Orange and Green Part 9

John expressed his grat.i.tude warmly.

"It is a sad thing, in these civil wars, when friends are arrayed against friends," Captain Davenant said. "Who would have thought, three months ago, that you and Walter would be arrayed on opposite sides? It is true you are neither of you combatants, but I have no doubt you would gladly have joined in some of the sallies, just as Walter is eager to be riding in my troop. If we must fight, I wish, at any rate, that it could be so managed that all the suffering should fall upon the men who are willing to take up the sword, and not upon the women and children. My heart bleeds as I ride across the country. At one time, one comes upon a ruined village, burned by the midnight ruffians who call themselves rapparees, and who are a disgrace to our cause. At another, upon a place sacked and ruined by one of the bands of hors.e.m.e.n from Enniskillen, who are as cruel and merciless as the rapparees. Let the armies fight out their quarrels, I say, but let peaceful people dwell in quiet and safety. But wholesale atrocities have ever been the rule on both sides, in warfare in Ireland, and will, I suppose, remain so to the end.

"And now, we are just going to have dinner, and another hearty meal will do you good. Each night, when my son brings down the supplies for you, he will bring a substantial meal of cold meat and bread, and you must give me your promise, now, that you will eat this at once. You will need it, after being so long in the water, and having another swim before you, besides. Although I approve of sending in milk for the children, I can be no party to the supply of food for the garrison. Do you promise?"

"Yes, sir, I promise," John said, "though I would rather save all but a mouthful or two for the people who are starving at home. Still, of course, if you insist upon it, I will promise."

"I do insist upon it, John. The lives of these children of yours depend on your life, and even one good meal, every four days, will help you to keep enough strength together to carry out the kind work you have undertaken."

Larry now brought in the dinner. He had been told by Walter of John's arrival, but he otherwise would have failed to recognize, in him, the boy who had sometimes come down to the village with Walter.

"Are you quite well, Larry?" John asked him.

"I am," Larry replied; "but I need not ask the same question of yourself, for you are nothing but skin and bone, entirely. Dear, dear, I wouldn't have known you at all, at all, and such a foine colour as ye used to have."

"I don't think starving would suit you, Larry," Captain Davenant said with a smile.

"Sure an' it wouldn't, yer honour. It's always ready to eat I am, though, as mother says, the victuals don't seem to do me much good, anyway."

"You won't be able to come out and go back again the same night next week, John," Captain Davenant said, presently. "The tide won't suit, so you must come up here, as you have done today. You will always find a hearty welcome, and Walter shall go down and meet you early in the morning, near the mouth of the river, so you can come up with him; and then, if you fall in with any of the other parties, no questions will be asked. I think everyone in camp knows him now.

"I wonder what your grandfather would say, if he saw you sitting here at dinner with Walter and me?"

John laughed.

"I am afraid he would disown me, then and there, without listening to explanations."

"I have no doubt it's a sore grievance to him that he is not in Derry, at present," Captain Davenant said.

"I am sure it is," John replied; "but the fasting would be a great trial to him. My grandfather is a capital trencherman. Still, I am sure he would have borne his part."

"That he would," Captain Davenant agreed. "He and the men of his cla.s.s are thorough, fanatics as I consider them. Hard and pitiless as they proved themselves, to those against whom they fought, one cannot but admire them, for they were heart and soul in their cause. There was no flinching, no half measures, no concessions for the sake of expediency.

On the ground on which they took their stand, they conquered or died.

Would that a like spirit animated all my countrymen!"

After nightfall, Larry brought round Walter's horse, saddled, and his own rough pony. Walter mounted the former, and John the latter. The two kegs were slung across Walter's horse.

"Will you meet me at the clump of trees, half a mile out of camp, Larry?"

Walter said. "In the dark, no one will notice the difference between you and John."

Captain Davenant had furnished Walter with a pa.s.sword, and now walked beside the two boys till they were well beyond the camp, and then returned to his tent. The lads made their way, without meeting with anyone, down to the mouth of the river. The kegs were then taken off the horse and placed in the water--they floated just above the surface.

"That is exactly right," John said. "They will not show any more than will my face. When I come down next time, I shall fill them with water, so as to keep them just at this level."

"I am afraid the moon will be up next time, John."

