“You should!” cried I, warmly. “Why so? And why do you pronounce so decidedly, my good friend? Have not I the same means of judging as you have? unless, indeed, you have some private reason with which I am unacquainted. Perhaps,” cried I, starting half up from the sofa on which I lay, charmed with a bright idea, which had just struck me, “perhaps, M’Leod, you wrote the letter yourself for a jest. Did you?”
“That’s a question, my lord,” said M’Leod, growing suddenly red, and snatching up his hat with a quicker motion than I ever saw from him before, “that’s a question, my lord, which I must take leave not to answer; a question, give me leave to add, my Lord Glenthorn,” continued he, speaking in a broader Scotch accent than I had ever heard from him before, “which I should knock my equal doon for putting to me. A M’Leod, my lord, in jest or in earnest, would scorn to write to any man breathing that letter to which he would not put his name; and more, a M’Leod would scorn to write or to say that thing, to which he ought not to put his name. Your humble servant, my Lord Glenthorn,” said he, and, making a hasty bow, departed.
I called after him, and even followed him to the head of the stairs, to explain and apologize; but in vain: I never saw him angry before.
“It’s very weel, my lord, it’s very weel; if you say you meant nothing offensive, it’s very weel; but if you think fit, my lord, we will sleep upon it before we talk any more. I am a wee bit warmer than I could wish, and your lordship has the advantage of me, in being cool. A M’Leod is apt to grow warm, when he’s touched on the point of honour; and there’s no wisdom in talking when a man’s not his own master.”
“My good friend,” said I, seizing his hand as he was buttoning up his coat, “I like you the better for this warmth; but I won’t let you sleep upon your wrath: you must shake hands with me before that hall-door is opened to you.”
“Then so I do, for there’s no standing against this frankness; and, to be as frank with you, my lord, I was wrong myself to be so testy — I ask pardon, too. A M’Leod never thought it a disgrace to crave a pardon when he was wrong.”
We shook hands, and parted better friends than ever. I spoke the exact truth when I said that I liked him the better for his warmth: his anger wakened me, and gave me something to think of, and some emotion for a few minutes. Joe Kelly presently afterwards came, with the simplest face imaginable, to inquire what I had determined about the journey.
“To put it off till the day after to-morrow,” said I. “Light me to bed.”
He obeyed; but observed, that “it was not his fault now if there was puttings-off; for his share, every thing was ready, and he was willing and ready to follow me, at a moment’s warning, to the world’s end, as he had a good right to do, let alone inclination; for, parting me, he could never be right in himself: and though loth to part his country, he had rather part that nor84 me.”
Then, without dwelling upon these expressions of attachment, he changed to a merry mood, and by his drolleries diverted me all the time I was going to bed, and at last fairly talked me asleep.
CHAPTER XV.
When the first grey light of morning began to make objects indistinctly visible, I thought I saw the door of my apartment open very softly. I was broad awake, and kept my eyes fixed upon it — it opened by very slow degrees; my head was so full of visions, that I expected a ghost to enter — but it was only Ellinor.
“Ellinor!” cried I; “is it you at this time in the morning?”
“Hush! hush!” said she, shutting the door with great precaution, and then coming on tiptoe close to my bedside; “for the love of God, speak softly, and make no stir to awake them that’s asleep near and too near you. It’s unknown to all that I come up; for may be, when them people are awake and about, I might not get the opportunity to speak, or they might guess I knew something by my looks.”
Her looks were full of terror — I was all amazement and expectation. Before she would say a word more, she searched the closets carefully, and looked behind the tapestry, as if she apprehended that she might be overheard: satisfied that we were alone, she went on speaking, but still in a voice that, with my utmost strained attention, I could but just hear.
“As you hope to live and breathe,” said she, “never go again after night-fall any time walking in that lone place by the sea-shore. It’s a mercy you escaped as you did; but if you go again you’ll never come back alive — for never would they get you to do what they want, and to be as wicked as themselves the wicked villains!”
“Who?” said I. “What wicked villains? I do not understand you; are you in your right senses?”
