The Heir of Kilfinnan: A Tale of the Shore and Ocean

by William Henry Giles Kingston

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

  In a turret chamber in Kilfinnan Castle sat two young ladies. It wasapparently their private boudoir. It had been elegantly furnished, butthe drapery had somewhat faded, and the air of freshness it had oncepossessed had long since departed. The window out of which the ladieswere gazing looked forth over the wide Atlantic, and the eldest wasdressed in deep mourning, apparently her usual costume, while the air ofsadness in her countenance seemed to be habitual. The younger one wasfull of life and animation, though occasionally, as she looked up at herfriend, she, too, became sad.

  "That is a strange story, Sophy, you were reading just now from thenewspaper," said the youngest,--"I mean about Lord Eden; I cannotunderstand how a man of his rank and position should condescend to marrya girl of low degree, however virtuous or excellent she might be. These_mesalliances_ can never answer. Too soon the one of more refinedhabits and ideas discovers a degree of coarseness and vulgarity in theother, which must ultimately cause separation. No; my only notion of ahappy union is, that where people are of the same rank and education,and all their sympathies are in unison--"

  "You know so little of life, dear Nora, that I do not think you arecapable of judging," answered her cousin Sophy. "I do not say, however,that in the main you are not right, but there may be exceptions, inwhich true happiness may be found. I do not say Lord Eden is right inmarrying this girl. At the same time, she may have more naturalrefinement than could be expected. I have heard of such instances."

  "I, on the contrary, Sophy, remember hearing my father speak of a verydifferent case, in which a country girl was taken out of her sphere, andeducated, and, I think, became the wife of one of our ministers. Aslong as she was at rest, she appeared very elegant, but if she got atall excited, or, as was sometimes the case, lost her temper, she thenexhibited her real condition; and if, as I consider, it is very bad fora man to marry a person of inferior rank, surely it is much worse for alady to marry one who is her inferior."

  Sophy smiled sadly.

  "No; I shall hold to my own opinion," said Nora, "and I do not thinkthat anybody would induce me to marry a person, however elegant andrefined he might appear, unless I knew he was of gentle blood."

  The conversation of the young ladies was interrupted by Sophyexclaiming--

  "Bring the glass, Nora; I see a vessel standing in for the bay. Hercanvas looks very white and shining. I believe she is a man-of-war."

  The telescope, which stood on a stand, had been, for some purpose,removed from the window, and it was now brought to its usual place byNora. They both looked through it, one after the other.

  "Yes, there can be no doubt of the matter," said Nora; "her squareyards, her tall masts and white canvas show at once what she is. Shedoes not appear to me to be a frigate. I think she is a smallervessel--a corvette,--and very beautiful vessels they are."

  While this conversation was going forward, the ship rapidly approachedthe shore, under a wide spread of canvas. They had soon an opportunityof ascertaining her character. At length she stood into the bay, and,furling her sails, came to an anchor. The wind was at that timesufficiently from the north to enable her to obtain perfect shelter, andshe floated calmly on the smooth waters. It was still early in the day.They watched for a short time, but no boat could put off to approachthe Castle, though they fancied they saw one standing in for anotherpart of the bay.

  At that time Ireland was suffering, as she had long been, from her usualchronic disorder--discontent. Disturbances had occurred here and therein the west and south among the Riband Men, or White Boys, or UnitedIrishmen, by which names the rebels were at different times and placesknown. The Government, therefore, had considered it necessary to sendvessels of war to cruise up and down the coast, that their blue-jacketsand marines might render such assistance as might be required. This wasso generally the case at present, that the arrival of the corvette didnot cause any unusual sensation among the inhabitants of the coast wholived near enough to the sea to observe her. Several men-of-war had inthe same way entered the bay of late, and, after remaining a few days,had taken their departure. The young ladies had arranged that, later inthe day, they would take a ride over the downs, and, after calling onMiss O'Reilly, at the Vicarage, look in upon some of the poor peoplewhom they were in the habit of visiting.

