KilgormanA Story of Ireland in 1798

By Talbot Baines Reed________________________________________________________________________This was Reed's last book, written even as he lay dying, presumably fromcancer. It is a very well-written book, and is very interesting, eventhough as in the works of Kingston and Collingwood there are a lot ofswimming episodes. 

The time of the story is in the 1790s, during the French Revolution, which we see at close quarters during our hero's time in France. Wealso visit Rotterdam, in Holland. But most of the action, at least thatwhich takes place on dry land, takes place in Donegal, that long wildpart of Ireland that lies to its extreme north-west. 

There are several lines of the story. One of these is the great lovethat exists between the hero and his twin brother. Another is thequestion, Are they brothers? For only one person actually knows, andshe is far away: the hint that there is a problem is given in a dyingnote by the woman that passed as the boys' mother. The third theme is, as always with Ireland, plotting for an uprising against English rule. In this department nothing changes. 

Yes, it is a brilliant book, complemented by an "In Memoriam" articleabout the life of the author. ________________________________________________________________________KILGORMANA STORY OF IRELAND IN 1798

BY TALBOT BAINES REED

Preface, by John Sime

IN MEMORIAM. 

By the death of Talbot B. Reed the boys of the English-speaking worldhave lost one of their best friends. For fourteen years he hascontributed to their pleasure, and in the little library of boys' bookswhich left his pen he has done as much as any writer of our day to raisethe standard of boys' literature. His books are alike removed from theold-fashioned and familiar class of boys' stories, which, meaning well, generally baffled their own purpose by attempting to administer moralityand doctrine on what Reed called the "powder-in-jam" principle--aprocess apt to spoil the jam, yet make "the powder" no less nauseous;or, on the other hand, the class of book that dealt in thrillingadventure of the blood-curdling and "penny dreadful" order. Withneither of these types have Talbot Reed's boys' books any kinship. Hisboys are of flesh and blood, such as fill our public schools, such asbrighten or "make hay" of the peace of our homes. He had the rare artof hitting off boy-nature, with just that spice of wickedness in itwithout which a boy is not a boy. His heroes have always the charm ofbounding, youthful energy, and youth's invincible hopefulness, and theconstant flow of good spirits which have made the boys of all timeperennially interesting. 

The secret of Reed's success in this direction was that all throughlife, as every one who had the privilege of knowing him can testify, hepossessed in himself the healthy freshness of heart of boyhood. Hesympathised with the troubles and joys, he understood the temptations, and fathomed the motives that sway and mould boy-character; he had thepower of depicting that side of life with infinite humour and pathos, possible only to one who could place himself sympathetically at theboys' stand-point in life. Hence the wholesomeness of tone and thebreezy freshness of his work. His boy-heroes are neither prigs normilk-sops, but in their strength and weakness they are the stuff whichultimately makes our best citizens and fathers; they are the boys who, later in life, with healthy minds in healthy bodies, have made theBritish Empire what it is. 

A special and pathetic interest attaches to this story of "Kilgorman, "the last that left Talbot Reed's pen. It was undertaken while he wasyet in the prime of his strength and vigour. The illness whichultimately, alas, ended fatally had already laid hold on him ere he hadwell begun the book. In intervals of ease during his last illness heworked at it, sometimes in bed, sometimes in his armchair: it ispleasant to think that he so enjoyed the work that its production easedand soothed many a weary hour for him, and certainly never was otherthan a recreation to him. 

The pen dropped from his hand ere he had quite completed the work, yet, as the book stands here, it is much as he meant to leave it. Thefigures of Barry Gallagher, and Tim, and the charming Kit will taketheir places in the delightful gallery of his young people, and theiradventures by land and by sea will be followed with an increasedinterest that they are the last that can come from his brilliant pen. 

Talbot Reed came of a right good English stock, both on his father's andhis mother's side. His grandfather, Dr Andrew Reed, a Nonconformistminister of note in his day, left his mark in some of the soundestphilanthropic undertakings of the century. His thoughtfulness and self-sacrificing energy have lightened the sufferings and soothed the old ageof many thousands. He was one of the founders of the London, Reedham, and Infant Orphan Asylums, the Earlswood Asylum for Idiots, and theRoyal Hospital for Incurables. His son, Sir Charles Reed, andgrandsons, have done yeoman service in carrying on to the present daythe noble work begun by him. 

Talbot was the third son of the late Sir Charles Reed, Member ofParliament for Hackney, and latterly for Saint Ives (Cornwall). Hismother, Lady Reed, was the youngest daughter of Mr Edward Baines, Member of Parliament for Leeds. She was a lady of saintly life, ofinfinite gentleness and sweetness of heart, with extraordinary strengthand refinement of mind, reverenced and loved by her sons and daughters, and by none more than by Talbot Reed, who bore a strong resemblance toher alike in disposition and in physical appearance. 

The service that Sir Charles Reed did for his generation, both inParliament and as Chairman of the London School Board, and in connectionwith many of the religious and philanthropic movements of his time, aretoo well known to be recapitulated here. 

Talbot B. Reed was born on the 3rd of April 1852, at Hackney. Hisfirst schoolmaster was Mr Anderton of Priory House School, UpperClapton, under whose care he remained until he was thirteen years ofage. He retained through life a feeling of warm affection to MrAnderton, who thoroughly prepared him for the more serious work ahead ofhim. Only a year or two ago, Reed was one of the most active of MrAnderton's old pupils in organising a dinner in honour of his formermaster. 

In 1865 Talbot was entered at the City of London School, then located inMilk Street, Cheapside, under the headship of Dr Abbot, where he spentfour happy and industrious years of his boyhood. He is described by MrVardy, a school-comrade, in the course of a recent interesting articleby the Editor of the _Boy's Own Paper_, as being at this period "ahandsome boy, strong and well proportioned, with a frank open face, black hair, and lively dark eyes, fresh complexion, full of life andvigour, and with a clear ringing voice . .. He was audacious with thatcharming audacity that suits some boys. On one occasion he had verycalmly absented himself from the class-room during a temporaryengagement by the French master, who, having returned before he wasexpected, and while Reed was away, demanded by what leave he had leftthe class-room. Reed replied with (as he would probably have expressedit) 'awful cheek, ' 'If you please, sir, I took "French" leave!'"

Reed was popular at school both with masters and boys. His initials, "T. B. , " soon became changed familiarly into "Tib, " by which endearingnickname Mr Vardy says he was known to the last by the comrades of hisschool-days. 

It is interesting, in the light of the prominence which in all hisschool stories he properly gave to out-of-door sports and athleticexercises, to have it, on the authority of his old school-fellow, thathe excelled in all manly exercises. He was a first-rate football-player, and a good all-round cricketer; he was an excellent oar, and afairly good swimmer; and until the last few months of his life no mancould enjoy with more zest a game of quoits, or tennis, or a day devotedto the royal game of golf. In the early days of his manhood, withcharacteristic unselfishness, he risked his own life on one occasion byleaping from a rock into the sea, on the wild north Irish coast, tobring safely ashore his cousin (and life-long friend, Mr Talbot Baines, the distinguished editor of the _Leeds Mercury_), who has told me thathe would, without Reed's prompt and plucky aid, inevitably have beendrowned. 

The large contribution he made to literature in later days amply servesto prove that the more serious studies of school were never neglectedfor his devotion to sport. He seldom missed the old boys' annual dinnerof the City of London School. In proposing a toast at a recent dinner, he reminded Mr Asquith, M. P. (a school-fellow of Reed's) that at theschool debating society they had "led off" on separate sides in a wordybattle on the red-hot controversy of "Queen Elizabeth versus QueenMary. " Every boy who has read "Sir Ludar" will remember that the heroof that charming story and Humphrey Dexter fall to blows on the samedangerous subject. 

I cannot find that in his masterly pictures of public school life hedrew much from his experiences at the City of London School, except, perhaps, in a few details, such as the rivalry which he describes sovividly as existing between the fifth and sixth forms in his delightfulbook, "The Fifth Form at Saint Dominic's. " In Reed's day there was nosuch "set" among the juniors at the City of London School as the"guinea-pigs" and "tadpoles, " who play so important a part in the story;but in a room devoted to the juniors, known as the "horse-shoe, " in theold school buildings in Milk Street, many of the pranks and battles ofthe "guinea-pigs" and "tadpoles" were played and fought. 

In 1869, at the age of seventeen, Reed left school, and joined hisfather and elder brother Andrew in the great firm of type-founders inFann Street. He threw himself with strenuous application into the newwork, maintaining at the same time with equal keenness his interest infootball, wishing nothing better than a fierce game--"three hacks on oneleg, and four on the other, " as he said, and glorying in his wounds. The same strenuous energy applied to his reading at this period. Afriend tells me that in a letter about this time he speaks of devouring"five of Scott's novels in a month, resulting in parental remonstrance;history; and a Greek play, in which he is not so 'rusty' as he feared. "In Fann Street his practical business energies found free play, althoughthe bias of his mind undoubtedly lay towards literature rather thancommerce; but for nearly a quarter of a century he devoted himself tothis work with a degree of success that was to be expected of histalents, the conscientious uprightness of his character, and hisunceasing industry. At the death of Sir Charles Reed, and of hisbrother Andrew, Talbot became the managing director of the Type-foundry, and held that position to the time of his death. 

Reed had not long left school when his creative literary instincts beganto assert themselves. His apprenticeship in literature may be said tohave been served in the editing of an exceedingly clever familymagazine, called _The Earlsmead Chronicle_, which circulated in thefamily and among friends. 

His earliest printed effort appeared in 1875, in a little magazine foryoung people, called _The Morning of Life_ (published in America byMessrs. Thomas Nelson and Sons. It is, by the way, a noteworthycoincidence that his first and last printed work should have been issuedby this house). His contribution to _The Morning of Life_ was anaccount in two parts of a boating expedition on the Thames, entitled"Camping Out. " It has in it the promise of the freshness and vigourthat were in such abundant degree characteristic of all his laterdescriptions of boy life. 

It was in the pages of the _Boy's Own Paper_ that Reed found his_metier_. Its editor writes: "From the very first number of the paperMr Reed has been so closely and continuously identified with it, thathis removal creates a void it will be impossible to fill. " Any onelooking through the volumes of this most admirably-conducted boys' paperwill see that Talbot Reed's work is indeed the backbone of it. InNumber One, Volume One, the first article, "My First Football Match, " isby him; and during that year (1879) and the following years he wrotevivid descriptions of cricket-matches, boat-races; "A Boating Adventureat Parkhurst;" "The Troubles of a Dawdler;" and a series of papers on"Boys in English History. " There was also a series of clever sketchesof boy life, called "Boys we have Known, " "The Sneak, " "The Sulky Boy, ""The Boy who is never Wrong, " etcetera. 

These short flights led the way, and prepared him for the longer andstronger flights that were to follow. In 1880 his first boys' bookbegan to appear in the _Boy's Own Paper_, entitled "The Adventures of aThree-Guinea Watch. " Charlie Newcome, the youthful hero, is a charmingcreation, tenderly and pathetically painted, and the story abounds inthrilling incident, and in that freshness of humour which appears moreor less in all the Public School Stories. In the following year came astory of much greater power, "The Fifth Form at Saint Dominic's, " bymany boys considered the best of all his stories. It deserves to takeits place on the shelf beside "Tom Brown's Schooldays. " Indeed, ayouthful enthusiast who had been reading "The Fifth Form" and "TomBrown" about the same time, confided to me that while in the latter bookhe had learned to know and love one fine type of boy, in the former helearned to know and to love a whole school. The two brothers, Stephenand Oliver Greenfield, and Wraysford, and Pembury, and Loman stand outwith strong personality and distinctness; and especially admirable isthe art with which is depicted the gradual decadence of character inLoman, step by step, entangled in a maze of lies, and degraded by viceuntil self-respect is nigh crushed out. 

"The Fifth Form at Saint Dominic's" was followed in 1882 by "My FriendSmith;" in 1883 came "The Willoughby Captains" (by many considered hisbest work); 1885 saw "Reginald Cruden;" and in the same year appeared"Follow My Leader. " This story--an excellent example of Reed's peculiarpower and originality in depicting school life--he wrote in threemonths; a feat the full significance of which is best known to those whowere aware how full his mind and his hands were at that time of otherpressing work. Yet the book shows no marks of undue haste. 

In 1886 came "A Dog with a Bad Name, " followed in 1887 by "The Master ofthe Shell. " In 1889 Reed made a new and successful departure in "SirLudar: A Story of the Days of the Great Queen Bess. " Here he broke awayfrom school life, and carried his youthful readers back to theElizabethans and the glorious incident of the Armada. There is a fine"go" and "swing" in the style of this story which recalls Kingsley to usat his best. 

Following hard on "Sir Ludar" came in the same year (1889) "RogerIngleton, Minor, " a story dealing with young men rather than boys, although Tom Oliphant, a delightful boy, and Jill Oliphant, his sister, take their places among the most lovable of his youthful creations. 

In "The Cock-house at Fellsgarth" (1891), and in "Dick, Tom, and Harry"(1892), Reed returned to school life for the materials of his plots, andin these fully maintained his reputation. In addition to these stories, most of which have appeared, or are about to appear, in volume form, hecontributed many short stories and sketches to the Christmas and Summernumbers of the _Boy's Own_. These are also, I am glad to learn, beingcollected for publication in volume form. 

In "Kilgorman, " the last of the series of boys' books from his giftedhand, as in "Sir Ludar, " he displays a fine historic sense--a capacityof living back to other times and picturing the people of anothergeneration. Much of the scene of "Kilgorman" and of "Sir Ludar" is laidin Ireland--in the north and north-western corners of it--of all thelocalities in the United Kingdom perhaps the dearest to Reed's heart. 

To him, in more senses than one, Ireland was a land of romance. Thehappiest associations of his life were there. There he wooed and wonhis wife, the daughter of Mr Greer, M. P. For the County of Londonderry;and he and she loved to return with ever new pleasure to inhale the pureair of Castle-rock or Ballycastle, or to enjoy the quiet of a lonelylittle resting-place in Donegal, on the banks of Lough Swilly, torecuperate after a year's hard work in London. It was something to seethe sunshine on Reed's beautiful face when the time approached for hisvisit to the "Emerald Isle. " When he was sore stricken in the lastillness, he longed with a great longing to return, and did return, toIreland, hoping and believing that what English air had failed to domight come to pass there. Three weeks before his death he writes to mefrom Ballycastle, County Antrim: "I wish you could see this place to-daybathed in sunlight, Rathlin Island in the offing, Fair Head with itsstately profile straight across the bay, and beyond, in blue and grey, the lonely coast of Cantire, backed by Goatfell and the lovely hills ofArgyle. " He loved Ireland. 

But for himself and for his family there were in Ireland associations ofsadness that made the place sacred to him. His young and belovedbrother Kenneth, with a comrade and kinsman, W. J. Anderson, in 1879started on a canoe trip in Ireland, intending to explore the wholecourse of the Shannon and the Blackwater, together with the connectinglinks of lake and sea. In a gale of wind on Lough Allen--known as the"wicked Lough"--the canoes were both upset, and the two young men weredrowned. 

The shock in the family circle can be imagined. It was the beginning ofmany sorrows. Two years later, in 1881, Sir Charles Reed died; and in1883 the family was again plunged into grief by the sad death ofTalbot's eldest brother ("my 'father confessor' in all times oftrouble, " Talbot used to say of him), the Reverend Charles Edward Reed, who was accidentally killed by a fall over a precipice while he was on awalking expedition in Switzerland. Lady Reed, it may be here said, diedin June 1891. 

While most people will think that Talbot Reed's boys' books are his bestbequest to literature, he considered them of less importance in the workof his life than his book entitled "A History of the Old English LetterFoundries; with Notes Historical and Bibliographical on the Rise andProgress of English Typography" (Elliot Stock, 1887), the preparation ofwhich cost him ten years of research and labour. His boys' books werethe spontaneous utterance of his joyous nature, and their production heregarded in the light of a recreation amid the more serious affairs oflife. He had an ambition, which the results of his labour fullyjustified, to be regarded as an authority on Typography. I can rememberhis amusement, and perhaps annoyance, when he had gone down to aYorkshire town to deliver a lecture on some typographical subject, tofind that the walls and hoardings of the town were decorated withposters, announcing the lecture as by "Talbot B. Reed, author of 'A Dogwith a Bad Name!'"

But all scholars and book-lovers will regard this work of his on "TheHistory of the Old English Letter Foundries" as being of supreme value. In it, as he himself says, he tells the story of the fifteenth centuryheroes of the punch and matrix and mould, who made English printing anart ere yet the tyranny of an age of machinery was established. Whatever Talbot Reed's pen touched it adorned, and in the light of hismind what seemed dry and dusty corners of literary history became alivewith living human interest. 

Besides this great work, he edited the book left unfinished by hisfriend Mr Blades, entitled "The Pentateuch of Printing, " to which headded a biographical memoir of Mr Blades. 

