My Lords of Strogue. Volume 3 of 3

But Major Sirr appeared as surprised as the rest of the watchful audience, and was even heard to utter unseemly execrations. Who had dared to give his pet victim drink? It was no part of his intention that his troubles should be soothed. On the contrary, he had kept a surprise in store which was meant to be wormwood to the hapless creature.

After a deal of whispering and wig-shaking, counsel for prosecution plunged forthwith into the matter of the town-major's calves, and the shocking behaviour of certain ruffians to an upright gintleman, with the connivance of certain leedies, who should be nameless.

Toler's inflamed visage glowered at Madam Gillin; but she tossed her head and tittered. She dreaded not free-quarters, or the visits of virago soldiers' wives, now that Lord Glandore was back to protect Norah. Toler might bray any fiddlefaddle that he chose. Sure my Lord Carleton, up there in the fine robes, had been mighty glad, once on a time, to spend his evenings at her cosy house. So counsel, discovering that he made no impression on her (she had always abstained from inviting him, which made him spiteful), droned on about his client's wrongs-for he had but done his duty in capturing such notorious rebels-his excellent qualities and virtues, the services he had done the state, the wicked wounds upon his calves. Was the law, which all respected so much, to leave a faithful servant without protection? And so on and so forth, in a tangle of verbosity, for an hour and more.

Irritated possibly by his husky voice, Phil's conduct grew more and more outrageous, drawing on him marks of indignant disapprobation from my Lord Carleton, a look of pained bewilderment from Lord Kilwarden. 'Was ever anything so indecent?' clamoured the members of the battalion, in loud whispers. 'Face to face with conviction, too! He had put himself beyond the pale of mercy. The brute ought to be scragged untried. He reeked of whisky, the besotted pig!' The odour of it, they vowed, reached their shocked nostrils across the court. In truth, he did comport himself after an intoxicated fashion. It was as much as his master could do to keep him in tolerable order. His legs were in constant motion. He sang and talked in a low tone, occasionally breaking into convulsive fits of laughter; grimacing and nodding his head to the witnesses, as one by one they sat on the table and swore away his life.

As the case proceeded-crushingly against the prisoners, who were proved beyond a doubt to have taken and administered the oath, to have worn green orders, and otherwise misbehaved themselves-his mood altered. He was getting over the madness of his drink. That was a mercy. Soon he would drop into a maudlin sleep, and his master might, unheedful of the monotonous and confused proceedings, take refuge from this mockery within himself until the verdict came. How dreary and how long was all this useless evidence! The case looked as if it would last for ever. What an array of witnesses-and what lies they told! At this rate it would be morning before the judges pronounced sentence. Already it was dark. Candles flared in rough iron sockets. The red judges loomed like lurid phantoms; the jury were haggard in the flickering smoke. Mr. Curran leaned back in his seat exhausted, his neck supported on his clasped hands-resolved to husband his strength for a great effort by-and-by.

Drunken, disgraceful Phil became quiet. Old Jug, whose keen vision naught escaped, suggested to an usher to let him have a chair. He sank into the seat, his chin buried in his breast. His face was blue (was it the effect of light?), his pupils dilated, his breathing stertorous. The air was sickeningly close. Sweat stood in drops upon his forehead. Could he be fainting? No. He rallied, and commenced muttering again.

The hours went by, and yet the farce continued. No jot of the informal formalities was omitted. Those who had resolved to hang the prisoners were evidently determined that there should be no lack of justification for it. Half the battalion had told their story. Curran listened, and said nothing (what was the use of cross-examining these men?) till he saw the big figure of Lieutenant Hepenstall advance. Then, turning to the judges, he grunted:

'They're not content with witnesses, my lords; they've brought in the Walking Gallows, to work them off at once! Sure, isn't it convanient and obleeging?'

Time moved on steadily. Terence was as upright and motionless as a statue. He had learned by this time who was sitting near. A small brown hand had fluttered into his, to tell by occult pressure its own sweet tale. Doreen was as still as he.

Drunken Phil tore open his shirt, gasping. How dense the air was! It was cruel to drag out the proceedings thus. His head was heavy-he could not hold it up; so, resting his fingers on the dock-rail, he laid his wet face on them. By degrees he sank into a snoring slumber, his limbs twitching now and then with a tremulous convulsion. The visage of old Jug was illumined with a mysterious satisfaction. Not one of his movements escaped her keen observation; she drank in every shiver. Presently she plucked her mistress by the robe, and, like a wild woman, whispered something in her ear. Madam Gillin, who, overpowered by heat, had been dozing, woke with a cry, and turned her affrighted gaze from Phil to her nurse and back again.

