My Lords of Strogue. Volume 2 of 3

'Begorra! such a friend,' growled Curran, 'as I'd help out of mee cabin with mee boot! But never mind us. We're talking of this lad. Who's his enemy-who is it that's playing devil's capers among honest men? We know that they're not all saints who use holy water!'

Lord Clare was still looking away into the darkness, while Phil followed the direction of his glance, and said nothing.

'Don't press him,' Terence said, with coldness as chilling as the chancellor's. 'If he chooses to make confession for conscience' sake, so be it-I will be under no personal obligation to his clemency.'

'Silly boy! I want to save you, and, like the other asses, you pose and mouth heroics!' Clare said impatiently. 'Your name was on the list of those scatter-brains who were caged to-day, but I struck it through with my own pen. Yet I tell you fairly that if you commit yourself beyond a certain point, I shall be powerless to protect you. I should bring more odium than I dare upon the Government, if I were instrumental in stringing up a lot who deserve the rope, and saving the worst of all because he happened to be my old friend's son. I can't do more than I am doing. Even Mr. Curran here should tell you that. I tell you that you have an enemy who would gladly destroy you. You must guess who it is. Who is there whom you have injured? I tell you further that Lord Camden has signed a warrant for your arrest, which I believe is in his bureau. He deplores with me that one of the aristocracy should be a cause of scandal. But he may be called upon to permit execution of that warrant, and, acting as you do, I don't see how he can refuse to let justice take its course. Had you no enemy it might probably lie snug enough. But that enemy will ferret it out ere long, I fear. My boy, I earnestly implore you to leave the country. Every port shall be left open. Go to Paris-Vienna-Rome-anywhere. If you are short of funds I will provide them-come! I would so gladly see you gone,' he concluded after a pause, during which Terence's heart was touched, and Curran stared at this new aspect of the lord chancellor. 'For if I mistake not, such events will happen here ere long as will cause the best-balanced mind to quake.'

What a pity that he uttered those last few words! Curran beheld again the well-known Lord Clare. Terence became hot with resentment.

'If you are preparing a St. Bartholomew,' he said, 'why should I be specially favoured? Murderer!'

'Murderer?' echoed Curran, with a scorn which incensed the chancellor. 'Worse than murderer! Common butcher of your fellows! You have netted the leaders-you will goad the leaderless sheep to leap after them. You will drive them to rise against you. Then you'll massacre them for rising. You'll turn your artillery against the helpless peasants. You'll mow them down like grass. You know their peculiarities-so far you are Irish. With a cudgel or a shillalagh there's none can beat 'em. But they're bad at firearms. Firearms! The use of gunpowder's been forbidden them for ever so many years!'

'On my honour, it's provoking to save people despite themselves,' affirmed the exasperated chancellor. 'If the boy's hanged it'll be your fault, Curran.'

'I wish for no mercy,' said moody Terence, 'from such hands as yours, my lord. I remember Orr. So will you on your death-bed. Here comes Cassidy again. Come, Mr. Curran, we'll stroll to his chambers for a glass of claret.'

The trio departed together arm-in-arm, and Lord Clare looked after their retreating figures with extreme vexation as, mounting his horse, he rode slowly to Ely Place.

CHAPTER X.

THE BIRD AND THE FOWLER

The three allies retired to Cassidy's chambers, to laugh at their ease over Lord Clare's discomfiture.

'Bedad! he's losing his nerve,' Cassidy asserted, as he poured a ruby bumper down his throat. 'Did ye see how wild he aimed-like a gossoon that had never blazed? Maybe he's of the same kidney as the spalpeen in the play who betune the sheets is frighted by the Banshees.'

'Richard the Third at Bosworth?' suggested Mr. Curran. 'If he gets his deserts the chancellor's death-bed will be a fearsome spectacle.'

'It must be an awful thing to have innocent blood upon your conscience,' Terence mused. 'Yet how many are there among us now whose arms are steeped in it to the shoulder! Is it not strange that confessions of murder are nearly always of some single case? Wholesale murderers don't seem to be so troubled. The heart must be callous, I suppose, before it becomes capable of wholesale murder. Hence Shakespeare was wrong as to his ghosts on Bosworth Field. Richard slept undisturbed the sleep of the infantine and just.'

