My Lords of Strogue. Volume 1 of 3

Under skilful manipulation the Society of United Irishmen flourished prodigiously. Tom Emmett and Neilson were kept in prison, where they languished without trial. Others were let out and caged again as occasion required, that they might inflame their fellows with a catalogue of dread experiences. Midnight meetings resulted, wherein orators declaimed of the wickedness of the perfidious one, and summoned all true patriots to take the fatal oath. The decision which had been come to on the disastrous night in Trinity was carried out to the letter, and was much assisted in its fulfilmeut by the harsh treatment of the chiefs. The military system was engrafted on the civil.

Faithful to his promise, Cassidy rode to Belfast, delivered Emmett's order to the delegates there, and then with commendable prudence subsided into the background. The provincial committee spread out its arms, from which new ones were speedily engendered, and passed resolutions of grave import, while England stifled her merriment. Civil officers were to wear military titles. A secretary over twelve was to become a petty officer with gewgaws on his coat; a delegate over five of these, a captain, with more gewgaws; a superior over five captains, a colonel with a plume; mighty fine! The colonels of each county were to send three names to the central directory, from which one was to be chosen adjutant-general of his county to deal directly with the capital. And thus a national army was forming in the dark, just as the Volunteer army had sprung up in the daylight, with the important difference that by this time England had cured her wounds and regained her pristine strength.

I protest that this linen-draper-medley masquerading in galoon would be laughable, were it not so sad a spectacle. But who shall dare to laugh at honest men, whose delusions are nursed and played upon instead of being tenderly swept away? Curran's sympathies were with the reformers, but not his judgment; and he became a sort of link between two parties. His position as a lawyer gave him the entrée to the best houses, whilst his homely habits and untidy dress caused the lower orders to look on him as one of themselves. Between the rival parties he shillyshallied with a weakness which his character belied, grumbling at the patriots for their imprudence, growling at the sins of Government, very uncomfortable in his mind, and of no use so far to either of the opposing factions.

As the members of the society committed themselves more deeply, Lord Clare became more gay. He hinted to the half-mounted gentry that if they liked it they might volunteer as active agents against the misguided youths who were preparing to turn Ireland topsy-turvy. Nothing could please the squireens better than this tacit permission to give vent to their worst passions. Brutal, cruel, sycophantic (as ignorant and depraved natures are), they began to band themselves in regiments, with nobles for superior officers, and to commit outrages on those below them, pretty certain that they would be indemnified for any atrocity they might commit. L'appétit vient en mangeant. The peasant, ground down and wretched to the level of the serf of Elizabeth, howled out that Justice was indeed fled, and hearkened with ravenous avidity to the voice of the charmer who sang of French ships in the offing, and a proximate term to misery. Drilling went on under cover of night, and the practice of the pike, since gunpowder could not be purchased; and the shibboleth anent the bough which was to be planted in England's crown might be heard a hundred times in whispers on every market-day.

But, misery or no misery, folks must eat and drink, and the Hibernian nature-as quick to resent as to forgive, as vehement as indiscreet-is given to extremes, from sadness to mirth and back again.

Mr. Curran, though his heart was sore, was fond of dainty viands, and beguiled himself, as others did, with the pleasures of the table; striving to drown, with a clatter of knives and forks, the din of approaching tempest. His board was ever sumptuously garnished, his claret of the best, his welcome of the warmest, and few who were bidden to partake of it ever declined his hospitality.

Timid Arthur Wolfe, who was growing more cautious every day, and doing his best to serve two masters for his daughter's sake, implored his friend to take example by himself, demonstrating in the clearest way that the history of my Lord Clare was becoming the history of all Ireland, and that a man with a child's future in his hands has no right to run a-muck. He had found out that the chancellor had endeavoured to buy Curran, and failing ignominiously in that attempt, was trying to undermine his business. Why be for ever snarling at Lord Clare? It would be the old story of the pipkin and the iron pot. To which arguments Curran answered, laughing:

'Is it I that's the frog, and he the bull? Maybe it'll turn out t'other way. I'm mad, no doubt, to set my small pebble to stop his chariot, but many a trivial thing has proved the factor in a great catastrophe, and I'll even insert my pebble. Fudge, Arthur! I'm too popular, and my life's too open for even Lord Clare to wreak his vengeance on me.'

