“There are several trumpets there, he said at last, in his native Irish, in which tongue the colloquy was continued; “what in the fiend’s name brings them here at this hour?”
“What if we make a night of it, and try a brush with them too?” urged Hogan, recklessly.
Ned of the Hills looked for a moment contemptuously in his face, and then said —
“Pshaw! Mr. Hogan, you’re not serious. Donovan,” he continued, addressing one of those who stood near him; “get the boys under cover; here, you, Ryan, give them warning at the other side — they must be over the river in no time. It is a cursed chance,” he muttered, as the messenger sped upon his mission; “but with my consent, no man shall lift his finger against King James’s troops.”
The castle and its blazing front no longer rivet the eyes of the surrounding multitude. Doubtfully and irresolutely the gaze of all turns toward the deep obscurity in which the advance of the approaching soldiery is shrouded; one look, of the blackest frustrated rage, the rapparee flung at the old timeworn building, whose chimneys, towers, and battlements, piled one behind the other, rose in the blood-red flame and smoke, more like an airy fabric of fire — an unsubstantial pandemonium — than a solid fortress of ancient masonry; and with a muttered curse, in which were concentrated the very bitterness and rage of his inmost soul, he turned, and in a changed tone, issued furiously his new commands: —
“As for you, Mr. Hogan,” he continued, addressing that person, and observing the deep ferocious discontent which impressed his features; “you can act as you think fit; do what you list with your own men.”
“Ned Ryan,” he retorted, bitterly; “you’re little better than— “
“Than what, sir?” demanded the rapparee, with an emphasis so stern, that Hogan paused, and then added in a subdued tone —
“Than a captain in the king’s dragoons, Ned; there’s no great harm in that.”
“Get your men home,” replied Ryan, sternly, “or you’ll find yourself in the end little better than a fool, Mr. Hogan!”
And so saying, the dark-featured speaker rapidly descended the steep road, threw himself upon his good horse, and sate by the bridge head until all had passed over. Then, just as the front ranks of the buff-coated dragoons began to show themselves in the red light of the still glowing fire, as their vanguard appeared above the brow of the eminence, which, at a distance of a few furlongs, and upon the same side of the river, overlooked the old fortress of Glindarragh, he wheeled his steed, and riding slowly over the bridge, was soon hidden among the close stems and branches of the old oak wood.
Amid the wild confusion that reigned within the castle walls, the frantic lowing of the cattle, and the busy clang and clatter of renewed preparation, it was long ere the sounds which had already reached the attacking party, were heard by those within. From the flanking towers, farthest removed from the still burning masses of corn and turf, the hurried movements of the rapparees had, indeed, been discovered, though the cause of this general and sudden withdrawal of the wild Irish, as the defenders of the castle called them, was as yet a mystery; and the jaded and heart-sick garrison scarcely dared to entertain the hope that this cessation of hostilities would not like the last, prove but the prelude to some new assault, if possible more terrible than that they had already experienced.
As the fire rapidly subsided, those upon the summit of the towers, however, at last discerned the martial front of the cavalry, and heard the shrilly braying of the trumpets, as, in obedience to the signal, a squadron of dragoons clattered down the broken road, and crossing the steep bridge, halted, and formed at the opposite end — their buff-eoats and low-crowned cocked hats showing clear and sharp in the light of the fire, as they might have done in the blaze of noon. These were quickly followed by two other squadrons, who, dismounting at the bridge, unslung their musketoons, and spread themselves partly among the wood at the far side of the stream, and partly upon the hillock and rising grounds which overlooked the castle and the adjacent road; and meanwhile, the whole body of horse, with the clang of hoofs, and ringing of accoutrements, and the occasional hoarse voice of command, and the heart-stirring blast of the trumpet, preluding every new movement, began to advance at a walk, in all the imposing silence and regularity of military order, full in the lurid glow of the subsiding conflagration, down the steep and winding road to Glindarragh Castle.
CHAPTER XVI.
THE DRAGOONS IN THE GREAT HALL — THE EXECUTION.
THE dragoons halted, and dismounted upon the road leading up to the castle gate, until the fire already subsiding had sunk into red masses of glowing embers; and the lighter fragments of the corn and hay, which had blazed so fiercely but an hour before, now swept in trains of sparks along the howling wind, and, strewn high in the troubled air, floated away into the darksome void.
Meanwhile, the party within the walls, relieved from the more urgent terrors of their situation, had already begun to speculate, with anxious suspense and alarm, upon the purpose with which the troops — the neighing of whose horses, and the loud voices and laughter of whose soldiery already filled their ears — had arrived before the castle walls.