'Is it thrue, Jug-is it, by the Holy Mother?' she asked, in an awed whisper.

'Thrue 'tis, by mee sowl!' returned the other. 'He is a farrier, isn't he? And Crummell's curse is on the likes of him, isn't it? He begged the ould collough for a root, and she gave it; and, by St. Patrick, 'twas well done!'

In deep agitation Mrs. Gillin motioned Curran to her side. She saw it all. It was by her own order that Jug had visited the farrier. Farriers and colloughs are national foes. Phil-faithful fellow! – had begged the collough to exercise her skill in herbs on him. He could bear hanging-had thus far endured the lash. But torture may be pushed beyond our power of bearing. Rather than run a risk of betraying the master whom he worshipped, he had taken poison, and was dying.

Curran's genius embraced at once the new element in the situation. It struck him instantly that by this sacrifice the poor fellow might perhaps unwittingly have saved his master. When did he take the poison? How long would it be before its work would be accomplished? If he were to fall dead-there-in the dock, before the court assembled, under the eye of the public, it would create such a sensation that the trial would be perforce adjourned. The harrowing details of the suicide would then be spread abroad; they would do much to bring the vile cruelties of the yeomanry home in all their loathsomeness to the British mind, which was so culpably indifferent as to what happened in this colony. There would be a revulsion-an energetic protest. In the confusion Terence might be saved! Poor faithful Phil! He knew not the extent of the service that he rendered. His life would not be sacrificed in vain!

'How much longer will the poison take to work?' Curran whispered in Jug's ear. 'What was it?'

'Sure, it was a tiny root of water-drop wort. Like an illigant parsnip, faith! How much longer? An hour perhaps-maybe two-certainly not more than three.'

It was eleven at night. Toler had two more witnesses to call, he said. If cross-examined they might be made to detain the court for an hour or so. After that the silver tongue must move to good purpose-must toy with argument and rhetoric till the doomed man dropped.

The virtuous ire of the town-major was kindled.

'The drunken brute is asleep!' he called out. 'What an insult to the court! Sure, he'll have a long sleep enough when Moiley eats him. Wake him up!'

Major Sirr was particularly anxious that he should be aware who the next witness was. By dint of shaking, the ushers roused the prisoner from lethargy. With brows painfully knitted he tried to raise his leaden lids, beheld with dilated pupils a blurred vision on the table; sank again without recognition into unconsciousness. Jug too beheld-and gave a low growl.

The new witness was Croppy Biddy; she of the russet locks, who since the burning of the 'Irish Slave' had given herself up to drink and to debauchery-who was become one of the shining Staghouse lights-one of the pet agents of an honourable executive-the Joan of Arc of the Battalion of Testimony. She was dressed like a lady, in a costly beaver with ostrich plume, and a laced riding-dress-the same as she was wont to wear when galloping at the head of a troop of dragoons in search of food for Moiley. No longer a slattern serving-wench in a low shebeen, but a paid and honoured favourite of Government; a lying, drunken, brazen hyæna. This was an admirable joke of Major Sirr's. What a pity it was that it should miscarry! What humour could be more sly and delicate than to clinch a man's fate by the false witness of her whom he had elected to love? Yet, thanks to some officious idiot or other, the bit of fun was spoiled. Biddy was there-saucy, pert, shameless, ready to go any lengths; but her lover was asleep, with his chin upon his breast. The surprise missed fire.

As it turned out, though, the joke was just the least bit too racy. The loud giggling laugh, the palpable untruths flung carelessly about by Biddy, shocked and disgusted the entire audience. Lord Kilwarden turned red, and bowed his face over his papers; even Lord Carleton coughed; and there was an angry murmur from the public who packed the floor.

Mr. Curran, no longer listless and dejected-for hope had revived again-turned the wretched woman round his finger; ensnared her with soft suggestions; led her floundering along from perjury to perjury, turned her inside out; then with a sarcastic bow to Toler, congratulated him upon his witness. By skilful fence half an hour was gained. Counsel for prosecution glared at Sirr. Was this the way to train up witnesses? Biddy was hustled off the table, for her training was lamentably incomplete. There was one more yet to come. It was to be hoped he would do away with the bad impression she had left.