Then Arthur Wolfe persisted, entreating that at least he would avoid the charge of holding seditious meetings at his house. The weekly dinners at the Priory were jovial, he admitted, beyond compare. The cup went round as merrily as if Erin were a buxom wench, dimpled, and well-to-do-but there could be no denying that those who drank of it were marked men mostly, who knew the inside of Newgate as well as the Priory parlour, and these were ticklish times for political flirtation. What would befall Sara, honest Arthur pleaded, if an accident were to befall the councillor? So delicate a blossom would shrivel under the first frostnipping. On her father's head must rest the consequence if misfortune crushed his child.

At mention of Sara Mr. Curran would become exceedingly perplexed, torn by two apparently incompatible duties, as he reflected on his pale primrose. How wonderful are the decrees of Fate! Why are beings, abnormally sensitive and delicate-whose fibres are liable to injury by the most careful handling-pitchforked into a world of stones for the express purpose of being bruised? Sara's nature was one which needed sun and flowers, hourly solicitude and broidered blanketing, yet here was she cast upon a rocky coast, battered by cold winds, which threatened to become each day more easterly! Was she sent to earth merely to bear pain, to linger for a space in more or less protracted agony, and then to die? Possibly. It is a cruel creed to accept, but the experience of the world we live in forces it upon us. Perchance we shall learn to see a reason for it later on.

The crash was coming, as none perceived more clearly than Mr. Curran. Might anything avert it? Nothing. What would happen to cherished ones in the throes of the hurricane? But how bootless was such self-communing! Fais ce que devra! Mr. Curran was determined not to shrink from duty to the soil which gave him birth. Though the days of Roman virtue were overpast, he would sacrifice his heart's treasure on the altar if need were, trusting to God's mercy for the rest; and it was the kernel of his project to keep watch over the society-with it in the spirit, but not of it in the body. He was wont to say with pride that he had never wittingly snubbed any man who was in earnest. Self-willed himself, he respected those who strove to make themselves, and respected men doubly if their aspirations were unselfish. He said to himself that the motives of this small self-sacrificing band were pure where all else was foul; that though for their own sakes he dared not espouse their tenets openly, yet it would be a coward's act to deprive them of his countenance and advice because they walked in danger. So he shook his head at time-serving Arthur Wolfe, and went his independent way, and waited for his chosen guests each Wednesday afternoon, caring no fig for Lord Clare's menaces, sorry only that he continued to exist.

He stood straddle-legged at the hour of five on a reception-day, among the dishevelled laurestinus bushes, which he was pleased to call his avenue, swinging his portly watch by its ribbon-as his way was when guests were late. The Priory was a snug abode, if not endowed with beauty; but then the works of man in Ireland are seldom in beautiful accordance with the handiwork of God. It was a frightful ungainly villa erected in the hideous style of Irish suburban architecture, with attenuated slits of windows and tall consumptive doors set half-way up in a bald waste of rough whitewashed wall. The usual alpine stair led to the entrance; arranged, as it appeared, for the purpose of setting an honoured guest on a glorious pinnacle of observation, till slipshod Kathy could hitch up her draggled skirts to let him in.

From the parlour window might be admired a prospect of barn, dunghill, dovecote, horsepond, piggery, which offered to the nose in summer a bouquet of varied sweets; while the usual yard or two of road swept round the usual dark circular grassplot with a mouldy rhododendron in the centre of it. The orchard behind was christened by its owner his pistol-gallery, but it was at the same time a forum; for there might Mr. Curran frequently be seen of a morning, declaiming with Demosthenic energy, whilst he lodged bullets at intervals in the bark of special trees.

The odour of savoury viands assailed his nostrils as he stood statue-like on the pinnacle and whirled his watch, for he hated unpunctuality above all things. His beetle-brows were knit, his lower lip protruded, and he wondered whether any of his guests had been arrested. That was naturally his first fear, and he wagged his head with gloom at some ducks that quacked in a neighbouring puddle as he surveyed the lugubrious possibility.