“That I am, and wish you was as much in yours; but it’s time yet, by the blessing of God! What wicked villains am I talking of? Of three hundred that have sworn to make you their captain, or, in case you refuse, to have your life this night. What villains am I talking of? Of him, the wickedest of all, who is now living in the very house with you, that is now lying in the very next room to you.”
“Joe Kelly?”
“That same. From the first minute I saw him in the castle, I should have hated him, but for his causing you for to put off the journey to England. I never could abide him; but that blinded me, or I am sure I would have found him out long ago.”
“And what have you found out concerning him?”
“That he is (speaking very low) a united-man, and stirring up the rubbles again here; and they have their meetings at night in the great cave, where the smugglers used to hide formerly, under the big rock, opposite the old abbey — and there’s a way up into the abbey, that you used to be so fond of walking to, dear.”
“Good Heavens! can this be true?”
“True it is, and too true, dear.”
“But how did you find all this out, Ellinor?”
“It was none of I found it, nor ever could any such things have come into my head — but it pleased God to make the discovery of all by one of the childer — my own grandson — the boy you gave the gun to, long and long ago, to shoot them rabbits. He was after a hare yesterday, and it took him a chase over that mountain, and down it went and took shelter in the cave, and in went the boy after it, and as he was groping about, he lights on an old great coat; and he brought it home with him, and was showing it, as I was boiling the potatoes for their dinner yesterday, to his father forenent me; and turning the pockets inside out, what should come up but the broken head of a pipe; then he sarches in the other pocket, and finds a paper written all over — I could not read it — thank God, I never could read none of them wicked things, nor could the boy — by very great luck he could not, being no scholar, or it would be all over the country before this.”
“Well, well! but what was in the paper after all? Did any body read it?”
“Ay, did they — that is, Christy read it — none but Christy — but he would not tell us what was in it — but said it was no matter, and he’d not be wasting his time reading an old song — so we thought no more, and he sent the boy up to the castle with a bill for smith’s work, as soon as we had eat the potatoes, and I thought no more about any thing’s being going wrong, no more than a child; and in the evening Christy said he must go to the funeral of a neighbour, and should not be home till early in the morning, may be; and it’s not two hours since he came home and wakened me, and told me where he had been, which was not to the funeral at all, but to the cave where the coat was found; and he put the coat and the broken head of the pike, and the papers all in the pockets, just as we found it, in the cave — and the paper was a list of the names of them rubbles that met there, and a letter telling how they would make Lord Glenthorn their captain, or have his life; this was what made Christy to try and find out more — so he hid hisself in a hole in the side of the cave, and built hisself up with rubbish, only just leaving a place for hisself to breathe — and there he stayed till nightfall; and then on till midnight, God help us! so sure enough, them villains all come filling fast into the cave. He had good courage, God bless him for it — but he
always had — and there he heard and saw all — and this was how they were talking: — First, one began by saying, how they must not be delaying longer to show themselves; they must make a rising in the country — then named the numbers in other parts that would join, and that they would not be put down so asy as afore, for they would have good leaders — then some praised you greatly, and said they was sure you favoured them in your heart, by all the ill-will you got in the county the time of the last ‘ruction. But, again, others said you was milk and water, and did not go far enough, and never would, and that it was not in you, and that you was a sleepy man, and not the true thing at all, and neither beef nor vael. Again, thim that were for you spoke and said you would show yourself soon — and the others made reply, and observed you must now spake out, or never spake more; you must either head ‘em, or be tramped under foot along with the rest, so it did not signify talking, and Joey Kelly should not be fribbling any more about it; and it was a wonder, said they, he was not the night at the meeting. And what was this about your being going off for England — what would they do when you was gone with M’Leod the Scotchman, to come in over them again agent, who was another guess sort of man from you, and never slept at all, and would scent ’em out, and have his corps after ‘em, and that once M’Leod was master, there would be no making any head again his head; so, not to be tiring you too much with all they said, backward and forward, one