My Lords of Strogue Volume Ii Part 14

Plunging his hands deep in his breeches-pockets, he whistled 'The Sword' softly to himself, while an expression of concern puckered his jolly lineaments.

'The hopes of the society will centre on you now,' the giant observed presently. 'As it is, the peculiarity of the att.i.tude ye have taken these several months past, combined with your exalted rank, makes your position dangerous. The society'll look to you, now that Emmett and the rest are gone. Though all my heart's with it, it's little real use myself'll be, worse luck--I'm stupid. Theobald told me so. Tom Emmett's often called me a blundering b.o.o.by.'

This confession was made with such deprecating humility that Terence was touched, and held out his hand.

'You wrong yourself,' he said. 'Cheer up. We'll stand by each other.

But I'm not above taking good advice.'

'Ye'll go?' his two friends said, in different cadence.

'No, no!' replied Terence. 'That may not be. It's plain my duty's here, and here I'll remain. But Emmett and the others were foolhardy; for the future I'll keep myself concealed. We'll knead together a new directory at once. A great responsibility has fallen on my shoulders for which I am not fitted; yet I'll do my best, and play my part as others do. It is possible, as you say, that the delegates will look up to me. They'll want to be kept together--no easy task. Would that Miss Wolfe were here to help!' he concluded, sighing.

A malignant shadow flitted across the giant's face, and faded. 'Hide!'

he echoed, with a bluntness which sounded a little like a taunt.

'Where can ye hide, and Sirr not find ye?'

'I'll go home to Strogue to-morrow, and then----'

'The first place they would go to if you were wanted,' objected Curran.

'Only to look over some papers and destroy them. I know of a safe place where they'll not find me.'

'Ah!' exclaimed the giant, with a tinge of curiosity, 'and you've papers to destroy at Strogue?'

'Here is a scheme I've drawn out for the capture of Dublin. The lords of the Privy Council----'

'Put it away!' roared the choleric little lawyer. 'Is it the back of me ye want to see? I won't know these things, since I still wear the King's silk gown, yet ye're for ever flourishing them under my nose!'

In a tantrum Mr. Curran departed, like a small snuff-scented whirlwind, accompanied by Phil, who went to fetch his horse.

Terence and Ca.s.sidy exchanged glances, and burst into peals of laughter.

'What a character it is!' Ca.s.sidy declared, as he busied himself with the brewing of cold punch--a grave matter, in which his companion too was soon equally engrossed.

'A good brew,' Terence announced, presently, amid solemn silence.

'We'll sit up all night, for there's much to be done. To-morrow I shall vanish from the world--in the body.'

'It's curious that you should ever have turned Croppy, Master Terence,' the giant mused, as with cuffs turned up he peeled the lemons. 'You--a member of the Englishry, who may become my Lord Glandore to-morrow--fond as his lordship is of fighting. But then, of course, ye'd change your politics. Sure your head'll come to be worth a big lot, if the rising doesn't succeed--a power of money, surelie!'

'But it _shall_ succeed!' returned Terence, cheerily, 'Then it will be our turn to offer rewards. What will Lord Clare be worth, think you?'

'He'll never fly,' a.s.serted the giant, eyeing his punch with lazy satisfaction. 'When Ould Ireland's fought her fight and conquered, we'll find he's died game in the streets somewhere. His behaviour on the Green to-night was quare, though--devilish quare!--It's absent in the body ye say ye'll be?' he asked, after a pause; 'but present in the spirit, I hope, for Erin's sake?'

'Never fear! One more gla.s.s of punch, and then to work. You think the first place Sirr would look for me would be at Strogue? But if, seeing the danger, I had fled from Strogue? Where would he search for me then? In the liberties about St. Patrick's--the Wicklow Hills--anywhere but in the neighbourhood of Strogue. Yet no neighbourhood could be so convenient. Men go fishing there in little boats, and may land from time to time without causing suspicion. If there was an alarm, it would be strange if I could not conceal myself among the rocks, or get across to Ireland's Eye, and baffle pursuers somehow till I was fetched away.'

'It's a pity, councillor, that the shebeen was burnt!'

'Better than the shebeen, old friend! Now I'll tell you a secret. You can keep a secret? Of course you can, for my sake and that of the good cause. That old figure of fun, Mrs. Gillin--whom my mother hates, for some odd reason--has, for some other odd reason, taken a fancy to me.

