The Northern Iron Part 24

"We're right now," said Moylin. "We can take it easy from this on."

"Neal Ward," said Felix Matier, "next time you get yourself into a sc.r.a.pe I'll leave you there. I haven't been as nervous since I played 'I spy' twenty years ago among the whins round the Giant's Ring. Fighting's no test of courage. It's running away that tries a man."

"Phew!" said Donald, wiping his brow. Even he seemed to have felt the strain of the last half-hour. "I did some scouting work for General Greene in the Carolinas. I've lain low in sight of the watch-fires of Cornwallis' cavalry, but I'm d.a.m.ned if I ever had as close a shave as that. I felt jumpy, and that's a fact. I think it was the sight of your bare back, Neal, and that blackguard brandishing his belt over you that played up with my nerves."

"Let's be getting on," said Moylin, "my house is ashes now, the house I built with my own hands, the room my wife died in, the bed my girl was born in. She's safe out of this, thank G.o.d. I want to be getting on. I want to be in Antrim to-morrow with a pike in my hand and a regiment of dragoons in front of me."

Under Moylin's guidance they travelled across country through the night.

About three in the morning, when the east was beginning to grow bright with the coming dawn, they reached a substantial farmhouse and climbed into the haggard.

"We're within twenty yards of the main road now," said Moylin, "about a mile and a half outside the town of Antrim. We can lie here till morning. It's a safe place. The man that owns it won't betray us if he does find us here."

At six o'clock Donald Ward awoke. The rest of the party lay stretched around him, sleeping as men do after severe physical exertion and mental strain. He sat still for a while, and then crept out of the barn where they slept, and reconnoitered the farmhouse. He was surprised to find no sign of life about it. Doors and windows were fast shut. No dog barked at him. No cattle lowed. Not even a hen pecked or cackled in the yard.

He returned to the barn and roused the rest of the party.

"I've been looking round," he said, "to see what chance we have of getting breakfast. As far as I can make out the place is deserted."

"I wouldn't wonder," said Moylin, "if the man that owns it has cleared out. He's a bit of a coward, and he's not much liked in the country because he tries to please both parties."

"I thought you said last night," said Donald, "that he wouldn't betray us."

"No more he would," said Moylin, "he'd be afraid of what might happen him after, but I never said he'd help us. It's my belief he's gone off out of this in dread of what may happen in Antrim to-day. He'll be at his brother's farm away down the Six Mile Water."

"Well," said Donald, "it doesn't matter about him. The question is, how are we to get something to eat?"

A long consultation followed. There were serious difficulties. The amount of food required for seven hungry men was considerable, and Donald Ward insisted strongly on the necessity of having a good meal. It was decided at last that two of the party should venture into Antrim to buy bread and wine. No one knew what troops there might be in the town.

It would not be safe to count on the support of the inhabitants if they happened to have soldiers in their houses. The inns might be full of officers. The shops might be in the hands of the royal troops.

"It's no use discussing the difficulties and dangers," said Donald at last. "We've got to risk it. We can't fight all day on empty stomachs.

We'd fight badly if we did. I and Neal here will go into Antrim, we're the least likely to be recognised. The rest of you are known men. We'll bring you back something to eat."

At eight o'clock they set out, and reached the town just as the people were beginning to open their doors. Donald Ward pressed some money into Neal's hand.

"Go into the inn where we stopped," he said. "Get a couple of bottles of wine and some cold meat if you can. I'll go on to the baker's. We'll meet again opposite the church. If I'm not there in twenty minutes go back without me; I'll wait that long for you. Walk in as if you owned the shanty. There's nothing starts suspicion as quick as looking frightened. Bl.u.s.ter a bit if they look crooked at you, and answer no questions for anybody."

Neal did his best to follow the advice. But it is not easy for a man who has slept two successive nights in the open, who has had no opportunity of shaving, and who has crawled in ditches for several miles, to a.s.sume the airs of an opulent and self-contented tourist. Neal was painfully conscious that he must look like a disreputable tramp. Nevertheless he squared his shoulders, held up his head, and jingled his money in his pocket as he pa.s.sed through the door. He called valiantly for the master. A girl, tousle-headed and heavy-eyed, looking as if she, too, had slept on a hillside or slept very little in bed, came to him. He recognised her as the same who had waited on him and Donald when they spent the night in the inn. She was sharp-sighted in spite of her sleeplessness. She knew Neal.