  Meantime, we must go to the other end of the bay, where an old man mightbe seen descending the narrow gorge which led down to the small covewhere the Widow O'Neil resided. It was Father O'Rourke. He proceededon in a somewhat meditative mood, until he reached the cottage. Heopened the door, and found the widow sitting on the usual stool,employed in mending her nets.

  "And what brings you here, Father O'Rourke?" she said, looking up at himwith a glance which showed that he was not a favourite of hers.

  "Widow, I have come to speak about a matter of importance," he answered."I hear, in spite of all my warnings, and all the instruction I havegiven you, by which you would be sure to find your way to heaven, thatyou still go to that heretic minister, Mr Jamieson, as you used to dowhen I before warned you. Now, I tell you, widow, if you love yoursoul, you must go there no more. I am not going to be warning you forever. Do you hear my words? Do you intend to obey them?"

  "Father O'Rourke," said the widow, looking calmly at him, "I have agreat respect for your office, and for the holy religion of which youare a priest; there is nothing I have ever said against that. I am agood Catholic, as I have always been, and you shall not be the person tothrow a stone at me; but if I go to the Vicarage, I go to hear thegentle words of that poor blind lady, and the minister never speaksanything to me but what is faithful and true. He is a good man, FatherO'Rourke, and I wish I was as sure of going to heaven as he is: that iswhat I have got to tell you."

  "Oh, Widow O'Neil, those are evil words you are speaking!" exclaimed thepriest; "you are just disobeying the holy mother Church; you are justdoing what will bring you down the road to destruction, and I tell you,I believe it was your obstinacy, and your love for those heretics, thatwas the cause of the loss of your son. He is gone, and I hope he isgone to glory, for it is not for the want of me saying masses for hissoul, if he has not; for sure I am, that, if he had remained here, andlistened longer to the instruction of that false heretic, he would havegone the way you are so anxious to go, Widow O'Neil."

  The widow now stood up, throwing from her the nets, which had hithertobeen on her knees. She stepped back a pace or two, and stretched outher hands.

  "Father O'Rourke," she exclaimed, "it is not the truth you are speakingto me! My boy never learned anything but what was good when he went tothe Vicarage: and more than that, though you say he has gone from thisworld, there is something deep down in my heart which tells me he isstill alive. If he were dead, my heart would feel very different towhat it does now. I tell you, Father O'Rourke, I believe my son isalive, and will come back some day to see me. I know he will. Do youthink I doubt his love? Do I doubt my love for him? No. FatherO'Rourke, you are a childless man yourself, and you do not know what thelove of a mother is for her child, and I do not think you know what thelove of a child is for its mother--a fond, loving mother, as I havebeen,--not such a child as mine. The day will come when Dermot willstand here, as you are standing here; but he will not be blaming his oldmother as you are blaming her. He will come to speak words of comfortand consolation into my ear. Instead of that, Father O'Rourke, you havebrought nothing but cursing. You tell me I am in the downward road todestruction. Is that the way you should speak to a lone widow, becauseshe loves her son, and likes those to speak who knew him, and who wouldtalk about him to her and praise him, and who tell her what a noble,clever youth he was?"

  "Widow O'Neil!" exclaimed Father O'Rourke, an angry frown gathering onhis brow, "year after year I have spoken to you as I am now speaking. Ihave warned you before, I have warned your boy Dermot. I tell you, hewould not take the warning, and he would have suffered the consequencesof his disobedience, but I
do care for your soul, and it is on accountof that soul that I want you to put faith in the holy mother Church. Ifyou do, all will be right, but if you go and listen to the words of thatProtestant minister, all will be wrong, and you, Widow O'Neil, will haveto go and live for ever with the accursed; ay, for ever and ever in fireand torment." With such force and energy did the priest speak, and sofierce did he look, that for the moment he made the poor old womantremble and turn pale with fear. She quickly, however, recoveredherself.

