CHAPTER XI.
ATE.
Robert (or Mr. Hewitt, for so was he enrolled among the chalked-upinmates of the lodging where he dwelt) betrayed no less emotion thanthe rest of Dublin citizens when the word flew from mouth to mouththat as an independent nation Ireland was extinguished. He and a fewtrusty followers were waiting for the official announcement ofIreland's disgrace in their depot--a shambling set of outhousessituated near Merchant's Quay. Sirr's raid, whereby he captured somuch material, was annoying no doubt; but Robert was full of his starand the mantle that Theobald had thrown to him.
Of course when the Castle was captured, Dublin would surrender withouta blow. He had his scheme prepared, which was instilled into the mindsof the Wicklow banditti. They were to creep to their posts atnightfall and await his signal--a rocket; then to rush from differentpoints upon the Castle, choosing the narrowest streets in order thatif attacked their peculiar style of warfare might prove effective. Ina narrow passage, he argued, the pike--a weapon nine feet long--ismore telling than a musket with its bayonet. The people in the housesmight of course be expected to take part against the military, andgive them a warm reception from the housetops with a galling fire ofbricks and coping-stones. If necessary they might be employed indragging up the pavement in the rear of the King's troops, to exposethe new-made drains as pitfalls. In any case the regulars, thrown intoconfusion, would roll over each other, and, helpless in a chokedthoroughfare, might be piked and stoned to a man. At prearrangedturnings, barriers were to be thrown up, constructed of carts, doors,hogsheads. This would be done in a few seconds by the willing help ofsurrounding inhabitants. In all cases the pikemen were bidden toadvance at a brisk trot that weight might counterbalance defectivediscipline; intrepid men being stationed at the ends of every rank tokeep the masses compact and prevent wavering.
Robert's own position (and the rallying-point in case of retreat) wasto be the watch-house which stood on the Old Bridge, and whichcommanded the narrow entry by which troops would come, if sent for,from Chapelizod. From the tower which crowned the watch-house he wouldsend up his rocket; then, allowing time for the marching of thedifferent divisions to their respective posts, he would leave asufficient body there to hold the bridge, and hurry to the Castlegates, lest some one might steal the envied privilege of dragging downthe detested flag. Elaborate were his arrangements in theory withregard to barricades. Beams had been left lying about with prearrangedcarelessness, ready to be picked up and slung at a moment's notice. Ashe donned his uniform--scarlet coat with gold epaulettes, white vest,pantaloons of tender grey--his first-lieutenant (one Quigley, a baker,who rejoiced exceedingly in a huge green plume) remarked with regretthat perhaps their object would have been best achieved by taking ahint from Fawkes. 'Nothing could have been easier, and if successfulmore complete. Sure, it was the want of a reform in the senate thathad brought Erin to this plight. The senate destroyed, she might beginagain on the basis of '82, with hope refreshed and a clean slate.'
Robert looked with displeasure at his truculent lieutenant.
'What! There were women in the galleries. Destroy the innocent withthe guilty, by the hundred?'
'Haven't they kilt thousands--women and children galore--bad luck to'em!' retorted the bellicose baker. 'After all, there was no fear ofthe escape of the guilty now. The hand of the avenger should seek outthe recreants and put them to the edge of the sword--stem, root, andbranch; their houses should be heaps of stones; their homes be madedesolate. The world would applaud the vengeance of the downtrodden!'
Robert was displeased by his lieutenant's views. He who byconstitutional instinct so dreaded bloodshed, had battled with hisfears and girded on the sword of Joshua, carried above physicalantipathies by the sacred cause of the oppressed. Yet was it with asecret terror that he listened to such language as that of thegentleman with the green plume. It filled him with loathing. ThankHeaven that he, the chief, was there to keep the men in order, andtemper justice with mercy! The goddess of justice, he believed, shouldappear white and shining, not dabbled with the gore of those who haddone no wrong. So he tried to reason with himself. The work of Joshua,if the legend was to be believed, had been a bloody one, whichascended with a sweet savour of sacrifice in the nostrils of avengeful Deity. If it was the will of stern Justice that the sinfulbrethren should be slaughtered, and with them the innocent, why, thenresponsibility was taken from his hands, and it would be presumptionto attempt to dictate.