"In there with you," she said, pointing to a door, "I'll get you what you're after wanting. The dear knows there's broken meat in plenty here the morn."

Neal entered the room. The table was littered with the remains of breakfast. A large party had evidently been there and had gone. Neal guessed that at least a dozen people had sat at the table. With his back to the room, looking out of the window, stood a young man, booted and spurred for riding, well dressed, well groomed, a sword by his side. His figure struck Neal as being familiar. A second glance made him sure that this was Maurice St. Clair. For a moment he hesitated. Then he said--

"Maurice."

"Neal," said the other, turning quickly. "What brings you here? G.o.d, man, you mustn't stay. My father is in the house and Lord O'Neill. Thank G.o.d the rest of them are gone."

"What brings you and your father to Antrim, Maurice?"

"There was to have been a meeting of the magistrates of the county here to-day. My father rode in last night and brought me with him, but there came an orderly from Belfast this morning with news which fluttered our company. The rebels are to attack the town to-day. Oh, Neal, but it was fun to see the hurry the worshipful justices were in to get home this morning. There were a round dozen of them here last night drinking death and d.a.m.nation to the croppies till the small hours. This morning it was who would get his breakfast and his horse first. You never saw such scrambling."

"You and your father stayed," said Neal.

"Yes. Is it likely my lord would ride away from danger? You know him, Neal."

The girl entered with a basket on her arm. With a glance at Maurice St.

Clair she came close to Neal and whispered--

"There's for you. There's plenty wine and cold meat for half a score.

I'll be tongued by the master after, it's like, but I'll give it for the sake of Jemmy Hope, who's a better gentleman than them that wears finer coats, that never said a hard word or did an uncivil thing to a poor serving wench no more than if she'd been the first lady in the land."

Neal took the basket and bade farewell to Maurice, but as he turned to leave the room Lord Dunseveric and another gentleman entered. Neal stood back, hoping to escape notice, but Lord Dunseveric saw and recognised him.

"O'Neill," he said to his companion, "pardon me a moment. This is a young friend of mine to whom I would speak a word."

He led Neal to the window.

"Are you on your way home, Neal?"

"No, my lord."

"I suppose I must not ask where you are going or what you mean to do. I don't ask, but I advise you strongly to go home. The game is up, Neal.

The plans of your friends have been blown upon. Their secrets are known.

See here."

He held out a printed paper. Neal took it and read--

"To-morrow we march on Antrim. Drive the garrison of Randalstown before you, and haste to form a junction with the commander-in-chief.--Henry Joy M'Cracken. First year of Liberty, 6th June, 1798."

"That paper was handed to General Clavering last night," said Lord Dunseveric, "and half a dozen more copies were sent to other officers.

Is it any use going on now?"

"My lord," said Neal, "I have heard things--I have seen things. Last night I myself was stripped for flogging. They have set a price on my head. I put it to you as a gentleman, as a just man and a brave, would it be right to go back now?"

"It is no use going on."

"But would you go back? Would you desert friends who did not desert you?

Would you leave them?"

"A wise man does not struggle against the inevitable, Neal."

"But a man of honour, my lord. What would a man of honour do?"

"A man of honour," said Lord Dunseveric, "would act as you are going to do."

"Farewell, my lord, I go with an easy mind now, if I go to my death, for I have your approval."

"Neal Ward," said Lord Dunseveric, "I have known you since you were a boy, and I've loved you next to my own children. I don't say you are acting wrongly or dishonourably, but you and your friends are acting foolishly. You cannot win. You and hundreds of innocent people must suffer, and Ireland, Neal, Ireland will come to the worse, to the old subjection, to the old bondage, to the old misery, through your foolishness. I say this, not to dissuade you from going on, for I think that you must go on now, but in order that when you look back on it all afterwards you may remember that there were true friends of Ireland who were not on your side."

Neal bent over Lord Dunseveric's hand and kissed it solemnly.