My Lords of Strogue. Volume 1 of 3

'Is it the dean that's rooned us?' Cassidy had been exclaiming. 'By Jabers, then, I'll wring his neck for him before he's much older! Run, jewel, for you know the place, which I don't, while I attend to him. Here's a string that'll do the job.'

And in a trice he had cut the rope which swung before him as high up as his long arms reached, and was fastening at one end a noose.

'What are you doing?' cried Robert, in dismay, 'the ringing-rope of the great bell!'

'Oh, tear and 'ounds! is it?' murmured the giant, with a blank look, as he dropped it. 'Sure, I tuk it to hang the dean with!'

It was a fatal piece of stupidity, but the mischief was irretrievable. The rope-end dangled just out of Robert's reach. The men who had been watching in the inner yard closed in, and levelling their muskets, summoned them to surrender quietly. By the time Sirr's party came up with the panting dean the giant was pinioned with the unlucky rope, while Robert was in the grip of two sturdy soldiers.

So much rowdiness was habitually perpetrated within Trinity-such a succession of practical jokes and madcap tricks-that none were likely to heed the hubbub of this chase. Thomas, who had so sagely recommended prudence half an hour since, stood in bitter reverie among his fellow-prisoners, reproaching himself mournfully for his blindness; wondering in self-abasement whether it was not better after all that one who had at starting shown himself so bad a chief, should be thus summarily deposed from office. For he saw at once that his fate would be the same as that of those already sacrificed-either exile beyond seas, or dreary rotting in Newgate or Kilmainham-for was not his signature appended, in the capacity of newly-elected president, to the paper which loyal Cassidy had tried to swallow? And what a covey had been captured beside himself! what gaps there would be now in the already thinned ranks of those who were prepared to win or perish! Curran's words had come true with regard to the capture-was his other assertion equally correct? Was there a Judas in their midst who was handing them over to the avenger, the while he gave the kiss of fellowship? The thought was too horrible. Whom was he to suspect? Not Cassidy, or Bond, or McLaughlin, or his fervent brother Robert-or Curran himself. None of these-who then? It must be Terence Crosbie, whom they had weakly admitted behind the veil, trusting to his honour as a gentleman. His honour! One of the semi-English aristocrats, whose brother was a Blaster-whose mother was Clare's dearest friend. Scales seemed to fall from his eyes, and he stood staring at his own folly. It was evident that Terence had coquetted with them merely to study their plans. That frank air of bonhomie was assumed. He was like his brother Glandore-only more crafty and astute instead of imbecile; that was all. He was deceiving Curran now as he had deceived them, and Curran was watching over him with the solicitude of a father. It was all too horrible-the world a place of blackest infamy-Ireland the darkest spot upon its face. Yet no. His better judgment revolted against such a belief. The fresh air was balmy; the yellowing sky of surpassing loveliness. Man, if made of stuff so innately vile, would never have been placed in so fair a casket. Facts are stubborn things, though. The meeting had been betrayed by somebody. Who was the wretch?

It was by this time quite light, and the town-major deemed it wise to remove his prey before early-rising undergraduates should be stirring. He gave his orders therefore-softly, but with martinet decision-and the party marched away, leaving Robert sitting on the platform.

'I am ready,' he said, leaping up. 'I am one with them, and will go quietly;' but Major Sirr held up his hand and grinned.

'You are fine devil's spawn, no doubt,' he said, while his nose wrinkled, 'but we don't want you just yet. You're but a baby blustering like a man. Look at his smooth chin-or is it a girl? Newgate's a brave residence for summer, if your purse is well lined; if not, best hang yourself before going thither. No, no! I've no warrant to arrest your ladyship-but your time will come, I doubt not.'

'Let him be!' cried his brother Thomas. 'Whither do you take us?'

'First to Kilmainham with you,' Sirr replied sharply. 'Then with the rest to Newgate; then to your offices to seize your precious newspaper, demolish your press, and scatter your type. Have you any objection?'

'That is illegal,' Thomas affirmed, 'till the paper is condemned for sedition.'

The town-major gave vent to a grumbling cachinnation like the rattling of a skeleton in a cupboard, but no smile lit up his sinister countenance. Then he echoed:

'Illegal, ha, ha! That can be set right. Forward-march!'