All that related to the craft of printing was profoundly interesting toReed, whether viewed from the practical, or the historic, or theartistic side. His types were to him no mere articles of commerce, theywere objects of beauty; to him the craft possessed the fascination ofhaving a great history, and the legitimate pride of having played agreat part in the world. 

Reed delivered more than one admirable public lecture on subjectsrelated to the art of printing. One he delivered at the Society ofArts, on "Fashions in Printing" (for which he received one of theSociety's silver medals), and another on "Baskerville, " the interestingtype-founder and printer of Birmingham in the last century, to whom achapter of "The History" is devoted. 

Only two years before his death Reed was one of a small band of book-lovers who founded the Bibliographical Society, a body which aims atmaking easier, by the organising of literature, the labours of literarymen, librarians, and students generally. From its start he undertook, in the midst of many pressing personal duties, the arduous task ofhonorary secretaryship of the young society--an office which he regardedas one of great honour and usefulness, but which entailed upon him, at atime when his health could ill bear the strain, hard organising andclerical work, cheerfully undertaken, and continued until a few weeksbefore his death. The first two published Parts of the Transactions ofthe Bibliographical Society, edited by him, are models of what such workought to be. 

Reed was a Fellow of the Society of Antiquaries, and for many years wasan active member of the Library Association. His own library of booksbearing on Typography, Bibliography, and many a kindred subject, theharvest of many years' collecting, is unique. It was a pleasure to seethe expression of Reed's face when he came upon a new book really afterhis mind, or, still better, an old book, "Anything fifteenth century orearly sixteenth, " he used to say; any relic or scrap from Caxton's or DeWorde's Press; any specimen of a "truant type" on the page of an earlybook; or a Caslon, or a Baskerville in good condition; or one of thebeauties from Mr Morris's modern Press. Charles Lamb himself could nothave looked more radiant or more happy in the sense of possession. 

Reed laboured successfully also in another department of literature--injournalism. For many years he wrote a non-political leading articleeach week for the _Leeds Mercury_. His wide culture, his quiet humour, and light, graceful touch, were qualities that gave to his journalisticwork far more than an ephemeral value. In politics Reed was a life-longLiberal; he utterly disapproved, however, of Mr Gladstone's latter-daypolicy in Ireland. Reed was a member of the Reform Club and of theSavile Club. 

In these notes I have written rather of Reed's work than of the manhimself. This is as he would have had it. There was in him a magneticcharm that attracted all who came near him, and which bound his friendsto him as by "hooks of steel. " Erect and manly in bearing, he steppedalong, never apparently in a hurry, never dawdling. One had only tolook in his beautiful face, the bright kind eyes, the high wide brow, and to come under the spell of his winning smile, to obtain a glimpse ofthe noble soul within. 

A calm, strong nature his, facing the world, with all its contingencies, bravely and with constant buoyant cheerfulness. He walked through lifewith eyes and heart wide open to the joy of the world, brightening andlightening it for others as he went. He was always ready to stretch outa helping hand to the weak and falling ones who came across his path. Never merely an optimist, he yet lived and died in the full, simplefaith that--

 "God's in his heaven, All's right with the world. "

Socially, Reed was the life and soul of any party of friends. Therewere certain American student-songs which he was wont to sing with aquiet and inimitable drollery, very refreshing to hear, and which thosewho heard them are not likely readily to forget. His love of music waspart of his nature. His reposeful, wooing touch on the piano or organ, either when he was extemporising or when he interpreted one of themasters, expressed the inner working of his own gentle spirit. Whetherin his own family, or among friends, or in the midst of his Foundryworkmen, he was universally beloved. 

A true, loyal, and friendly spirit like his was sure to have "troops offriends. " To three friends in Highgate he wrote, during his last sadvisit to Ireland, the following beautiful letter. Mrs Reed was at themoment detained in Highgate, nursing their eldest boy, who was ill. 

"Westoncrofts, Ballymoney, _October 6, 1893_. 

"Talbot, the exile, unto the faithful assembled at the hour of eveningservice at H---; to H--- the beloved banker, and S--- our brother, andH--- our joyous counsellor, and all and sundry, greeting: peace be withyou! Know, brethren, that I am with you in the spirit; neither is thereany chair in which I would not sit, nor pipe I would not smoke, nordrink I would not drink, so as I might be one with you, and hear yourvoices. In good sooth, I would travel far to catch the wisdom thatdroppeth from the lips of H---, or sit among the philosophers with S---, or laugh with the great laugh of H---. I would do all this, and morealso, could I make one with you around the familiar hearth. 

"Yet know, brethren, that I shall come presently, and strictly demand anaccount of what is said and done, what mighty problems are solved, whatjoys are discovered, what tribulations are endured, in my absence. 

"Meanwhile, I would have you to know that I am here, not without myteachers, for I read daily in the great missal of Nature, writ by thescribe Autumn in letters of crimson and gold; also in the trim pages ofthe gathered fields, with borders of wood-cut; also in the ample foliosof ocean, with its wide margins of surf and sand. These be my masters, set forth in a print not hard to read, yet not so easy, methinks, as thefaces of friends. Perchance when _she_ cometh, in whose light Iinterpret many things, I shall have rest to learn more therefrom; fornow I am as a sail without wind, or a horn without his blower, or astone without his sling. 

"Yet am I not here to no purpose. There is a certain coy nymph, 'Health' by name, who is reported in these parts--her I am charged toseek. Where she hides 'twere hard to say; whether on the hill-side, golden with bracken, or in the spray of the sea, or on the bluffheadland, or by the breezy links--in all these I seek her. Sometimes Ispy her afar off; but the wanton comes and goes. Yet I am persuaded Ishall presently find her, and bring her home rejoicing to them that sentme. 

"Finally, brethren, I pray you, have me often in your remembrance, andreport to me such things as concern our common welfare, for I desireardently to hear of you. 

"Farewell, from one who loves you and counts himself your brother. 

"T. B. Reed. "

Alas! "the coy nymph, 'Health' by name, " was never found. Within a weekor two of the despatch of this letter, he became so much worse that hewas advised by the Belfast doctors to return at once to London. Hesuffered from a hopeless internal malady, which he bore with heroicpatience. 

At Highgate, on 28th November 1893, he passed peacefully away. 

It was given to him in his short life--for he condensed into the span offorty-two years the literary labours of a long life--to materially addby his charming boys' books to the happiness of the youth of hisgeneration. It was given to him also by his labour and research to makea solid contribution to the learning of his time. He has enriched manylives by his friendship, and by the example of his unceasingthoughtfulness for the welfare of others. To all who had theinestimable privilege of knowing Talbot Reed, there will be theremembrance of a man "matchless for gentleness, honesty, and courage, "--the very ideal of a chivalrous English gentleman. 

John Sime. 

Highgate, London, _February 1894_. 

CHAPTER ONE. 

WANDERING LIGHTS. 

It was the first time Tim and I had fallen out, and to this day I couldscarcely tell you how it arose. 

We had gone out on to the headland to drive in the sheep; for the windwas blowing up from seaward, and it was plain to tell that the nightwould be a wild one. Father was away with the trawlers off Sheep Haven, and would be ill pleased should he return to-morrow to find any of theflock amissing. So, though mother lay sick in the cottage, with none totend her, Tim and I, because of the dread we had of our father'sdispleasure, left her and went out to seek the sheep before the stormbroke. 

It was no light task, for the dog was lame, and the wind carried backour shouts into our very teeth. The flock had straggled far and wide insearch of the scanty grass, and neither Tim nor I had our hearts in thework. 

Presently Tim took a stone to dislodge one stubborn ewe, where it hidbeside a rock, and, as luck would have it, struck not her but my cheek, which received a sharp cut. 

"Faith, and you'll make a fine soldier when you're grown, " said I, in atemper, "if that's the best you can shoot. "

Tim often said he would be a soldier when he came to be a man, and wastouchy on the point. 

"Shoot, is it?" said he, picking up another stone; "you blackguard, stand where ye are and I'll show yez. "

And he let fly and struck me again on the self-same place; and I confessI admired his skill more than his brotherly love. 

I picked up the stone and flung it back. But the wind took it so thatit struck not Tim but the ewe. Whereat Tim laughed loudly and called mea French spalpeen. That was more than I could bear. 

"I'll fight you for that, " said I, flinging my cap on the ground andstamping a foot on it. 

"Come on wid ye, " retorted Tim, giving his buckle a hitch. 

And there, on the lonely, wind-swept cliff, we two brothers stood up toone another. Con, the dog, limped between us with a whine. 

"You might tie the dog to the gate till we're done, Barry, " said Tim. 

"You're right, Tim, " said I; "I will. "

It took no long time, but 'twas long enough to cool my blood, and when Ireturned to Tim I had less stomach for the fight than before. 

"Was it 'Frenchman' you said?" asked I, hoping he might say no. 

"Troth and I did, " said he. 

But it seemed to me he too was less fiery than when he spoke last. 

So we fought. And I know not how it went. We were a fair match. WhatI lacked in strength I made up for in quickness, and if Tim hit me hardI hit him often. 

But it was a miserable business, and our hearts were sorer than ourbodies. For we loved one another as we loved our own lives. And on aday like this, when mother lay dying at home, and father was out withthe trawlers in the tempest, we lacked spirit to fight in earnest. Onlywhen Tim called me "Frenchman" it was not in me to stand meekly by. 

I know that when it was over, and we parted sulky and bruised each hisown way, I flung myself on my face at the edge of the cliff and wished Ihad never been born. 

How long I lay I know not. 

When I looked up the day was dark with tempest. The whistle of the windabout my ears mingled with the hoarse thunder of the surf as it broke onthe beach, four hundred feet below me, and swept round the point intothe lough. The taste of brine was on my lips, and now and again flakesof foam whirled past me far inland. From Dunaff to Malin the coast wasone long waste of white water. And already the great Atlantic rollers, which for a day past had brought their solemn warning in from the open, were breaking miles out at sea, and racing in on the shore like thingspursued. 

As for me, my spirits rose as I looked out and saw it all. For I lovedthe sea in its angry moods. And this promise of tempest seemed somehowto accord with the storm that was raging in my own breast. It made meforget Tim and the sheep, and even mother. 

I tried to get up on my feet, but the wind buffeted me back before Ireached my knees, and I was fain to lie prone, with my nose to thestorm, blinking through half-closed eyes out to sea. 

For a long time I lay thus. Then I seemed to descry at the point of thebay windward a sail. It was a minute or more before I could be certainI saw aright. Yes, it was a sail. 

What craft could be mad enough in such weather to trust itself to themercies of the bay? Even my father, the most daring of helmsmen, wouldgive Fanad Head a wide berth before he put such a wind as this at hisback. This stranger must be either disabled or ignorant of the coast, or she would never drive in thus towards a lee-shore like ours. Boy asI was, I knew better seamanship than that. 

Yet as I watched her, she seemed to me neither cripple nor fool. Shewas a cutter-rigged craft, long and low in the water, under closecanvas, and to my thinking wonderfully light and handy in the heavy sea. She did not belong to these parts--even I could tell that--and hercolours, if she had any, had gone with the wind. 

The question was, would she on her present tack weather Fanad Head (onwhich I lay) and win the lough? And if not, how could she escape therocks on which every moment she was closing?

At first it seemed that nothing could save her, for she broke off shortof the point, and drove in within half-a-mile of the rocks. Then, whileI waited to see the end of her, she suddenly wore round, and afterstaggering a moment while the sea broke over her, hauled up to the wind, and careening over, with her mainsail sweeping the water, started gailyon the contrary tack. 

It was so unlike anything any of our clumsy trawler boats were capableof, that I was lost in admiration at the suddenness and daring of themanoeuvre. But Fanad was still to be weathered, and close as she sailedto the wind, it seemed hardly possible to gain sea-room to clear it. 

Yet she cleared it, even though the black rocks frowned at her not acable's length from her lee-quarter, and the wind laid her over so thather mast-head seemed almost to touch them as it passed. Then, onceclear, up went her helm as she turned again into the wind, and slipped, with the point on her weather-quarter, into the safe waters of thelough. 

I was so delighted watching this adventure from my lonely perch that Idid not notice the October afternoon was nearly spent, and that thelight was beginning to fade. The storm gathered force every moment, sothat when at last I turned to go home I had to crawl a yard or two toshelter before I could stand on my feet. 

As for the sheep, unless Tim had driven them in, which was not likely, they would have to shift for themselves for this night. It was too lateto see them, and Con, who limped at my heels, had not a yap left in him. 

As I staggered home, leaning my back against the wind, I could not helpwondering what this strange boat might be, and why she should make forthe lough on so perilous a course. She might be a smuggler anxious toavoid the observation of the revenue officers. If so, her cargo must beprecious indeed to make up for the risk she ran. Or she might be aforeigner, driven in by one of the king's cruisers, which had not daredto follow her into the bay. 

Whatever she was, she was a pretty sailer, and prettily handled. Iwondered if ever I, when I grew to be a man, should be able to weather apoint as skilfully. 

It was night before I reached our cabin, and all there was dark. Neither Tim nor father was home, the fire was out on the hearth, and thepoor fevered sufferer lay tossing and breathing hard on the bed. 

She was worse, far worse than when we left her in the morning; and Icould have died of shame when I came to think that all those hours shehad lain alone and untended. I struck a light and put it in the window. 

"Is that Barry?" said she faintly. 

"Ay, mother, it's Barry, " said I, going to the bed and bending over her. 

"Bring the light, and let me look at you, " she said. 

I obeyed. She scrutinised my face eagerly, and then turned her headwearily on the pillow. 

"Barry, " said she presently. 

"Well?" said I, as I took the hot worn hand in mine. 

She lay silent a long while, so that I thought she had fallen asleep, then she said, --

"Where is father?"

"Away with the boats. "

"And Tim?"

"I can't say. Tim and I fought the day, and--"

"Fought? Ay, there'll be fighting enough before wrong's made right, Barry. Listen! I'm dying, son, but I must see him before I go. "

"Is it Tim?" said I. 

"No. " Then she lifted herself in her bed, and her face was wild andexcited as she clutched my hand. "Barry, it's Gorman I must see--Maurice Gorman. Fetch him to me. Make him come. Tell him I'm a dyingwoman, and must speak before I go. There's time yet--go, Barry!"

"Mr Gorman!" exclaimed I. What could my mother want with his honourdown at Knockowen?

"Ay, and quickly--or it will be too late. "

Knockowen was across the lough, five miles up above Dunree. It would behours on a night like this before he could be here. But my mothercontinued to moan, "Go, Barry--make haste. " So, much against my will, Iput on my cap and prepared to leave her alone. At the door she calledme back. 

"Kiss me, Barry, " said she. Then before I could obey her she fell toraving. 

"Give me back the lassie, " she cried, "dead or alive. She's more to methan all Kilgorman! Trust me, Mr Maurice--I'll breathe never a word ifyou'll but save Mike. It's false--he never had a hand in it! Some daytruth will out--if the lad's mine no harm shall come to him. I'll usehim against you, Mr Maurice. The truth's buried, but it's safe. There's more than earth under a hearthstone. " And she laughed in aterrible way. 

After a minute she opened her eyes again and saw me. 

"Not gone, Barry? For pity's sake, fetch him, or I must go myself. "And she even tried to get up from her bed. 

This settled it, and I rushed from the house, whimpering with misery andterror. 

What was it all about? Why did she send me away thus on a fool'serrand? For Mr Gorman was not likely to come out on a night like thisat the bidding of Mike Gallagher's English wife. 

If there had only been some one I could have sent to mind her while Iwas gone! But our cabin on the bleak headland was miles from aneighbour--Knockowen, whither I was speeding, was indeed the nearestplace. 

For a lad of twelve it was no easy task on a dark stormy night like thisto cross the lough. But I thought nothing of that. Most of my shortlife I had spent afloat, and I knew every rock and creek along theshores. 

The boat lay tugging at her moorings when I got down to her, as ifimpatient to be away. Luckily her mast was up. It would need but theleast taste of canvas to run her across. The business would be comingback in the face of the wind. 

Sure enough, when I cast off, she rushed through the water likesomething mad. And again my spirits rose as I heard the hiss of thefoam at her bows, and felt her rear and plunge among the big boisterouswaves. 

After a time I could catch the light at Knockowen as it flickered in thewind, and put up my helm so as to clear the shoal. This would bring meclose under Kilgorman rock, whence I could drive before the wind as faras Knockowen. 

To my surprise, as I closed in on the shore I saw strange lights at thewater's edge, and casting my eyes up towards Kilgorman (which I neverdid in those days without a qualm, because of the ghost that haunted it)I seemed to see a moving light there also. 

I said a hurried prayer, and put round my helm into the wind before mytime. Even the shoal, thought I, was less to fear than the unearthlyterrors of that awful deserted house. 

