The Northern Iron Part 10

"It is my brother, Donald Ward," said Micah. "He knows my mind. I have no secrets from him."

Lord Dunseveric bowed again, and said, with a slight smile--

"It is possible that Mr. Donald Ward may find some of your secrets rather embarra.s.sing to keep."

"I can take care of myself, master," said Donald, "or, maybe, I ought to say, my lord. But your lordships and dukeships, and countships and kingships stick somewhat in my throat. I come from America, where we hold one man the equal of another."

"You are a young nation," said Lord Dunseveric. "In time you will perhaps learn courtesy. But I did not come here to-night to teach manners to vagrant Yankees. I came to tell Mr. Ward that he has been denounced to the Government as a seditious person, and that I received orders to-night to arrest him."

"And why did you not execute them?" said Micah Ward. "Did I ask you to spare me? Have you come here to be thanked for your mercy? I wish to G.o.d you had arrested me."

"I a.s.sure you," said Lord Dunseveric, "that I expect no thanks, nor do I claim any credit for being merciful. You owe your escape solely to the fact that I happen to be a gentleman. It did not consist with my honour to arrest a man who was my personal enemy."

"Then," said Micah Ward, "what have you come here for now?"

"I have come, Mr. Ward, to warn you, if you will accept my warning, that you are in great danger, that the ramifications of your conspiracy are known to the Government, that your society is honeycombed with treachery, that your roll of membership contains the names of many spies."

"Is that all?" said Micah.

"No, sir, that is not all. I have a regard for your son. He has been the companion of my children. He has grown up at my feet. He has eaten at my table. I like him and I respect him. I beg of you to consider what the consequences will be for him if you drag him into this insane conspiracy. His name was along with yours on the list of seditious persons placed in my hands to-night. He has an hour or two ago incurred the anger--the dangerous anger--of a body of yeomen and their commander.

I beg that you will consider his safety, and not take him with you on the way on which you are going."

"Neal," said Micah Ward, "is no more than a boy. He knows nothing about politics. What has my action to do with Neal?"

"His name," said Lord Dunseveric, "stood next to yours on the list of suspected persons which was put into my hands to-night."

"So be it," said Micah, solemnly! "if my son is to suffer, if he is to die, he can die no better than fighting for liberty against oppression."

"And I'm thinking," said Donald, "that you are going a bit too fast with your talk about dying. I've fought just such a fight as my brother is thinking of. I'm through with it now, and I'm not dead. By G.o.d, we saw to it that it was the other men who died. We won, sir. Mark my words, we won. It was the people that carried the day in America. They carried the day in France. What's to hinder us from carrying the day in Ireland, too?"

Lord Dunseveric looked at Donald during this speech and kept his eyes fixed upon him for some minutes afterwards. He was considering whether it was worth while replying to this boastful American Irishman. At last he turned again to Micah Ward.

"I have still one more appeal to make to you, Mr. Ward. You care for Ireland. Is it not so? I believe you do. Believe, me, I care for Ireland, too."

"Yes," said Micah, "you care for Ireland, but what do you mean by Ireland? You mean a bloodthirsty, supercilious, unprincipled ascendancy, for whom the public exists only as a prey to be destroyed, who keep themselves close and mark men's steps that they may lay in wait for them; who forge chains for their country, who distrust and belie the people, who scoff at the complaints of the poor and needy, and who impudently call themselves Ireland. You have made the sick and the lame to go out of their way. You have eaten the good pastures and trodden down the residue with your feet. You care for Ireland, and you mean by Ireland the powers and privileges of a cla.s.s. I care for Ireland, but I mean Ireland, not for certain n.o.blemen and gentlemen, but Ireland for the Irish people, for the poor as well as the rich, for the Protestant, Dissenter, and Roman Catholic alike."

"I have never denied, nor do I wish to deny, the need of reform," said Lord Dunseveric, "but I see before all the necessity of loyalty to the const.i.tution."

"Ay, to the const.i.tution which gives the whole power of the country to a few proud aristocrats, which excludes three-fourths of the people from its benefits, which allows eight hundred thousand Northerns to be insulted and trampled on because they speak of emanc.i.p.ation, which uses forced oaths, overflowing Bastilles and foreign troops for extorting the loyalty of the Irish people."

"I will not argue these things with you now," said Lord Dunseveric, "my time is short. I would rather pray you to consider what the end of your conspiracy must be. If you succeed, and I do not believe you can succeed, you will deluge the country in blood. If your best hopes are realised, and you receive the help you hope for from abroad, you will make Ireland the c.o.c.kpit of a European war. Our commerce and manufactures, reviving under the fostering care of our own Irish Parliament, will be destroyed. Our fields, which none will dare to till, will be fouled with the dead bodies of our sons and daughters. But why should I complete the picture? If you fail--and you must fail--you will fling the country into the arms of England. Our gentry will be terrified, our commons will be cowed. Designing Englishmen will make an easy prey of us. They will take from us even the hard-earned measure of independence we already possess. We shall become, and we shall remain, a contemptible province of their Empire instead of a sovereign and independent nation. The English are wise enough to see this, though you cannot see it. Man, _they want you to rebel_."