It was not without a certain trepidation that Robert scanned thetimepiece, watching its moving hands. The Commons were stillsitting--the farce was not quite over. An hour or two might elapsebefore the hateful flag was run up to its place. He employed the timein exhorting his followers--there were only fifty of them--to behavewith continence to the conquered foe.
'Some of us,' he said, 'may be called to join the band of those whohave already given their lives on the scaffold, or on the field. Letnot that distress you. Right is on our side if we commit no crimes.Eternal fame is worth more than a few years on this sad earth. Thereputation of the few who fall in our holy cause will abide afterthem, a precious legacy to those whom they love and honour, to thosewhom they have snatched from slavery--for whom they are proud toperish.'
He talked himself into an exalted fervour, which swept away hisscruples. His followers, too, were caught by his enthusiasm. Theyvowed that no evil deed should smirch their banner; that what theyfought for was liberty--the hacking off of chains; that they wouldgive to Europe an example of high-minded patriotism,' unblemished bypetty license.
Robert was relieved and grateful. It was close on midnight when hedrew his sword, and crying, 'Boys, come on!' dashed forth into thestreet. Though so late, the citizens were not in bed, but standing attheir doors and windows discoursing of that which was now anaccomplished fact. They looked at the insignificant knot that rancheering past with consternation.
What manner of men were these who carried sheaves of pikes? What wasthis youth in martial garb, who waved over his head a sabre? Robertand his lieutenants harangued the citizens, distributed weapons,dragged some who wavered to the depot, where they would find arms andammunition. They were soon the centre of a delirious crowd, who jumpedand sang and danced like maniacs. The lad's hopes beat high, his facebeamed with excitement. Heaven had answered promptly; recruits weregathering like sand. Women and children rushed about screaming; wivestugged at their husbands' garments, imploring them to come away, lestperadventure their end should be the gallows. Some one called out thatthe soldiery were upon them, and then the warriors just now so valiantfled with precipitation up alleys, courts and lanes, dropping theirpikes, tearing at those in front who impeded their flight, rollingover and over in the frenzy of their haste to wriggle out ofmusket-range. Brutality and cowardice are the corollaries of slavery;both made themselves conspicuous on this dreadful night.
Finding that it was a false alarm (for the soldiers were on guard halfa mile away, about the Senate-house), those who a moment since werecrouching behind their wives, surged out again as if to protest bydeeds against involuntary panic, and ran with yells after the youth inscarlet. To the Old Bridge was a few paces. They gave a prolonged howlas they came in sight of it, which echoed and re-echoed along theLiffey banks, and penetrated even to the Castle, where LordCornwallis, his mind relieved in that the work was done, wascongratulating the smirking chancellor on the final success of thegrand measure. Both started and looked at one another. What a strangeuproar! Could it be thunder? Lord Clare opened the casement and peeredout. A rocket rose into the air and burst; another howl--louder, moreprolonged than the first one. Lord Clare closed the window quietly andshrugged his shoulders, muttering, as he secured the hasp:
'Sirr was right, then. I really could scarce credit that they shouldbe such idiots. Yet are they silly enough for anything.' Then turningwith a sour smile to the Viceroy, he said: 'Thank goodness, it's wellover. This ferment is not worth considering. How c
an I do otherwisethan blush at being an Irishman? My Lord Castlereagh thinks, as I do,that the work we have this day finished is a subject for universalthanksgiving.'
Singularly enough, the sympathy of the Viceroy was not with hiscolleagues my Lords Clare and Castlereagh, but with those who were bythis time brandishing their pikes in Thomas Street, for he pitied thedeluded people sorely whose flame of rebellion against the inevitablewas making this last melancholy flicker.