This time it was Doreen's turn to utter a stifled cry, while her fingers clasped more closely those of Terence. Had that wretch no compunction? Had he no mercy-this villain who had wriggled himself by specious arts into the confidence of honest men-this snake in the grass-this bravo who, smilingly looking in your face, could coldly choose the most fitting moment for stabbing you? It was Cassidy-actually Cassidy, who before her, before Lord Kilwarden, before Curran, could get upon the table to swear away the life of him whom he had called friend.

Even the little advocate, whose faith in the innate goodness of human nature was not strong, was staggered.

'I've heard of assassination by sword and dagger,' he muttered; 'but here is a ruffian who would dip the Evangelists in blood!' The giant took the Testament and kissed it.

'Why make him swear at all?' scoffed Mr. Curran. 'Why let a murderer's touch pollute the purity of the Gospel? Well! if you will go through the mockery, let it be, I pray you, on the symbol of his profession-the knife.'

Cassidy scowled down on the sturdy scoffer, and looked round at his comrades with an air of reproachful innocence, which was speedily answered by a burst of menace and a clash of arms from the yeomanry behind, accompanied by threatening looks and gestures. Mr. Curran, drawing himself up to the full of his small stature, fixed his eyes sternly on them, and exclaimed in a loud voice:

'You may assassinate me, gentlemen, but you shall never intimidate me!'

This was a scandal. Things were going ill. Lord Carleton came to the rescue.

'Beware, Mr. Curran,' he said, 'lest you forfeit your gown. A little more of such unseemly language and I shall commit you.'

'Then we shall both have the consolation, my lord,' Curran retorted, with a bow, 'of reflecting that I'm not the worst thing you have committed.'

Lord Carleton looked up with wonder at the skylight. What was the world coming to? He glanced at Lord Kilwarden, who leaned on his elbow, taking no share in the business, his eyes shaded with his hand.

Counsel for prosecution played skilfully on his witness-an admirable witness, who merely answered questions, instead of blurting forth rash and inconvenient statements. Mr. Curran cross-examined him as cleverly, but with little effect. He could elicit nothing new or special. People were accustomed to find themselves handed over to the scrag-boy by their most intimate friends. Mr. Curran, indeed, was tedious to lay such stress on the point. The jury shuffled on their seats. Lord Carleton yawned. New candles were placed in the sockets by attentive ushers. At this rate it would certainly be morning before the affair was settled.

Very monotonous and very dreary! A rat-tat of subdued voices in question and reply. The paled candles dim and wan through a mist of collected breath-a stifling, noisome atmosphere of clammy heat which made the temples of all to throb, the ears to sing. Though the case was one of palpitating interest, men's strength gave way, women felt ill and dizzy. Lord Carleton, to keep his wits clear, inhaled the fumes from a sponge dipped in vinegar. Mrs. Gillin sniffed at the rue upon the dock-rail.

Still Terence stood erect and pallid-motionless. Still Phil's respiration laboured with stertorous snores. His teeth chattered at intervals, as if from cold; his fingers twitched, his knees trembled. Was it the effect of light? his eyes seemed protruding from their sockets. But there were no signs of the end yet.

It was past midnight when he of the silver tongue arose for the defence, and people roused themselves to listen, for they were accustomed to expect from him rapid electrical transitions from passion to passion, from the deepest emotions which agitate the soul to the liveliest combinations of sportive imagery; whimsical metaphors, such as at one moment seemed culled from the dunghill, at the next to be snatched from heaven. He implored the jury to consider the reputation of the witnesses who had striven to wreck these men. He entreated them to consider what objects save the highest and most pure could have induced a noble to desert his ease and risk his neck for Erin.

'Do you dare,' he cried, in crystal accents which rang with startling clearness along the cobwebbed rafters, 'in a case of life and death, of honour and of infamy, to credit a vile informer-the perjurer of a hundred oaths-a beast whom pride, or honour, or religion cannot bind? He dresses like a gentleman-the tones of his soft voice savour of growing authority. He measures his value by the coffins of his victims, and, in the field of evidence, appreciates his fame as an Indian savage does in fight by the number of scalps with which he can swell his triumphs!'

The advocate laid stress upon the awful responsibilities of a jury; striving to wring their consciences, though he knew that each man among them had received his wage. He knew that nothing he could say would make them waver. Yet now he had a new courage and a new hope that distilled jewels from his lips, which almost caused the degraded jurymen to blench. From time to time as his eloquent periods rolled out in majestic waves, he turned an anxious eye upon the farrier whom Jug sat watching with the gaze of a lynx, How she had botched the job! How long the soul wrestled ere it could burst its bonds!