'Idiots!' he moralised. 'Pictures of ourselves, who dream of dinner as though sorrow could not wake. Alas! Fate is common and the future is unseen, as the Arab proverb has it. You rejoice in the balmy showers, do you? – not knowing, in your crass ignorance, that they will make the peas grow! And here are we, as foolish as you, going in for a jollification, as though a few months might not bring grief to all of us! Ahem! It is well that we are a careless nation, or every Irishman would cut his throat before he grew to manhood.'

Terence, who was drawing corks as if catering for an army, laughed aloud, for he at least showed no signs of brooding melancholy; being prepared rather to take life as he found it, and enjoy it too, for his bright brave nature endeared him to all, and he was himself too frank to believe in the pervading blackness of the human heart. As Doreen pictured, he had attended the Castle balls during the winter, and had led out his cousin for a turn of passepied or rigadoon without much sighing; had dutifully called on his mother when Shane was safe away, and had spent the rest of his time yawning over briefs for the behoof of Mr. Curran.

These briefs caused little disputes sometimes between the two, which it became Sara's duty to smooth away-for Terence was wofully idle and abhorred his work, being wont to declare that intellectual labour was one thing, and unintellectual drudgery another, till his chief waxed exceeding wroth, and asserted that idleness led to mischief. Sometimes there appeared a flickering flame of ambition in him, which Curran tried hard to foster; but before he had time to fan it, Terence would cry, 'Oh, bother?' and, flinging the brief into the garden, go forth to fish with Phil. No one could be angry with him long. Idleness seems to suit some natures, which appear moulded for the enjoyment of other people's labour.

In the ways of the world Terence was an infant; in the balance of right and wrong inclined to be unsteady from sheer indolence of brain. His bubbling, brawling flow of spirits deceived casual observers, who set him down as frivolous, impelled by the lightest breeze. Doreen, whose experience was limited, thought him so with a feeling of affection, in which contempt was mingled; but Curran knew better. He knew that many a sensitive man wilfully assumes a disparaging exterior to mask his holy of holies even from himself. He knew that few among us ever quite know ourselves; but wake up sometimes in the decline of life to discover new virtues or new vices, of whose existence we were quite unconscious; that we come to know our own characters by flashes, just as we learn those of our nearest and dearest friends.

Terence was a general favourite; a hearty devil-may-care young fellow, with a good digestion and few individual troubles, and was looked upon with awe by gentle little Sara, as he helped in her household cares. Indeed, Mr. Curran was justified in being cross this day, for the repast was ready, if the guests were not. Veal, turkey, ham-all piping hot-smoked in their respective dishes. Powldoody oysters smiled as a centre-piece, flanked by speckled trout, caught but an hour ago by Terence's servant Phil. Rows of wine-bottles garnished the parlour wainscoting; the trim little hostess was squeezing lemons into a jug on the hearthstone, with a view to prospective punch. He spun his watch faster and faster as moments waned, more and more certain that something untoward must have happened, and was no little relieved by the sound of horses' feet, and the sight of his party approaching.

'Hooroo, boys!' he cried cheerily, shaking off his gloom. 'Ye're late, but no mather; ye're welcome, and shall carry home what ye like with ye, rather than an appetite.'

Sara had a becoming blush ready for her undergraduate, as he approached to kiss her hand. She looked shyly in his eyes, and marked with uneasiness that they were growing very dreamy, while an habitual contraction fretted his forehead, which she knew came from distress about his brother. She knew-for sometimes she took entrancing walks with him-that his temper was becoming soured and his spirit chafed, in that Tom languished on in prison without trial. Was not such injustice outrageous? The charges against him were grave, no doubt; that bit of paper which blundering Cassidy had failed to swallow was compromising in a high degree; but then others quite as much compromised were let off long since with a fine, whilst Tom remained untried. Any trial-before a jury however packed-would be better than such lingering suspense. If the worst came to the worst, the crown of martyrdom, which would go with conviction, would be some small comfort; but to have lain rotting in a gaol for a year, to be immured without a term till well-nigh forgotten, was like the death of a rat in a hole; and as ardent young Robert thought of it, his constitutional dread of bloodshed almost went from him. Seeing what he was forced to see, he regretted his oath in nowise.

