The Northern Iron Part 26

"Neal saved us," said Maurice.

"Yes," said Lord Dunseveric, "that is, no doubt, the way to look at it.

We should certainly have been piked if it had not been for Neal."

Neal lifted the wounded boy over the churchyard wall and knelt beside him on the gra.s.s.

"Where are you hit?" he said.

"It's my leg, the calf of my leg, but it's no that bad, I could get along a bit, yet."

The English infantry opened a furious fire on M'Cracken's pikemen, who stood around the cannon they captured. Hope's musketeers replied, firing rapidly. Many of them had fallen. There were muskets to spare, and the wounded men, crawling round their comrades, loaded for them, and pa.s.sed the guns up to those who still could shoot. The whole churchyard was full of smoke, and a heavy cloud of it hung in the still air before the wall. It became impossible to see plainly what was happening. Neal was aware that Felix Matier stood beside him, and that Lord Dunseveric was somewhere behind him watching, with cool interest, the progress of the fight. Suddenly Felix Matier shouted--

"We're blinded with this smoke. We must see to shoot. We must see to aim. Follow me who dare!"

He leaped into the street, and knelt down. The air was clearer there than in the churchyard. He aimed steadily, fired, loaded, and fired again. The bullets of the infantry splashed on the ground around him like rain drops in a heavy shower. His clothes were cut by them. It seemed a miracle that he did not fall. He began to sing, and this time there was no one to forbid his "Ma.r.s.eillaise." Then, while his voice rose to its highest, while he seemed, out there alone in the bullet-swept street, a very incarnation of the battle spirit--the end came for him. He flung up his arms, rose, staggered towards the shelter of the churchyard, turned half round in the direction of the men who fired at him, and dropped dead.

Lord Dunseveric stepped forward and tapped Neal on the shoulder.

"Listen," he said.

From the Belfast Road, along which the United Irishmen had marched in the morning, came the sound of drums. Through the smoke it was possible to discern dimly that a large body of troops was approaching the town.

There could be no doubt as to who they were. No reinforcements for M'Cracken's army could be looked for from the south. Neal grasped the meaning of what he saw. Hope's men in the graveyard, which they had held so long, were caught between the soldiers in the demesne and these fresh troops who marched on them. Others besides Neal saw what was happening.

The firing slackened. Here and there a man dropped his musket and stared wildly around. At the top of the street the dragoons who had fled appeared again. They attacked M'Cracken's pike-men once more, and this time victoriously. Shaken by the fire of the soldiers behind the wall, disheartened by the appearance of the enemy in their rear, these men, who had fought so well, could fight no more. Some fled, some, with their leader, faced the dragoons and, their pikes still forming a bristling hedge in front of them, retired sullenly eastwards from the town.

The musketeers were left alone. Their position seemed desperate. Neal stopped firing, and looked round. Hope stood bare-headed, his sword in his hand.

"We have fought a good fight, men, and we'll fight again, but we must get out of this now. Load and reserve your fire till I give the order.

Follow me."

He stepped into the street. His men, gaining courage from the cool confidence of his voice, loaded their muskets and went after him.

"Neal," said Lord Dunseveric, "this is madness. Stay. There are at least a thousand men in front of you. You can't cut your way through them."

But Neal did not listen. To him, for the moment, it was enough that Hope was leading.

"Neal, Neal, don't leave me."

It was the voice of the boy who had stood by him in the street and turned the pikes aside.

"See, I have bound up my leg. I can walk."

Neal took him by the arm, and together they joined the remnant of Hope's musketeers in their march against the fresh troops who approached them.

Lord Dunseveric, heedless of the bullets which still swept the street from the demesne, stood on the graveyard wall. He was excited at last.

"Maurice," he cried, "these men are going to certain destruction, but, by G.o.d, their courage is glorious. Look, they are out of the town. They have halted. They fire. Now, if the English officer has any horse he can cut them to pieces. He should advance, cavalry or no cavalry. A charge with the bayonets would settle it. See, Maurice, the red coats have halted. They are forming a square; they expect to be charged. The rebels have turned. They are satisfied with having checked the advance. They are making back into the town. Are they mad? No, by G.o.d, they wheel to their right. They are off. They have escaped."

The meaning of Hope's manoeuvre broke suddenly on Lord Dunseveric. There was a road at the end of the town leading north-east to Done-gore. By going along it Hope could join M'Cracken and the remains of the army. But to keep it open he had to check the advance of the English reinforcements. He feinted against them, calculating that their commander would not know how the fight had gone in Antrim, and must of necessity move cautiously. He risked the utter destruction of his little force in making his bid for safety. He reaped the reward of courage and skill, extricating his musketeers from what seemed an impossible position.

CHAPTER XIII

General Clavering seemed in no way disconcerted by the escape of Hope's musketeers. He marched through the town with drums beating and colours flying, having very much the air of a victorious general. Lord Dunseveric stepped out of the graveyard and saluted him.