  "You may go, Father O'Rourke," she exclaimed. "Once I was your slave,but I am your slave no longer. I am a poor ignorant woman, but I havehad the truth told me, and that truth has made me free of you; say whatyou will, I do not fear you."

  The priest on hearing these words positively stamped on the ground, andgnashed his teeth with anger. He was not one of the polished fathers ofthe Church, who have been taught from their youth to conceal theirfeelings. He was certainly not a trained disciple of Ignatius Loyola.Again and again he stamped, and then uttering a fearful anathema on theoccupant of the hut, he turned round, and slamming the door, left her ashe had often before done, and hastened upwards towards the cliffs.

  While this scene was enacting below, a young naval officer, who hadlanded from a boat which had come from the corvette, lately brought upin the bay, had climbed to the summit of the downs, and was taking hisway across them towards the gorge, up which the priest was hastening.He had, however, not got very far, when he heard a voice singing a wildand plaintive Irish air. He stopped to listen, and as he did so, afigure, dressed in fantastic fashion, appeared from behind some brokenground in the neighbourhood of the downs. She advanced towards him, andthen suddenly stopped, looking eagerly in his face.

  "Who are you, stranger--who are you who come to these shores? It is notgood for you to be alone here; if you come, come with armed men, withmuskets on their shoulders and swords by their sides, for that slightweapon that you carry would avail you nothing against the enemies youare likely to meet here. Go back, I tell you, the way you came. I mayseem silly and mad, and mad and silly I am, but I can sing; few can singlike me. Now listen stranger, listen to my song." She burst forthagain in the same wild strains which at first attracted the youngofficer's attention.

  "But what reason could you give me why I should follow your advice? Ilike your song, however; can you not sing me another?"

  "Yes," she answered, "mad Kathleen has many a song in her head, but itdoes not always come when called for, it is only as the fit seizes herthat she can bring it forth. Never mind listening to my song, however,but follow my advice. There is your boat even now out in the bay; go,make a signal to it to come back to you, or evil will befall you."

  "I can scarcely suppose that, provided I do not leave the shore,"answered the officer. "I thank you, however, for your advice, but I donot purpose wandering far from where I now am."

  "Even here where you stand you are not safe; but I have warned you once,and I cannot warn you more," exclaimed the mad woman, as with wildgestures she retreated back to the spot from which she appeared to havecome. The young officer watched her till she disappeared. A shade ofmelancholy came over his countenance.

  "I might have asked her about some of the people hereabouts," he said tohimself. "Her warning perhaps is not to be despised; I will sit downhere, and wait till the boat returns."

  The officer was approaching the edge of the cliff when Father O'Rourkereached the downs; seeing the stranger, he advanced towards him. Thetemper of the priest had not calmed down, so it seemed, since hisencounter with the poor widow. As he approached the young officer, helooked at him earnestly.

  "What brings you here?" he exclaimed. "What business have armed men tocome upon our coasts, let me ask you?"

  "Really, sir," said the officer, drawing himself up, "I bear hisMajesty's commission as commander of yonder sloop of war, and in theperformance of my duty, I have landed on the shores of this bay; but Ido not understand why I should be thus roughly spoken to by oneespecially, who, judging from his appearance, is a catholic priest."

  "You judge rightly, young man," answered Father O'Rourke, "but I am notto be deceived by appearances, and though you may call yourself what youwill, I suspect you to be either the commander of a privateer, if notrather of a vile buccaneer. We have had visits before now from suchgentry, and I should advise you to leave our shores without delay."

  "I cannot understand your meaning," exclaimed the officer; "I repeat, Icame here in the performance of my duty, and I little expected to betreated thus by the first stranger I might meet."

  The priest seemed to think that he had proceeded too far; whatever mighthave been his motive in thus insulting one whom he must have known was anaval officer, or for some reason, he thought fit suddenly to change histactics.

  "Pardon me, sir," he said in a soothing voice, which he well knew how toassume, "I see that I was mistaken in my first supposition, and to provemy sincerity, I shall be happy if I can render to you any service in mypower."