By good luck the strong wind carried me in clear of the bank and so intofairly still water, and in half-an-hour more I was in under the light ofKnockowen, mooring my boat in his honour's little harbour. 

It must have been near midnight, and I was wondering how I should wakenthe house and deliver my message, when a voice close beside me said, --

"Are the guns all landed and taken up to the house?"

It was his honour's voice. But I could not see him in the dark. 

"I beg your pardon, your honour, " said I, "it's me, Barry Gallagher. "

A quick step came down to where I stood, and a hand was laid on myshoulder. 

"You! What do you here?" said his honour sharply, for he had evidentlyexpected some one else. 

"If you please, sir, my mother's sick, and she sent me to bid you comebefore she died. "

He made a startled gesture, as I thought, and said, "What does she wantme for?"

"It's to tell your honour something. I couldn't rightly say what, forshe spoke strangely. "

"I'll come in the morning if the weather mends, " said he. 

"I've the boat here for you, sir, " I ventured to say, for I guessed themorning would be too late. 

"Leave her there, and go up to the house. You may sleep in thekitchen. "

What could I do? For the first time that night I knew for certain Ihated his honour. My mother's dying message was nothing to him. Andshe, poor soul, lay in the cabin alone. 

Knockowen was a poor shambling sort of house. Strangers wondered whyMaurice Gorman, who owned Kilgorman as well, chose to live in this placeinstead of the fine mansion near the lough mouth. But to the countrypeople this was no mystery. Kilgorman had an evil name, and for twelveyears, since its late master died, had stood desolate and empty--tenanted only, so it was said, by a wandering ghost, and no place fordecent Christian folk to dwell in. 

As I lay curled up that stormy night in his honour's kitchen, I couldnot help thinking of the strange lights I had seen as I rowed in by theshore. Where did they come from, and what did they mean? I shuddered, and said one prayer more as I thought of it. 

Then my curiosity got the better of me, and I crept to the window andlooked out. The wind howled dismally, but the sky was clearing, and themoon raced in and out among the clouds. Away down across the lough Icould see the dim outline of Fanad, below which was the little homewhere, for all I knew, my mother at that moment lay dead. And oppositeit loomed out the grey bleak hill below which, even by this half light, I fancied I could detect the black outline of Kilgorman standing grimlyin the moonlight. 

It may have been fancy, but as I looked I even thought I could see oncemore moving lights between the water's edge and the house, and I slunkback to my corner by the fire with a shiver. 

Presently, his honour came in with a candle. He had evidently been upall night, and looked haggard and anxious. 

"Get up, " said he, "and make the boat ready. "

I rose to obey, when he called me back. 

"Come here, " said he harshly. And he held the candle to my face andstared hard at me. It was a sinister, sneering face that looked intomine, and as I returned the stare my looks must have betrayed the hatredthat was in my mind. 

"Which of Gallagher's boys are you?" he demanded. 

"Barry, plaze your honour. "

"How old are you?"

"I think twelve, sir--the same as Tim. " For Tim and I were twins. 

He looked hard at me again, and then said, "What was it your mother sentword?"

"She said would your honour plaze to come quick, for she felt likedying, and wished to spake to you before. "

"Was that all?"

"Indeed, sir, she talked queerly the night about a dead lassie, andcalled on your honour to save my father, if you plaze, sir. "

He went to a cupboard and poured himself out a glass of raw whisky anddrank it. Then he beckoned to me to follow him down to the boat. 

CHAPTER TWO. 

A LOAD OF TURNIPS. 

Mr Gorman seated himself silently in the stern, while I shoved off, andhauled up the sail. 

The storm was blowing still, but more westerly, so that the water wasquieter, and we could use the wind fairly to the point of the shoals. After that it would be hard work to make my father's cabin. 

I handed the sheet to his honour, and curled myself up in the bows. Maurice Gorman was no great seaman, as I knew. But it was not for me tothrust myself forward when he took the helm. Yet I confess I felt asecret pleasure as I looked at the breakers ahead, and wondered how soonhe would call me aft to steer him through them. 

To-night, as it seemed to me, he hugged the eastern shore more thanusual, thereby laying up for himself all the harder task when the timecame to cross in the face of the wind. 

"Begging your honour's pardon, " said I at last, "luff her, sir. "

He paid no heed, but held on as we went till the shoals were longdistanced, and the black cliff of Kilgorman rose above us. 

The day was now dawning, and the terrors of the place were somewhatdiminished. Yet I confess I looked up at the gaunt walls and chimneyswith uneasiness. 

Now, as we came nearer, the mystery of the moving lights of the nightbefore suddenly cleared itself. For snugly berthed in a narrow creek ofthe shore lay the strange cutter whose daring entry into the lough I hadyesterday witnessed. At the sight of her the curiosity I had felt, butwhich my poor mother's message had driven from my head, revived. 

Who and what was she? and what was she doing in Lough Swilly?

Then I recalled the strange words his honour had spoken last night in myhearing, about the arms being landed and stowed. And I rememberedhearing some talk among the fisher folk of foreign weapons beingsmuggled into Ireland against the king's law, and of foreign soldierscoming, to help the people to tight against his Majesty. 

I was too young to understand what it all meant, or why his Majesty wasto be fought with; for we were comfortable enough in our little cabin, what with the sheep and my mother's savings, and my father's fish, andthe little that Tim and I could earn ferrying passengers over the lough. I was too young, I say, to know what wanted altering, but the sight ofthis queer-looking craft set me thinking about it. 

"Get out your oar, " said his honour suddenly, letting the sheet fly, andrunning the boat into the creek. 

My heart sank, for I hoped we were going across to where my poor motherlay. 

I got out the oar, and paddled the boat into the creek till we came upto the stern of the cutter. _Cigale_--that was her name, painted on thestern-board; but there was nothing to show her port or the flag sheflew. 

At the sound of our bows grating on her side one of her crew ran aft andlooked over. He had a strange foreign appearance in his red cap, andcurls, and white teeth, and looked like some startled animal about tospring on us. But his honour shouted something in French, and the manscrambled over the side of the cutter with a grin and jumped lightlyinto our boat, talking rapidly all the while. 

I do not think Mr Gorman understood all he said, for he presentlyordered the man to hold his peace, and stepped ashore, beckoning me tofollow him. 

I obeyed after making fast the painter. As we scrambled up the rocksand reached the road which leads down from Kilgorman to the shore, I wassurprised to see several carts standing laden with sacks or straw, asthough on the way to market. Still more surprised was I when among theknot of men, half-foreign sailors, half countrymen, who stood about, sheltering as best they could from the sleet (for the weather was comingin yet worse from the west), I recognised my father. 

If he noticed me at first he made no sign of it, but walked up toMaurice Gorman with a rough nod. 

"Is all landed and stowed?" said his honour, repeating the question oflast night. 

"'Tis, " said my father shortly, nodding in the direction of the carts. 

"How many are in the house?"

"There's two hundred. "

"Father, " said I, breaking in at this point, in spite of all the Gormansof Donegal, "you're needed at home. Mother's dying, and sent me for hishonour to speak to her. "

My father started, and his sunburnt cheeks paled a little as he lookedat Mr Gorman and then across the lough. He would fain have flown thatmoment to the beat, but I could see he was too far under his honour'sthumb to do so without leave. 

"We cannot spare you, Mike, till the job is finished. We must get thecarts to Derry before night. "

"I'm thinking, " said my father, "Barry here knows the road to Derry aswell as me. Who'll be minding a young boy on a cart of turnips?"

His honour mused a moment, and then nodded. 

"Can you get the cutter away in this wind?" asked he. 

"I could get her away as easy as I got her in, " said my father; "butshe's well enough as she is for a day or two, by your honour's leave. "

"Father, " said I, all excitement, "sure it wasn't you ran the cutterinto the lough round Fanad yesterday? I knew nobody else could havedone it!"

My father grinned at the compliment. 

"That's the boy knows one end of a ship from the other, " said he. 

Mr Gorman looked at me, and a thought seemed to strike him. 

"Come here!" said he, beckoning me to him. 

Once again he looked hard in my face, and I looked hard back. 

"So you are Barry?" he demanded. 

"I am, " said I. 

"And you'd like to be a sailor?"

"No, " I retorted. It was a lie, but I would be under no favour to hishonour. 

His honour grunted, and talked in a low voice to my father, whopresently said to me, --

"Take the turnips to Joe Callan's, in Derry, on the Ship Quay. Waittill dark before you go into the city. Tell him there's more wherethese came from. "

"Is it guns you mane?" said I. 

"Hold your tongue, you limb of darkness, " growled my father. "It'sturnips. If any one asks you, mind you know nothing, and never heard ofhis honour in your life. "

By which I understood this was a very secret errand, and like enough toland me in Derry Jail before all was done. Had I not been impatient tosee my father and his honour away to Fanad, I think I should have madeexcuses. But I durst not say another word, and with a heavy heartclambered to the top of the turnips and started on my long journey. 

Before I had passed the hill I could see the white sail of our littleboat dancing through the broken water of the lough, and knew that myfather and Mr Gorman were on their way to set my mother's mind at rest. In the midst of my trouble and ill-humour I smiled to think what a poorfigure his honour would have cut trying to make Fanad in that wind. Myfather could sail in the teeth of anything, and some day folk would beable to say the same of his son Barry. 

It was a long, desolate drive over stony hills and roads whose rutsswallowed half my wheels, with now and then a waste of bog to cross, andnow and then a stream to ford. For hours I met not a soul nor saw asign of life except the cattle huddling on the hillside, or the smoke ofsome far-away cabin. 

My mare was a patient, leisurely beast, with no notion of reaching thecity before her time, and no willingness to exchange her sedate jog forall the whipping or "shooing" in Ireland. 

Presently, as it came to the afternoon, I left the mountain road andcame on to the country road from Fahan to Derry. Here I met morecompany; but no one heeded me much, especially when it was seen that myturnips were a poor sort, and that he who had charge of them was but aslip of a boy, with not a word to say to any one. 

"Are you for Derry?" one woman asked as she overtook me on the road. 

"So you may say, " said I, hoping that would be the end of her. 

But she carried a bundle, and was not to be put aside so easily. 

"I'll just take a lift with you, " said she. 

But I jogged on without a word. 

"Arrah, will you stop till I get up? Is it deaf ye are?" said she. 

"'Deed I am, " said I, whipping my beast. 

It went to my heart to play the churl to a woman, but I durst not lether up on the turnips, where perhaps a chance kick of her feet mightbetray the ugly guns beneath. 

I was sorry afterwards I did not yield to my better instincts, for thewoman was known in these parts, and with her perched beside me no onewould have looked twice at me or my cart. 

As it was, when I had shaken her off, and left her rating me loudly tillI was out of sight, I passed one or two folk who, but that it wasgrowing dusk, might have caused me trouble. One was a clergyman, whohailed me and asked did not I think my beast would be the better of arest, and that, for turnips, my load seemed a heavy one, and so forth. 

To ease him, I was forced to halt at the next village, to give the poorbeast a feed and a rest. Here two soldiers came up and demanded where Icame from. 

"From Fahan, " said I, naming the town I had lately passed. 

"Whose turnips are these?"

"Mister Gallagher's, " said I. 

They seemed inclined to be more curious; but as good luck would have it, the clergyman came up just then and spoke to me in a friendly way as hepassed, for he was glad to see me merciful to my beast. 

And the soldiers, when they saw me acquainted with so reverend agentleman, took for granted I was on a harmless errand, and went furtheron to inquire for the miscreant they were in search of. 

The fellow of the yard where I fed my horse laughed as he watched memount up on to my turnips. 

"Faith, them's the boys to smell a rat. It's guns they're looking for;as if they'd travel by daylight on the highroad. "

"I'm told a great many arms are being smuggled into the country, " saidthe clergyman. 

"To be sure, " replied the man; "but if they get this length it's by thehill-roads and after dark. Why, I'll go bail they would have looked forguns under this gossoon's turnips if your reverence hadn't known him. "

It seemed to me time to drive on, and with a salute to his reverence Itouched up my horse smartly, and left these two to finish their talkwithout me. 

By this time it was nearly dark, so that I had less trouble frompassers-by. My beast, despite her meal, showed no signs of haste, and Iwas forced to lie patiently on the top of my load, waiting her pleasureto land me in Derry. 

The clock was tolling ten as I came on to the Ship Quay, and tiredenough I was with my long day's drive. Yet I was a little proud to havecome to my journey's end safely, albeit that story I had told aboutFahan stuck in my conscience. 

I had been once before with my father to Joe Callan's, who kept a storeof all sorts of goods, and was one of the best-known farmers' tradesmenin the city. It was some time before I could arouse him and bring himdown to let me in. And while I waited, rousing the echoes, I was verynearly being wrecked in port, for a watchman came up and demanded what Iwanted disturbing the peace of the city at that hour. 

When I explained that I had brought Mr Callan a load of turnips, hewanted to know where they came from, and why they should arrive so late. 

"The roads were bad between this and Fahan, " said I. 

To my alarm he took up a turnip in his hand and put it to his nose. 

"I'm thinking Joe Callan's no judge of a turnip, " said he, "if this iswhat suits him. Maybe that's why you're so anxious to get them in afterdark. He'll not wake out of his sleep for the like of these, so you mayjust shoot them in a heap at his door, and they'll be safe enough tillthe morning. "

My jaw dropped when he proposed this and made ready to lend me a hand. 

"Begging your honour's pardon, " said I, "I was to spake to Mister Callanabout the turnips. "

"Sure, I can tell him that. Let the man sleep. "

"But the horse has been on the road all day, " said I. 

The watchman pricked his ears. 

"All day, and only came from Fahan?" said he. 

Here, to my vast relief, a window opened above me and a head appeared. 

"What's the noise about at all, at all?" called Mr Callan. 

"'Deed that's just what I'm asking him, " said the watchman. "And sinceyou're awake, Mr Callan, you may see to it. To my thinking the noiseis not worth the turnips. So good-night to you. "

I was never more glad to see a man's back. In due time Mr Callan camedown in his night-cap, lantern in hand. 

"Turnips, " said he, as he looked first at me, then at the cart. "Whoseturnips are they?"

"They're from Knockowen, sir, " said I. "My father, Mike Gallagher, bademe tell you there's more where they came from. "

He pulled the bolt of his yard gate without a word, and signed to me toback in the cart; which I did, dreading every moment lest the watchmanshould return. 

When we were inside, the gate was shut, and Mr Callan turned hislantern towards me. 

"You're a young lad to send with a load like this, " said he. "Did noone overhaul you on the road?"

I told him about the two soldiers, and what the man at the inn had said. 

He said nothing, but bade me unload. 

The turnips were soon taken out. Under them was a layer of sacking, andunder that some thirty or forty muskets, with a box or two ofammunition. 

These Mr Callan and I carefully carried up to a loft and deposited in ahollow space which had been prepared in a pile of hay, which wascarefully covered up again, so as to leave no trace of the murderousfodder it hid. 

"Tell Mr Gorman--tell your father, I mean, that his turnips are ingreat demand, and I can sell all he's got. "

"I will, " said I. 

"Now put in the horse and take your rest, for you must start backbetimes in the morning. "

"Plaze, sir, " I ventured to say, "I'd sooner eat than sleep, by yourleave. "

"You shall do both, " said he, for he was in great good-humour. 

So I got a bite of pork and a scone, and curled myself up in the warmhay and slept like a top. 

Before daybreak Mr Callan roused me. 

"Make haste now, " said he, "or you'll not be home by night. And seehere, I've a message for Mr Gorman. "

"Mr Gorman?" said I, remembering what I had been told. 

"You are right, sonnie. You do not know Mr Gorman, " said thetradesman, slapping me on the back and laughing. "If you did know him, I would have bid you tell him that people talk of him here, and say helacks zeal in a good cause. If lie is resolved to deal in turnips, hemust deal in them largely, and not go behind our backs to them that dealin other trades. Mark that. "

I confess it sounded very like a riddle, and I had to say the words overmany times to myself before I could be sure of carrying them. 

Then, my cart being loaded with straw, I bade Mr Callan good-day, andstarted on my long journey back to Knockowen. 

CHAPTER THREE. 

WAKING. 

Had it not been for what I dreaded to find at home, my journey back fromDerry would have been light enough; for now I was rid of my turnips Ihad nothing to fear from inquisitive wayfarers. Nor had I cause to beanxious as to the way, for my mare knew she was homeward bound, andstepped out briskly with no encouragement from me. 

Indeed I had so little to do that about noon, when we had got off thehighroad on to the hill-track, I curled myself up in the straw and fellasleep. Nor did I wake till the cart suddenly came to a standstill, andI felt myself being lifted out of my nest. 

At first I thought I was back already at Knockowen, and wondered at thespeed the old jade had made while I slept. But as soon as I had rubbedmy eyes I found we were still on the hillside, and that my awakers werea handful of soldiers. 

