CHAPTER X. THE CHURCHYARD
The excitement caused by the mere narration of his sister's sufferingweighed heavily on De Meudon's weak and exhausted frame. His thoughtswould flow in no other channel; his reveries were of home and long pastyears; and a depression far greater than I had yet witnessed settleddown upon his jaded spirits.
"Is not my present condition like a just retribution on my ambitiousfolly?" was his continued reflection. And so he felt it. With aFrenchman's belief in destiny, he regarded the failure of all hishopes, and the ruin of the cause he had embarked in, as the naturaland inevitable consequences of his own ungenerous conduct; and evenreproached himself for carrying his evil fortune into an enterprisewhich, without him, might have been successful. These gloomyforebodings, against which reason was of no avail, grew hourly upon him,and visibly influenced his chances of recovery.
It was a sad spectacle to look on one who possessed so much of good, somany fair and attractive qualities, thus wasting away without a singleconsolation he could lay to his bruised and wounded spirit. The verysuccesses he once gloried to remember, now only added bitterness to hisfallen state. To think of what he had been, and look on what he was, washis heaviest affliction; and he fell into deep, brooding melancholy, inwhich he scarcely spoke, but sat looking at vacancy, waiting as it werefor death.
I remember it well. I had been sitting silently by his bedside; forhours he had not spoken, but an occasional deep-drawn sigh showed hewas not sleeping. It was night, and all in the little household were atrest; a slight rustling of the curtain attracted me, and I felt his handsteal from the clothes and grasp my own.
"I have been thinking of you, my dear boy," said he, "and what is tobecome of you when I'm gone. There, do not sob! The time is short now,and I begin to feel it so; for somehow, as we approach the confines ofeternity, our mental vision grows clearer and more distinct,--doubtsthat have long puzzled us seem doubts no longer. Many of our highesthopes and aspirations--the daydreams that made life glorious--passbefore our eyes, and become the poor and empty pageants of the hour.Like the traveller, who as he journeys along sees little of the way,but at the last sits down upon some grassy bank, and gazes over the longline of road; so, as the close of life draws near, we throw a backwardglance upon the past. But how differently does all seem to our eyes!How many of those we envied once do we pity now! how many of those whoappeared low and humble, whose thoughts seemed bowed to earth, do we nowrecognize as soaring aloft, high above their fellow-men, like creaturesof some other sphere!" He paused; then in a tone of greater earnestnessadded: "You must not join these people, Tom. The day is gone by whenanything great or good could have been accomplished. The horrors ofcivil war will ever prevent good men from uniting themselves to a causewhich has no other road save through bloodshed; and many wise ones, whoweigh well the dangers, see it hopeless. France is your country: thereliberty has been won; there lives one great man, whose notice, were itbut passingly bestowed, is fame. If life were spared me, I could haveserved you there; as it is, I can do something."
He paused for a while, and then drawing the curtain gently to one side,said,--"Can it be moonlight? it is so very bright."
"Yes," said I; "the moon is at the full."
He sat up as I spoke, and looked eagerly out through the little window.
"I have got a fancy,--how strange, too; it is one I have often smiled atin others, but I feel it strongly now: it is to choose some spot whereI shall be laid when I am dead. There is a little ruin at the bottom ofthis glen; you must remember it well. If I mistake not, there is a wellclose beside it. I remember resting there one hot and sultry day inJuly. It was an eventful day, too. We beat the King's troops, and tookseventy prisoners; and I rode from Arklow down here to bring up someammunition that we had secreted in one of the lead mines. Well Irecollect falling asleep beside that well, and having such a delightfuldream of home when I was a child, and of a pony which Marie used to ridebehind me; and I thought we were galloping through the vineyard, shegrasping me round the waist, half laughing, half in fear,--and when Iawoke I could not remember where I was. I should like to see that oldspot again, and I feel strong enough now to try it."
I endeavored, with all my power of persuasion, to prevent his attemptingto walk such a distance, and in the night air too; but the more Ireasoned against it, the more bent was he on the project, and at lastI was obliged to yield a reluctant consent, and assist him to riseand dress. The energy which animated him at first soon sank under theeffort, and before we had gone a quarter of a mile he grew faint andweary; still he persevered, and leaning heavily on my arm, he totteredalong.
"If I make no better progress," said he, smiling sadly, "there will beno need to assist me coming back."