"Accept my congratulations," he said, "on your timely arrival. You have released me and my son from what might have been an unpleasant and uncomfortable captivity."

"I am glad," said the general, "to have been of any service to your lordship. I trust you suffered no ill-usage at the hands of the rebels.

If you did-----, well, we have an opportunity of settling our scores with them now."

He smiled, but the look on his face was by no means pleasant to see.

"I received no ill-usage at all," said Lord Dunseveric. "On the contrary, I was treated with as much courtesy as was possible under the circ.u.mstances. I would ask your forbearance towards any prisoners you may take, and your kindness to the wounded. There are many of them in the churchyard."

"You may be sure that your lordship's recommendation shall have due weight with me."

The words were civil, but Lord Dunseveric detected a sneer in the voice which uttered them. He was not well pleased.

"I trust, sir," he said coldly, "that I am to take your words literally and not interpret them in accordance with the tone in which they are spoken."

"If you want plain speaking, Lord Dunseveric," said the general, "I shall deal with the rebels, whole or wounded, as rebels deserve. I mean to make these Antrim farmers as tame as gelt cats before I've done with them."

He beckoned to an officer of his staff, and gave some orders. In a few minutes several companies of mounted yeomen and dragoons trotted out of the town.

"It is a good job," said General Clavering, "that the rebels succeeded in getting away. If we had cut off their retreat we might have had some hard fighting. There is nothing nastier than tackling a rat in a corner.

It is a much simpler business to cut up flying men. All beaten troops straggle and desert. Irregulars, operating in their own country, simply melt away after a defeat. They sneak off home, hide their arms in hay stacks, and pretend they never left their ploughs. I know their ways, and, by G.o.d, I'll track them. I'll ferret them out."

General Clavering's estimate of the conduct of irregular troops had something in it. Even James Hope's influence failed to keep his men from straggling. They had fought well while there was any chance of victory, but war was strange to them. The horrors of wounds and death, the bitter disappointment of defeat, the hopeless outlook of the future, depressed them. Their homes were near at hand. Within a few miles of them were the familiar cottages, the waiting, anxious wives, the little children with eager faces. There was always the chance for each man that he might escape unknown, that his share in the rising might be forgotten. One and another dropped out of the ranks, slipped across the fields, sought to get home again along by-paths. It was not possible for Hope to delay his march in order to reason with his men--to hearten and steady them. He knew that the enemy would be swift in pursuit, that he must press on if he were to meet M'Cracken at Donegore. He did what he could. He went to and fro through the ranks, speaking quiet, brave words. Donald Ward, cool and determined as ever, talked of the American war.

"You're young at the work, yet," he said to the disheartened men. "Wait till you've been beaten half a dozen times. It was only by being beaten, and standing up to our beatings, that we won in the end. I remember when I was with General Greene in the Carolinas----"

The men listened to him and listened to Hope. Their spirit began to return to them. The ranks closed up. The march grew more regular, but the straggling did not altogether cease. The lure of home, the thought of rest after struggle, was too strong for some of them. Neal marched near the rear of the column. He had no thought of deserting a beaten side, of trying to save himself, but he knew that he could not go on for very long, and that he would not be able to reach Donegore. The boy whom he supported leaned heavily on him, until he almost had to carry him.

The strain became more and more severe. He gave his musket to a comrade to carry for him. He lifted the boy upon his back and staggered on.

After nearly an hour's march Hope called a halt. Half a mile behind them on the road was a body of dragoons advancing rapidly. Hope drew his men up across the road, the few pikemen who were with him kneeling in front, the musketeers behind them. The dragoons came on at a trot. Then a word of command was given by their officer, and they galloped forward. Hope waited, and only at the last moment gave the word to fire. Horses and men fell. The charge was checked. A few staggered forward against the pikes. Most turned and fled. A wild cheer burst from Hope's men. Without waiting for orders they rushed after the retreating dragoons. The misery of defeat was forgotten for a moment. They tasted the joy of victory again. But the hors.e.m.e.n rallied, turned on their pursuers, and rode through them, cutting with their sabres. Neal, who had sat down on the roadside after firing his musket, saw Hope trying to recall his men, saw Donald Ward far down the road gather a few pikemen round him and stand at bay. The dragoons, who had had enough of charging pikes, dismounted, unslung their carbines, and fired. Neal saw his uncle fall. Hope reformed his men and bade them load again, but the dragoons had no taste for another charge. Their officer was wounded. They turned and rode back towards Antrim.

Hope gave the word to march again, but Neal could carry the boy no more.

"I can't do it," he said. "We must stay here and take our chance."

"Go on," said the boy, "go you on. I've been a sore trouble to you the day, have done with me now."

"I will not leave you," said Neal, "we'll take our chance together."

He watched Hope's little force disappear up the road. Then he dragged the boy through the hedge into the meadow beyond it, and lay down in the deep gra.s.s.

"Is your leg very bad?" said Neal.