Cassidy seized the bottle, and poured himself out another bumper. 'I hate this city at night!' he said. 'Since General Lake's curfew order, it is like a sepulchre. I vow it's pleasant to hear the patrol, or the jolly sodger-boys returning home. What, Mr. Curran, are you off? These are ticklish times for night-journeys. Be not too venturesome. Better stop here. Sure I'll be glad to give you hospitality till morning.'

'And leave my Primrose to fret alone at home? No, thank you. She'll be dying to hear how her favourite is going on. I must say I'm as relieved as she can be that he should leave for England. One half-fledged victim saved at any rate out of the nest from the maw of Moiley.'

'What was Lord Clare talking of when I came up?' asked the giant, abruptly.

'He was advising this imprudent young gentleman to make for other shores,' grunted Curran, strapping on spatterdashes for his ride; 'and he was right.'

'You know you don't think so in your heart,' Terence retorted. 'With Tom Emmett and others at Kilmainham, it is more necessary than ever that Cassidy here and I should be vigilant. We've put our hands to the rudder, you know. We must summon hither some of the head men from Cork, at once. If Cassidy agrees with me, we'll write the letters before morning. It is essential that the gaps in the central committee should be filled up.'

'Can't you see how you are playing into their hands? Poor flies, whose feet stick in the web!' Curran sneered. 'You break from one mesh to catch in the next. Each time you break away, the struggle becomes harder; because the spider gums his lines, and your legs are sticky with the gluten! Little by little, by small crafty hawls, the executive are draining the society of all its master-minds. When they shall be safely snared; when no leaders with any pretension to worth are left, then they'll bring about a rising. The plan shows intimate knowledge of Irish nature capped by British phlegm. It's enough to make a man with his wits about him pitch himself headlong down the nearest well.'

'We will be very prudent,' Terence said. 'Yet of what avail is prudence with secret sleuthhounds on our track?'

Honest Phil, who had been squatting in a corner on the floor, with his gaze fixed upon his master, could bear this talk no longer.

'Faix! it's meeself that knows who 'tis. Ochone! sad's the day, I know it,' he murmured in the voice of tribulation.

The three turned eagerly round. 'You know who 'tis!' they cried out in chorus.

Then Phil related all he knew of Biddy-interlarding the narrative with many groans, in that the golden-tressed darling of his heart should, by turning out such a shocking monster, seem to impugn his taste.

Cassidy emptied the claret bottle, then flung it on the ground in his boisterous way-swearing, with ogrish snapping of the jaws, that he'd be even with the traitress; that he would throttle her with his own big fingers.

Knitting his brows Mr. Curran walked up and down, his hands behind his back. Terence stared at his henchman, bewildered by this new light.

After a pause Mr. Curran spoke. 'Phil's right and wrong,' he said. 'The woman may have betrayed much. But now her teeth are drawn-that's as regards the present, I mean. What a labyrinth it is! She may rake up old stories of the past, of which "juries of the right sort" will make the properest use-but she can tell nothing that has happened since the "Irish Slave" was burnt.'

'Her mother Jug Coyle's still living at the Little House,' Cassidy suggested; 'maybe she-'

'Impossible. We know now that after the destruction of the shebeen this precious young lady went to live in barracks with the soldiers.'

'Murther! and I've kissed her often,' the giant sighed with contrition, as though by that unlucky fact virtue must have gone out of him.

'Anyways,' added Terence, 'she could never have had a hand in the arrest at Cutpurse Row. Somebody supplied a list of delegates. Who was it? It's terrible not to know!'

'Therein lies the hopelessness of the whole affair,' declared Mr. Curran, preparing to depart. 'Blindman's-buff's nothing to it. With such wriggling in the grass it's simply putting honest heads into the wild beast's mouth for nothing. I won't say what I should think about it were circumstances otherwise. But as the wretched case stands, it would be a great load off my mind, my dear boy, if you were out of the bagarre.'

Cassidy scrutinised the face of Terence narrowly, who wore a look of moody uncertainty. 'Councillor Curran's right,' he said at length. 'Better show a clean pair of heels, and save your neck.'

The young man glanced up in anger, and the other smiled with a good-humoured nod.