The cortége moved across the quadrangle, and the massive gates of Alma Mater closed behind it. Robert Emmett sat dazed, while the yellow in the sky above the roofs changed to pink and then to blue; for they were gone-away from the sanctuary into the wicked world without; no hue and cry could save them now. The junior dean, his nerves calmed by whisky-punch, lay cosily between the blankets, dreaming of the bishopric he had won that night. An early gownsman, flinging wide his shutters before settling to his morning's work, smiled down on the wild rake who must have come in too drunk to find his way to bed. Boys will be boys, though their mammas wish that they would act as sages; and they must season their heads while they are young.

But the studious undergraduate was wrong in his surmise. Excitable by temperament, delicate in body, and overwrought in mind, Robert Emmett had swooned away.

CHAPTER VIII.

CAIN AND ABEL

Next morning Mr. Curran rode early to the Abbey, with news of the arrests which he had been powerless to prevent. He looked with an eye less jaundiced than usual upon the world, for the sea-breeze instilled fresh life into him, weary and jaded as he was from many causes, and he felt that he deserved well of her ladyship for saving her son from a scandal. Though he laughed and joked in company, in private he was nearly always sad, partly by constitution, partly by reason of the sights he saw around him; and as he rode along this morning and meditated concerning his foe Lord Clare, the flecks of sunlight that chequered his mind vanished, leaving only darkness and despondency behind. Oh, that chancellor! Would no one free Ireland from a tutelage which became hourly more oppressive and capricious? Why could not the innocent conspirators be left alone? Theobald, the whale, was gone. Sure, naught but stirring up of dirty water could be gained by harrying the minnows. It was unwise to have locked up the lads with such a rattling of locks and muskets. The raid upon Tom Emmett's office, too, was a deplorable proceeding. No new or special charge of iniquity had been brought against his paper. Yet the place was ransacked in his absence, his property destroyed, his chairs and tables tossed out of window as though they carried treason in their varnish. Lord Clare must be mad, or desperately wicked. If he brought the country to ruin, it should not be for want of warning. To protest in parliament is one thing, to argue and implore in private is another. The little lawyer decided to speak openly to Lord Clare at their very next meeting, and clinched the matter in his mind with such a thump of his hunting-crop as caused his pony to leap forward and nearly throw his master from the saddle.

Madam Gillin and her daughter Norah were gardening as he rode past their hedge, and the former hallooed to him to stop. Mr. Curran could scarce forbear laughing at her appearance, so grotesquely serious did she look in a frayed turban soiled with pomade, and a crumpled frock of extravagant fashion, from under which peeped a pair of satin slippers down at heel. It was a thrifty habit with Madam Gillin to wear out her old quality-clothes at home, for she said that Norah must have a fine dowry somehow, and that for that purpose it would be needful to economise. Now her garments and her child's were always of the flimsiest and most tawdry mode, profusely adorned with feathers and spangles, trimmed with outrageous frills and furbelows; and the twain, who did not trouble soap and water unless about to receive company, might be seen any day over the hedge which divided their property from the main-road, strutting up and down among the flower-beds like moulting peacocks or birds of paradise in a decline. Madam Gillin was lying nervously in wait for news this morning, and hailed Curran's appearance with relief, for her nurse, Jug Coyle, had heard of the arrests from frequenters of her shebeen, and vague rumours were afloat that Terence was among the captured. Oddly enough, although she had appointed herself guardian in ambush to the younger son, she had never spoken to him: yet was she well posted in all that concerned her protégé down to minutest details; for were not all the array of grooms, farriers, dog-boys, foot-boys, tay-boys-what not? – in the habit of frequenting that too-convenient boozing-ken whose insidious hospitality was so offensive to their mistress at the Abbey? This was Madam Gillin's real reason for having established Jug at the Irish Slave. Through her she commanded an army of spies who, for a drop of the crather, studied my lady's face, translated her thoughts, imagined motives, as servants will who are argus-eyed, imaginative, inquisitive, endowed with a hundred ears. She was true to her trust of watching over Terence, though she seemed to know nothing at all about him, resolved, if need were, to do battle on his behalf, to point the finger of public-opinion at my lady if she behaved badly; and now she was sore perplexed concerning him, albeit he wist not of a guardian angel in a dirty old turban and crushed ostrich feathers.