That's funny, isn't it? She told me one day, that if ever I needed help which she could give, I might rely on her. Now where could I better conceal myself than at the Little House? It's within easy access of Dublin. No one is aware that I even know her, for we haven't exchanged more than half a dozen words in our lives. Though she's a Catholic, her daughter isn't; and, being anxious to make that young person my Lady Glandore, she naturally is interested in the aristocratic party. At the same time she feels the position of her co-religionists. I've been credibly informed so. Isn't that a good idea? Her place is in a manner sacred. She's a friend of all the judges.'

Ca.s.sidy ruminated, and whistled a soft air.

'A capital idea indeed! Then ye'll disappear, and I'll not see ye, maybe, for months--that is, till the signal's given.'

'How so?'

'Madam Gillin and I aren't friends. She'd not like to see me hanging about her doors. It wouldn't be prudent, neither. You'll be afther playing your big part while I play my little one. I'm right with the Castle people, as yourself knows well. Sirr likes me, so does Secretary Cooke. I'll ingratiate myself still more wid 'em. When the signal comes, maybe we might take the lord-lieutenant in his bed. It's worth considering. Anyhow, I'd better seem cool with the society. I won't come to the Little House. Don't talk to her of me--'twould vex the mistress.'

Terence trimmed the lamp, knitting his brows the while.

'I hardly like your intimacy with the Castle-folk,' he said. 'It seems scarcely manly to worm out their secrets under a mask of friendship.'

Ca.s.sidy burst into one of his great laughs.

'Oh murther, Master Terence!' he cried, wiping the tears from his eyes. 'Ye'll never win Erin's battles if ye're so lofty. We must fight men wid their own weapons if we'd beat 'em. That's true generalship.

They set their spies on us. We set ours on them. That's quits, I know, though I am a b.o.o.by. Take your pen now. Here's a list of the country delegates: mark out who ye think'll be best, while I brew another bowl.'

'No more, Ca.s.sidy, my friend! Let's keep our heads clear for business.'

'Be aisy! One more'll do neither of us harm.'

It was five o'clock before Terence was satisfied with his work. He had a task which was uncongenial to his habits, for he was more skilful with the rod or gun than with ink; and it was a matter of grievous slavery and toil to draw up a series of letters, such as should explain clearly to the country leaders of the United Irishmen the full bearing of the late disaster.

Tom Emmett, Neilson, Russell, Bond, were in duress. A temporary arrangement must be come to, lest the French should arrive and find the patriots chaotic. No time was to be lost, for they might appear at any moment, when it would be above all things needful that French and Irish should be prepared to act in concert without loss of time. He, the writer (old college-friend as they knew of the incarcerated leaders, late special envoy also to France), was willing to co-operate with the rest in forming a provisional committee, etc., etc.

Wearied and worn out with the unaccustomed mental effort, he dropped the pen at last from his stiffened fingers, and, wrapping his riding-cloak around him, sank well-nigh at once into deep slumber; while Ca.s.sidy, instead of following so good an example, placed the bundle of letters in his long-flapped pocket, and stood for a minute looking down upon the sleeper.

'The dark colleen may never be mine,' he muttered between his teeth, while he wagged his bullet-head; 'but she'll not be yours neither, my fine fellar!' Then, peering out into the silent street which was paling wan in the early dawn, he stole forth on tiptoe, over the body of Phil, lying prostrate across the pa.s.sage, and opening the door stealthily, made the best of his way towards the Castle.

The day was half spent before Terence woke. The giant, who could turn his hand to most things, washed and aglow with health, was busily preparing breakfast: broiling steaks over a fire, fussing hither and thither as merry as a grig, a.s.sisted by Phil, who was kept on the broad grin by his lively sallies.

'The commander-in-chief of the national army is taking it out of Murphy while he can!' he roared in his jolly voice. 'Well, let him lie, G.o.d bless him! By-and-by it's little he'll see of Murphy--riding about all night along the ranks to encourage his troops for the battle. What! awake, Master Terence? I've bin up this long while. Your letters are on the road. I've tidied up the room, and opened some tipple for your meal. What'll I get from ye, gineral? Is it your _eu-de-shamp_ that ye'll be making me? It's glad I'll be of the office. I've bad news, though, for ye too. I met Sirr just now, who was on the prowl. The French expedition's come to grief again! No mather! we'll fight now for ourselves--bad luck to the mounseers, they are chicken-hearted! That at least is the official news, arrived from London a few hours ago.'