They demanded my name and my master's. When I told them Mr Gorman ofKnockowen, they were a thought less rough with me; for his honour wasknown as a friend of the government. Nevertheless they said they mustsearch my cart, and bade me help them to unload the straw. 

I could not help laughing as I saw them so busy. 

"What's the limb laughing at?" said one angrily. "Maybe he's not soinnocent as he looks. "

"'Deed, sir, " said I, "I was laughing at the soldiers I met at Fahan, who thought I'd got guns under his honour's turnips. I warrant MrGorman won't laugh at that. Maybe it's guns you're looking for too. They're easy hid in a load of straw. "

At this they looked rather abashed, although they thought fit to cuff mefor an impudent young dog. And when the straw was all out, and nothingfound underneath, it was not a little hard on me that they left me toput it in again myself, roundly rating one another for the sorry figurethey cut. 

I was too glad to be rid of them to raise much clamour about the straw, and loaded it back as best I could, wondering if all his Majesty'sservants were as wide-awake as the smuggler-catchers of Donegal. 

This was my only adventure till about seven o'clock when I sighted thelights of Knockowen, and knew this tedious journey was at an end. 

His honour, I was told, was not at home. He had crossed to Fanad to bepresent at the wake of my poor mother, who, I heard, had died longbefore my father and Mr Gorman could reach her yesterday. She was tobe buried, they told me, on the next day at Kilgorman; and I could guesswhy there was all this haste. My father was needed to steer the_Cigale_ out of the lough, and his honour would be keen enough to getthe funeral over for that reason. 

With a very heavy heart I left the weary horse in the stable and betookmyself to his honour's harbour. Only one boat lay there, a little onewith a clumsy lug-sail, ill-enough fitted for a treacherous lough likethe Swilly. I knew her of old, however, and was soon bounding over thewaves, with the dim outline of Fanad standing out ahead in themoonlight. 

My heart sank to my boots as I drew nearer and discerned an unusual glowof light from the cabin window, and heard, carried across the water onthe breeze, the sounds of singing and the wail of a fiddle. I dreadedto think of the dear body that lay there heedless of all the noise, whose eyes I should never see and whose voice I should never hear more. I could not help calling to mind again the strange words she had lastspoken--of her longing to see his honour, of her wandering talk about adead lassie and the hearthstone, and of some danger that threatened myfather. It was all a mystery to me. Yet it was a mystery which, boy asI was, I resolved some day to explain. 

The landing-place was full of boats, by which I knew that all the lough-side and many from the opposite shore had come to the wake. Hishonour's boat was there among them. So was one belonging to the_Cigale_. 

I felt tempted, instead of entering the cabin, to wander up on to theheadland and lie there, looking out to the open sea, and so forget mytroubles. But the thought of Tim and my father hindered me, and Iclambered up to the cabin. 

The door stood open, because, as I thought, so many folk were about itthat it would not shut. As I made my way among them I was barelyheeded--indeed there were many who did not even know me. I pushed myway into the cabin, in which were stifling heat and smoke and the fumesof whisky. There, on the bed in the corner, where I had seen her last, but now lit up with a glare of candles, lay my poor mother, with hereyes closed and her hands folded across her breast. At the foot of thebed sat my father, haggard and wretched, holding a glass of whisky inhis hand, which now and again he put to his lips to give him the Dutchcourage he needed. At the bedside stood Tim with a scowl on his face ashe glared, first, on the noisy mourners, and then looked down on thewhite face on the pillow. At the fireplace sat his honour, buried inthought, and not heeding the talk of the jovial priest who sat andstirred his cup beside him. There, too, among the crowd of dirge-singing, laughing, whisky-drinking neighbours, I could see theoutlandish-looking skipper of the _Cigale_. 

It was a weird, woeful spectacle, and made me long more than ever forthe pure, fresh breezes of the lonely headland. But Tim looked round asI entered, and his face, till now so black and sullen, lit up as he sawme, and he beckoned me to him. When last we parted it had been in angerand shame; now, over the body of our dead mother, we met in peace andbrotherly love, and felt stronger each of us by the presence of theother. 

My father, half-stupid with sorrow and whisky, roused himself and calledout my name. 

"Arrah, Barry, my son, are you there? Faith, it's a sore day for themotherless lad. Howl, boys!"

And the company set up a loud wail in my honour, and pressed round me, to pat me on the head or back and say some word of consolation. 

Presently his honour motioned me to him. 

"Well?" said he inquiringly. 

"All right, sir, " said I. 

"That's a man, " said he. "Your mother was dead before I reached heryesterday. "

"She was English, " said the garrulous priest, who stood by, lifting hisvoice above the general clamour. "She never took root among us. Sure, your honour will remember her when she was my lady's-maid at Kilgorman. Ochone, that was a sad business!"

His honour did not attend to his reverence, but continued to look hardat me in that strange way of his. 

"A sad business, " continued the priest, turning round for some moreattentive listener. "It was at Kilgorman that Barry and Tim were born--mercy on them!--the night that Terence Gorman, his honour's brother, wasmurdered on the mountain. I mind the night well. Dear, oh! Everylight in Kilgorman went out that night. The news of the murder killedthe lady and her little babe. I mind the time well, for I was called tochristen the babe. Do you mind Larry McQuilkin of Kerry Keel, O'Brady?It was his wife as was nursing-woman to the child--as decent a woman asever lived. She--"

Here his honour looked up sharply, and his reverence, pleased to have abetter audience, chattered on:--

"Sure, your honour will remember Biddy McQuilkin, for she served atKnockowen when the little mistress there was born--"

"Where's Biddy now?" asked some one. "She was never the same womanafter her man died. "

"Ah, poor Biddy! When your honour parted with her she went to Paris toa situation; but I'm thinking she'd have done better to bide at home. There's many an honest man in these parts would have been glad to meet adecent widow like Biddy. I told her so before she went, but--"

Here the fiddler struck up a jig, which cut short the gossip of thepriest and made a diversion for his hearers. Some of the young fellowsand girls present fell to footing it, and called on Tim and me to joinin. But I was too much out of heart even to look on; and as for Tim, heglared as if he would have turned every one of them out of the cottage. 

In the midst of the noise and the shouts of the dancers and the cheersof the onlookers, I crawled into the corner behind his honour's chair, and dropped asleep, to dream--strange to tell--not of my mother, or ofhis honour's turnips, or of the _Cigale_, but of Biddy McQuilkin ofKerry Keel, whom till now I had never seen or heard of. 

When I awoke the daylight was struggling into the cabin, paling thecandles that burned low beside my mother's bed. Tim stood where I hadleft him, sentinel-wise, glaring with sleepless eyes at his father'sguests. Father, with his head on his arm, at the foot of the bed, slepta tipsy, sorrowful sleep. A few of the rest, worn-out with the night'srevels, slumbered on the floor. Others made love, or quarrelled, ortalked drowsily in couples. 

His honour had escaped from the choking atmosphere of the cabin, and waspacing moodily on the grass outside, casting impatient glances eastward, where lay Kilgorman, and the _Cigale_, and the rising sun. 

Presently, when with a salute I came out to join him, he said, "'Tistime we started. Waken your father, boy. "

It was no easy task, and when he was wakened it was hard to make himunderstand what was afoot. It was only when his honour came in andspoke to him that he seemed to come to his senses. 

The coffin was closed. The crowd stepped out with a shiver into thecold morning air. The priest took out his book and began to read aloud;and slowly, with Tim and me beside her, and my father in a daze walkingin front, we bore her from the cabin down to the boats. There, in ourown boat, we laid the coffin, and hoisting sail, shoved off and made forthe opposite shore. Father and we two and his honour and the priestsailed together; and after us, in a long straggling procession of boats, came the rest. The light wind was not enough to fill our sail, and wewere forced to put out the oars and row. I think the exercise did usgood, and warmed our hearts as well as our bodies. 

As we came under Kilgorman, I could see the mast of the _Cigale_ peepingover the rocks, and wondered if she would be discovered by all thecompany. His honour, to my surprise, steered straight for the creek. 

The _Cigale_ flew the English flag, and very smart and trim she lookedin the morning light, with her white sails bleaching on the deck and thebrass nozzles of her guns gleaming at the port-holes. We loitered alittle to admire her, and, seaman-like, to discuss her points. Then, when our followers began to crowd after us into the creek, we pulled tothe landing and disburdened our boat of her precious freight. 

The burying-ground of Kilgorman was a little enclosure on the edge ofthe cliff surrounding the ruin of the old church, of which only a fewweed-covered piles of stone remained. The graves in it were scarcely tobe distinguished in the long rank grass. The only one of note was thatin which lay Terence Gorman with his wife and child--all dead twelveyears since, within a week of one another. 

With much labour we bore the coffin up the steep path, and in a shallowgrave at the very cliff's edge deposited all that remained of ourEnglish mother. 

As his reverence had said, she never took root in Donegal. She had beena loyal servant to her master, a loyal wife to her husband, and a loyalmother to us her sons. Yet she always pined for her old Yorkshirevillage home; a cloud of trouble, ever since we remembered her, hadhovered on her brow. She had wept much in secret, and had lived, as itwere, in a sort of dread of unseen evil. 

Folks said the shock of the tragedy at Kilgorman, at the time when shetoo lay ill in the house with her twin babies, had unnerved her andtouched her brain. But in that they were wrong; for she had taught Timand me to read and write better than any schoolmaster could have done, and had read books and told stories to us such as few boys of our agebetween Fanad and Derry had the chance to hear. 

Yet, though her brain was sound, it was not to be denied that she hadbeen a woman of sorrow. And the strange words she had spoken when shewas near her end added a mystery to her memory which, boy as I was, Itook to heart, and resolved, if I could, to master. 

That afternoon, when the mourners had gone their several ways, and theshort daylight was already beginning to draw in, Tim and I lay at thecliff's edge, near our mother's grave, watching the _Cigale_ as, withall her canvas flying and my father's dexterous hand at the helm, sheslipped out of the lough and spread her wings for the open sea. Even inthe feeble breeze, which would scarcely have stirred one of ourtrawlers, she seemed to gather speed; and if we felt any anxiety as toher being chased by one of his Majesty's cutters, we had only to watchthe way in which she slid through the water to assure us that she wouldneed a deal of catching. 

I told Tim all I knew about her, and of my errand to Derry. 

"What are the guns for?" said he. "What's there to be fighting about?Man, dear, I'd like a gun myself. "

"There's plenty up at the house there, " said I, pointing toKilgorman--"two hundred. "

"Two hundred! and we're only needing two. Come away, Barry; let's seewhere they're kept. "

"You're not going up to Kilgorman House, sure?" said I in amazement. 

"'Deed I am. I'm going to get myself a gun, and you too. "

"But his honour?"

"Come on!" cried Tim, who seemed greatly excited; "his honour can'tmind. I'll hold ye, Barry, we'll use a gun as well as any of the boys. "

I would fain have escaped going up to so dreadful a place as Kilgormanon such an errand at such an hour. But I durst not let Tim think I wasafraid, so when I saw his mind was made up I went with him, thankful atleast that I had his company. 

CHAPTER FOUR. 

THE KITCHEN AT KILGORMAN. 

The daylight failed suddenly as we turned from our perch on the edge ofthe cliff, and began to grope our way across the old graveyard towardsthe path which led up to Kilgorman House. 

But that Tim was so set on seeing the hidden arms, and seemed soscornful of my ill-concealed terror of the place, I should have turnedtail twenty times before I reached our destination. Yet in ordinary Iwas no coward. I would cross the lough single-handed in any weather; Iwould crack skulls with any boy in the countryside; I would ride any ofhis honour's horses barebacked. But I shook in my shoes at the thoughtof a ghost, and the cold sweat came out on my brow before ever wereached the avenue-gates. 

"What's to hurt you?" said Tim, who knew what was on my mind as well asif I had spoken. "They say it's the lady walks through the house. Man, dear, you're not afraid of a woman, are ye?"

"If she is alive, no, " said I. 

"She'll hurt ye less as she is, " said Tim scornfully. "Anyway, ifyou're afeard, Barry, you needn't come; run home. "

This settled me. I laughed recklessly, and said, --

"What's good enough for you is good enough for me. I'm not afraid of ahundred ghosts. "

And indeed I should have felt easier in the company of a hundred than ofone. 

We halted a moment at my mother's grave as we went by. 

"She lived up at the house once, " said Tim. 

"I know, " said I. 

"Come on, " said Tim; "it's getting very dark. "

So we went on; and on the way I tried to recall what I knew of the storyof Kilgorman, as I had heard it from my mother and the country folk. 

Twelve years ago Terence Gorman, brother of his honour, lived there andowned all the lough-side from Dunaff to Dunree, and many a mile ofmountain inland. He was not a rich man, but tried, so folk said, todeal fairly with his tenants. But as a magistrate he was very stern toall ill-doers, no matter who they were; and since many of his owntenants aided and abetted the smuggling and whisky-making on the coast, Terence Gorman had plenty of enemies close to his own door. Hishousehold, at the time I speak of, consisted only of his young wife andher newly-born babe, and of my father and mother, who served in thehouse, one as boatman and gamekeeper and the other as lady's-maid. Mymother had come over with the young bride from England, and had marriedmy father within a month or two of her coming. And, as it happened, just when my lady gave birth to her infant, and was most in need of hercountrywoman's help, my mother presented my father with twins, and laysadly in need of help herself; so that Biddy McQuilkin, who was fetchedfrom Kerry Keel to wait on both, had a busy time of it. 

What happened on the fatal night that left Kilgorman desolate no one wasable rightly to tell; for, except Biddy and Maurice Gorman, who chancedthat night to have come over to see his brother, the sole occupants ofthe house had been Mrs Gorman and her child and my mother and her twoinfants. 

Terence Gorman at nightfall had taken the gig, with my father, to driveto Carndonagh, where next day he was to inquire into some poachingaffray. That was at seven o'clock. About midnight my father, halfcrazy with fright, brought the gig back, and in it the dead body of hismaster. They had reached the gap in Ballinthere Hill, he said, going bythe lower road, when a shot was suddenly fired from the roadside, grazing my father's arm and lodging in the neck of Mr Gorman. It wasso suddenly done, and the horse bolted so wildly forward at the report, that before my father could even look round the assassin had vanished. 

Mr Gorman was already dead. My father did what he could to stanch thewound, but without avail; and, in a daze, he turned the horse's head anddrove back as fast as he could to Kilgorman. My lady, whose bedroom wasover the hall-door, was the first to hear the sound of the wheels, andshe seemed to have guessed at a flash of the mind what had happened. Weak as she was, she succeeded in dragging herself from the bed andlooking out of the window; and the first sight that met her eyes, by thegleam of the lanterns, was the lifeless body of her husband being liftedfrom the gig. 

The shock was too much for her. She was found soon after in a deadswoon on the floor, and before morning her spirit had joined that of herhusband. And not only hers--the little hope of the house shared thefate of her parents. And when the day of burial came, Terence Gormanand his wife and daughter were all laid in one grave. 

My mother, to whom the shock of the news had been more gently broken, and whose husband had at least escaped with his life, recovered; andwith her twin boys, Tim and me, was able in due time to remove to thecabin on Fanad across the lough which Maurice Gorman (who by this sadtragedy had unexpectedly become the heir to his brother's estate) gavehim for a home. 

That was all I knew, except this: ever since that night Kilgorman Househad remained empty, and people said that its only tenant was thewandering spirit of the distracted mother crying in the night for herhusband and baby. 

These sombre recollections were an ill preparation for our nocturnalvisit to the haunted house. As the rusty avenue-gate swung back with ahoarse creak I was less inclined than ever for the adventure. 

But Tim was not to be hindered, and paced sturdily down the long avenue, summoning me to keep close and hold my tongue, for fear any one might bewithin earshot. 

Kilgorman was a big, irregular mansion of several stories, with somepretensions to architecture, and space enough within its rambling wallsto quarter a ship's company. In front a field of long, rank grassstretched up to the very doorway, having long since overgrown the oldcarriage-drive. In the rear was a swampy bog, out of which the houseseemed to rise like a castle out of a moat. On either side gaunt treescrowded, overhanging the chimneys with their creaking boughs. There wasno sound but the drip of the water from the roof, and the sobbing of thebreeze among the trees, and now and again the hoot of an owl across theswamp which set me shivering. 

Tim boldly marched up to the front door and tried it. It was fast andpadlocked. The windows on the ground-floor were closely shuttered andequally secure. 

We groped our way round to the rear, keeping close to the wall to avoidthe water. But here, too, all was fast; nor was there a sign of any onehaving been near the place for years. My hopes began to rise as Tim'sfell. 

"Why not come by daylight?" said I. 

"Why not get in, now we are here?" said Tim--"unless you're afraid. "

"Who's afraid?" said I, shaking the window-frame till it rattled again. 