The Union was a fact now. It was done; and would ultimately, so soonas sores were healed, be productive of much good, for the people wouldbe protected by a distant but temperate master against the turbulentraging of their own factions. But for all that, this desperate handfulwho preferred death to slavery, were more worthy of respect than thepolished gentleman before him who had sold his own brethren intobondage. So thought the Viceroy; but Lord Cornwallis, bluff soldierthough he was, had learned to school his features. He thereforecontented himself with observing that nocturnal rioting must be putdown, and that the chancellor had better accept a bed in the Castle,considering that if he ventured out among the rioters he wouldcertainly be torn to pieces. Then glancing down into Castle-yard,which was full of soldiers, he bade his guest good-night, and retiredto the solitude of his own chamber.
Arrived at the Old Bridge, Robert let off his rocket, while theever-increasing crowd gibbered and hallooed. The night was very dark.In the transient flare the expectant mob beheld a martial figure thatglittered with gold braid, waving a big sword. A grand figureentirely--who was he? no matter. With him they would fall or conquer,they declared, though the majority of the mob were hazy as to the workwhich there was to do. The word was given and rippled along the ranks:'To the Castle, to slay the tyrant!' 'To the Castle, to the Castle!'they all yelled and bellowed helter-skelter up Thomas Street, for theobject was plain and praiseworthy--to storm the palace of the Viceroy.Robert led the way, brandishing his immense blade; the bellicose bakerlooked after the rear. Both exhorted as many as were within hearing tosteadiness and calm. But those behind pushed those who were in front.It was as much as Robert could do to keep his feet. Vainly he bawled.Nobody heard him any more, for all were chattering like excitedmonkeys; nobody in the dense blackness could distinguish his uniform.He had let a torrent loose, but could not guide it. Half-way up ThomasStreet he became conscious of a diversion--the pressure to the frontbecame weaker--something unexpected was happening at the fartherextremity of the thoroughfare. The mob were gesticulating--heaving toand fro. Was it a surprise? Were the military come in from Chapelizod?Had they beaten down the little watch-house garrison, or hadthey--forewarned--approached the scene of action by another route? Thebellicose lieutenant would need assistance and counsel--pray Heaven hewas staunch! Their leader buffeted with the mob, but they heeded himnot. It was essential that he should see what was passing, that heshould fly to the succour of his second in command, who was battlingwith this human maelstrom. How dark the night was! The moon, which wasat the full, was clouded over. Raising himself on the steps of ahouse, he strained his eyes over the sea of faces and detected littlelights--flambeaux apparently, which tossed and floundered, then wentout. This could be no military attack. The men must be committing someoutrage upon persons who had fallen into their hands--innocent personspossibly, who, according to the tenets of the baker, were to sufferfor the transgressions of the guilty. Robert was in an agony, for themonster he had conjured into life refused to hearken to his chiding.He cried that the cause must not be sullied, that pure-souled patriotsmust not play the night-assassin; but his voice was as the buzzing ofan insect. 'Forward!' he shouted till he was hoarse; 'forward to theCastle!' He might as well have shouted to the ocean. Those about himpushed and elbowed, screaming wild oaths and execrations; for, unableto see what was going on, they were half-fearful of treachery,half-anxious to bear their part. Despite his gay accoutrement Robertfound himself crushed against a railing, till his ribs threatened tocollapse under the pressure. With a supreme effort he shook himselffree, and fell backwards through a doorway. He recognised it--howlucky! It led by a narrow alley into the adjoining road, which ranparallel with Thomas Street. Sure, this was another mark of Heaven'sapprobation; for by following it he could skirt the mob, and, runninground, discover the cause of the diversion. The adjoining road wasempty; the terrified householders had closed their doors and shuttersand, trembling, were peeping through the chinks. Painful experiencehad taught them caution. As he sped along, his feet patteringstrangely in the solitude, Robert could catch the murmur, as of waterdashing upon rocks, over the roofs, a house-thickness off. Runningwith all his speed, he turned the corner and flung himself against therolling swell; beheld with despair a coach--one whose liveries he knewof old--rocking and swaying in danger of being upset, while the horsesplunged wildly and the coachman sat paralysed, with a pistol at hisear. The door had been rent from its hinges; the silken curtains hungin tatters. One of the occupants, a man of fine presence and middleage, had been dragged out, and lay upon the stones surrounded by acrew of savages. The other, a woman, leaned out of the carriage,imploring help in dumb show for the man upon the ground. Convulsedwith horror, Robert forced a passage with the flat of his sabre. Onelight--the single flambeau which had escaped extinguishing--threw aghastly glare on the surge of scowling ruffians. Blood trickled fromthe forehead of the man upon the ground; upon his black satin vest andsmallclothes, upon his cambric shirt, as he strove to rise. Hestaggered up, clutching at a wheel, and waved his hand to obtain ahearing. 'Good people,' he panted, but his words reached those onlywho stood close by, 'I have never done you harm. I am Kilwarden, chiefjustice of the King's Bench.'