Among many enthusiasts few were so enthusiastic as this boy-few looked so hopefully for news of Tone and of his doings in France. The newspaper of his imprisoned brother had somehow revived, though the guiding hand was shackled, and wonderful articles appeared in its pages which might well have brought down, for the second time, the chancellor's vengeful claw on it. But such rash ebullitions of an imprudent ardour were just what Lord Clare required. Nobody knew who edited Tom's journal now (possibly many had a finger in it). It certainly was not Robert, for he was but eighteen and a student still of Trinity; but that he helped and gambolled on the chasm's verge, his friends did know, and remonstrated with him more than once.

Curran was constantly lecturing him, but without effect, for the froward boy only bade him attend to his own affairs; suggested that if he wanted to save somebody from the vortex he had better look after his own future son-in-law, and this made Curran angry. Yes; this was one of the things which had resulted from Terence's leaving home. Busybodies had winked and nodded, declaring that the little lawyer was wise in his generation; that, having feathered his nest, he might do worse for Sara than introduce her into the peerage with a plump dowry. If a trifle reckless he was shrewd, they said; for whilst dallying with the United Irishmen he had taken care to drag along with him the brother of a great lord, who could not well interfere on behalf of a near kinsman without also throwing the ægis of his rank over another who ran in couples with him. The busybodies talked nonsense, as they generally do. Mr. Curran had no views as yet with regard to Sara, and required the protection of no aristocratic ægis. His reputation had risen so high during the last twelve months by reason of the splendid bravery with which he had defended the foes of established government, that neither Pitt nor Clare dared at this moment to touch the champion. His place at the Bar was so unique that there was no man, not merely next, but near him. Other advocates were to him as the stars to the sunbeam. In court he was at once persuasive, eloquent, acute, argumentative; striking with cunning hand the chord of pity, then (for he knew his audience) checking the rising tear with laughter. As a cross-examiner he was unrivalled. Let truth and falsehood be ever so intricately dovetailed, he could part them with a touch. Swiftly he would place his finger on a vital point, untwist a tangle and involve perjury in the confusion of its contradictions. So long as he retained his purity, it would never do to assail this Galahad. All were aware of that, and so he needed no help from a great lord.

Yet many wondered whether he might be secretly afraid of being ensnared; whether, foreseeing the struggle that was imminent, he might not deem it prudent to prepare a sure method of escape. The children of darkness have more ways of circumventing the children of light than it is at all pleasant for you and me (who of course belong to the latter category) to reflect upon. He was ill-judged, possibly, in throwing a young man like Terence into too close contact with the would-be reformers. But then was not that youth already a friend of the Emmetts and of Tone? Was not his innate laziness a bulwark of defence? Was he not in the habit of defending Lord Clare, and of pointing out that party-spirit embitters people to the point of shameful slander? As yet he declined to admit that the chancellor had horns and hoofs.

Although he scorned the worldly-wise advice of Arthur Wolfe, Mr. Curran was careful, when he could, to check open expressions of sedition at his table. On this very day he found it necessary several times to change the current of talk before the cloth was removed, when Sara, nodding pleasantly to Terence and to her undergraduate, rose and withdrew to her chamber.

But there was a special reason on this particular day for an extra amount of wrath on the part of the young men, his guests, which did not fail to produce its answering growl from their host. That fresh arbitrary arrests should have taken place surprised him not at all-such proceedings were of daily occurrence. That Sirr, the town-major, should be enlarging his paid army of false-witnesses, who were becoming notorious as 'the band of testimony,' was also, alas, no new thing. That a man's life could be sworn away by one witness who had never seen him before was an awful fact; but then he, Mr. Curran, was at hand to protest, and the recognised forms of law still permitted an accused sometimes to baffle the paid malice of the informer.