"Come to the yard, " said Tim. "There'll be a ladder there, I warrant. "

So we felt our way back to the side on which abutted the stable-yard, and there, sure enough, lay a crazy ladder against the wall. It tookour united strength to lift it. To my horror, Tim suggested putting itto the window that overlooked the hall-door--that fatal window fromwhich the poor lady had taken her last look in life. 

I would fain have moved it elsewhere, but he was obstinate. The top ofthe porch was flat, and we could stand there better than anywhere else. So--Tim first, I next--we clambered cautiously up, and stepped on to theledge. The window was fast like the rest, but it was not shuttered, andTim boldly attacked the pane nearest to the catch with his elbow. Whata hideous noise it made as it shivered inwards and fell with a smash onthe floor!

"Mind now, " said Tim, as he slipped in his hand and pushed back thecatch. "Lift away. "

It was a hard job to lift it, for the wood had warped and grown stiff inits grooves. But presently it started, and gave us room to squeezethrough into the room. 

Even Tim was a little overawed when he found himself standing there inthe room, scarcely changed, except for the mildew and cobwebs, from whatit had been twelve years ago. 

"Whisht!" said he in a whisper. "I wish we had a light. "

But light there was none, and the fitful gleams of the wandering moonserved only to make the darkness darker. 

Once, as it floated clear for an instant, I caught sight of the bed, anda chair, and some withered flowers on the floor, left there, no doubt, since the day of the funeral. 

Next moment all was dark again. 

Tim had used the gleam to find the door, and I heard him call me. 

"Come away. Keep your hand on the wall and feel with your feet for thestairs. It's down below the arms will be. "

I am sure, had he looked, he would have been able to see the whitenessof my face through the darkness; but he was better employed. 

"Here it is, " he said. "Now keep your hand on the rail and go gentlydown. "

"How'll we find our way back to the ladder?" said I. 

"We've to get our guns first, " said he, shortly. 

When we reached the bottom of the stairs, we seemed to be in a passageor hall that went right and left. 

In the plight in which we were it mattered little which turn we took, soTim turned to the right, feeling along by the wall, with me close at hisheels. Cautiously as we trod, our footsteps seemed to echo along thecorridor, till often enough, with my heart in my mouth, I stopped short, certain I heard some one following. Tim too, I thought, was beginningto repent of his venture, and once more said, "We need a light badly. "

Just then the moon peeped in for a moment through a loophole in one ofthe shutters, and showed us a bracket on the wall opposite on whichstood a candle, and beside it, to our joy, a tinder-box. 

"These have not stood here twelve years, " said Tim, as he lifted themfrom their place. "This is a new candle. "

And I remembered then the moving lights I had seen not a week ago. 

The dim light of the candle gave us some little comfort. But for safetywe kept it closely shaded, lest we should betray ourselves. At the endof the passage a door stood partly open, and beyond we found ourselvesin a large kitchen paved with flagstones, and crowded round the wallsand down the middle of the floor with muskets, piled in military fashionin threes and sixes. 

Tim's soul swelled within him at the sight; but I confess I was moreconcerned at the gloomy aspect of the great chamber, and the generalsense of horror that seemed to hang over the whole place. 

"Begorrah, it was worth coming for!" said Tim, as he crouched downexamining the lock of one specially bright weapon. 

Suddenly he started to his feet and extinguished the candle. "Whisht!"he exclaimed, "there's a step. "

We stood like statues, not even daring to breathe. There, sure enough, not on the walk without, but down at the end of the corridor we had justtraversed, was a footstep. Tim drew me down to a corner near thehearth, where, hidden behind a stack of arms, we could remain partlyhid. The step approached, but whoever came was walking, as we had done, in the dark. To my thinking it was a light step, and one familiar withthe path it trod. For a moment it ceased, and I guessed it was at thebracket from which we had taken the candle. Tim's hand closed on my armas the sound began again; and presently we heard, for we could not see, the door move back. 

I never wish again for a moment like that. If I could have shouted Iwould have done so. All we could do was to crouch, rooted to the spot, and wait with throbbing hearts for what was to happen. As the footstepshalted a moment at the open door my quick ears seemed to detect therustle of a dress, and next moment what sounded like a sob, or it mighthave been only a moan of the wind outside, broke the silence. 

Then the steps advanced direct for us. Even the moon had deserted us, and by no straining of our eyes could we detect who the stranger was, even when she (for by the rustling sound we were positive it was awoman) reached the hearth and stood motionless within a foot of us. 

Reach out we could not; stir we durst not; all we could do was to waitand listen. 

It is strange what, when all other senses fail, the ear will do for one. I at least could tell that this strange intruder was a woman, and thatthe dress she wore was of silk. Further, I could tell that when shereached the hearth she knelt before the empty fireplace, not for warmth, but as if seeking something. I could hear what seemed a faintirresolute tapping with the knuckles; then just as, once more, the windfell into a moan without, there came a sudden and fearful noise, whichroused us out of our stupor and filled the place with our shrieks. 

For a moment we could not say what had happened. Then I understoodthat, in the tension of looking for the ghost I could not see, my foothad stretched against the butt of one of the guns and upset a stack ofsome six of them on to the stone floor, thereby putting an end to allthings, the ghost included; for when we recovered from this last fright, and Tim in desperation struck a light, the place was as silent and emptyas it was when we entered it. 

If it was all an illusion, it was a strange one--strange indeed for asingle witness to hear, stranger still for two. Yet illusion it musthave been, begotten of my terrors, and the creak of the stairs, and thesighing of the wind, or the excursions of a vagabond rat. I do notpretend to explain it. Nor, for months after, could I be persuaded thatthe visitor was aught other than the poor distracted lady of Kilgorman. And it was months after that before I could get out of my mind that shehad stood beside us and sought for something in the hearth. 

As for us that night, I can promise you we were not many minutes longerin Kilgorman when the spell was once broken. Even Tim forgot the guns. With all the speed we could we ran to the stairs and so to my lady'schamber, against which stood the friendly ladder, down which we slid, and not waiting even to restore it to its place, sped like hunted haresdown the avenue and along the steep path, till we came to the harbour inthe creek where lay our boat. 

Nor was it till we were safely afloat, with sail hoisted and our bowspointing to Fanad, that we drew breath, and dared look back in the dimdawn at the grim walls and chimneys of Kilgorman as they loomed out uponus from among the trees and rocks. 

CHAPTER FIVE. 

FAREWELL TO FANAD. 

After that, life went uneventfully for a time with Tim and me. Now thatthe cabin was empty father visited us seldom. His voyages took himlonger than before, and we had a shrewd guess that they were not all insearch of fish; for little enough of that he brought home. Young as weboys were we knew better than to ask him questions. Only when he showedus his pocket full of French coin, or carried up by night a keg ofspirits that had never been brewed in a lawful distillery, or pilotedsome foreign-looking craft after dark into one of the quiet creeks alongthe coast, or spent an evening in confidential talk with his honour andother less reputable characters, we guessed he was embarked on abusiness of no little risk, which might land him some fine day, with afile of marines to take care of him, in Derry Jail. 

For all that, I would fain have taken to the sea with him; for every dayI longed more for the open life of a sailor, and chafed at the shacklesof my landsman's fate. What made it worse was that one day, sorelyagainst Tim's will, my father ordered him to get ready for the sea, leaving me, who would have given my eyes for the chance, not onlydisappointed, but brotherless and alone in the world. 

But I must tell you how this great change in our fortunes came to pass. 

It was about a year after my mother's death when, one dark night, asfather and we two sat round the peat fire in the cabin, father tellingus queer stories about the Frenchmen, and icebergs in the Atlantic, andraces with the king's cruisers, that the door opened suddenly, and awoman I had never seen before looked in. 

"Biddy McQuilkin, as I'm a sinner!" said my father, taking the pipe fromhis lips, and looking, I thought, not altogether pleased. But he gotup, as a gentleman should. 

"Arrah, Mike, you may well wonder! I hardly know myself at all, at all. And there's the boys. My! but it's myself's glad to see the prettydarlints. " And she gave us each a hug and a kiss. 

Somehow or other I did not at first take kindly to Biddy McQuilkin. Shewas a stout woman of about mother's age, with little twinkling eyes thatseemed to look not quite straight, and gave her face, otherwise comelyenough, rather a sly expression. And I guessed when she made so much ofus that it was perhaps less on our account than on my father's. 

As for father, I think he felt pretty much as I did, and had not thecunning to conceal it. 

"I thought you were in Paris, Biddy?" said he. 

"So I was, and so, maybe, I'll be again, " said the widow, taking hershawl from her head, and seating herself on a stool at the fire. "'Twasa chance I got to come and see the folk at home while the master andmistress are in Galway seeing what they can save out of the ruin oftheir estate there. Ochone, it's bad times, Mike; indeed it is. Lonelyenough for you and me and the motherless boys. I've a mind to staywhere I am, and settle down in the ould country. "

My father looked genuinely alarmed. 

"Lonely!" said he with a laugh; "like enough it is for you, poor body, but not for me. I promise you I've plenty to think of without beinglonely. "

"Like enough, " said she with a sigh. "It's when you come home now andagain to the empty house you'll be feeling lonely, and wishing you'dsome kindly soul to mind you, Mike Gallagher. "

But my father was not going to allow that he was lonely even then; forhe guessed what it would lead to if he did. 

"I'm well enough as I am, " said he. "But since you're so lonely, Biddy, why not get yourself a husband?"

She looked up with her little blinking eyes, and was going to speak. But my father, fairly scared, went on, --

"It's not for me, who'll never marry more, not if I live to a hundred, thank God, to advise the likes of you, Biddy. But there's many a likelyman would be glad of you, and I'd give him my blessings with you. Youneed company. I don't; leastways none better than my pipe and myglass. "

She turned her face away rather sadly, and sat with her chin on the palmof her hand, blinking into the fire. 

"What about the boys?" she said, not looking up. 

"They're rightly, " said my father shortly. 

She gave a short, grating laugh, and was about to speak again, whenthere fell a footstep outside, and his honour looked in. 

He had come to see father, who was to sail again to-morrow, and wasfairly taken aback to see what company we had. 

Biddy rose and courtesied. 

"The top of the morning to your honour, " said she. "Faith, I'm proud tosee you looking so well. "

"What brought you here, Biddy?" said his honour. 

"'Deed, I had a longing to see my friends and the ould country, that'swhy. "

His honour looked round the cabin. Tim lay asleep curled up in thecorner, and I, wide-awake, sat up and listened to all they said. 

"Go down and make fast his honour's boat, Barry, " said my father. 

I obeyed reluctantly, for I was curious to know what these three had tosay to one another. 

I found his honour's boat already fast, and returned as quickly as Icould to the cabin. 

Biddy's shrill voice, as I came near, rose above the other two. 

"It served your turn, Maurice Gorman, " said she. "You know as well asme one of the two boys is--"

"Whisht!" exclaimed my father; "there he is. "

And as I entered the talk suddenly dropped, and I felt quite abashed tosee them all look at me as they did. 

"Well, well, Biddy, " said his honour presently, "you're a decent woman, and I'll help you. You shall have the forty pounds when you get back toParis. My agent there will see to it, and you shall have a letter tohim. "

"Your honour's a gentleman, " said Biddy with a courtesy. "Maybe you'llmake it a little more, to save a poor widow another journey over to seeyou. Sure, forty pounds wouldn't keep me in France for six months. "

"Well, well, we'll see. Come to Knockowen to-morrow evening, Biddy. "

Biddy departed with a curious look in her eyes, and somewhat consoledfor my father's indifference to her charms. 

"You sail to-morrow?" inquired his honour when she had gone. 

"I do, " said my father. "I'm away to Sheep Haven to join her at cock-crow. "

His honour turned and caught sight of me standing by the fire. Hebeckoned me to him, as he had done once before, turned my face to thelight, and stared at me. 

Then he looked up at father. 

"He's no look of you, Mike. "

"So you may say, " replied my father, with a knowing glance at hishonour. "Tim's liker me, they say. "

His honour looked up with a significant nod. 

"Well, Mike, I've said I'll see after one of the lads, for their deadmother's sake. Which will it be?"

"I'm thinking of taking Tim with me, " said my father. 

"Very good. I'll see to Barry then. "

"Och, father, " I cried, "take me to sea. "

"Howld your tongue, ye puppy, " said my father. "Can't you hear hishonour say he'll see to you? There's many a lad would be glad of thechance. "

"But Tim hates the sea, and I--"

"Be silent wid ye, " roared my father, so angrily that he woke Tim. 

"Tim, " cried I, determined to make one more desperate effort, "you're togo to sea, and I'm to be kept ashore at Knockowen. "

"Sea, is it?" roared Tim. "I'll run away--no sea for me. "

"And I'll run away too, " shouted I. "No Knockowen for me. "

But it was of no avail; protest as we would, we had to do as we werebid. That very hour, with nothing but a little book that was once mymother's, and a few poor clothes, and Con the dog at my heels, Ifollowed his honour down to the boat and left my old home behind me. And before dawn of day Tim was trudging surlily at my father's heelsacross country, on his way to join the _Cigale_ at Sheep Haven. 

CHAPTER SIX. 

MISS KIT. 

His honour, saving his presence! was one of the meanest men I ever met, and I have come across many a close-fisted one in my day. There wasnothing large about Maurice Gorman. His little eyes could never openwide enough to see the whole of a matter, or his little mouth open wideenough to speak it. If he owed a guinea, he would only pay a pound ofit, and trust to your forgetting the rest. If his boat wanted painting, he would give it one coat and save the other. If his horse wantedshoeing, he would give him three new shoes, and use an old one for thefourth. If he ever gave money, it was by way of a bargain; and if heever took up a cause, good or bad, it was grudgingly, and in a way whichrobbed his support of all graciousness. 

It took me some months to discover all this about my new master. 

When first I found myself an inmate of Knockowen, I was so sore withdisappointment and anger that I cared about nothing and nobody. Hishonour, whose professions of interest in me were, as I well knew, allhollow, concerned himself very little about my well-being under hisroof. Why he had taken me at all I could not guess. But I was sure, whatever the reason, it was because it suited his interest, not mine. Iwas handed over to the stables, and there they made a sort of groom ofme; and presently, because I was a handy lad, I was fetched indoors whencompany was present, and set to wait at table in a livery coat. 

The Knockowen household was a small one, consisting only of his honourand Mistress Gorman and the young lady. Mistress Gorman was a sadwoman, who had little enough pleasure in this world, and that not of herhusband's making. The man and his wife were almost strangers, meetingonly at meal-times, and not always then, to exchange a few formal words, and then separate, one to her lonely chamber, the other to his grounds. 

The brightness of the house was all centred in my little lady Kit, whowas as remote from her mother's sadness as she was from her father'smeanness. From the first she made my life at Knockowen tolerable, andvery soon she made it necessary. 

I shall not soon forget my first meeting with her. She had been away ona visit when I arrived, and a week later I was ordered to take the boatover to Rathmullan to fetch her home. 

It was a long, toilsome journey, in face of a contrary wind, againstwhich the boat travelled slowly, and frequently not without the help ofan oar. How I groaned as I beat to and fro up the lough, and how Iwished I was away with Tim and father on the _Cigale_. 

At last, late in the afternoon, I reached Rathmullan, and made fast myboat to the pier. I was to call at the inn and find my young mistressthere. 

And there presently I found her, and a bright vision it was for me thatdull afternoon. She was a little maid, although she was a month or twomy elder. Her dark brown hair fell wildly on her shoulders, and herslight figure, as she stood there gazing at me with her big blue eyes, was full of grace and life. Her lips were pursed into a quaint littlesmile as she looked at me, and before I could explain who I was, shesaid, --

"So you are Barry Gallagher? How frightened you look! You needn't beafraid of me, Barry; I don't bite, though you look as if you thoughtso. "

"'Deed, Miss Kit, " said I, "and if you did, I'm thinking there's worsethings could happen. "

She laughed, and then bade me get together her boxes and carry them downto the boat. 

Strange! Half-an-hour before I had been groaning over my lot. Now, asI staggered and sweated down to the wharf under her ladyship's baggage, I felt quite lighthearted. 

In due time I had all aboard, and called on her to come, which she did, protesting that the water would spoil her new Dublin gown, and that if Isailed home no quicker than I had come, she supposed it would be morningbefore she got her supper. 

This put me on my mettle. I even went ashore for a moment to borrow atarpaulin to lay over her knees, knowing I should have to make a voyageall the way back to-morrow to restore it. Then, when I had her tuckedin, and set the ballast trim, I hoisted the sail, and sat beside her, with the tiller in one hand and the sheet in the other. 

She soon robbed me of the former; for with the wind behind us it wasplain sailing, and she could steer, she said, as well as I. 

"Keep a look-out ahead, Barry, " she said, "and see if I don't get you toKnockowen in half the time you took to come. I'll give you a lesson insailing this evening. "

Here she had me on a tender point. 

"Begging your pardon, Miss Kit, I think not, " said I. 

"Are you a seaman, then?" she asked. 