Then, to the amazement of Toler, he lost his temper with the jury, and told them unpleasant truths, rating them soundly for their sins. His opponent thought he must be mad to rage where it was so evidently his interest to conciliate. But Madam Gillin listened and nodded approval; for she knew that it was only a matter of gaining time, and that as there was to be no verdict there was no use in blarneying the jurors. With what eloquence he talked! His words seemed to flicker in sunlight-a kaleidoscope of gems, some rough, some polished, strung loosely on a cord.

'Life can present no situation,' the orator said, 'wherein the human power of man can be so divinely exerted as yours should be now; and if any labours can peculiarly attract the approving eye of Heaven, it is when God looks down on a human being assailed by human turpitude; struggling with practices against which the Deity placed His special canon, when He said, "Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbour; thou shalt not kill!" We embrace the principles of the British constitution; and when I look on you, the proudest benefit of that constitution, I am relieved from the fears of advocacy, since I place my clients under the influence of its sacred shade. This is not the idle sycophancy of words. It is not crying, "Lord! Lord!" but doing "the will of my Father who is in heaven!" If my clients had been arraigned before a jury of Cornhill shopkeepers, they would ere now be in their lodgings. The law of England suffers no man to be openly butchered in a court of justice. The law of England recognises the innate blackness of the human heart-the possibility of villains thirsting for the blood of their fellow-creatures; and the people of Ireland have but too good cause to be acquainted with that thirst. At the awful foot of Eternal Justice I call on you to acquit these men. Their characters have been given. Nothing could be more pure. In the name of Justice I implore you to interpose, while there is time, between the wanton perjurer and his ensanguined feast; that in the next life your reward may be more lasting than the perishable crown which the ancients gave to those who saved a fellow-citizen in battle. Your own turns may come, for the informer has bowels for himself alone! If it should be the fate of any of you to count the moments of captivity, in sorrow and in pain, pining in a dungeon's damps, may you find refuge in the recollection of the example you this day set to those who may be called to pass judgment on your lives! Recollect too that there is another, more awful tribunal than any upon earth, which we must all some day approach, before which the best of us will have occasion to look back to what little good he has done this side the grave. I do pray that Eternal Justice may record the deed you are about to do, and give to you the full benefit of your claims to an undying reward, a requital in mercy upon your souls!'

The growing fog, the deep silence, the midnight hour, the flickering candles, enhanced the effect of Mr. Curran's words, which were spoken with a rapt solemnity that sent a thrill of awe through his impressionable audience. The vision of a wrathful angel with a fiery sword rose before their excited imagination-of an avenging God who knew that they, the jury, were bought. Women rocked themselves and wrung their hands, and stuffed ends of shawls into their mouths to check their wailing. The jurymen hovered 'twixt greed and fear. The advocate paused for an instant, to wipe his brow, and to allow his sentences to sink into their minds.

There was a hum of muffled talk, of groans and lamentation, before which the moaning in the court was hushed. It came from the dock. Phil was awake and sensible; had risen on his tottering feet, was swaying from side to side as he clung to his young master. Terence saw now that he had wronged his henchman, who was not drunk, but ill. His features were livid, his lips blue, so was his swollen tongue; his teeth rattled as in ague; his eyes saw nothing, though they stared painfully; a steam ascended from his hair.

'Master Terence!' Phil gasped, with thick effort, 'I could not help your being taken-though it was-it was my fault. They pushed the heap-of rope-off of my head. They shall get ne'er a word out of me-ne'er a one-though they flay me to the bone. Master Terence-master-will ye forgive-'

Phil staggered and slid from the grasp of his fellow prisoner to the floor, and lay there on his face.

'One of your victims appears to be insensible,' Mr. Curran remarked shortly.

''Deed it seems so,' acquiesced Lord Carleton, peering through his glasses. 'A very indecent exhibition. Does there chance to be e'er a doctor in the coort?'

One of the jurymen was an apothecary. He left the box and turned the prostrate figure over.

'Can ye speak with assurance of the man's state?' demanded the judge.

'He is near his end, my lord,' answered the juryman.

'Is he now-are ye sure?' What with the heat, and what with the untoward incident, my Lord Carleton was puzzled. No help could he get from Lord Kilwarden, who leaned with his elbow on the desk and his eyes shaded by his hand.

