The O'Donoghue Part 72

"Stop!--pull in!--hould hard, Master Mark!" screamed a voice from the side of the road, as a fellow jumped from a cliff, and made towards the rider.

"Don't delay me now, Terry; I cannot stay," said Mark, as he recognised the youth, "the French are landing!"

"They are not!" cried Terry, with a yell of despair; "they are going off, leaving us for ever, and the glen is full of soldiers. The dragoons is there; ay, not half a mile from you," as he pointed through the gloom in the direction of the glen.

"The dragoons there!--what treachery is this?"

"I saw them coming round the head of the lake this evening, and I thought it was after me they were coming; but they never turned off the road, but went on to the gap of the glen, and there they are now, waiting, I suppose, for the French to go."

"The French are not going, fool!--they are landing! Don't you hear the guns--there! and there again! There is but one way now, but a bold heart needs no more. Let go the bridle, Terry."

"I can't, I won't let go. 'Tis cut to pieces you'll be. I seen them looking at their swords a while ago. Och, don't twist my hand that way!"

"Leave me free! There is no such armour of proof as recklessness!"

As he spake, he reined in his horse, and, dashing the spurs into his flanks, sprang beyond Terry, and the next moment was out of sight.

A very few minutes showed that Terry was but too accurate. Around a blazing fire, beneath the rock, a party of dragoons were dismounted, vainly seeking to dry their soaked clothes, while in front two mounted men could be seen with their carbines unslung, ready for action.

A bold dash to force his way through was the only chance remaining. To depend on his horse's speed, and his own dexterous hand to guide him, was all his hope. He resolved, therefore, neither to draw sword nor pistol, but attempt to pa.s.s by sheer horsemanship. Few men were either better suited for a venture so daring, or better equipped at the moment.

The animal he rode was a powerful thoroughbred, trained and managed to perfection.

Without the slightest noise Mark dismounted, and, ungirthing his saddle, re-adjusted and fastened it further back. He then looked carefully to his bridle, to see all was safe there, and loosened the curb, to give the horse free play of his head. This done, and with his cap pressed firmly down upon his brow, he sprang into his saddle once more.

The bright blaze enabled him to see the party in front, and, while he himself escaped all observation, to devise his plans at leisure. He advanced, therefore, at a slow walk, keeping the horse's feet in the deep ground, where no noise was made. He counted seven figures around the fire, and two as sentinels, and suspected at once that the whole party was not there. Still there was no other chance. To attempt the mountain would delay him a day at least, and a day now was a life-time.

Creeping noiselessly forward, he came within a few yards of the outposts, and could distinctly hear the voices as they talked together.

He halted for a second or two, and looked back down the glen. It was an involuntary action, for even had all not been dark around him, his home, to which he wished to bid a last adieu, was out of sight.

A cannon-shot rung out at the instant, and, taking it for a signal, Mark reined in his horse sharply, and then, dashing the spurs to his sides, made him plunge madly forward, and, with the bound, shot through the s.p.a.ce between the two sentinels, each of whom presented, but feared to fire, lest he should injure his comrade.

[Ill.u.s.tration: 462]

"Come on--follow me!" cried Mark, waving his hand as if encouraging others on, and the action turned every look down the glen, in the direction from whence he came, and whence now came a wild, shrill yell, the most savage and appalling.

"Fire!--down with him!--fire!" shouted the soldiers to one another, as Mark, leaning fiat on his horse's main, rode on; and the b.a.l.l.s whistled quick, above and around, but not one struck him. "After him, Jack--after him!" cried one of the sentinels, who, perceiving that Mark was not followed, turned his horse to the pursuit; but another yell, wilder than the first, arrested him, and he heard a voice screaming, "This way, boys, this way--we have them here!" and Terry, waving his cap, bounded forward, and called out unceasingly for others to come on. In an instant the whole attention was turned to the front, while with the stroke of a sabre poor Terry was stretched upon the ground, bleeding and senseless.