'It was kind of Lord Clare,' Curran went on, walking hither and thither, much perturbed-'it certainly was kind of him to speak as he did. Maybe he's not so bad as I think. If so, the Lord forgive me! That there should be a warrant for you ready signed is not surprising. Warrants are pretty nearly dead letters just now, but it would not do to kidnap the brother of Lord Glandore without proper authority; and this secret foe that he spoke about is too sharp to do things unwarily. Once taken, your life's not worth a pin's fee with the Staghouse crew, ready to swear anything, and some one prepared to dictate. Who have ye ever injured, Terence? – think.'

'My Lord Clare said all that!' exclaimed Cassidy, disconcerted. Plunging his hands deep in his breeches-pockets, he whistled 'The Sword' softly to himself, while an expression of concern puckered his jolly lineaments.

'The hopes of the society will centre on you now,' the giant observed presently. 'As it is, the peculiarity of the attitude ye have taken these several months past, combined with your exalted rank, makes your position dangerous. The society'll look to you, now that Emmett and the rest are gone. Though all my heart's with it, it's little real use myself'll be, worse luck-I'm stupid. Theobald told me so. Tom Emmett's often called me a blundering booby.'

This confession was made with such deprecating humility that Terence was touched, and held out his hand.

'You wrong yourself,' he said. 'Cheer up. We'll stand by each other. But I'm not above taking good advice.'

'Ye'll go?' his two friends said, in different cadence.

'No, no!' replied Terence. 'That may not be. It's plain my duty's here, and here I'll remain. But Emmett and the others were foolhardy; for the future I'll keep myself concealed. We'll knead together a new directory at once. A great responsibility has fallen on my shoulders for which I am not fitted; yet I'll do my best, and play my part as others do. It is possible, as you say, that the delegates will look up to me. They'll want to be kept together-no easy task. Would that Miss Wolfe were here to help!' he concluded, sighing.

A malignant shadow flitted across the giant's face, and faded. 'Hide!' he echoed, with a bluntness which sounded a little like a taunt. 'Where can ye hide, and Sirr not find ye?'

'I'll go home to Strogue to-morrow, and then-'

'The first place they would go to if you were wanted,' objected Curran.

'Only to look over some papers and destroy them. I know of a safe place where they'll not find me.'

'Ah!' exclaimed the giant, with a tinge of curiosity, 'and you've papers to destroy at Strogue?'

'Here is a scheme I've drawn out for the capture of Dublin. The lords of the Privy Council-'

'Put it away!' roared the choleric little lawyer. 'Is it the back of me ye want to see? I won't know these things, since I still wear the King's silk gown, yet ye're for ever flourishing them under my nose!'

In a tantrum Mr. Curran departed, like a small snuff-scented whirlwind, accompanied by Phil, who went to fetch his horse.

Terence and Cassidy exchanged glances, and burst into peals of laughter.

'What a character it is!' Cassidy declared, as he busied himself with the brewing of cold punch-a grave matter, in which his companion too was soon equally engrossed.

'A good brew,' Terence announced, presently, amid solemn silence. 'We'll sit up all night, for there's much to be done. To-morrow I shall vanish from the world-in the body.'

'It's curious that you should ever have turned Croppy, Master Terence,' the giant mused, as with cuffs turned up he peeled the lemons. 'You-a member of the Englishry, who may become my Lord Glandore to-morrow-fond as his lordship is of fighting. But then, of course, ye'd change your politics. Sure your head'll come to be worth a big lot, if the rising doesn't succeed-a power of money, surelie!'

'But it shall succeed!' returned Terence, cheerily, 'Then it will be our turn to offer rewards. What will Lord Clare be worth, think you?'

'He'll never fly,' asserted the giant, eyeing his punch with lazy satisfaction. 'When Ould Ireland's fought her fight and conquered, we'll find he's died game in the streets somewhere. His behaviour on the Green to-night was quare, though-devilish quare! – It's absent in the body ye say ye'll be?' he asked, after a pause; 'but present in the spirit, I hope, for Erin's sake?'

'Never fear! One more glass of punch, and then to work. You think the first place Sirr would look for me would be at Strogue? But if, seeing the danger, I had fled from Strogue? Where would he search for me then? In the liberties about St. Patrick's-the Wicklow Hills-anywhere but in the neighbourhood of Strogue. Yet no neighbourhood could be so convenient. Men go fishing there in little boats, and may land from time to time without causing suspicion. If there was an alarm, it would be strange if I could not conceal myself among the rocks, or get across to Ireland's Eye, and baffle pursuers somehow till I was fetched away.'