'Open the windy!' puffed the judge. 'For the Lord's sake let's have a little air; maybe he's only sick. Can ye rouse him to hear his judgment?'

The apothecary laid a palm upon his patient's heart.

'I cannot, my lord,' he replied. 'The man is dead!'

Already powerfully impressed by the surroundings and the lawyer's warning, the people could endure no more. A panic seized them. They rushed to the doors as though stifled by some fell miasma, and battled to get out. The women screamed that they were being trodden under foot; the men rained frantic blows upon the doors, tearing clothes and fingers as they dragged them down. It was a scene of unreasoning frenzy, such as none who were involved in it might ever forget. The angel with the fiery sword was there; though invisible, his presence could be felt. Lord Carleton ordered the remaining prisoner's removal. Doreen's robe gleamed white in the first tinge of morning as, standing by his side, she wound her arms about his neck. By-and-by Curran gently disentangled them, and led her to her father, whilst dragoons formed round the patriot, and cleared a passage for him through the mob.

'More men to secure him in Kilmainham-there'll be a rescue!' bawled Cassidy, who was driven to overmastering wrath by the posture of Miss Wolfe, under his very nose.

'Fear nothing,' Terence replied; 'I will go quietly.'

Lord Kilwarden and Curran bore the maiden to a coach, and carried her back to Strogue. Both were so filled with thankfulness for this reprieve that they shook hands again and again, while Miss Wolfe lay speechless in the carriage-corner. Her nerves had been strung to extreme tension for the worst. Sudden joy is more hard to bear than sorrow. The finely tempered steel which had withstood so many assaults, gave way under the last shock. She remained long oblivious of the world's affairs, tenderly nursed by Sara, who wondered, as day followed day, whether her reason would ever return from the far-off groves in which it wandered.

CHAPTER VI.

APRÈS LA MORT, LE MÉDECIN

The chancellor was glad and sorry. Glad in that the son of his old friend should be reprieved, whereby (as he supposed) her great trouble would be lightened; sorry that so singular a scandal should have attended this trial-a scandal which would not make the completion of his task the easier. But the ball was so near its goal-it had gathered such velocity in transit-that it would take a very grave obstacle at this stage seriously to impede its course. So the chancellor gave up being sorry, and was altogether glad that the trial had ended as it did. He reflected, however, that something would have to be done to entice the public mind away from gyves and bolts, and prepare it for the beginning of millennium. The Gentleman's Magazine of that particular date happened to contain an account of a sojourn of the royal family at Weymouth, with minute details of how the Princess Amelia did tambour-work, while his Majesty, with his own august hands, was deigning to fry sprats for supper. Lord Clare saw his way to a delicate bit of flattery. He had the arcadian tale printed off and posted on the walls of Dublin, that loyal minds might be edified and touched by the simple manners of their sovereign; but (as was become usual) the chancellor was thwarted by the Viceroy, who said the whole thing was fudge, and ordered the placards to be pulled down. The Privy Council censured Lord Kilwarden for his pusillanimous behaviour at the trial, alleging that it was a pity to see a man high in office who showed so little resource in an emergency; but at the same time they decided nem. con. that there must be no more state-trials. The story of Phil's dramatic end would certainly be reported in London, with additions, and my Lord Moira would be sure to make the most of it. Mr. Pitt would certainly be angry at the contretemps. From first to last it was a miserable business which could not, unfortunately, be hushed up. In spite of the Gr-t P-rs-n-ge searching questions would be asked. Mr. Pitt must somehow be placed in a position to state that suffering Erin had gone through her operation and was comfortably bedridden for the remainder of her days. To this end the members of the Irish senate must be brought back from the state of siege in ancestral castles, which they were pleased to call 'villegiatura,' without delay; by threats, and bribes, and promises they must be induced to haggle no more over their mess of pottage. Ireland must seem to retire from the world with a good grace, and be tucked snugly up between the sheets for evermore. Lord Clare was satisfied that the decisive moment had arrived, for the country was quiet enough now for the question of union to be freely ventilated. It was delightfully quiet-with the silence of the tomb. The lords, he was convinced, were ready for anything, provided they were well paid. When they were assured that patriotism and interest were directly antagonistic, the former was certain to come off second best. Lord Clare informed the Viceroy that the proposition might be put at once and carried, if only His Excellency would be a little civil to the senate.