"It is only that cursed fool we used to see at Macroom, about the barrack gates," said one of the dragoons, as he held a piece of lighted wood beside his face, "and the other fellow cannot have had much more sense, or he would never have tried to ride through a squadron of horse.

But there!--he's down now! Did you hear that crash?--that was a horse that fell!"

So it was; Mark had but pa.s.sed the first party to fall on a much more formidable body further on, and his horse, twice wounded, was at last struck in the shoulder, and fell headlong to the ground pinioning the rider beneath him. With a dexterity that seemed magical, Mark disengaged himself from the wounded animal, and drawing his pistols, prepared to sell his life dearly.

"You are a prisoner, sir," called out the sergeant, as with fearless step he marched towards him.

"Another pace nearer, and I'll send a bullet through you," said Mark; "you may have my corpse for your booty, but you'll never lay hands on me living."

"Don't fire, don't fire, men," cried a voice, as the officer rode up at the speed of his horse, and then throwing himself from the saddle, commanded the men to fall back. With looks of astonishment and even of anger, the dragoons retired, while the captain sheathing his sword, approached Mark.

"Thank heaven, Mr. O'Donoghue, you have not fired at my men."

"Am I your prisoner, Captain Travers?" said Mark, replacing his weapon.

"No, far from it; it was to serve you I accepted the command of this party. I knew of the plot by which you were threatened--Hemsworth----"

"He is gone to his reckoning now," said Mark, who never gave credit to Kerry's story.

"Not dead--you do not mean that?"

"Even so, sir, but not as I see you suspect."

"No matter now," cried Travers, wildly, for a thousand dreadful fears came crowding on his mind; "you must escape at once; this will be worse than the charge of treason itself. Was there any witness to his death?"

"None," said Mark, for he remembered that Kate was still fainting during the struggle he believed fatal.

"You must escape at once," repeated Travers, for without directly attributing guilt to Mark, he feared the consequence of this dreadful event. "Keep in the mountain for some little time, and when this mad enterprise has blown over----"

"The country then will be in other hands," interrupted Mark;--"aye, sir, you may look and feel incredulous, but the time is perhaps not distant when I may be able to return your present courtesy. The French are landing----"

"They are putting out to sea--flying--not advancing," said Travers, proudly.

"No, no, you mistake them," said Mark, with a smile of incredulity.

"I heard the guns not a quarter of an hour since--would I had never left them."

"There, take my horse, mount quickly, and make for the Bay, and turn him loose on the sh.o.r.e--reach the fleet if you can--in any case, escape; there is no time to lose."

"And you--how are you to account for this?" said Mark. "Will your loyalty stand so severe a trial as that of having a.s.sisted a rebel's escape?"

"Leave me to meet my difficulties my own way; turn your thoughts to your own--heaven knows, they are enough."

The tone he spoke in appealed to Mark's feelings more strongly than all he said before, and grasping Travers' hand, he said--

"Oh, if I had but had your friendship once, how different I might be this day; and my father too--what is to become of him?"

"Spare him at least the sorrow of seeing his son arraigned on a charge of treason, if not of worse."

Fortunately Mark heard not the last few words, which rather fell from Travers inadvertently, and were uttered in a low voice.

"There," cried Mark, as the loud report of several guns pealed forth-- "they have landed--they will soon be here."

As he spoke, a mounted dragoon rode up to Travers, and whispered a few words in his ear. Frederick motioned the man to fall back, and then approaching Mark, said--

"I was correct, sir--the French fleet is under weigh--the expedition is abandoned; away then before your chance is lost--down to the Bay and get on board; you will at least find a path where there is glory as well as peril; there--away."

"They cannot have done this," cried Mark, in an agony of pa.s.sion; "they would not desert the cause they have fostered, and leave us to our fate here."

Mark vaulted on Travers' horse as he said this, all feeling for his own safety merged in his anxiety for the issue of the plot.

"Treachery we have had enough of--we may be well spared the curse of cowardice. Good-bye, farewell--few, either friends or foes, have done me the services that you have. If we are to meet again, Travers----"

"Farewell, farewell," cried Travers; "we shall never meet as enemies,"