Those who are acquainted with the melancholy history of the times of which we write, need not to be reminded of the terror in which, but too justly, the new levies of Tyrconnell were held by the perplexed, outnumbered, and (as it must be confessed) the disaffected Protestant population of the country. The excesses of these troops did not, perhaps, transcend those committed in numberless similar cases by other soldiery; but, in addition to the licentiousness and rapacity from which no army in a relaxed state of discipline is free, there were here old heart-burnings to be slaked, and old scores to be settled — feuds and animosities the most bitter and implacable; and when we reflect upon the defencelessness of the Protestant population of Ireland every where but in the north — when we recollect the opportunities and excuses for oppression which their notorious and not unnatural sympathy with the already successful revolutionists of the sister kingdom afforded in abundance — and when we consider the temper of the times, and the savage and ferocious antagonism in which Irish parties had conflicted even within the memory of the then existing generation, it is only wonderful that the Protestants of the south and west were suffered to escape as well as they did. Ireland was, at the time we speak of, actually the theatre of war. The gallant Enniskilleners, unsupported as yet by a single company of regular troops, maintained an adventurous and brilliant struggle against the royalist forces in the north; and these military collisions with the brave volunteers of Ulster, while they chafed and provoked the fiercer and more fiery antipathies of the two antagonist parties, served also to involve in a too just suspicion of actual disloyalty to James, the Protestant population of the other provinces. Under the menacing and almost desperate circumstances of the royalist cause, it is, therefore, scarcely to be wondered at that measures of extreme severity should have been directed by the Jacobite government against a party justly feared, and more dreaded, perhaps, than actually disliked. The sympathies of the Protestants, and, whenever they could give it, their cooperation also, went zealously with the invading army, and threatened with multiplied and formidable dangers the interests of an already wellnigh ruined and almost desperately embarrassed dynasty. If obsolete statutes were, therefore, revived and enforced, and quibbling law points raised to disarm them in masses, or to disable and crush them in detail, the zealous loyalist who availed himself of such tortuous instruments, found ample justification for the equivocal nature of the means employed, in the paramount importance of the ends which he pursued. An army of upwards of forty thousand men, almost entirely newly raised, and, for the greater part, ill-officered, and scarcely half disciplined, held undisputed possession of the greater part of the country; and while the executive, in times so excited and “out of joint,” wanted the power, even had it possessed the will, to control their licentiousness, they in turn were inadequate to restrain the excesses of the native
marauders, who, under the well-known name of rapparees, pillaged and laid waste the property of the country, and carried on a trade of outrage and rapine upon their own account. It is, therefore, injustice to judge the severities and the losses sustained by the Protestant population of Ireland during that terrible struggle, by the rules which would apply to well-affected subjects, and in peaceful times.
The passage into the castle being now safe and free, and the fires everywhere nearly spent, the officer in command of the detachment, accompanied by several others, and followed by a guard of dragoons, rode slowly through the open archway and into the castle yard. Amid the wreck and confusion which here presented itself — the cowering cattle, broken pailings, and smouldering turf — old Sir Hugh Willoughby and a party of his friends, some of them bleeding, and all grimed and smutted with gunpowder, heated with exertion and bleared with smoke, stood together to receive their military visitants, and presented a group, haggard and wild enough in all conscience.
“Sir Hugh Willoughby,” exclaimed the officer, as he walked his horse in front, and fixed his eye upon the little party with a stony and imperious gaze; “my business is with him. If Sir Hugh Willoughby be among you, let him come forward.”
“I am here, Sir Captain,” replied the old gentleman, with more than equal hauteur, advancing a pace or two in front of his friends, “and desire to know your message.”
“You shall,” interrupted the officer, impassively. “Cornet Burke,’ he continued, addressing an officer by his side, “let half the squadron keep the gate, and the other half dismount and follow me.”
“Where is your authority, sir, and what your purpose?” demanded the knight, whose fiery spirit was stirred within him.
“The king’s colours, sir, in times like these, are authority sufficient with all loyal men; and for my purpose, I shall unfold that presently, retorted the officer, coldly, as he dismounted, and gave the bridle of his horse into the hand of one of the attendant guards.
“Be pleased, Sir Hugh Willoughby,” continued the officer, “to lead the way into the great hall — I attend you, sir.”
This was added in a tone of emphatic command, which seemed to say, “hesitate or demur at your peril and Sir Hugh, with an effort which nothing but an overwhelming sense of the madness of attempting resistance, and the ridiculousness of exhibiting an unavailing irritation and reluctance enabled him to exert, proceeded to lead the way to his own castle hall, accompanied by the little party of his friends, and closely followed by the commander of the detachment and his subordinate officers, the file of dismounted dragoons bringing up the rear.
In this order the irregular procession entered the long and now deserted chamber, to the upper end of which the officers proceeded, while the guard halted and formed in front of the doorway, and Sir Hugh and his assembled brethren stood aloof in a body at the foot of the long table, whose further extremity was occupied by the swarthy colonel and his party. With a stern and moody curiosity he scanned the extensive chamber, illuminated as it was by the red glare of some dozen torches, and then his dark eye fell sternly and coldly upon the motley party at the further end. Meanwhile they had ample leisure to admire, were they indeed disposed for any such emotion, the symmetry of his graceful and athletic form, and the striking beauty and nobleness of his stern and handsome features.
Had Sir Hugh recognised in the imposing form on which he looked, the champion to whose strong arm he owed his daughter’s safety, gratitude might for the moment, if for no longer, have overcome the harsher feelings which struggled in his breast. But whatever he was hereafter to learn of the handsome swordsman before him, at present he knew him not.