Mr. Curran set her mind at rest, and turned up the avenue which led to the Abbey. The youth had certainly been present at the meeting, because the Emmetts were among his closest friends; but he was not affiliated, he assured her; and both agreed that his imagination must not be permitted to take fire; that he must never be allowed to become a member of the society.

When his nag turned the corner of the shrubbery, the little lawyer found those he sought grouped in front of the hall-door. My lady, in grey brocade, with a twist of lace through her white hair, was standing erect with crossed arms, looking with satisfaction at Doreen and Shane. The girl, though self-willed, had evidently taken her hint, and was preparing to lay siege to Shane; at least his fond mother chose to think so, and was deceived, as mothers often are. Just as grave people, for an idle whim, will turn for a moment from lofty contemplations to consider a pebble by the wayside, so calm Doreen had been bitten by a conceit. In her self-examination she had become convinced, with sorrow, that the part of Judith was beyond her strength, if Shane was to play Holofernes; and, disgusted with her own weakness, had permitted her mind to settle on my lady's nickname of Miss Hoyden. Being proved incapable of supreme sacrifice, she felt a wrathful desire for self-abasement, and resolved that, if she could not please her aunt in great things, she would do so at least in little ones, at the expense of private tastes.

So, to Lady Glandore's surprise, she appeared on this very morning in fashionable attire, which a week ago she had haughtily declined to wear; a sumptuous high-waisted percale, broidered in forget-me-nots, with great puffed sleeves and tight short skirt; low shoes of blue satin with wide strings; her beautiful hair in a straight sheet down her back, plaited together with straw, as the prevailing fashion was. Perched on the top of her head was a dainty straw bonnet, fit only for a fairy, and she looked under it, with her thoughtful brown face and solemn eyes, like some lovely victim tricked out in incongruous frippery, who was destined to figure in some Hibernian auto-da-fé.

'Young ladies of a strong-minded and serious turn do evidently not array themselves in wonderful garments without a reason,' so my lady argued. 'Neither do they descend to coquetry, save for the snaring of young men. Whom could Miss Wolfe desire to snare, if not her cousin Shane?'

This was well-extremely well. Unhappily, the young lord was not struck with the bonnet, or with the forget-me-nots. His mother saw that she would have to guide his attention to his cousin's blandishments.

Alack! he was in no mood to play the lover, being prosaically engrossed with a throbbing brow and swollen tongue. Shane, although he had 'made his head,' and could drink claret against most people, was apt to feel faded of a morning, and to retaliate for physical ills upon the first person who came within his reach. Last night he had presided over the Blasters, had shattered a decanter on the pate of a gentleman who presumed to breathe hard in his presence, and who, of course, had challenged him to fight. So far so good; but the stranger had shown himself so ill-bred as absolutely to decline to draw his sword till certain business matters could be arranged, and so the meeting was perforce postponed for a few hours-a most rude and inconsiderate proceeding! For might not the champion Blaster, the admirable Hellfire, the Prince of Cherokees, have other work upon his hands before dinner-time? And besides, though money-debts may wait for months without a smirching of the niceties of honour, it is a bad example for the multitude to allow duels to accumulate. Moreover, Shane had promised, as it happened, to promenade with the Gillins, in the Beaux Walk, on this particular afternoon. Even an Irish earl cannot, like Roche's bird, be in two places at a time; and so the youthful fire-eater fretted and fumed, cross with himself and everybody else, heedless of his cousin's bonnet, and longed to force a quarrel upon some one.

Terence was seated a few yards off, on the steps of the young men's wing, which led to his own apartment, giving some directions to his private henchman with regard to the manufacture of flies. Now and then he threw a displeased glance at his pretty cousin, marvelling for whose behoof she had made herself so bewitching, and then, gnawed by carking jealousy, turned to vent his spleen upon his servant.