"Yes, it will. I shall lay some boughs of bush across my face and the kegs, so that there will be no fear of my face showing; and if a sentry should happen to catch sight of it, he will suppose that it is merely a bush drifting in the stream."

"Well, goodbye, John, and may you get through without trouble."

"I have no fear, Walter. I am in G.o.d's hands, and He will take me safely through, if He thinks fit."

The journey was achieved without detection, the only difficulty being the sinking of the kegs under the boom; this, however, was successfully accomplished, and by midnight, the kegs were safely hidden in some bushes at the foot of the wall, and there John lay down and waited for morning.

As he entered the yard, the children ran out to meet him. There were no loud rejoicings; they had no longer strength or spirit to shout and laugh; but the joy in the thin worn faces was more eloquent than any words could have been.

"We have missed you so, John. We have wanted you so much. Lucy and Kate and Deby were so bad yesterday, and they did cry so for you. We were all so hungry. We don't mind so much, when you are here to talk to us and tell us stories. Why did you stop away, John, when we wanted you so?"

"I went away to see if I could manage to get you something to eat."

"And did you?" was the anxious cry.

"I have got a little; but you must wait till evening, and then you will each have--" and he stopped.

"What, John? Oh, do tell us!"

"You will each have some milk and bread.

"Not much, dears," he went on, as there was a cry of gladness, which was pitiful from the intensity of joy it expressed, "but there will be some for tonight, and a little curds and whey and bread for you tomorrow and next day, and I hope always, as long as this lasts. Now go, dears, into your castle. I will come to you presently. I have brought you some water, as usual."

"I am heartily glad to see you back, John," his cousin said, as he entered the house. "The children were in a sad state without you, yesterday. I suppose you can tell me, now, what you have been doing. You told me you would be away two nights, and begged me not to ask any questions; but, although I know you to be discreet and prudent, I have been worrying."

"I will tell you now," John said, and he recounted the details of the expedition which he had accomplished.

"And you have swum the river twice, and been in the camp of the Papists.

Truly it is surprising, John, and I know not what to do. Should your visit there be discovered, you will a.s.suredly be accused of treachery."

"They may accuse me of what they like," John said quietly. "I have done it, and I am going to do it again, every fourth night, and there is the milk and bread at the foot of the wall, ready for you to haul up as soon as it gets dark."

"It ought to be fairly divided," the tanner said.

"It will be fairly divided, between our children," John said; "but n.o.body else will get a drop or a crumb. I have risked my life to get it for them. If other people want to get it, let them do the same. Besides, as I told you, Captain Davenant and his son both procured it for me for the sake of the children, and them only, and I should be breaking faith with them if any others touched it, save those for whom it was given me. It is little enough among eighteen children for four days--a pound of bread and a little over a pint of milk, each. They must each have a quarter of a pint, when you bring it in tonight, and the rest had better be curdled.

That way it will keep, and they can have a portion each day of curds and whey, and a fourth share of their bread. It is little enough; but I trust that it may keep life in them."

"Well, John, I will do as you say," the tanner said, after a pause. "It goes somewhat against my conscience; but, as you say, it will make but a meagre portion for each of them, and would be nothing were it fairly divided; besides, you have brought it with the risk of your life, and I know not that any save you have a right to a voice in its part.i.tion."

Before the gates were closed, John went out, and presently had the satisfaction of hearing a small stone drop from the wall above him, followed presently by the end of a rope. He sent up the kegs, and then lay down among the bushes, and enjoyed the satisfaction of thinking of the joy of the little ones, when the milk and bread were served out to them. As soon as the gates were open in the morning, he went in.

"Thank you, oh, so much, for the milk and bread last night. We heard how you had swum so far, and gone into danger to get it for us, and we're going to have some more for breakfast."

"It was not much, dears," John said.

"Oh, no, it was not much; but it was so nice, and we did all sleep so well last night--even little Lucy didn't waken and cry once--and Ruth Hardy said we ought to call you the Raven; but we don't like that name for you."

"The Raven, Ruth!" John said, mystified. "Why did you want to call me the Raven?"

"I wouldn't do it if you didn't like it, dear John; but you know that chapter that Master Williams read us, the other day, about the ravens that fed somebody in a cave, and we have been wishing the ravens would feed us; and so you see, when you sent us the milk last night, I thought you ought to be called the Raven. I did not mean any harm."