that was a captain, or something that way, took the word, and bid ’em all hold their peace, for they did not know what they was talking on, and said that Joey Kelly and he had settled it all, and that the going to England was put off by Joe, and all a sham, and that when you would be walking out to-morrow at nightfall, in those lone places by the sea-side or the abbey, he and Joe was to seize upon you, and when you would be coming back near the abbey, to have you down through the trap-door into the cave, and any way they would swear you to join and head them, and if you would not, out with you, and shove you into the sea, and no more about it, for it would be give out you drown’ yourself in a fit of the melancholy lunacy, which none would question, and it would be proved too you made away wid yourself, by your hat and gloves lying on the bank — Lord save us! What are you laughing at in that, when it is truth every word, and Joe Kelly was to find the body, after a great search. Well, again, say you would swear and join them, and head them, and do whatever they pleased, still that would not save you in the end; for they would quarrel with you at the first turn, because you would not be ruled by them as captain, and then they would shoot or pike you (God save the mark, dear), and give the castle to Joe Kelly, and the plunder all among ’em entirely. So it was all laid out, and they are all to meet in the cave to-morrow evening — they will go along bearing a funeral, seemingly to the abbey-ground. And now you know the whole truth, and the Lord preserve you! And what will be done? My poor head has no more power to think for you no more than an infant’s, and I’m all in a tremble ever since I heard it, and afraid to meet any one lest they should see all in my face. Oh, what will become of yees now — they will be the death of you, whatever you do!”
By the time she came to these last words, Ellinor’s fears had so much overpowered her, that she cried and sobbed continually, repeating—”What will be done now! What will be done! They’ll surely be the death of you, whatever you do.” As to me, the urgency of the danger wakened my faculties: I rose instantly, wrote a note to Mr. M’Leod, desiring to see him immediately on particular business. Lest my note should by any accident be intercepted or opened, I couched it in the most general and guarded terms; and added a request, that he would bring his last settlement of accounts with him; so that it was natural to suppose my business with him was of a pecuniary nature. I gradually quieted poor Ellinor by my own appearance of composure: I assured her, that we should take our measures so as to prevent all mischief — thanked her for the timely warning she had given me — advised her to go home before she was observed, and charged her not to speak to any one this day of what had happened. I desired that as soon as she should see Mr. M’Leod coming through the gate, she would send Christy after him to the castle, to get his bill paid; so that I might then, without exciting suspicion, talk to him in private, and we might learn from his own lips the particulars of what he saw and heard in the cavern.
Ellinor returned home, promising to obey me exactly, especially as to my injunction of secrecy — to make sure of herself she said “she would go to bed straight, and have the rheumatism very bad all day; so as not to be in a way to talk to none who would call in.” The note to M’Leod was despatched by one of my grooms, and I, returning to bed, was now left at full leisure to finish my morning’s nap.
Joe Kelly presented himself at the usual hour in my room; I turned my head away from him, and, in a sleepy tone, muttered that I had passed a bad night, and should breakfast in my own apartment.
Some time afterwards Mr. M’Leod arrived, with an air of sturdy pride, and produced his accounts, of which I suffered him to talk, till the servant who waited upon us had left the room; I then explained the real cause of my sending for him so suddenly. I was rather vexed, that I could not produce in him, by my wonderful narrative, any visible signs of agitation or astonishment. He calmly observed—”We are lucky to have so many hours of daylight before us. The first thing we have to do is to keep the old woman from talking.”
I answered for Ellinor.
“Then the next thing is for me, who am a magistrate, to take the examinations of her son, and see if he will swear to the same that he says.”
Christy was summoned into our presence, and he came with his bill for smith’s work done; so that the servants could have no suspicion of what was going forward. His examinations were taken and sworn to in a few minutes: his evidence was so clear and direct, that there was no possibility of doubting the truth. The only variation between his story and his mother’s report to me was as to the numbers he had seen in the cavern — her fears had turned thirteen into three hundred.
Christy assured us that there were but thirteen at this meeting, but that they said there were three hundred ready to join them.