'It's a pity, councillor, that the shebeen was burnt!'

'Better than the shebeen, old friend! Now I'll tell you a secret. You can keep a secret? Of course you can, for my sake and that of the good cause. That old figure of fun, Mrs. Gillin-whom my mother hates, for some odd reason-has, for some other odd reason, taken a fancy to me. That's funny, isn't it? She told me one day, that if ever I needed help which she could give, I might rely on her. Now where could I better conceal myself than at the Little House? It's within easy access of Dublin. No one is aware that I even know her, for we haven't exchanged more than half a dozen words in our lives. Though she's a Catholic, her daughter isn't; and, being anxious to make that young person my Lady Glandore, she naturally is interested in the aristocratic party. At the same time she feels the position of her co-religionists. I've been credibly informed so. Isn't that a good idea? Her place is in a manner sacred. She's a friend of all the judges.'

Cassidy ruminated, and whistled a soft air.

'A capital idea indeed! Then ye'll disappear, and I'll not see ye, maybe, for months-that is, till the signal's given.'

'How so?'

'Madam Gillin and I aren't friends. She'd not like to see me hanging about her doors. It wouldn't be prudent, neither. You'll be afther playing your big part while I play my little one. I'm right with the Castle people, as yourself knows well. Sirr likes me, so does Secretary Cooke. I'll ingratiate myself still more wid 'em. When the signal comes, maybe we might take the lord-lieutenant in his bed. It's worth considering. Anyhow, I'd better seem cool with the society. I won't come to the Little House. Don't talk to her of me-'twould vex the mistress.'

Terence trimmed the lamp, knitting his brows the while.

'I hardly like your intimacy with the Castle-folk,' he said. 'It seems scarcely manly to worm out their secrets under a mask of friendship.'

Cassidy burst into one of his great laughs.

'Oh murther, Master Terence!' he cried, wiping the tears from his eyes. 'Ye'll never win Erin's battles if ye're so lofty. We must fight men wid their own weapons if we'd beat 'em. That's true generalship. They set their spies on us. We set ours on them. That's quits, I know, though I am a booby. Take your pen now. Here's a list of the country delegates: mark out who ye think'll be best, while I brew another bowl.'

'No more, Cassidy, my friend! Let's keep our heads clear for business.'

'Be aisy! One more'll do neither of us harm.'

It was five o'clock before Terence was satisfied with his work. He had a task which was uncongenial to his habits, for he was more skilful with the rod or gun than with ink; and it was a matter of grievous slavery and toil to draw up a series of letters, such as should explain clearly to the country leaders of the United Irishmen the full bearing of the late disaster.

Tom Emmett, Neilson, Russell, Bond, were in duress. A temporary arrangement must be come to, lest the French should arrive and find the patriots chaotic. No time was to be lost, for they might appear at any moment, when it would be above all things needful that French and Irish should be prepared to act in concert without loss of time. He, the writer (old college-friend as they knew of the incarcerated leaders, late special envoy also to France), was willing to co-operate with the rest in forming a provisional committee, etc., etc.

Wearied and worn out with the unaccustomed mental effort, he dropped the pen at last from his stiffened fingers, and, wrapping his riding-cloak around him, sank well-nigh at once into deep slumber; while Cassidy, instead of following so good an example, placed the bundle of letters in his long-flapped pocket, and stood for a minute looking down upon the sleeper.

'The dark colleen may never be mine,' he muttered between his teeth, while he wagged his bullet-head; 'but she'll not be yours neither, my fine fellar!' Then, peering out into the silent street which was paling wan in the early dawn, he stole forth on tiptoe, over the body of Phil, lying prostrate across the passage, and opening the door stealthily, made the best of his way towards the Castle.

The day was half spent before Terence woke. The giant, who could turn his hand to most things, washed and aglow with health, was busily preparing breakfast: broiling steaks over a fire, fussing hither and thither as merry as a grig, assisted by Phil, who was kept on the broad grin by his lively sallies.