"I'd give my soul to be one. "

"Your soul! It would be cheap at the price. "

"I don't know what that means, " said I; "but if your ladyship will putthe helm a wee taste more to port, we will catch the breeze better--so, so. Keep her at that!"

We slipped merrily through the water for a while; but it made me uneasyto see the clouds sweeping past us overhead, and feel the sting of adrop or two on my cheek. 

I hitched the sheet a little closer, and came astern again to where shesat. 

"You'll need to let me take her, " said I; "there's a squall behind us. "

"What of that?" said she. "Can I not steer through a squall?"

"No, Miss Kit, " said I; "it takes a man to send her through when theweather gets up. Pull the wrap well about you, and make up your mindfor a wetting. "

She sniffed a little at my tone. 

"I see you are captain of this ship, " said she. 

"Ay, ay; and I've a valuable freight aboard, " said I. 

Whereat she gave it up, and sat with her hair waving in the wind and hersailor's wrap about her shoulders. 

It was a nasty, sudden squall, with a shower of hail and half a cap ofwind in it. Luckily it was straight behind us. Had we been crossingit, it would have caught us badly. As it was, although it gave us agreat toss, and now and then sent a drenching wave over our backs andheads, we were in no real peril. Our only difficulty was that, unlessit eased off before we came within reach of Knockowen, we should have tocross it to get home. But that was far enough away yet. 

Miss Kit, who for all her pretty bragging had had little commerce in themighty deep, sat still for a while, startled by the sudden violence ofthe wind and the onslaught of the waves behind us. But as soon as shediscovered that all the harm they did was to wet her pretty head anddrench her boxes, and when, moreover, she satisfied herself by a chanceglance or two at my face that there was nothing to fear, she began toenjoy the novel experience, and even laughed to see how the boat torethrough the water. 

"Why can't we go on like this, straight out to the open sea?" said she. 

"We could do many a thing less easy, " said I. "It's well Knockowen's nonearer the open sea than it is. "

"Why?"

"If it was as far as Kilgorman, " said I, "we'd meet the tide coming in, and then it would be a hard sea to weather. "

"Kilgorman!" said she, catching at the name; "were you ever there, Barry?"

"Once, " said I guiltily, "when I should not have been. And I sufferedfor it. "

"How? what happened?"

"Indeed, Miss Kit; it's not for the likes of you to hear; and his honourwould be mad if he knew of it. "

"You think I'm a tell-tale, " said she. "I'm your mistress, and I orderyou to tell me. "

"Faith, then, I saw a ghost, mistress!"

She laughed, and pleasant the sound was amid the noise of the storm. 

"You won't make me believe you're such a fool as that, " said she. "It'sonly wicked people who see ghosts. "

"Sure, then, I'm thinking it'll be long till you see one, Miss Kit. Butmind now; we must put her a little away from the wind to make Knockowen. Sit fast, and don't mind a wave or two. "

Now began the dangerous part of our voyage. The moment we put her headin for Knockowen, the waves began to break heavily over the stern, sometimes almost knocking the tiller from my hand, sometimes compellingus to run back into the wind to save being swamped. 

She did not talk any more, but sat very quiet, watching each wave as itcame, and looking up now and again at my face, as if to read our chancesthere. You may be sure I looked steady enough, so as not to give her amoment's more uneasiness than she need. But, for all that, I wasconcerned to see how much water we shipped, and how much less easily theboat travelled in consequence. 

Quit the helm I durst not. Yet how could I ask her to perform so meniala task as to bail the boat? But it soon went past the point of standingon ceremony. 

"Begging your pardon, Miss Kit, " said I, "there's a can below the seatyou're on. If you could use it a bit to get quit of some of the water, it would help us. "

She was down on her knees on the floor of the boat at once, bailinghard. 

"Are we in danger of sinking?" said she, looking up. 

"No, surely; but we're better without water in the boat. "

Whereat she worked till her arm ached, and yet made little enoughimpression on the water, which, with every roll we took, swung ankledeep from side to side, and grew every minute. 

We wanted a mile of Knockowen still, and I was beginning to think therewould be nothing for it but to put out again before the wind, and runthe risk of meeting the heavy sea in the open, when the wind suddenlyshifted a point, and came up behind us once more. It was a lucky shiftfor us, for my little mistress was worn-out with her labour, and a fewmore broadsides might have swamped us. 

As it was, we could now run straight for home, and a few minutes wouldsee us alongside the little pier of Knockowen. 

I helped her back to her seat beside me, and drew the tarpaulin aroundher. 

Her face, which had been anxious enough for a while, cleared as suddenlyas the wind had shifted. 

"I declare, Barry, I was afraid just now. "

"So you might be; and no shame to you for it, " said I. 

"Are you ever afraid?" said she. 

"Ay, I was at Kilgorman that night. "

Again she laughed. 

"I'd as soon be afraid of a real peril as of a silly fancy, " said she. "I mean to go and see Kilgorman one day. "

"Not with my good-will, mistress, " said I. 

"Well, without it then, Mr Barry Gallagher, " she replied with a toss ofthe head which fairly abashed me, and made me remember that after all Iwas but a servant-man in my lady's house. The sea, blessings on it!levels all things, and I had almost forgotten this little lady was mymistress. But I recalled it now, and still more when, ten minuteslater, we ran alongside his honour's jetty, and my fair crew was takenout of my hands by her parents, while I was left to carry up thedripping baggage, and seek my supper as best I could. 

CHAPTER SEVEN. 

A BOOK OF FATE. 

The coming of Mistress Kit, as I said before, made life at Knockowentolerable for me. It mattered little if his honour neglected me, and mylady never looked at me; it mattered little if my fellow-servants ill-used me and put upon me; it mattered little that I had not a friend butCon and the horses to talk to, and not a holiday to call my own. 

Miss Kit made all the difference. Not that she concerned herselfspecially about me, or went out of her way to be kind; but it did onegood to see her about the place, with a smile for every one and afriendly word for man and beast. She even beat down the gloom that, inher absence, had weighed both on her father and mother. The former, indeed, was as indifferent as ever to his wife and the latter to herhusband. But this daughter of theirs was one interest in common forboth--perhaps the one object in the world about which both agreed. 

It fell to my lot, as my young lady was an ardent horsewoman, to attendher on many a long ride, riding discreetly twenty yards in the rear, andnever forgetting my duty so far as to speak when not spoken to. 

One day, some weeks after she had come home, as we were riding on thecliffs near Dunaff, she turned in her saddle and beckoned me toapproach. 

"What road is that?" she said, pointing with her whip to a grass-growntrack which led off the shore. 

"That's the Kilgorman road, " said I, guessing what was to follow. 

"Kilgorman!" repeated she. "I should like to see the house. "

"By your leave, " said I, "his honour forbids any one to go there withouthis permission. "

She tossed her head. 

"I am not any one, " she said. "I shall go where I please. Fall behind, sir; and if you are afraid to follow, stay where you are till I return. "

And without more words, she flicked her horse and cantered over the turfto the road. 

Of course I followed. If I feared the place, it was all the lesspossible to allow her to go there alone. 

It was one comfort to me that it was still broad daylight, so that themystery, whatever it might be, would lose its chief terror. 

She looked round once to see if I was following or not, and then, changing her canter to a trot, turned into the road. 

Now his honour's order to me about Kilgorman had been a very strict one, so much so that I suspected he had a shrewd idea who it was, eighteenmonths ago, had broken the window and knocked over the stand of arms inthe kitchen. 

"Mind, Barry, " said he, "I allow no one on the road that leads up toKilgorman. No one is to go to the house on any excuse. If my ordersare disobeyed, he who trespasses will be sorry for it. "

This had prevented my going near the place since. But now I followedthe little mistress I felt myself in another case, and, any way, Gormanor no Gorman, I was not going to let her go alone. 

The year and a half had made little change about the place. Only Inoticed some wheel-ruts on the road that were not old, and saw, as wecame nearer, that the window over the porch had been mended. 

As we entered the avenue, Miss Kit reined up for me to approach. 

"It's a finer house than Knockowen, " said she. "I never saw it so nearbefore. Why does my father hate it so?"

"'Deed I cannot say, but it's certain he does hate it. "

"Help me down, Barry, and fasten the horses. Where do we go in?"

"Faith, that's the puzzle. When I came before I got in by yon window. "

She laughed as she looked up. 

"You'll have to go the same way again, " said she, "and I'll wait heretill you open the door for me. "

I was in for the venture now! When I looked for the ladder, though, itwas not to be seen. But the thick creeper beside the door served thepurpose, and by dint of clambering I reached the porch-top in safety. 

To my relief, I found that, though the window was mended, it was notbolted, and that I could lift it without breaking a new pane of glass. 

I confess, in spite of the bright daylight, it gave me a turn to findmyself once more in that fatal room, and recall the terrors of the nightwhen I saw it last. As quickly as possible I left it, and descended thestairs to the hall. 

Here a strange perplexity arose. For though I was certain where thedoor should be, there was never a sign of it inside--nothing but a rowof iron-barred windows along the wall, like the corridor of a jail. When I came to look a little closer, I found that the doorway had beenbricked up and plastered, so that by the ground-floor there waspositively no entrance to the house. 

With some misgivings, I wandered on to the great kitchen where Tim and Ihad had such a fright. But it was empty now, and the sun, as it glancedthrough the guarded window, fell brightly on the white hearthstone. Nor, though all was still as death, could my ears catch a single sound, except the stamping of the horses without and the idle tapping of mylady's whip against the pilaster of the door. 

I traversed the corridor to the other end. It opened into a large roomof the same size as the kitchen, evidently a dining-room, for a longtable stood in the middle, and a solitary, moth-eaten stag's head, withantlers broken, hung over the chimney-piece. 

Other doors opened off the corridor, and beyond them, along the back ofthe house and overlooking the boggy lake, ran another corridor, out ofwhich no door opened to the outer world. 

There was no sign of life anywhere, and the few pieces of furniture, rotten and withered with time, were more deathlike than if the house hadbeen stark empty. 

I returned upstairs, and on my way peeped into this room and that out ofcuriosity. But all was the same. Only in the last of all, at the endof the landing, did I see anything. There, on the window-ledge, coveredwith dust, which made it seem part of the woodwork it rested on, lay alittle shabby book. How it caught my eye I hardly know, except that, believing in Providence as I do, I suppose it had lain there all thoseyears, like the Sleeping Beauty in the fairy tale, waiting for me todiscover it. 

I remember, as I lifted it, the under cover stuck fast to the window-ledge and parted company with the rest of the book. 

It was a common little volume of English ballads, with nothing much tocommend it to the book lover. But the sight of it moved me strangely, for not only was it the same work, only another volume, as that I hadbrought away from the old home at Fanad, but on the front page, in mymother's hand, was written in faded ink, "Mary Gallagher, her book. Agift from her dear mistress. " I thrust the precious relic hurriedlyinto my pocket, and casting a last look round the room, which I nowguessed to be that in which I first saw the light, I hurried back to thechamber over the porch. 

My little mistress was very vexed and put about when she found thatthere was no way into the house except the one. Had she been alone, Isuspect she would have been up in a trice, and let dignity go; but mypresence hindered her, and she chose, I think rather harshly, to blameme as the cause of her disappointment. 

"If I were you, " said she, with a frown, "and you I, I warrant I couldhave found some way to let you in. "

"Faith, you wouldn't be sorrier to keep me standing out here than Iwas, " said I humbly. "And indeed there's little enough to pay you forthe trouble when you're once in. It's a dull, dismal house. "

"And how was the ghost?" asked she. 

"Whisht, Miss Kit! It wasn't likely any evil spirit could walk abroadwhile you're about. "

"All very fine, " said she. "I'll see Kilgorman before I'm much older, cost what it may. And I'll be my own groom, what's more. Fall behind, Barry. "

And she set off, looking very mortified and angry. 

I don't know if I was more sorry or glad that things had turned out asthey had. I dreaded for her to come across sorrow in any form. Andthis house of mourning, with its mysterious air of terror, with itsprison-like bars and bolts, and its time-devoured relics of a life thathad gone out all in one day like the wick of a candle, was no place, then, for the bright sunflower of Knockowen. 

His honour, happily, was away in Derry, and no one was there to questionus as to our expedition. So I put up the horses, and trusted to Godthere was an end of Kilgorman. 

But that very night, as I curled up in my narrow bed above the stable, Irecalled my prayer. 

By the light of a candle I took the book I had found from my pocket tolook at it again. My mother's hand on the cover called back all the oldmemories of my childhood--how she sang to Tim and me these very ballads, and taught us to say them after her; how she always seemed as much astranger in Fanad as this little English book seemed on the ledge atKilgorman. There, too, between the leaves, were a few pressed flowers, and--what was this?

A little piece of thin paper fluttered down to my feet, written over inmy mother's hand, but, oh, so feebly and painfully. With beating heartI held it to the light, and made out these words, --

"If you love God, whoever you are, seek below the great hearth; and whatyou find there, see to it, as you hope for grace. God send this intothe hands of one who loves truth and charity. Amen. "

CHAPTER EIGHT. 

A RACE FOR A LIFE. 

My impulse, when I read that sad message from my dead mother, was torise from my bed and saddle the horse and return, cost what it might, toKilgorman. Had I done so I might perchance have saved myself months, even years, of trouble. 

But in a weak moment I let my fatigue and my irresolution and my fear ofthe ghost get the better of me, and decided to put off till to-morrowwhat I should have done to-day. If in after years my worst enemy had toconfess that what I did I did quickly, it was due to the lesson whichthis one act of procrastination taught me. 

Putting everything together, the meaning of the letter seemed prettyclear. My mother, distraught by the sudden death of her master andmistress, and believing herself to be dying too, had desired to ease hermind of a secret (I knew not what) which lay upon it; but being in dreadof it falling into wrong hands, had written it and hidden it in someplace, leaving this slender clue to the chance discoverer of her littlebook of ballads. 

How was it possible to believe otherwise than that Providence had, afterfourteen years, placed that clue in the hands of her son, and therebyimposed upon me a duty from which, whatever it was, I should have beenundutiful, and a coward to boot, had I shrunk?

But, as I tell you, for one night I shrunk from it, resolving that onthe morrow I would obey the summons. But many to-morrows were to comeand go before the promise could be fulfilled. 

His honour returned at dead of night from Derry, and when, as usual, Ipresented myself to wait at breakfast, I was surprised to find himseated there with his wife and daughter. 

Miss Kit was in her wonted high spirits, and alarmed me by plunging atonce into the story of yesterday's adventure. 

"Father, " she said, "why is Kilgorman all barred and bolted against itsfuture mistress? Here was I, yesterday, standing humbly like a beggaron the doorstep of our own house, and obliged to slink away disappointedafter all. "

His honour looked up with an angry flush on his pale face. 

"Kilgorman!" cried he; "what took you there? Don't you know no one isallowed within the grounds?"

"I didn't know till Barry told me. And even then I did not suppose theprohibition applied to me. "

His honour rounded angrily on me. 

"What does this mean, sirrah? How did you dare to take her to Kilgormanafter the charge I laid upon you?"

"Barry take me, indeed!" broke in Miss Kit, with a mighty toss of herhead. "Barry takes me nowhere. It was I took him, whether he would ornot; and a very poor adventure he made of it. You shall take meyourself next time, father. "

"Understand, " said his honour, looking very black, "that no one, noteven my daughter, is permitted to go where I forbid. --As for you, youprying fool, " added he, turning on me, "you shall see whether I am to beobeyed or not. "

I deemed it prudent to say nothing, and retired, pretty determined thatwere his honour Saint Patrick himself he should not keep me out ofKilgorman. But I had missed my chance. 

After that day my position at Knockowen became more irksome than ever, for I was taken from my work in the stables, and a new boy appointed inmy place to tend the horses and accompany Miss Kit when she rode out. And I was kept all day within doors, at everybody's beck and call, fromcock-crow, when I had to light the fires, to midnight, when I had to seehis honour's clothes brushed and laid out in his dressing-room. 

My only liberty, if liberty it might be called, was when the boat waswanted. There my seamanship made me necessary. But since no onethought of sailing towards the lough mouth, but only across or uptowards Rathmullan, there was no chance of my defying his honour'sregulations that way. 

For a week or two even my mother's message was driven from my head byhatred of my rival, the new groom--a villainous-looking rascal, someyears my elder, who yet had not even the merit of being a good horsemanto commend him. 

Rightly or wrongly, I suspected that part of his business was to keep awatch on me. And if anything could determine me to defiance that wasenough. As to Miss Kit, I humbly hoped she liked the change as littleas I; for since her liberty was cut off from one road, and her newlackey had neither looks nor conversation to commend him, her love ofriding gradually flagged, and presently Martin--that was the fellow'sname--had to lead out her riderless horse for exercise. 

The trying thing to me was that Martin would not even do me thecompliment of recognising me as his enemy. It was not for lack ofinvitation, nor was it owing to cowardice. But he was a dogged, short-sighted villain, taken up with his own concerns, and not choosing totrouble his head with those of others. 

