shall not refuse you."
"That's it," interrupted Darby; "if you feel in your heart a friend toyour country--"
"Silence!" said the other, harshly; "let him decide for himself."
"I neither know your intentions, nor even guess at them," said I,frankly. "My destitution, and the poor prospect before me, make me, asyou suppose, indifferent to what I embark in, provided that it be notdishonorable.
"It is not danger that will deter me, that 's all I can promise you."
"I see," said the stranger, "this is but another of your pranks, Mr.M'Keown; the young gentleman was to be kidnapped amongst us. One thing,"said he, turning to me, "I feel assured of, that anything you havewitnessed here is safe within your keeping; and now we'll not press thematter further. In a few days you can hear, and make up your mind on allthese things; and as you are not otherwise provided, let us make you ourguest in the mean while."
Without giving me time to reply, he led me downstairs again, andunlocking a room on the second floor, passed through several rooms,until he reached one comfortably fitted up like a study.
"You must be satisfied with a sofa here for to-night but to-morrow Iwill make you more comfortable."
I threw my eyes over the well-filled bookshelf with delight, and waspreparing to thank him for all his kindness to me, when he added,--
"I must leave you now, but we 'll meet to-morrow; so good-night. Comealong, M'Keown; we shall want you presently."
I would gladly have detained Darby to interrogate him about my new abodeand its inhabitants; but he was obliged to obey, and I heard the doorlocked as they closed it on the outside, and shortly after the sounds oftheir feet died away, and I was left in silence.
Determined to con over, and if possible explain to myself, the mysteryof my position, I drew my sofa towards the fire and sat down; butfatigue, stronger than all my curiosity, had the mastery, and I was soonsound asleep.
Tom Burke Of Ours, Volume I Page 8