St. Patrick's Eve Part 10

They stood there, as if spell-bound. It was evident they were afraid, by the slightest stir, to lose the chance of hearing any noise without; and when Mary at last lifted up her head, as if to speak, a quick motion of her brother's hand warned her to be silent. What a history did that group reveal to Owen, as, with a heart throbbing fiercely, he gazed upon it! But a few short months back, and the inmates of that happy home knew not if at night the door was even latched; the thought of attack or danger never crossed their minds. The lordly dwellers in a castle felt less security in their slumbers than did these peasants; now, each night brought a renewal of their terrors. It came no longer the season of mutual greeting around the wintry hearth, the hour of rest and repose; but a time of anxiety and dread, a gloomy period of doubt, hara.s.sed by every breeze that stirred, and every branch that moved.

"'Tis nothing _this time_," said Phil, at last. "Thank G.o.d for that same!" and he replaced his gun above the chimney, while Mary blessed herself devoutly, and seemed to repeat a prayer to herself. Owen gave one parting look, and retired as noiselessly as he came.

To creep forth with the dark hours, and stand at this window, became with Owen, now, the whole business of life. The weary hours of the day were pa.s.sed in the expectancy of that brief season--the only respite he enjoyed from the corroding cares of his own hard fortune. The dog, recognising him, no longer barked as he approached; and he could stand unmolested and look at that hearth, beside which he was wont once to sit and feel at home.

Thus was it, as the third week was drawing to a close, when old Larry, who had ventured down to the village to make some little purchase, brought back the news, that information had been sworn by the bailiff against Owen Connor, for threatening him with death, on pain of his not abandoning his farm. The people would none of them give any credit to the oath, as none knew of Owen's return; and the allegation was only regarded as another instance of the perjury resorted to by their opponents, to crush and oppress them.

"They'll have the police out to-morrow, I hear, to search after ye; and sure the way ye've kept hid will be a bad job, if they find ye after all."

"_If_ they do, Larry!" said Owen, laughing; "but I think it will puzzle them to do so." And the very spirit of defiance prevented Owen at once surrendering himself to the charge against him. He knew every cave and hiding-place of the mountain, from childhood upwards, and felt proud to think how he could baffle all pursuit, no matter how persevering his enemies. It was essential, however, that he should leave his present hiding-place at once; and no sooner was it dark, than Owen took leave of old Larry and issued forth. The rain was falling in torrents, accompanied hy a perfect hurricane, as he left the cabin; fierce gusty blasts swept down the bleak mountain-side, and with wild and melancholy cadence poured along the valley; the waters of the lake plashed and beat upon the rocky sh.o.r.e; the rushing torrents, as they forced their way down the mountain, swelled the uproar, in which the sound of crashing branches and even rocks were mingled.

"'Tis a dreary time to take to the cowld mountain for a home," said Owen, as he drew his thick frieze coat around him, and turned his shoulder to the storm. "I hardly think the police, or the king's throops either, will try a chase after me this night."

There was more of gratified pride in this muttered reflection than at first sight might appear; for Owen felt a kind of heroism in his own daring at that moment, that supported and actually encouraged him in his course. The old spirit of bold defiance, which for ages has characterised the people; the resolute resistance to authority, or to tyranny, which centuries have not erased, was strong in his hardy nature; and he asked for nothing better, than to pit his own skill, ingenuity, and endurance against his opponents, for the mere pleasure of the encounter.

As there was little question on Owen's mind that no pursuit of him would take place on such a night, he resolved to pa.s.s the time till day-break within the walls of the old churchyard, the only spot he could think of which promised any shelter. There was a little cell or crypt there, where he could safely remain till morning. An hour's walking brought him to the little gate, the last time he had entered which, was at his poor father's funeral. His reflection, now, was rather on his own altered condition since that day; but even on that thought he suffered himself not to dwell. In fact, a hardy determination to face the future, in utter forgetfulness of the past, was the part he proposed to himself; and he did his utmost to bend his mind to the effort.

As he drew near the little crypt I have mentioned, he was amazed to see the faint flickering of a fire within it. At first a superst.i.tious fear held him back, and he rapidly repeated some prayers to himself; but the emotion was soon over, and he advanced boldly toward it. "Who's there?

stand! or give the word!" said a gruff voice from within. Owen stood still, but spoke not. The challenge was like that of a sentry, and he half-feared he had unwittingly strayed within the precincts of a patrol.