Terence rubbed his eyes and stared, unable on first awaking to realise such disastrous intelligence. Then he dipped his head in a basin of water which Phil presented to him, tidied his dress, combed out his long hair, and caught it back with a ribbon in the accustomed manner.

After that he set to work upon a luscious steak with the energy of youth, and washed it down with claret, while Ca.s.sidy, too, made pretty play with knife and fork--both of them too preoccupied for speech.

Another French fiasco! How strangely fortune favoured England! This time the fleets had remained weather-bound, unable to start at all until the golden moments were gone--till opportunity had slid into the past. It was too bad. Terence's blood boiled whilst he a.s.suaged his tremendous appet.i.te--so did Ca.s.sidy's, finding vent as usual in loud oaths and noisy execrations.

After breakfast the two shook hands and parted--when to meet again?--when and how?--under what strangely altered auspices? It was agreed that the members of the new Directory should communicate in the first instance with Terence, in person, somewhere on the sh.o.r.e near the Little House where he was to hide. The letters would speedily reach their destinations, Ca.s.sidy a.s.sured him. This new turn of events might induce Government to take active measures of some kind. What would they do? Repent them of their evil ways and take to leniency, or, thinking they had their victim quite at their mercy, still further goad and hara.s.s her? What would Terence's private enemy do--he of whom my Lord Clare so mysteriously spoke?

With so many spies about, it was almost inevitable that the active part that the young councillor was playing would become known to Government. Would they wink at this backsliding of an aristocrat--or would they make an example of him by putting a heavy price upon his head? Be that as it might, it would never do, in Ca.s.sidy's opinion, for him to share the fate of Emmett and the others. The giant was vehement on this point. He must go into hiding forthwith, and employ the most extreme precautions lest Sirr should discover his lair.

Ca.s.sidy, being known as his friend, would make a point of never taking the air in that direction. He would hang about the Castle ostentatiously, and report what he might have to say to some prominent member of the society, who would take up his abode in Dublin. Indeed he thought it would be wise to abuse the society in public--to declare that once he had been seduced by specious argument into joining it, but that now he saw the error of his ways, and sang 'Peccavi.'

Much as he disliked his method, Terence was obliged to confess that the giant was right, and felt at the same time a small internal marvelling in that he was really shrewd and rather astute--by no means the hopeless bungler that Emmett had considered him.

He took hearty leave of his friend, and, accompanied by Phil, made the best of his way to Strogue. It was a gloomy place to live alone in, as he had discovered since the departure of the family. Even his brother's sneers and his mother's coldness were better than this chilling solitude. He lived at this time in his own little chambers in the 'young men's wing' under the armoury, gaining access to them by his own private door, so that the Abbey was to all intents and purposes shut up, being only inhabited by a few old retainers who dwelt away over the stable-yard at the other side of the house. To his dismay his things had been disturbed--he detected the fact at once. By whom? How tiresome old family servants are! Disobeying orders, they will rummage and clean by fits and starts, regardless of the havoc they innocently make. Then Terence remembered that neither old Kathy nor her spouse, Tim the coachman, were more given to cleanliness than Irish domestics usually are.

This must have been a sudden and most inconvenient gush of virtue! He would at once give Tim and Kathy a vigorous bit of his mind. They should be convinced for ever after that obedience is the most cardinal of all the virtues as far as servants are concerned, standing indeed before cleanliness. They should shiver and quake in their shoes after the jobation their young master would administer. But instead of quaking they both lifted up their voices and howled, swearing that young masther was distraught. Go among his bits of things indeed! Not they. Sorra a haporth of dusting had they done. Why should they, since master agreed with them that it was waste of labour? Kathy had stepped in to make the bed, but finding it undisturbed, had stepped out again at once. Then somebody else must have been there. Who could have an interest in the few sc.r.a.ps of property which were of no value at all except to their owner? The fishing-rods were overset--the cupboards had been rifled--the precious collection of hackles (apple of Phil's eye) were strewn on the floor as if somebody had been in haste, searching for some special object which he could not find.