At last we reached the ruin, which, like many of the old churches inIreland, was a mere gable, overgrown with ivy, and pierced with a singlewindow, whose rudely-formed arch betokened great antiquity. Vestigesof the side walls remained in part, but the inside of the building wasfilled with tombstones and grave-mounds, selected by the people as beinga place of more than ordinary sanctity; among these the rank dock weedsand nettles grew luxuriantly, and the tall grass lay heavy and matted.We sat for some time looking on this same spot. A few garlands werewithering on some rude crosses of stick, to mark the latest of those whosought their rest there; and upon these my companion's eyes were bentwith a melancholy meaning.
How long we sat there in silence I know not; but a rustling of the ivybehind me was the first thing to attract my attention. I turned quicklyround, and in the window of the ruin beheld the head of a man benteagerly in the direction we were in; the moonlight fell upon him at themoment, and I saw that the face was blackened.
"Who's that?" I called aloud, as with my finger I directed De Meudon tothe spot. No answer was returned, and I repeated my question yet louder;but still no reply, while I could mark that the head was turned slightlyround, as if to speak with some one without. The noise of feet, and thelow murmur of several voices, now came from the side of the ruin; atthe same instant a dozen men, their faces blackened, and wearing a whitebadge on their hats, stood up as if out of the very ground around us.
"What are you doing here at this time of night?" said a hard voice, intones that boded but little kindliness.
"We are as free to walk the country, when we like it, as you are, Ihope," was my answer.
"I know his voice well," said another of the crowd; "I told you it wasthem."
"Is it you that stop at Wild's, in the glen?" said the first speaker.
"Yes," replied I.
"And is it to get share of what 's going, that ye 're come to join usnow?" repeated he, in a tone of mockery.
"Be easy, Lanty; 'tis the French officer that behaved so stout up atRoss. It 's little he cares for money, as myself knows. I saw him throwa handful of goold among the boys when they stopped to pillage, and bidthem do their work first, and that he 'd give them plenty after."
"Maybe he 'd do the same now," said a voice from the crowd, in a tone ofirony; and the words were received by the rest with a roar of laughter.
"Stop laughing," said the first speaker, in a voice of command; "we'vesmall time for joking." As he spoke he threw himself heavily on the bankbeside De Meudon, and placing his hand familiarly on his arm, said, in alow but clear voice: "The boys is come up here to-night to draw lotsfor three men to settle Barton, that 's come down here yesterday, andstopping at the barrack there. We knew you war n't well lately, and wedid n't trouble you; but now that you 're come up of yourself among us,it 's only fair and reasonable you 'd take your chance with the rest,and draw your lot with the others."
"Arrah, he 's too weak; the man is dying," said a voice near.
"And if he is," said the other, "who wants his help? sure, is n't it tokeep him quiet, and not bethray us?"
"The devil a fear of that," said the former speaker; "he's thrue to thebackbone; I know them that knows him well."
By this time De Meudon had risen to his feet, and sto
od leaning upon atall headstone beside him; his foraging cap fell off in his effort tostand, and his long thin hair floated in masses down his pale cheeks andon his shoulders. The moon was full upon him; and what a contrast didhis noble features present to the ruffian band that sat and stood aroundhim!
"And is it a scheme of murder, of cold, cowardly assasination, you havedared to propose to me?" said he, darting a look of fiery indignationon him who seemed the leader. "Is it thus you understand my presence inyour country and in your cause? Think ye it was for this that I left theglorious army of France,--that I quitted the field of honorable war tomix with such as you? Ay, if it were the last word I were to speak onearth, I 'd denounce you, wretches that stain with blood and massacrethe sacred cause the best and boldest bleed for!"
The click of a trigger sounded harshly on my ear, and my blood ran coldwith horror. De Meudon heard it too, and continued,--"You do but cheatme of an hour or two, and I am ready."
He paused, as if waiting for the shot. A deadly silence followed; itlasted for some minutes, when again he spoke,--"I came here to-night notknowing of your intentions, not expecting you; I came here to choosea grave, where, before another week pass over, I hoped to rest. If youwill it sooner, I shall not gainsay you."
Low murmurs ran through the crowd, and something like a tone of pitycould be heard mingling through the voices.
"Let him go home, then, in God's name!" said one of the number; "that'sthe best way."
"Ay, take him home," said another, addressing me; "Dan Kelly 's a hardman when he 's roused."
The words were repeated on every side, and I led De Meudon forth leaningon my arm; for already, the excitement over, a stupid indifference creptover him, and he walked on by my side without speaking.
I confess it was not without trepidation, and many a backward glancetowards the old ruin, that I turned homeward to our cabin. There wasthat in their looks at which I trembled for my companion; nor do I yetknow why they spared him at that moment.
Tom Burke Of Ours, Volume I Page 11