"Give the word at once! or you'll never spake another," was the savage speech which, accompanied by a deep curse, now met his ears, while the click of a gun-c.o.c.k was distinctly audible.

"I'm a poor man, without a home or a shelter," said Owen, calmly; "and what's worse, I'm without arms, or maybe you wouldn't talk so brave."

"What's yer name? Where are ye from?"

"I'm Owen Connor; that's enough for ye, whoever ye are," replied he, resolutely; "it's a name I'm not ashamed nor afraid to say, anywhere."

The man within the cell threw a handful of dry furze upon the smouldering flame, and while he remained concealed himself, took a deliberate survey of Owen as he stood close to the doorway. "You're welcome, Owen," said he, in an altered voice, and one which Owen immediately recognised as that of the old blacksmith, Miles Regan; "you're welcome, my boy! better late than never, anyhow!"

"What do you mean, Miles? 'Tisn't expecting me here ye were, I suppose?"

"'Tis just that same then, I was expecting this many a day," said Miles, as with a rugged grasp of both hands he drew Owen within the narrow cell. "And 't'aint me only was expecting it, but every one else. Here, avich, taste this--ye're wet and cowld both; that will put life in ye--and it never ped tha king sixpence."

And he handed Owen a quart bottle as he spoke, the odour of which was unmistakeable enough, to bear testimony to his words.

"And what brings you here, Miles, in the name of G.o.d?" said Owen, for his surprise at the meeting increased every moment.

"'Tis your own case, only worse," said the other, with a drunken laugh, for the poteen had already affected his head.

"And what's that, if I might make bould?" said Owen, rather angrily.

"Just that I got the turn-out, my boy. That new chap, they have over the property, sould me out, root and branch; and as I didn't go quiet, ye see, they brought the polis down, and there was a bit of a fight, to take the two cows away; and somehow"--here he s.n.a.t.c.hed the bottle rudely from Owen's hand, and swallowed a copious draught of it--"and, somehow, the corporal was killed, and I thought it better to be away for a while--for, at the inquest, though the boys would take 'the vestment'

they seen him shot by one of his comrades, there was a bit of a smash in his skull, ye see"--here he gave a low fearful laugh--"that fitted neatly to the top of my eleven-pound hammer; ye comprehend?"

Owen's blood ran cold as he said, "Ye don't mean it was you that killed him?"

"I do then," replied the other, with a savage grin, as he placed his face within a few inches of Owen's. "There's a hundred pounds blood-money for ye, now, if ye give the information! A hundred pounds,"

muttered he to himself; "musha, I never thought they'd give ten shillings for my own four bones before!"

Owen scorned to reply to the insinuation of his turning informer, and sat moodily thinking over the event.

"Well, I'll be going, anyhow," said he rising, for his abhorrence of his companion made him feel the storm and the hurricane a far preferable alternative.

"The divil a one foot ye'll leave this, my boy," said Miles, grasping him with the grip of his gigantic hand; "no, no, ma bouchai, 'tisn't so easy airned as ye think; a hundred pounds, naboclish!

"Leave me free! let go my arm!" said Owen, whose anger now rose at the insolence of this taunt.

"I'll break it across my knee, first," said the infuriated ruffian, as he half imitated by a gesture his horrid threat.

There was no comparison in point of bodily strength between them; for although Owen was not half the other's age, and had the advantage of being perfectly sober, the smith was a man of enormous power, and held him, as though he were a child in his grasp.

"So that's what you'd be at, my boy, is it?" said Miles, scoffing; "it's the fine thrade you choose! but maybe it's not so pleasant, after all.

Stay still there--be quiet, I say--by----," and here he uttered a most awful oath--"if you rouse me, I'll paste your brains against that wall;" and as he spoke, he dashed his closed fist against the rude and crumbling masonry, with a force that shook several large stones from their places, and left his knuckles one indistinguishable ma.s.s of blood and gore.

"That's brave, anyhow," said Owen, with a bitter mockery, for his own danger, at the moment, could not repress his contempt for the savage conduct of the other.

Fortunately, the besotted intellect of the smith made him accept the speech in a very different sense, and he said, "There never was the man yet, I wouldn't give him two blows at me, for one at him, and mine to be the last."

"I often heard of that before," said Owen, who saw that any attempt to escape by main force was completely out of the question, and that stratagem alone could present a chance.