'Justice!' gibed the baker. 'She's gone long since where you shallfollow her!'
The mob, which had ebbed in a momentary recoil, flowed forward againwith a rush. A dozen pikes were poised and fell. Doreen, who could seewhat passed within the circle, tossed her helpless arms and filled thenight air with shrieks; while Robert, distracted, beat his breast andtore his hair.
A sharp ring of hoofs clattered on the road--nearer--nearer--nearerstill. A band of horsemen were approaching at a gallop from the quay;behind--in the distance--a host of cavalry; from the oppositedirection the tramp of many feet. The Castle-gates had been opened;the infantry were pouring forth; the mob, finding itself hemmed in,smote right and left in a frantic effort to escape.
The smaller band of horsemen, headed by Shane and Cassidy, were thefirst to reach the coach. They drew their _couteaux-de-chasse_, and,beating aside the unwieldy pikes, which were too long for such closequarters, trampled the insurgents down.
'The lady, Lord Glandore!' Cassidy shouted. 'Now's your time!'
'Oh, save her!' raved Robert, in remorse. 'My God, what have I done?Save her, Lord Glandore!'
Shane stretched out his hand towards his cousin. Chance was favouringhim. Under pretext of protecting her, the project planned by the giantcould without difficulty be accomplished now. Doreen shrank back.
'Begone!' she wailed, filled with the anguish of that heap upon theground. 'What have you done with your brother--bastard!'
Shane winced, as from a whip-cut on the cheek. She, too, then knew thefatal secret; but it mattered not, for she was in his power. Themilitary were closing in upon the mob. In the scurry and the darknesshe would bear her far away. He was well known; what more natural thanthat her cousin should rescue the bereaved Miss Wolfe from such ascene?
Dismounting, he strode over the corpse of Lord Kilwarden, and callingon his friends to rally round the coach, prepared to withdraw it fromthe _melee_.
Upon hearing the name, twice repeated, the man who had held the pistolto the coachman's ear turned sharply round.
'You then are Lord Glandore?' he asked. 'The curse of God has foundyou, murderer! You and a few like you slew my father four years agonein sport on Stephen's Green! Do you recall it? He was only an oldman--a shoemaker. Maybe you don't, for you've done many such deeds,and you were drunk!'
Shane thrust the importunate babbl
er aside, and ordered the coachmanto urge on his horses.
'I've waited for my revenge all this while, my lord,' muttered theman, 'and you don't escape me now.'
Raising his pistol with steady aim, he shot Shane through the heart,and, diving, vanished in the crowd.
Cassidy was taken aback. Hitherto everything had moved according tohis desire. Were his well-constructed schemes to be disconcerted now?He looked up the street and down the street at the compact bodies oftroops advancing, then with a rage of longing at Doreen. Yes! his planwas overthrown; a new one must spring out of its ashes. Shane, byvirtue of his cousinship, might have borne the young lady with safetythrough the ranks. He, Cassidy, could hope for no such privilege.Well, better luck next time. But it would not do to lose his footingat Strogue Abbey. _Le roi est mort; vive le roi!_ He bethought him ofa certain prisoner within the provost, kidnapped the other day, whoseposition was quite changed by that untoward pistol-shot. All thingsconsidered, Mr. Cassidy could not have acted with more wisdom than hedid. He left Doreen to the tender mercies of the soldiery, and spurredwith utmost speed towards the provost.
My Lords of Strogue, Vol. 3 (of 3) Page 11