  "I willingly accept your apologies," answered the officer, regarding thepriest intently, as if to ascertain whether he was to be trusted. "Onmy way along the shore, I intend visiting some of the little coves I seeto the northward of these downs, and now, sir, perhaps you can inform mewhether I am likely to find any people residing among them?"

  "But few, if any," answered the priest, "they are nearly all dead orgone away who once lived there; the curse of your country has been uponthem. The aged and the young, the married and the single, the widow andher children, have all been swept away."

  "Yes, I have heard that great changes have taken place in thisneighbourhood of late years," answered the young officer, a shade ofmelancholy crossing his countenance. "And now, sir, in spite of thesomewhat rough way in which you first addressed me, I wish you goodmorning, and thank you for your information."

  Father O'Rourke had, all the time he was speaking, been examining thecountenance of the young officer.

  "Ah, to be sure, I was somewhat irritated by a trifle just before I metyou, but your politeness has conquered me," he answered blandly, "and Ibeg you, should you come near my humble abode, to believe that I shallbe happy to receive you. We poor, oppressed Catholics have little tooffer our guests, but to such as I possess you will be welcome. Ourbusiness is to look after the souls of our parishioners. If we can butshow them the right way to heaven we should be content."

  The young officer seemed somewhat inclined to smile at these remarks ofthe priest.

  "I will not fail to avail myself of your invitation," he answered, "butat present I do not intend to extend my walk along the sea-shore."

  "Well then, sir, as you have wished me good morning, I must wish you thesame, and a pleasant walk to you, only let me advise you to be cautiouswhere you go; it isn't just the safest part of the country for a king'sofficer to be found wandering in by himself. However, sir, I have givenyou a friendly warning, and now again farewell." The priest, somewhatto the surprise of the officer, considering the father's previousgreeting, put out his hand, which he was too courteous not to take, thenquickly turning round, Father O'Rourke proceeded up the gorge into thecountry.

  Father O'Rourke was not accustomed to explain to others the object ofhis proceedings. He had good reasons in his own estimation foreverything that he did. They were possibly conscientious; but then hisconscience might have been a very erring guide, and led him far wrong,as is the case with many other people in the world.

  "It cannot be helped," said the priest to himself, alluding to somethingwhich was passing in his own mind, "but no harm may come of it to meafter all. The boys were to meet at O'Keef's last night, and there willbe plenty of them still about there; they will be glad enough of thechance of getting hold of a king's officer, and if he shows fight andsome one gives him a knock on the head, or sends a pistol-bullet throughhim, it will settle the business. He is certain to be down in the cove,and if the boys are quick they will catch him there. I am pretty sur
ethat I am not mistaken, but at all events he will be a valuable prize ifhe can be got hold of any way."

  Such thoughts occupied the mind of the priest as turning off from thebeaten path he took his way across a mountainous region which stillremained in all its primitive wildness. After proceeding for somedistance at a speed which was surprising considering his age, he reachedsome rude turf-covered huts, scarcely discernible from the rocks andgrass amid which they stood. The priest gave a peculiar call, whichsoon brought out a number of shaggy-looking heads and eager faces withgrey frieze-coats beneath them. Father O'Rourke did not take long toexplain the object of his visit, which was quickly comprehended, nor didhe wrongly estimate the inclinations of his hearers, who gleefullyundertook to carry out the plan he proposed to them. All things beingarranged to his satisfaction, he returned to his own abode, saying tohimself, "I warned him of danger, so that if he is attacked and escapes,he cannot accuse me of having had anything to do in the matter."

  The officer was about to prosecute his intention of descending into thecove, when he heard merry voices near him. The speakers seemed to beclimbing up the cliffs, and they soon made their appearance on itssummit. Touching their caps as they neared the officer--

  "The boat has come for you, sir," said one of them.

  "Very well," was the answer. "Go down and amuse yourselves on the beachfor a short time and I will join you. I am not ready to go off justyet."