"Did ye ever hear of Dan Lenahan?" said Miles, with a grin; "what I did to Dan: I was to fight him wid one hand, and the other tied behind my back; and when he came up to shake hands wid me before the fight, I just put my thumb in my hand, that way, and I smashed his four fingers over it."

"There was no fight that day, anyhow, Miles."

"Thrue for ye, boy; the sport was soon over--raich me over the bottle,"

and with that, Miles finished the poteen at a draught, and then lay back against the wall, as if to sleep. Still, he never relinquished his grasp, but, as he fell off asleep, held him as in a vice.

As Owen sat thus a prisoner, turning over in his mind every possible chance of escape, he heard the sound of feet and men's voices rapidly approaching; and, in a few moments, several men turned into the churchyard, and came towards the crypt. They were conversing in a low but hurried voice, which was quickly hushed as they came nearer.

"What's this," cried one, as he entered the cell; "Miles has a prisoner here!"

"Faix, he has so, Mickey;" answered Owen, for he recognised in the speaker an old friend and schoolfellow. The rest came hurriedly forward at the words, and soon Owen found himself among a number of his former companions. Two or three of the party were namesakes and relations.

The explanation of his capture was speedily given, and they all laughed heartily at Owen's account of his ingenious efforts at flattery.

"Av the poteen held out, Owen dear, ye wouldn't have had much trouble; but he can drink two quarts before he loses his strength."

In return for his narrative, they freely and frankly told their own story. They had been out arms-hunting--unsuccessfully, however--their only exploit being the burning of a haggard belonging to a farmer who refused to join the "rising."

Owen felt greatly relieved to discover, that his old friends regarded the smith with a horror fully as great as his own. But they excused themselves for the companionship by saying, "What are we to do with the crayture? Ye wouldn't have us let him be taken?" And thus they were compelled to practise every measure for the security of one they had no love for, and whose own excesses increased the hazard tenfold.

The marauding exploits they told of, were, to Owen's ears, not devoid of a strange interest, the danger alone had its fascination for him; and, artfully interwoven as their stories were with sentiments of affected patriotism and n.o.ble aspirations for the cause of their country, they affected him strongly.

For, strange as it may seem, a devotion to country--a mistaken sense of national honour--prompted many to these lawless courses. Vague notions of confiscated lands to be restored to their rightful possessors; ancient privileges reconferred; their church once more endowed with its long-lost wealth and power: such were the motives of the more high-spirited and independent. Others sought redress for personal grievances; some real or imaginary hardship they laboured under; or, perhaps, as was not unfrequent, they bore the memory of some old grudge or malice, which they hoped now to have an opportunity of requiting.

Many were there, who, like the weak-minded in all popular commotions, float with the strong tide, whichever way it may run. They knew not the objects aimed at; they were ignorant of the intentions of their leaders; but would not be under the stain of cowardice among their companions, nor shrink from any cause where there was danger, if only for that very reason. Thus was the ma.s.s made up, of men differing in various ways; but all held together by the common tie of a Church and a Country. It might be supposed that the leaders in such a movement would be those who, having suffered some grievous wrong, were reckless enough to adventure on any course that promised vengeance;--very far from this. The princ.i.p.al promoters of the insurrection were of the cla.s.s of farmers--men well to do, and reputed, in many cases wealthy. The instruments by which they worked were indeed of the very poorer cla.s.s--the cottier, whose want and misery had eat into his nature, and who had as little room for fear as for hope in his chilled heart. Some injury sustained by one of these, some piece of justice denied him; his ejection from his tenement; a chance word, perhaps, spoken to him in anger by his landlord or the agent, were the springs which moved a man like this, and brought him into confederacy with those who promised him a speedy repayment of his wrongs, and flattered him into the belief that his individual case had all the weight and importance of a national question. Many insurrectionary movements have grown into the magnitude of systematic rebellion from the mere a.s.sumption on the part of others, that they were prearranged and predetermined. The self-importance suggested by a bold opposition to the law, is a strong agent in arming men against its terrors. The mock martyrdom of Ireland is in this way, perhaps, her greatest and least curable evil.

Owen was, of all others, the man they most wished for amongst them.

Independent of his personal courage and daring, he was regarded as one fruitful in expedients, and never deterred by difficulties. This mingled character of cool determination and headlong impulse, made him exactly suited to become a leader; and many a plot was thought of, to draw him into their snares, when the circ.u.mstances of his fortune thus antic.i.p.ated their intentions.