“Gentlemen,” said the officer, addressing them in a deep and peremptory tone, which well accorded with the haughty and decisive character of his pale face, “some of you, I see, are armed; in the first place, then, in the king’s name, I charge you, deliver your weapons into the keeping of the guard at the door. Corporal Flaherty, advance two paces, and receive the gentlemen’s arms.”
The order was obeyed in silence by the grinning corporal, whose face, as he eyed the little group, wore an expression of coarse exultation and derision, which was anything but conciliatory.
Some shook their heads resolutely, others hung down theirs with a sense of bitter humiliation, others again exchanged significant looks of menace, and some even clutched their muskets with a firmer gripe, and laid their right hands on the locks. This hesitation and confusion, however, was little favoured by the stern soldier who presided, and the orders “unsling your carbines,”— “ground arms,”— “prime and load,” delivered in a rapid succession, and followed by the jingle of some dozen of iron ramrods, precipitated the crisis ere time was given for deliberation, or even for action.
“Surrender your weapons, my friends, obediently; let us give the adversary no needless advantage over us,” said Sir Hugh, mournfully. “God knows!” he added, passionately, and smiting his sinewy hand upon the table, “were it not that the king’s name enforces the demand, I would yield my weapons only with my life.”
The obvious agony of the brave old man seemed, in some sort, to touch the stern nature of the colonel, for he said —
“Your courage, Sir Hugh Willoughby, is not disputed, and if you like it better, for the sake of honour, loyalty, and obedience to the laws, I will entreat you and your friends to yield up your arms peaceably, and without delay; and further, gentlemen,” he continued, “you will not object to giving your names and places of abode, as my duty obliges me to make a list of all whom I have found in arms in this place. Captain Lutterel, you will please, yourself, to see to the drawing up of such a list.”
While the measures necessary to carry out these directions were going forward, the stern young officer in command again addressed himself to Sir Hugh.
“It is right, sir, I should at once inform you,” said he, abruptly, “that two companies of my dragoons are billeted upon you, for how long, will depend upon orders from Dublin Castle; for the rest you must find quarters for tonight.”
“Two hundred men and horses billeted upon one gentleman’s house!” cried Sir Hugh, with wrathful astonishment. “So, heaven guard me, but this is the very extremity and extravagance of oppression!”
“It is no affair of mine, sir,” replied the officer, coldly. “If you deem yourself oppressed, you had best memorial the Lord Lieutenant.”
“Memorial him! — memorial the arch-fiend rather!” cried Sir Hugh, stamping furiously upon the floor.
“You must not lose your temper, Sir Hugh,” interrupted the soldier coldly, “or you may chance to lose something not so easily recovered.”
“What’s that?” demanded the old man, vehemently.
“Your life, sir,” replied the colonel.
“My life!” responded the old knight, passionately— “my life! God knows ’tis little worth — God knows how cheap I hold it!”
The knight spoke these words with such a sudden and mournful change of voice and aspect, that his friends gathered about him, and bidding him be of good heart, and fear not for the issue, shook him by the hands, and pledged their souls and honours to stand by him to the last, with protestations so passionate and fervent as only in scenes of transcendant excitement are evoked.
While this was passing, an officer entered the room, and, raising his hat, observed —
“We have secured two prisoners, colonel.”
“Where are they?” asked he.
“In the yard, sir,” replied the subaltern, “with a corporal’s guard.”
“March them in then,” replied Torlogh O’Brien.
And forthwith, under a guard of five dismounted dragoons, two men were led into the castle-hall, and exposed to the full blaze of the torchlight.
One of these was no other than Jeremiah Tisdal, who, stupified and bloody, torn, soiled, and bareheaded, was yet instantly recognised by his friends, and, after a few words of explanation from Sir Hugh, was released without further question; th
e other was a red-headed, ragged peasant, with a low forehead, covered with the coarse, bushy red hair which almost touched his shaggy eyebrows, and overhung a pair of small deep-set eyes, in which gleamed a wild and fitful light, something between ferocity and cunning, as he took a rapid, and, as it seemed, a curious survey of the chamber and its occupants; a coarse foxy beard covered his upper lip and chin, and upon his face, which was deadly pale, and marked with blood, the moisture of anguish and exhaustion was shining.
“Is the dog wounded?” asked Torlogh, observing the blood-marks upon his face.
“Upon my showl he is, an’ twiste over, your honour,” replied the corporal; “a bit iv a scratch in the pole, and a shot in the thigh.”
“So, scoundrel!” continued the superior, addressing the prisoner in a tone of calm but very ominous severity, “you are one of the savage banditti who have burned corn and hay enough tonight to have maintained a regiment of the king’s horse for half a year to come! “What have you to say for yourself?”
The fellow jabbered something in Irish.
“What does he say, Corporal Flaherty?” demanded the officer.
“He says as how the leg’s unaisy wid him, your honour, colonel,” answered the man, rendering, as well as he could, the native tongue into English.
“He is but one of the rabble rout, not worth questioning,” muttered the officer. “Take that knife from him.”
Delphi Complete Works of Sheridan Le Fanu Page 63