But one day I had the luck to startle him out of his reserve. Miss Kitcame down to the yard that morning, and for the first time for more thana week ordered out her horse. 

Martin, who was sitting lazily in the kitchen, rose somewhat sulkily andsaid, --

"It's not the day for a ride. Sure Juno's that saucy with want of workthere'll be no holding her in. Besides, the master--"

But the young lady cut him short. 

"Get up, sir, at once, and do as you are bid. There's more than Juno issaucy with want of work. Be quick now. "

He went off with a scowl, and presently returned, leading out Juno andthe horse on which he was to follow--a great-limbed animal called Paddy. 

What he had said about my little lady's mare was very true. High-spirited she was at best of times, but a week's idleness and eating hadmade her fairly wicked; and as I looked out from the kitchen door towatch them start, I wished it was my business and not Martin's to seeher safe on her way. 

"Hold her head till I mount, " said Miss Kit, after trying for a minuteor two to coax the mare into peace. "She will be easy enough when I amup. "

But though Martin held her head, the animal yet started and shied andcurvetted every time Miss Kit gathered the reins in her hand and liftedher foot to the stirrup. 

So I came out to the yard and gave her my hand to mount by. 

Martin scowled very black at this. 

"Go along away out of that, " said he, when my lady was fairly perched onthe saddle; "the mare's enough to fright her without you. "

"Get you up on Paddy, " said I, "and don't talk to me. --So, steady there, Juno lass. --Hold her gently, Miss Kit. "

Martin, muttering to himself, let go the mare's head and walked over towhere Paddy stood. 

Just then, as luck would have it, out came Con the dog with a joyousyap. 

This sudden noise was too much for the courage of Juno, who, feeling herhead free and only a light weight on her back, gave a wild plunge, andnext moment was away at a gallop out of the yard gate and down theavenue. 

It was no time for halting. The mare must be caught before she couldreach the cliffs, or to a certainty she and her rider were doomed. 

Martin stood with his hand on Paddy's mane, gaping after the runaway. 

With a sudden spring I dashed him aside and vaulted into the saddle, andbefore he could expostulate or guess what had happened I was away infull chase. 

Even in the terror of the moment I could not help laughing to myself atthe thought of poor Martin tumbling across the stable-yard, and findinghimself out of the hunt. After that he would at least deign torecognise Barry Gallagher. 

Though scarcely half-a-minute had elapsed, Juno and her precious burdenwere at the end of the long avenue before I was at the beginning of it. Paddy, amazed at all the excitement, lost some seconds in plungingbefore I could induce him to lay himself out for the pursuit. Then, todo him justice, he needed little coaxing from me. If only his wind wasas long as his stride, this hue and cry might prove a holiday freak. Ifnot--

It was a moment of keen suspense when at last I got clear of the avenueand looked round in search of the fugitive. There she was, her lightfigure thrown back as she strained at the reins, and her face turned tothe upland ahead. Just beyond Knockowen, on the south side, is a longstretch of smooth turf, lying along the cliff-tops for a mile or more, and then suddenly cut short by a deep chasm in the coast, into which thewaters of the lough pour tumultuously even in fair weather, and in foul, rage and boil as if in a caldron. It was a favourite sport of Miss Kitto gallop along this tempting stretch of grass, and Juno knew the wayonly too well. 

As I came into the open, I could see that, in spite of the rider'sefforts, the mare was making straight for the dangerous cliffs, and thatin a few short minutes, unless a miracle happened, or unless I couldreach the spot first, her mad career was likely to end in a way it mademe sick to contemplate. 

I stood in my stirrups and gave a loud halloo, and could see Miss Kitturn her head for a moment and then settle down again to the task ofkeeping her seat and pulling frantically at the reins; while I, aimingdirect for the point of danger, put Paddy in a straight line acrosscountry. 

It was a desperate race, that between the mad, high-mettled mare and thecanny, raw-boned hunter. Happily he had but a boy's light weight tocarry. For a moment or two I lost sight of the runaways. Then as Icleared a rise I saw them, a quarter of a mile away on my right, ourcourses closing on one another at every yard. 

Presently, with a sickening sensation, I caught sight of the solitarybeacon-post which marks the edge of the chasm for the unwary traveller. On clear ground I could have been certain of arriving there in time tostop the mare, but, to my dismay, two tumble-down stone walls, of whichI had forgotten the existence, lay between me and the goal. The nearerof them was fairly high; the other, only twenty yards beyond, was lower, but more dangerous on account of the loose stones between the two. 

I called on Paddy; and, oh, the suspense as he rose at the ugly wall!

Over! Paddy came down with a stagger, and lost a pace as he gatheredhimself again for the next. None but a born Irishman could have pickedhis way as he did among the scattered boulders, or chosen his starting-point for the lower yet longer leap. 

I remember, as we rose at it, I saw Miss Kit quite close, very white, with her hat gone, and her stirrup swinging loose, but very resolutestill, gripping hard at the pommel with one hand as she tried to wave tome with the other. 

Paddy performed his task nobly, and never broke stride as he settleddown for the few remaining yards of that great race. 

We had won, but only just. I had barely time to rein up at a safedistance from the edge, and turn to meet the oncomers, when there theywere. 

Juno, finding her way suddenly obstructed, flung up her head and swervedinland, and before she could gather herself I had leaned across andlifted her panting burden in my arm. 

Juno might go now for me!

As for Paddy, no one knows how much at that critical moment I owed tohis steady help. 

The little lady looked up with a half smile as I set her before me onthe saddle. Then her head fell back on my shoulder in a faint, and Ihad the sweetest and (for all we walked the whole way) the shortest ridehome I ever knew. 

It was with a sore heart that presently I surrendered my burden to hermother's arms, and addressed myself to the task of recompensing my bravePaddy for that day's feat. 

While I rubbed him down, up came Martin, and my spirits rose. 

"Go along away out of that, you blundering spalpeen, " said he, with acuff on the ear. "I'll learn you to meddle, so I will. Go and cleanthe pots, and let the horse alone. "

"Clean the pots yourself, " said I, pretty hot, "and leave the horse toone that can ride him. "

He gaped at me in his stupid way. 

"You'll swallow it in time, " said I, having finished my rubbing down. "Wait out there, like a jewel, till I put the beast away, and then youshall call me spalpeen again. "

I think he was more astonished to be defied than he chose to confess. Anyway he waited for me. 

"Now, " said I, "Mister Martin, I'm waiting for you. "

He made a lunge at me, which I dodged, and before he knew where he was Ihad him on the cheek-bone so suddenly that he slipped and tumbled on theground. 

I was two years older than the day I had fought Tim, poor Tim, on thecliff at Fanad. And to-day I was so uplifted I could have fought anarmy. 

So it was a disappointment when Martin stumbled to his feet and sheeredoff with a threat of vengeance. 

What cared I? Paddy and I had won a race, and my little mistress wassafe. 

Yet Martin, as will appear presently, was a man of his word. 

CHAPTER NINE. 

BEHIND THE INN DOOR AT RATHMULLAN. 

I know not what account of our adventure was given by my little mistressto her parents, but certain it was I found myself risen in the goodgraces of the mother, if not in those of his honour. As to the latter, his graces, good or bad, were hard to calculate. Perhaps he disliked meless than before, rather than liked me better. He said nothing, exceptto reprimand me for assaulting Martin. But I suspected it was nospecial love for Martin which called forth the rebuke. 

And now, for a time, things went uneasily at Knockowen. For a sour man, his honour kept a good deal of company; and I, who waited upon them, with eyes and ears open, could see that my master was playing adifficult and dangerous game. 

One week certain mysterious persons would drop in, and sit in longconfabulation. Another week some fellow-justice of his honour's wouldclaim his hospitality and advice on matters of deep importance. Sometimes a noisy braggart from the country side would demand anaudience; and sometimes an officer in his Majesty's uniform would arriveas an honoured guest. 

On all such occasions the tenor of the talk was the growing unrest ofthe country, and the gathering of that great storm which was soon toturn the whole country into a slaughter-house. 

But the difficult task which Mr Gorman set before himself was to agreewith everybody. 

That he was deep in league with the smugglers on the coast I myselfknew. But to hear him talk to the revenue officers who visited him, onemight think that he spent his days and nights in seeking to put downthis detestable trade. That he had a hand in the landing of foreignarms the reader knows as well as I. But when his brother magistratescame to lay their heads with his, none was more urgent than he to rundown the miscreants. Indeed, he went to more than empty words; foronce, when a rumour spread that a cargo of powder and shot was expectedoff Malin, he himself led the party which for three days lay in wait tointercept it. And no one knew except himself and me that during thosevery three days, while he kicked his loyal heels on Malin Head, the_Cigale_ ran quietly into Lough Swilly, and after resting a few hours, ran as quietly out, with a good deal less ballast in her than she camewith. 

I remember that well, for it was a day when I was secretly plotting totake advantage of my master's absence to steal up to Kilgorman. I hadindeed got not far from the place when, to my disgust, Martin andanother man overtook me on horseback, and ordered me to return at onceto Knockowen at my mistress's bidding. 

I durst not disobey, or betray my purpose, so turned back sulkily, leaving them to canter on; and, to add to my chagrin, as I looked roundpresently from the hill-top, I recognised the flaunting sails of the_Cigale_ standing in for the shore. This sight filled me with a newlonging to see Tim, on whom for two years now I had only once, for anhour, set eyes. Come what would, I must steal away and hail him as soonas ever I could escape for an hour or so. Alas! it was easy to promise. 

The reason of my mistress's summons was for me to take an officer, whohad just ridden over in hot haste from Carndonagh, by boat toRathmullan. He was to rejoin his regiment that night, and being adistant kinsman of my lady had presumed on his relationship to beg apassage across the lough by the shortest way. 

You may guess if I cast loose the boat with a merry heart, and badefarewell to my chance of seeing Tim, let alone of obeying my mother'scall to Kilgorman. 

More than that, this voyage to Rathmullan reminded me of another timewhen my crew was more to my taste than this lumbering trooper; and, asif to complete my trouble, Miss Kit came down gaily to the jetty tospeed the parting guest. 

"It's a pity we could not keep you, Captain Lestrange, till my fatherreturned. You must come again when times are quieter. "

"That'll not be this year or next, " said the young officer; "butwhenever it is, I could hardly find you looking prettier than you arenow, Miss Gorman. "

"Wait till you see, " said she, with a saucy laugh, waving her hand as wepushed off. 

I had it in my heart to upset the boat as the fellow stood and kissedhis hand. 

"Sit down, sir, if you please, and trim the boat, " I said. "By yourleave, sir, till I haul the sail. "

And before he was aware of it I hauled away, and left him kissing hishand to a sheet of white canvas that interposed between him and mylittle mistress. 

That solaced me vastly. 

Once out on the lough I found my passenger, who was little more than alad of twenty, friendly enough, and inclined to while away the voyagewith chat. 

"So the master's at Malin, after the smugglers?" said he. 

"Troth, yes, " said I; "but they're hard boys to catch. "

"I wouldn't thank you for fools that ran into your arms, " said he. 

"'Deed you won't find many such in these parts. "

"What's that building on the far point there?" he asked presently, pointing to Kilgorman. 

"That's Kilgorman House, colonel. "

"Oh! There's some story about that house surely. Somebody was murderedor robbed--what was it?"

"His honour's brother, Terence Gorman, owned it. And he was shot on thehill fifteen years ago; and nobody will go near the place since. "

"Oh, I remember now, " said he. "And there was something about a ladyand child that died too. I heard about it from a cracked body that wasservant to my sister-in-law in Paris. "

"Biddy McQuilkin, " said I. "Sure she's in France still!"

"What, do you know her?"

"She's from these parts, colonel. "

"Well, she may be there still, unless they're all dead. Paris is a hotplace for any one just now. When they kill kings, and cut off headslike turnip-tops, it's no place for strangers. "

"They do say the French will be this length before long, " said I, recalling some of the talk I had heard at his honour's table. 

He eyed me sharply. 

"They do, do they? And how come you to know it?"

"Sure, it's common talk, " said I; "and more by tokens, they've senttheir guns before them. "

"The less you talk about what you don't understand the better, " said theofficer, looking glum; "but I'd give any one a hundred pounds to tell mewhere they put the arms when they land them. "

Here I thought it wise to be silent. I could have earned a hundredpounds easily that afternoon. 

When we reached Rathmullan, a sergeant was down on the pier awaitingCaptain Lestrange. 

"There's wild work going, captain, " I heard him say; "the boys aregetting to a head, and every mother's son of them with a gun in hishand. The troop's been ordered over to Letterkenny, and they're awayalready to watch the fun. Begging your pardon, captain, you must takeyour dinner in the saddle this day. "

The captain took this news, especially the end of it, bravely, andtossed me down a shilling. 

"Good-bye, my lad; and carry my respects to your young mistress. "

And he strode away to the inn where the horses waited, and in a fewminutes was clattering at full speed down the road that leads toLetterkenny. 

Now, thought I, was my chance, with a favouring breeze, to slip down thelough and carry out my purpose of speaking the _Cigale_. 

I would spend my shilling, or part of it, in drinking his Majesty'shealth, by which time it would be dusk enough to enable me to passKnockowen unobserved. 

In the inn, however, I found a great disturbance going on; so much sothat I was crowded behind the door, and forced to stay there, firstbecause I must, and presently because I would. What the trouble was Icould not at first ascertain; but it soon came out that at Sheep Haven agang of smugglers had been trapped, and their skipper swung at his ownyard-arm. That was bad enough; but what was worse, he was a Rathmullanman, and the warrant for his capture had been given a week ago by amagistrate across the lough. 

"I'll warrant you that was Maurice Gorman did it, " said some one. 

At the name I crept further back behind the door, and stood like amouse. 

"The very man, " said another. "He's a dirty thraitor. He can let theboys well enough alone when he loikes. "

"Whisht!" said another; "he's away at Malin this very week after more, and his men with him. I tell you what I'm thinking, Larry, " continuedthe speaker, who had drunk somewhat, "this--"

"Howld yer tongue, " said the first speaker in a whisper. "Do you knowno better than blather at the top of your voice like that?"

"I'm thinking, " continued the other, retreating towards the door, andbeckoning the others around him, "that it'd do Maurice a world of goodto have his winders broken. "

"Ay, and not by pebbles. There's lead enough to spare in the country, praise God. "

"And fire enough to warm his bones if he should be feeling cold, " saidanother. 

"He's to be back to-morrow. I heard that from Martin, who's been leftto take care of the place. "

"Sure, Martin's a right boy for us. He'd never spoil sport for thelikes of Gorman. "

"Not he. I warrant you Martin will be waiting on us, for I'll stepacross and tell him myself. There's no one else to mind but the womenand a fool of a boy. "

"Begorrah, thin, we'll stand by you, Larry. If Pat Corkill swings toplaze Maurice Gorman, Maurice shall roast to plaze us. But whisht!I'll have a boat for the eight of yez at this time to-morrow. "

Then, one by one, they slunk off out of the dark shanty, leaving mebehind the door in a fever of excitement and impatience. 

I durst not go all at once, or be seen in the place; so I waited on tillthe road was clear and the host was away putting up his shutters. 

Then I slipped out, and slouched quietly down to the pier. By good luckI had moored my boat under the side of an old hull that lay there, whereshe could hardly be noticed by any who did not look for her. I wasthankful, aided by the friendly night, to reach it safely, and was soonspeeding up the lough as fast as my sail would carry me, with my bigbudget of news for Knockowen. 

CHAPTER TEN. 

A NIGHT ATTACK. 

I think, had the wind only favoured, I might have been tempted, notwithstanding the risk of it, to venture up in my boat as far asKilgorman for the sake of getting a word with Tim, even if I could nothope to follow my quest up to the house itself. But the breeze droppedslack before I was well clear of Rathmullan, and it took me many hoursof hard pulling, with the chance aid of an occasional puff, to make asfar as Knockowen; and by that time the dawn was beginning to show in theeast, and my chance of passing undetected was gone. 

Besides, the news I bore, and the importance of it to the little, unprotected family at Knockowen, would hardly allow of delay. I slippedinto the house and curled myself up in my corner, but not to sleep. Supposing, as was likely, his honour was not back by night, it would beleft to me to defend the house and the women as best I could. And howwas I to do it?

The first thing I saw when I arose at the summons of the cock was thewhite sails of the _Cigale_ in the distance standing out for the mouthof the lough. So there was an end of Tim for the present. I confess Iwas almost glad; for had he been still within call, I should have beentempted all day long to desert my post to get at him. Now I had nothingto take my mind from the business of the night that was coming. 

By mid-day his honour had not returned. And then it seemed to me I mustdo something, if the danger was to be averted. So I saddled Juno (who, by the way, had quietly trotted home to her stable the morning after herrunaway race with Miss Kit three months ago), and despite Martin'squestions and objections, to which I replied that I was on my lady'sbusiness, rode as hard as the mare would carry me to the barracks atFahan. 