But honest Phil only grinned as he twined the bright feathers with a skilful hand, nor heeded his master's ill-humour; for was he not his foster-brother, who loved the ground he trod on with the blind devotion of a clansman? He had been brought up with Terence at a respectful distance, had learnt Bible-stories with him from the tiles about the hearth, and made himself generally useful as he increased in years. Nothing came amiss to him. He could farry, cure a cow of the murrain, tin a saucepan, dance a jig, knit a stocking, sing a cronane against any young fellow in the county. There was nothing he would not do for Master Terence. He followed at his heels like a dog, looking into his eyes for orders as dogs do, bearing his whims and caprices with stoical endurance, as we bear the wind that blows on us. He was a type, was Phil, of a creature who vanished with the century; who, sharp and clever enough, professed to no intellect of his own, and was content to be led in all things by another. His attire under all circumstances was the same. A green plush coat, a scarlet vest, and buckskin breeches. A black leather hunting-cap was always, in or out of doors, cocked on one side of his shock head. Some people said he went to bed in it. In his capacity of farrier, he invariably carried a firing-iron as a walking-stick; so that what with the angel in ambush in the dirty finery, and the athletic follower with the firing-iron, Terence Crosbie may be said to have been well protected, even in days when none were out of danger.

The Abbey party had also heard of the arrests, and were all equally pleased when Curran's figure turned the corner of the drive-the queer squat figure which all Dublin looked on with respect, with its tightly-buttoned high-collared coat, snuffy wave of loose necktie, white kerseymere breeches, and top-boots.

'Yes,' he said, in answer to a chorus of inquiries, 'the evil rumour was too true. He had ridden over early to beg my lady to interfere on behalf of the young people. Her influence over the chancellor was great. The father of the Emmetts had been state-physician, and, as such, had often prescribed draughts for the countess's household. Would she try to save his sons from peril?'

'No, she would not. Lord Clare doubtless had the best motives for what he did, and it would be unseemly in the associate of his leisure-hours to meddle in state affairs. It was plain that the scum must be kept in their place, or what would become of the nobles? The abrogation of the Penal Code was the wild fantasy of optimists; for you might as well give power to monkeys as to Catholics. It could not, should not, be altered or lightened, for the safety of the dominant minority depended on the Penal Code. The French disgrace of '89 would never have appalled Europe, if the King had been less soft-hearted.'

So spake my lady, in her most majestic way, and Curran, as he smiled at the kindly, narrow-minded woman, thought she looked more like Queen Bess than ever. There was no help to be expected from this quarter for the poor fellows; Doreen's stern face convinced him of that much. He must even buckle on his armour and have at Lord Clare in person, when the first opportunity offered.

Terence's brow darkened as his chief talked of the arrests, and of the outrage at Tone's offices. If the chancellor was personally responsible for the ill-judged performance, then was he distinctly in the wrong. Might there be some truth in the pile of accusations which were being heaped upon the minister in power?

My lady's high-flown babble jarred on his nerves. Is there anything more painful than hearing one you love and respect talking nonsense? But no! It was not possible that the chancellor should be acting as he did without good reason. We are all apt to jump at conclusions and to blame people, without seeking first for motives which may not happen to lie upon the surface. Terence tried to shake off his suspicions, and succeeded to a certain extent, moved thereto, possibly, by feeling Doreen's scrutiny fixed on him. When she appeared on the terrace in her strange costume, she found the brothers at high words, and reproved them straightway. Shane had used bad language in an undertone; Terence had blushed, and hung his head. There was thunder in the air, which the damsel had striven to dissipate. She was looking anxiously on now, fearful of a collision of antagonistic elements, and bit her lips and stamped her little foot as Shane turned crossly to the visitor.

'Is it true, Curran,' he asked, with dyspeptic peevishness, 'that my brother was with those rascals? I've asked him more than once, but it seems he's afraid to confess.'

'Afraid!' Terence cried, as white as ashes; then, catching his cousin's eye, he went back, with set teeth, to his fly-making.

'I ought to have said ashamed,' apologised his languid lordship. 'I presume that, being a Crosbie, you are capable of feeling shame? Or not? You are so queer, I think you were changed at birth.'

'To please me, be quiet,' implored Miss Wolfe, with an earnestness which charmed my lady. 'You two are perpetually squabbling!'

'It is not my fault,' Terence grumbled, crushing his fingers together to keep down his ire. 'Never think, please, that I am afraid of you, Shane. We cannot be afraid of that which we despise. If I am queer, you are more so. I did not answer, because I don't choose that you should interfere with me; but there is no reason why I should not. I was at Robert's chambers last night. What then? The purity of that handful of fellows shines out through the general darkness in a way that enforces one's respect. I do not say that they may not be carried too far, but sometimes they make me loathe myself and you and all my belongings; for in the abstract we are bad, and deserve any retribution which may fall on us.'