  The young midshipmen receiving these orders managed to get down thecliffs in a way few but midshipmen could have done without breakingtheir necks.

  "I wonder what our captain's about," said one of them. "I should havethought that he would have gone to the Castle. Lord Kilfinnan livesthere, you know; and I remember hearing how constantly he used to be athis house out in the West Indies. Did you ever see Lady Nora?"

  "No," answered the other; "I do not remember having heard her spokenof."

  "Oh, she is the Earl's daughter, and a very beautiful girl she is, too,"observed the first speaker. "There is Lady Sophy Danvers, her cousin,too, who lives with her. She was engaged for a long time to thatCaptain Falkner, you know, who commanded the _Cynthia_; but, I supposeher relations did not like her to marry him because he wasn't a lord,and intended her for a duke or a marquis perhaps."

  "I do not see why they should have done that," answered the othermidshipman. "In my opinion, a naval officer is equal to any lord in theland; at all events, a post-captain is. If I were a post-captain, Iknow, I should not hesitate to pay my respects to any earl's daughter.Why, just think, to have a fine frigate and three or four hundred menunder one's orders, and, by-and-by, a line-of-battle ship, and then apost-captain becomes an admiral, remember; and many admirals have beenmade lords themselves. Why, there is Lord Nelson; he was only amidshipman to begin with; and Lord Collingwood, and Lord Saint Vincent,and Lord Howe, and many others; they were all midshipmen, just as youand I are. Now, just look at our captain for instance; if any onedeserves to be made a lord he does. What a gallant fellow he is. Why,if it had not been for him, they say, the _Cynthia_ would have beentaken. It was he assisted in lashing the enemy's bowsprit to thefrigate's foremast, and then repelling the boarders who were swarming onboard; and then, there are no end of things he did in the West Indies,and in other parts of the world. He has been in half-a-dozencutting-out expeditions, and, since he has been a commander, has takenseveral prizes. Did you ever hear how, when the French frigate wassinking, he refused to leave her, and stayed on board to assist thecaptain in keeping her afloat at the risk of his own life. Now, that isthe sort of thing to be proud of. I often think more of a man who hasdone those generous actions than one who has gained a hard-foughtbattle. However, what do you say to having a race along the sands?Here, we will get most of the fellows on shore, and I am ready to give aprize to the best runner."

  "I will give my pocket-knife," said the midshipman; "that will be anencouragement to the men. They are good sort of fellows, and I like toafford them amusement. It is little we or they get these days, kept atsea month after month."

  As it may be supposed, the young midshipmen were great favourites onboard the corvette, and for some time they kept their crew amused asthey had proposed. At length they began to wonder that the captain didnot appear, and they began to fear that some accident had befallen him.At last they proposed climbing up the cliff again to look for him. Theyreached the top at last, and looked round the downs on every side; noone was to be seen. Then curiosity led them a short distance inland.Suddenly, a figure which made them start rose up before them.

  "Who are you looking for, young sirs?" exclaimed mad Kathleen. "I knowwithout your telling me. He is gone--gone away, and you must follow tofind him; but listen, boys, I have a message for him. Now, don't youfail to give it. Tell him there are enemies watching for him, and thatif ever he comes on shore by himself he will be sure to be set upon, andall his strength and courage will avail him nothing. He is a brave man,your captain, and I wish him well."

  "Why, how do you know anything about him?" asked one of the midshipmen."I did not know he had ever been here before."

  "Mad Kathleen knows more things than you wot of," answered the madwoman, with a loud laugh, whirling her hands as she spoke. "Now, go tothe Castle as I bid you, and give him my message. He would run morerisk by neglecting my warning than if he were to fight a dozen battlesfor his king and country."

  Though the midshipmen were little inclined to put much belief in themessage of the mad creature, they promised to deliver it as soon as theymet their captain. After consulting together, they agreed that theirproper course was to row along the bay towards the Castle, in the hopesthat he might have gone there.