“You were a very bold fellow, Christy,” said I, “to hazard yourself in the cave with these villains; if you had been found out in your hiding-place, they would have certainly murdered you.”
“True for me.” said Christy; “but a man must die some way, please your honour; and where’s the way I could die better? Sure, I could not but remember how good you was to me that time I was shot, and all you suffered for it! It would have been bad indeed if I would stay quiet, and let ’em murder you after all. No, no, Christy O’Donoghoe would not do that — any way. I hope, if there’s to be any fighting, your honour would not wrong me so much as not to give me a blunderbush, and let me fight a bit along wid de rest for yees.”
“We are not come to that yet, my good fellow,” said Mr. M’Leod, who went on methodically; “if you are precipitate, you will spoil all. Go home to your forge, and work as usual, and leave the rest to us; and I promise that you shall have your share, if there is any fighting.”
Very reluctantly Christy obeyed. Mr. M’Leod then deliberately settled our plan of operations. I had a fishing-lodge at a little distance, and a pleasure-boat there: to this place M’Leod was to go, as if on a fishing-party with his nephew, a young man, who often went there to fish. They were to carry with them some yeomen in coloured clothes, as their attendants, and more were to come as their guests to dinner. At the lodge there was a small four-pounder, which had been frequently used in times of public rejoicing; a naval victory, announced in the papers of the day, afforded a plausible pretence for bringing it out. We were aware that the rebels would be upon the watch, and therefore took every precaution to prevent their suspecting that we had made any discovery. Our fishing-party was to let the mock-funeral pass them quietly, to ask some trifling questions, and to give money for pipes and tobacco. Towards evening the boat, with the four-pounder on board, was to come under shore, and at a signal gi
ven by me was to station itself opposite to the mouth of the cave.
At the same signal a trusty man on the watch was to give notice to a party hid in the abbey, to secure the trap-door above. The signal was to be my presenting a pistol to the captain of the rebels, who intended to meet and seize me on my return from my evening’s walk. Mr. M’Leod at first objected to my hazarding a meeting with this man; but I insisted upon it, and I was not sorry to give a public proof of my loyalty, and my personal courage. As to Joe Kelly, I also undertook to secure him.
Mr. M’Leod left me, and went to conduct his fishing-party. As soon as he was gone, I sent for Joe Kelly to play on the flute to me. I guarded my looks and voice as well as I could, and he did not see or suspect any thing — he was too full of his own schemes. To disguise his own plots he affected great gaiety; and to divert me, alternately played on the flute, and told me good stories all the morning. I would not let him leave me the whole day. Towards evening I began to talk of my journey to England, proposed setting out the next morning, and sent Kelly to look for some things in what was called the strong closet — a closet with a stout door and iron-barred windows, out of which no mortal could make his escape. Whilst he was busy searching in a drawer, I shut the door upon him, locked it, and put the key into my pocket. As I left the castle, I said in a jesting tone to some of the servants who met me—”I have locked Joe Kelly up in the strong room; if he calls to you to let him out never mind him; he will not get out till I come home from my walk — I owe him this trick.” The servants thought it was some jest, and I passed on with my loaded pistols in my pocket. I walked for some time by the sea-shore, without seeing any one. At last I espied our fishing-boat, just peering out, and then keeping close to the shore. I was afraid that the party would be impatient at not seeing my signal, and would come out to the mouth of the cave, and show themselves too soon. If Mr. M’Leod had not been their commander, this, as I afterwards learned, would have infallibly happened; but he was so punctual, cool, and peremptory, that he restrained the rest of the party, declaring that, if it were till midnight, he would wait till the signal agreed upon was given. At last I saw a man creeping out of the cave — I sat down upon my wonted stone, and yawned as naturally as I could; then began to describe figures in the sand with my stick, as I was wont to do, still watching the image of the man in the water as he approached. He was muffled up in a frieze great coat; he sauntered past, and went on to a turn in the road, as if looking for some one. I knew well for whom he was looking. As no Joe Kelly came to meet him, he returned in a few minutes towards me. I had my hand upon the pistol in my pocket.
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