'Better join them,' sneered Shane, with a feverish hand upon his throbbing temples. 'When they confiscate this property, maybe they'll make you a present of it with the title. Oh, my head!'

'Yes, I was there,' continued Terence, doggedly; 'and they spoke wisdom mixed with folly-with more of the one and less of the other than you are accustomed to bestow on us. I do not mind admitting that I wish I'd stopped. Maybe they'll think that, knowing what was going to happen, I sneaked away, and then I shall lose their esteem.'

'Oho! What a delectable conspirator!' laughed my lord, cooling his aching head against the wall, while the cicatrice on his forehead grew red, and an evil glitter shone in his eyes. 'Love and esteem, eh? And how about mine? Will ye take a corner of that?'

With a spiteful movement he flicked a square of cambric at his brother, who placed his hands behind him and drew back; for the insulting action, innocent in itself, was one much in vogue for egging on a quarrel.

My lady turned as white as Terence, while she cried out hastily:

'Shane! what are you doing?'

Doreen looked on distressed, and Curran sighed, while honest Phil was too discreetly busy with his hackles to note anything that passed.

'Shane, how dare you, before my face!' said his mother; then, her anger kindling, she turned sharply on her younger son. 'It is your fault. You know how easily provoked he is. I cannot wonder at his being shocked by your behaviour.'

'I too, mother, am easily provoked,' Terence answered, his brow black with frowns.

'As I have said before, more than once, though you take no heed, you disgrace yourself by the society you keep. The Emmetts are well enough-I say nothing to the contrary, for indeed their father was a worthy man. But I am told that some of these people are linen-drapers. Is it fitting that a Crosbie should associate with tradesmen? They act blindly because they are low and do not know better, but the same cannot be said of you.'

My lady's lecture broke down, for whilst speaking of low people she remembered that her favourite Shane also was addicted to low company. Alas! she knew too well that he was the beloved of tavern-roysterers and petticoat-pensioners, who wept oily drops of maudlin affection over his drunken generosity, and that that smart zebra-suit of his-yellow and crimson striped-had not been donned to captivate his family.

If Shane was easily provoked, which was very true, he was also as easily bored as his father. Rising with a gesture of impatience to retire from the field, he cried out:

'There, there! what a pother, to be sure! I was only in joke. To hear your clatter, mother, one would think the house was burning. If Terence likes linen-drapers, I have no objection, but I can't admire his taste. Faugh! He's no better than a half-mounted!'

'Mother,' whispered Terence, trembling, 'do you stand by and hear him?'

But my lady made as though she was unaware of this fresh taunt, though it was a dreadful one. What a fearful thing for the head of a noble house to brand his heir-presumptive with being a 'half-mounted!' Now the half-mounted were a distinct class-a reckless feckless crew, each of whom possessed little beyond his horse and suit of clothes; who had no principles or education; who existed by pandering to the vices of their betters. They kept the ground at horse-races, helped a lord to steal a wench, knocked down her male relations, and made themselves generally agreeable; in return for which they were tolerated, supplied with bed and board, and treated to as much claret as they could carry. They swarmed, not to be industrious like the working bee, but to consume like the drone, and to do mischief like the wasp. This class it was which in '97 and '98 developed into the royalist yeomanry-the bully band of licentious executioners who did the filthy work which was disdained by English soldiers. A noble was described by the peasantry at this time as 'a gentleman to the backbone;' a landed squire as 'a gentleman every inch of him.' The younger sons of one of these, restrained as they were by gentility from any but three professions, sank more often than not into the habits of dissolute idleness to which young Ireland was constitutionally prone, and dwindled into the condition of the 'half-mounted,' whose career was usually closed by a tap from a shillalagh in a brawl, or an attack of delirium tremens. Therefore, that Terence should be accused of being one of the swashbucklers by his overbearing brother cut him to the quick, while it roused as well the anger of the man who was as a second father to him. Mr. Curran might possibly have given the earl a bit of his mind, and so have hammered such a breach 'twixt the two families as both would have deplored in equal measure, had not happily a huge golden coach come rumbling round the corner at this moment, whose gorgeousness attracted general attention, and diverted the thoughts of the group into another channel.