It was an open question, all admitted, how far a government might go in espionage. In moments of peril to the public weal it is certain that ministers must draw their information from any quarter, however foul; but to offer a premium to rascality is surely criminal. To gain information of facts from detectives is quite a different matter from the employment of secret agents to tempt people into sin and then hound them down. Robert Emmett brought news with him this day that seemed to foreshadow a change of tactics on the part of the executive-ominous news the discussion of which had made the party late upon the road, and which caused the young men, so soon as their hostess had retired, to abandon social gossip for more grave communion.

'Friends,' Robert said, 'they intend to exasperate us. There can be no more doubt about it, though I am in the dark as to their motives. Please God, Theobald's mission will be accomplished ere 'tis too late; the French will come to our succour before we are goaded to despair.'

Cassidy, who had such a blundering tendency to do the wrong thing in the wrong place, here broke out into a new ditty which was beginning to be popular, trolling forth in his mellow voice:

'The French are on the say, says the Shan van Vocht;

And will be here without delay, says the Shan van Vocht;'

but he was sternly bidden to fill his glass and pass the round-bottomed bottle without making himself noisily objectionable; and, whatever other peccadillo he might think proper to commit, above all things to drink fair.

'Major Sirr's banditti,' the undergraduate went on, so soon as the bottle, being empty, could be laid down, 'have taken on them a new function. They arrogate to themselves now a right of paying domiciliary visits without search-warrants, of forcing open a person's door whensoever the outrage may suit their whim. A year ago they wormed their way into Trinity, and by an accident we were unable to rouse the college.'

'Arrah, thin,' grumbled Cassidy, 'will ye always be pitching my big shoulder sand empty head in my teeth? I was sorry for my awkwardness, and that's enough.'

'But at that time they were right to take us, if they could; for in truth we were conspiring-a red-letter day in my memory, the day I took the oath! Hearken to this, all of you! You know Tim Flanagan, of Ormond's Quay, whose lady-God rest her soul! – was brought to bed a week ago? She died, so did the child, last night; and Tim, gone wild with sorrow, threw himself on the floor beside the corpse, refusing to be comforted. There came a knocking at his warehouse entry; it was barred, and the men away. His sister, from a window, desired to know what was wanted. Sirr answered that he was come to search the house-for what, in the Lord's name? Gunpowder cannot be bought. The sister offered money if they would respect their grief, but not enough. In the warehouses nothing compromising was found, of course. The room where the corpse lay was to be searched also. They battered in the door of the guarded chamber, but recoiled in a fright, for Tim stood with a threatening glare of madness beside his young wife, a knife clutched in his right hand. They fled, these myrmidons who disregarded an agony of soul which a savage would respect; and Tim knelt down there and then, with his appalled sister, swearing, on the blue lips of her who was gone before, an eternal enmity against the Castle tyrants.'

There was a long silence, during which Curran hung his head, while the brow of his junior darkened, and honest Phil, his goggle-eyed henchman, poured claret in his master's lap instead of into his glass.

'It is horrible!' sighed Cassidy, and swore a string of oaths. 'Tim Flanagan had fought shy of the society,' he shouted, 'but now would surely join it. His was but one case out of many. The wickedness of those in power would surely drive all Ireland to take the oath, and then the sons of the soil would rise as one man and hunt the tyrants into the Channel.'

Mr. Curran shook his rough head.

'They are working for a purpose, as Robert says,' he remarked; 'a wicked purpose, which aims at our eternal slavery. Instead of sowing seeds of wholesome trees, beneath which our children may seek shelter, they cherish poisonous roots, with the intent to squat like witches in a plantation of nightshade. You will never hunt them into the Channel. Do you know that they are flooding the island with troops-disciplined troops, who will part your ill-trained myriads like water? I see their aim, though they would fain hide it till the fruit is ripe. They will goad us by insidious outrage to despair, then stamp on us with an overwhelming force, and, when we are faint and bleeding, will tie us, gagged and chained, to the car of England for evermore.'

'What do you mean?' Terence inquired sternly.

'I mean,' responded his chief, 'that when we are ground into the dust, they will sweep us from the list of nations. Cobwebs will gather round the locks of our senate-house; our exchange will be silent as the tomb, our docks empty, our quays deserted. England will swallow us body and soul; will devour our liberty, and with it our existence.'