'The commander-in-chief of the national army is taking it out of Murphy while he can!' he roared in his jolly voice. 'Well, let him lie, God bless him! By-and-by it's little he'll see of Murphy-riding about all night along the ranks to encourage his troops for the battle. What! awake, Master Terence? I've bin up this long while. Your letters are on the road. I've tidied up the room, and opened some tipple for your meal. What'll I get from ye, gineral? Is it your eu-de-shamp that ye'll be making me? It's glad I'll be of the office. I've bad news, though, for ye too. I met Sirr just now, who was on the prowl. The French expedition's come to grief again! No mather! we'll fight now for ourselves-bad luck to the mounseers, they are chicken-hearted! That at least is the official news, arrived from London a few hours ago.'

Terence rubbed his eyes and stared, unable on first awaking to realise such disastrous intelligence. Then he dipped his head in a basin of water which Phil presented to him, tidied his dress, combed out his long hair, and caught it back with a ribbon in the accustomed manner. After that he set to work upon a luscious steak with the energy of youth, and washed it down with claret, while Cassidy, too, made pretty play with knife and fork-both of them too preoccupied for speech.

Another French fiasco! How strangely fortune favoured England! This time the fleets had remained weather-bound, unable to start at all until the golden moments were gone-till opportunity had slid into the past. It was too bad. Terence's blood boiled whilst he assuaged his tremendous appetite-so did Cassidy's, finding vent as usual in loud oaths and noisy execrations.

After breakfast the two shook hands and parted-when to meet again? – when and how? – under what strangely altered auspices? It was agreed that the members of the new Directory should communicate in the first instance with Terence, in person, somewhere on the shore near the Little House where he was to hide. The letters would speedily reach their destinations, Cassidy assured him. This new turn of events might induce Government to take active measures of some kind. What would they do? Repent them of their evil ways and take to leniency, or, thinking they had their victim quite at their mercy, still further goad and harass her? What would Terence's private enemy do-he of whom my Lord Clare so mysteriously spoke?

With so many spies about, it was almost inevitable that the active part that the young councillor was playing would become known to Government. Would they wink at this backsliding of an aristocrat-or would they make an example of him by putting a heavy price upon his head? Be that as it might, it would never do, in Cassidy's opinion, for him to share the fate of Emmett and the others. The giant was vehement on this point. He must go into hiding forthwith, and employ the most extreme precautions lest Sirr should discover his lair. Cassidy, being known as his friend, would make a point of never taking the air in that direction. He would hang about the Castle ostentatiously, and report what he might have to say to some prominent member of the society, who would take up his abode in Dublin. Indeed he thought it would be wise to abuse the society in public-to declare that once he had been seduced by specious argument into joining it, but that now he saw the error of his ways, and sang 'Peccavi.'

Much as he disliked his method, Terence was obliged to confess that the giant was right, and felt at the same time a small internal marvelling in that he was really shrewd and rather astute-by no means the hopeless bungler that Emmett had considered him.

He took hearty leave of his friend, and, accompanied by Phil, made the best of his way to Strogue. It was a gloomy place to live alone in, as he had discovered since the departure of the family. Even his brother's sneers and his mother's coldness were better than this chilling solitude. He lived at this time in his own little chambers in the 'young men's wing' under the armoury, gaining access to them by his own private door, so that the Abbey was to all intents and purposes shut up, being only inhabited by a few old retainers who dwelt away over the stable-yard at the other side of the house. To his dismay his things had been disturbed-he detected the fact at once. By whom? How tiresome old family servants are! Disobeying orders, they will rummage and clean by fits and starts, regardless of the havoc they innocently make. Then Terence remembered that neither old Kathy nor her spouse, Tim the coachman, were more given to cleanliness than Irish domestics usually are.

This must have been a sudden and most inconvenient gush of virtue! He would at once give Tim and Kathy a vigorous bit of his mind. They should be convinced for ever after that obedience is the most cardinal of all the virtues as far as servants are concerned, standing indeed before cleanliness. They should shiver and quake in their shoes after the jobation their young master would administer. But instead of quaking they both lifted up their voices and howled, swearing that young masther was distraught. Go among his bits of things indeed! Not they. Sorra a haporth of dusting had they done. Why should they, since master agreed with them that it was waste of labour? Kathy had stepped in to make the bed, but finding it undisturbed, had stepped out again at once. Then somebody else must have been there. Who could have an interest in the few scraps of property which were of no value at all except to their owner? The fishing-rods were overset-the cupboards had been rifled-the precious collection of hackles (apple of Phil's eye) were strewn on the floor as if somebody had been in haste, searching for some special object which he could not find.