"Is that all you have to say?" said Micah.

"That is all."

"Then I bid you farewell, Eustace St. Clair, Lord of Dunseveric. You have spoken well and pleaded speciously for yourself and your cla.s.s. I might listen to you if I had not seen your armed ruffians break into our meeting-houses; if I had not in memory stories of burnt homesteads, outraged women, tortured men; you might persuade me if I did not know that to-night you have taken my friends, that you will drag them before unjust judges, and condemn them on the evidence of perjured informers, as you condemned William Orr. Human endurance can bear no more. Patience is a virtue of the Gospel, but it becomes cowardice in the face of certain wrongs. Go, I have done with you. Go, torture, burn, shed innocent blood, and then, like the adulterous woman, eat and wipe your mouth, and say 'I have done no wickedness.'"

"I came into your house on a mission of friendliness and mercy," said Lord Dunseveric. "I have been met with insults and lies, lies known to be lies to you who speak them. I go, and I pray that we shall meet no more until the day when, in the light of G.o.d's judgment, you will be able to see what is in my heart and understand what is in your own."

"Amen," said Micah Ward, "I bide the test."

Lord Dunseveric bowed and walked to the door of the room. Then he paused, turned, and held out his hand to Neal.

"You will stay with your father, Neal," he said. "I do not deny that you are right, but I will not part from you in unfriendliness. G.o.d keep you, boy, and remember, for old time's sake, for the sake of the days when you stood by my knee with my own children, you have always--whatever happens--always a friend in me."

Neal's eyes filled with tears. He could not speak. He carried Lord Dunseveric's hand to his lips, and then let it go reluctantly. He heard the door shut, the trampling of the horse's hoofs on the gravel outside.

Then, with a sudden sob, which he could not repress, went across the room and sat down beside his father.

Donald alone remained cheerful and unimpressed.

"I know that kind of man," he said. "A fine kind it is. We had some of the same sort in America. They crossed the border afterwards to Canada.

I suppose you mean to ship your aristocracy to England, Micah? From all I hear they like lords over there. But now to work. We can't afford to sit still while Master James Finlay is loose about the country with your letters in his pocket. We must get on his trail, Neal, you and I. We must hinder him from doing more mischief. The first thing we want is horses. Micah, where are we to get horses--two strong nags, fit for the road?"

Micah Ward sat silent and absorbed. His eyes were fixed on the wall in front of him. His lips moved, as if he were speaking, but no sound pa.s.sed them. His hands on the table in front of him twitched. He was a prey to some violent emotion. Donald called him again, and again failed to arouse his attention. Then he turned to Neal.

"There's no use in trying to rouse your father, Neal. He will not hear us. Do you know anyone who will sell or hire us horses?"

"Rab MacClure has horses," said Neal. "He has two, I know. He lives not far from this, about a mile along the road towards Ballintoy."

"Come, then," said Donald, "I suppose the family will be all abed by this time. We must rouse them. There's Scripture warrant for it.

'Friend, lend me three loaves.' We must imitate the man in the Gospel.

If he won't give us the horses for the asking we must weary him with importunity."

It was ten o'clock when Donald and his nephew set out. The clouds were blown away, and the sky clear. The moon rode high, and by its light they caught glimpses from the road of the white foam of the sea breaking on the dark strand below them. The roar of the waves came loud to them as they walked. A quarter of an hour's quick walking brought them to their destination.

"There's the house," said Neal.

"They are not in bed," said Donald, "I can see lights in the windows."

Neal led the way across a stile and over a field. Lights moved from one window to another in the house. A sound of wailing rose! and fell, mingling with the monotonous roar of the waves. The door stood wide open. Within, a woman rocked herself to and fro on a low stool. Three children clung to her petticoats and cried piteously. A farm labourer stood, stupidly motionless, beside the dresser. A maid servant, with a light in her hand, flitted restlessly in and out of the kitchen. Her hair hung loose about her shoulders. She was but half dressed, like one aroused suddenly from bed. A rush-light burned in an iron stand on the floor, shedding a feeble light. Donald and Neal stood at the door astonished.

"Our friends the yeomen have been here," said Donald. "I guess they have taken the man of the house away with them. We've another account to settle with James Finlay when we get him."

"Mistress MacClure," said Neal, "I've come to know if you will hire or sell us two horses. We must be travelling to-morrow morn."

"Horses," cried the woman. "Who speaks o' horses? I wouldna care if ye were to rive horse and beast and a' from me now. My man's gone. Oh, my weans, my weans, who'll care for you now when they've kilt your da? Oh, the bonny man, and the kind!"

"Is it you, Master Neal?" said the farm servant. "Will you no fetch the minister till her?"

"I will, I will," said Neal, conscience-stricken at having mentioned his own need in a home so sorely stricken with grief. He ran from the house back to the manse.

Donald took the labourer outside the door and spoke to him. He explained that he was the minister's brother. He said that he had pressing need of the horses. He offered money. The man shook his head.

"They are no mine, and the mistress is in no way to bargain with you the night."

"I want the horses," said Donald, "to ride after the villain who betrayed your master."

The man's face brightened suddenly.