There I boldly reported what I knew, and in my mistress's name bade thesergeant in charge send half-a-dozen armed men to protect the house. The sergeant answered that all his men were away, and that unless theyreturned soon he would have no one to send. 

Then I demanded a brace of guns, and a promise that, failing any others, he would come himself. To this he agreed that he certainly would, andbade me keep my own counsel and not alarm the women. As to Martin, Iwould do well, he said, to make sure of him before he could do any harm. He gave me the guns done up in a truss of straw to avoid detection, andwith this clumsy parcel slung across the mare's back I trotted home. 

As I came near the avenue I noticed a skulking figure step quicklybehind the trees, and guessed this was probably the messenger who hadpromised to come over to warn Martin of what was in store. I doubtedwhether I ought not to attack him there and then. But had I done so Imight have given an alarm, and lost my guns into the bargain. So Ipretended to see nothing, and passed on, whistling to myself, up to thehouse. 

The afternoon was already well advanced before I dismounted in thestable-yard. Martin, as I expected, stood there waiting for me. It wasas much his object to get me disposed of as it was mine to dispose ofhim. My only chance was to seem to know nothing, and keep a sharp look-out on him. 

"You're fond of riding, " said he with a sneer; "it's worth a ride toFahan to fetch a truss of straw when there's plenty in the stable. "

"There's more than straw in this, " said I, lifting it up and carrying itup to the house. "Man, dear, it's full of guns. "

He was not to be taken in by chaff like that, he said. And indeed hefully believed, as I hoped he would, that I was making a fool of him. 

"Since you don't believe me, you might carry it indoors for me, while Iput up the mare, " said I, risking a little more to make sure of him. 

"You may carry your own litter, " said he, "and hold your tongue overit. "

So I carried the truss into the kitchen, and laid it in the cornerthere, and presently returned to the yard. 

He had taken Juno into the stable, and was unsaddling her there. 

"Come here, " he called, "and put up your own beast. "

I guessed pretty well what he meant by that. The stable was a smallone, with only one little grated window high up, and a thick door. Could he lock me in there, I should be quiet enough for the rest of theevening. 

Happily for me Martin was a dull fool as well as a great villain, and hebetrayed his purpose by the glitter of his eye too clearly for any oneto mistake him. I strolled carelessly up towards the door, and as I didso he left the horse and came to meet me. 

"Come in here, " said he, "and let's see how you can rub down a horse. "

"I don't need you to show me, " said I. "Look at her there, with hermane all in a twist and her fetlock grazed by your clumsy pail. "

He turned round to look, and in that moment I had the door shut on himand the key turned on the outside. I knew that the door, which wasthick enough to stand a horse's kick, had nothing to fear from his. Andas to his noise, there would be no one to heed that. He would be safethere till morning, and there were oats enough in the place to keep himand Juno both from starving. 

This business done, I hastened back to the house, and sought Miss Kit, to whom I told everything. 

"Father will not be home to-night, " said she bravely. "We must do thebest we can, Barry. "

"We'll do better than that, plaze God, " said I. 

Then followed an anxious council of war. Besides our two selves, therewere my lady and three maid-servants in the house. Mistress Gorman wastoo nervous and delicate to count upon for help, but the maids were allthree sturdy wenches. So our garrison was five souls, and, counting thetwo guns I had brought, there were eight stands of arms and ammunitionto match in the house. 

The danger to be feared was not so much from the invaders' shooting asfrom the possibility of their carrying out their threat to fire thehouse. Our only hope seemed to lie in frightening them off at the onsetby as formidable a show of resistance as possible. Failing that, weshould have to protect ourselves as best we could. 

Fortunately we could at least prevent their surrounding the house; forby closing and barricading the garden doors on either side, all approachwould be limited to the water-front, unless a very wide circuit was madeoutside the grounds. The drawing-room in which the family usually spenttheir evenings was on the first floor at this side, and here no doubtthe enemy would direct their first attack. 

I therefore resolved to have the candles lit as usual and to keep theblinds up, so as to give no hint that we were forewarned of their visit. 

Below, on the ground-floor, there were two windows on either side of thedoor, with shutters in which we bored some hasty loopholes, at each ofwhich we could station one of our party. And the more effectively tokeep up an appearance of being in force, I placed a loaded gun, pointedtowards the door, on the outer wall at each side, which, by anarrangement of string attached to the triggers, I should be able to letoff from within, and so give the party the discomfort of believingthemselves taken in the rear. 

For the rest, we removed everything inflammable, such as curtains andbedding, as far from the windows as possible, and trusted to a supply ofwell-filled buckets stationed in every room to help us in case of fire. And as an additional defender against a forcible entry from anyunexpected quarter, I brought Con the dog (who seemed to understand allthat was going forward) into the house, and stationed him in the hall. 

By the time these preparations were all complete it was quite dark, andI knew we might expect our visitors at any moment. 

I begged Miss Kit to see her mother disposed of in an apartment as farfrom the point of danger as possible, while I lit the candles in thedrawing-room, and stationed the maids at their posts in the darkenedhall below. 

My little mistress came to the drawing-room to report her task done. 

"If you are not afraid, " said I, "it would be well to move about in thisroom near the window for a little, so as to let ourselves be seen by anyone who approaches. They may be in view of us already. "

She seated herself boldly at the window, while I, in my livery coat, waited on her with a tray. 

"Afraid!" said she, taking up my words; "that would be difficult. I donot forget that afternoon in the boat, or the gap in the cliff. "

If anything could have put me more on my mettle, these words and thesmile that accompanied them sufficed. I could have received an armysingle-handed. 

We waited silently after that. Presently Con below gave a low growl, and Miss Kit's eyes met mine. "Listen, and you'll hear them, " said I. Sure enough, through the open window there came the steady plash ofoars, and the sound of voices across the water. 

It was an uneasy moment, especially when we heard the grating of theboat alongside the jetty. 

"It's time now we went below, " said I. "Leave me here to close thewindow and pull down the blinds. And, Miss Kit, " said I as she rose, "if any one is hurt this night it shall not be you. "

She laughed a brave little laugh, and replied, "You want too much foryourself, Barry. We'll share and share alike. "

Then with her cheeks somewhat pale, and her eyes very bright, she wentbelow, and groped her way to her station in the hall. 

Meanwhile, as ostentatiously as I could, I closed the window and loweredthe blinds; and after moving from one place to another between them andthe candles so as to throw as many shadows as possible, I slipped fromthe room, and ran down the stairs. 

At first nothing could be seen, and we only had Con's growing uneasinessto warn us of the danger approaching. Then through my loophole I sawamong the trees a moving light, evidently a lantern, and presently sevenor eight dark forms moving doubtfully along the little jetty. 

They halted at a little distance to reconnoitre, and perhaps to wonderwhy Martin, on whom they depended to conduct them, did not appear. 

At last we could discern a movement and the sound of footsteps crunchingon the gravel. My orders were that no sign should be given by any of usin the house till they had expended their first shot. And this, as ithappened, turned out to be good advice. 

Presently we could see them ranged in a row, about twenty yards from thehouse. Then one stepped forward cautiously, and rapped at the doorbehind which we stood. 

His only answer was a growl from Con. 

"Boys, " whispered he, "there's not a sound stirring. You'll need to rapat yon window to find if his honour's at home. All together now. "

Whereupon, with a hideous noise, seven guns were let off, and we heardthe bullets crash into the room overhead. 

One of the maids lost her nerve, and shrieked. But if they heard it, they thought nothing of it. 

"Are you a goose?" cried Miss Kit angrily. "Stand steady now, like awoman. "

This reassured the girl, and at the same time I gave the order to fire. 

Our object was not to kill but to frighten. And I knew well enough thewomen would aim wild. But for myself, I confess I had no scruples incovering the man who carried the lantern. 

The effect of our volley was amazing. The villains had barely groundedtheir arms, and were proceeding leisurely, with their eyes stillupturned to the shattered windows, to reload, when we let fly. 

My man fell back with a yell, so did one of the others. The rest yelledin chorus, and stood a moment stupified. Quick as thought I pulled mystrings right and left, and completed their consternation by a flankfire, which, had it been aimed by a marksman, could not have been moredecisive. For one other of the party fell without even a cry, and atthe same moment the rest rushed gasping and stumbling over one anotherdown to the boat. 

It was the shortest battle I ever took part in. Within three minutes ofthe first attack the invaders were flying for their lives across thelough. Three of their number were left on the field senseless, and forall we knew stone dead. 

I confess that victory is sometimes more terrible than defeat, and anyrelief our little garrison felt in the danger averted was lost in thecounting of the cost. My little mistress, especially, was not to beheld till the door was opened, and she could go out to where the victimslay. 

Of the three, one--he who had caught the fire of the gun on the wall--was dead. The other two were senseless, but only slightly wounded. Theone, whom I had brought down, was bleeding from a wound in the forearm;and the other, who was shot with no will of her own by the frightenedservant-maid, was deeply grazed on the cheek. 

We had scarcely carried the two wounded men inside, when a clatter ofhoofs in the avenue warned us that the sergeant, true to his promise, had come to our succour, and not alone. He was not well pleased to findhimself too late for the fighting, and only in time to tend a couple ofbruised men, and carry off the body of another. But for this duty hemight at least have given chase to the fugitives, and gained a littlecredit to himself by their capture. As it was, my lady, who in herhusband's absence, and then only, spoke with his authority, would hearof no such attempt, and ordered the immediate removal of the body toFahan, pending the necessary inquiry, while two of the soldiers were tobe left in the house to protect it and see to the wounded. 

As for these, a little whisky and bandaging soon set them right; andwhen next morning his honour, who had already been met by the news ofthe night's adventure, reached home, he was able to send them off tojail in the custody of the soldiers. 

"There'll be trouble enough to us out of all this, " said he to me thatday, as we followed to the court of inquiry. "I wish to God I had leftyou where I found you. "

That was the least I expected of his honour. His gratitude counted forvery little beside the look Miss Kit had given me the night before, whenthe danger was yet to come. 

CHAPTER ELEVEN. 

FUGITIVE BUT NOT VAGABOND. 

His Honour was quite right; there was trouble enough out of that night'sbusiness. But more for me than for him. 

For him, as he was then situated, playing a fast and loose game betweenthe side of order and the side of treason, the fact that his house hadbeen attacked by friends of the latter party stood him in good steadwith the former. And if any of his brother magistrates had beeninclined to suspect him of half-heartedness before, this outrage mightbe counted on to confirm his zeal for the right cause. 

Under cover of this new security he was able to play even more thanbefore into the hands of the lawless party. His first act was to hushup the affair of the night attack and procure the release of the twoprisoners. His next was to abandon me to the tender mercies of thosewho sought vengeance for the blood of the dead man. 

Once as I crossed the lough in a boat on his honour's business a shotacross the water, which buried itself in the gunwale, made me lookround, and I perceived one of the Rathmullan long-boats, manned by fourof the party I had overheard in the inn weeks before, in full chase. The wind was slack, and escape was almost impossible. Could I only haveused my sail I might have led them a pretty dance out into the open. Asit was, without arms, one to four, and in a little, broad-beamed tub, Icould do nothing but haul down my sail and wait their pleasure. 

"Martin was right this time, " I heard him who had fired the shot say, ashe leisurely reloaded. 

I was in doubt whether I was to be made an end of then and there, orallowed the mockery of a trial. 

"What's your will?" said I, as they came alongside. "You've no need toscratch the paint of his honour's boat, anyway. "

They said nothing, but hauled me bodily into their own craft, and tiedme hand and foot. 

"Save your breath, " said one presently, "till it's wanted. "

And I was flung like a sack on the floor of the boat. 

"What'll we do with yon?" said another, knocking his oar against theKnockowen boat. 

"Capsize her and let her drift, " said the leader of the party. 

So my old craft, which had carried me so often, and not me only but mylittle lady whom it seemed I was never to see more, was upset and turnedadrift, to carry, for all I knew, the message of my fate to any whom itmight concern. 

It was almost dark already, and by the direction my captors rowed Iconcluded I was to be taken, not to Rathmullan, but to a landing-placenearer the lough mouth. They cruised about till it was quite dark, andthen put in for a point called Carrahlagh, some miles south of my oldhome on Fanad. Here my feet were loosed and I was ordered to march withmy company inland. The man with the gun walked by my side. The others, who as we went along were joined by some half-score of confederates atvarious points, who all gave a watchword on joining, talked amongthemselves eagerly. 

Presently we came to a hill--one I knew well--and here the stragglersbegan to muster in larger numbers, till as we came to the hollow basinbelow the top I counted nearly fifty. A few of them I recognised as oldgossips of my father's, but for the most part they were strangers whoseemed to have come from a distance. 

About ten of the number carried guns, the rest were all armed witheither clubs or sticks, while one or two carried rude pikes. 

I noticed that one of my captors, not he who guarded me, was looked upto as the leader of the gathering; and when by common consent a circlewas formed, and sentinels posted, one on either side of the hollow, itwas he who stepped forward and spoke. 

If he was an Irishman, his voice did not betray him. Indeed, he spokemore like an Englishman, with a touch of the foreigner at the tip of histongue. 

The first part of his speech was about matters I little understood--about some Bill before the Irish Parliament at Dublin, and the effortsof the friends of the people to defeat it. Then he went on to talk ofthe great events taking place in Paris:--How the whole people were up inarms for liberty; how the king there had been beheaded, and the streetswere flowing with the blood of the friends of tyranny. From end to endof France the flag of freedom was floating. Was Ireland to be the onlycountry of slaves in Europe? She had a tyrant worse than any of whomFrance had rid herself. The English yoke was the one secret of themisery and troubles of Ireland, and so on. "Boys!" cried he, "thesoldiers of liberty are looking at you. They're calling on you to joinhands. Are you afraid to strike a blow for your homes? Must I go andtell them that sent me that the Irishman is a coward as well as a slave?There's fighting to be done, if there's only men to do it--fightingwith the men who wring the life's blood out of you and your land--fighting with the toadies who are paid by England to grind you down--fighting with the blasphemers who rob your priests and your chapels--fighting with the soldiery who live on you, and tax you, and insult yourwives and daughters. It's no child's play is wanted of you. We want nopoltroons in the cause. We know the people's friends, and we know theirenemies; and it's little enough quarter will be going on the day wereckon accounts. Arrah, boys!" cried he, letting go his foreign air fora moment and dropping into the native, "it's no time for talking at all. There's some of yez armed already; there's a gun for any mother's sonhere that will use it for the people, and swear on the book to leave theworld with one tyrant less upon it. Come up, boys, and take the oath, and shame to them that hang back. "

Instantly there was a forward movement in the audience, as with shoutsand cheers they pressed towards the speaker. 

He held aloft a book and recited the oath in a loud voice. As far as Iremember it bound every one to be a loyal member of the societyorganised in that district to put down the tyrant and free Ireland fromthe English yoke. It bound him, without question, to obey any commandor perform any service demanded of him in the cause. It pledged him toutter secrecy as to the existence and actions of the society. And itdoomed him to the penalty of death for any breach of his vow. 

In fours, each with a hand on the book, the company advanced and tookthe vow, each man's name as he did so being written down and publiclyannounced. Even the two sentinels were called from their posts andreplaced, in order that they might join. 

Finally the leader cried, --

"Is that the whole of ye?"

"No, " cried my custodian, pushing me forward with the butt-end of hisgun. "There's a boy here, plaze your honour, captain, that we took thisday. It's him that gave Larry Dugan his death that night we visitedKnockowen. "

The leader turned me to the moonlight and scrutinised my face sharply. 

"I had forgotten him, " said he; "he should have been left behind. --Thatwas a bad business at Knockowen. "

"'Deed, sir, " said I, plucking up a little heart at the mildness of hismanner, "I did no more than your honour would have done in my shoes; Idefended the women. And as for Larry Dugan, it was a mischance he washit. "

A hurried consultation took place among the chief of the confederates, during which I was left standing in suspense. 

It was against me that I had been present and overheard all thisbusiness of the oath. That, it was evident, weighed more against methan the part I had taken in the defence of the Knockowen women. Werethey to let me go now, the society would be at the mercy of my tongue. It would be simpler, as some advised, to put me out of harm's way thenand there with an ounce of lead in my head. 

Presently the consultation ended. 

"Give him the oath, " said the leader; and the book was held out to me, while a couple of guns were pointed at my head. 

It was an ugly choice, I confess. Little as I understood the nature ofthe work in hand, I had gathered enough to know that the oath sold mebody and soul to men who would stick at nothing to gain their end, andthat in taking it I became not only a traitor to the king, but anaccomplice of murder and outrage. 

Yet what could I do? Young life is sweet, and hope is not to be thrownaway like a burned-out match. Besides, I longed to see Tim once morebefore I died, and--I blushed in the midst of my terror--my littlemistress. 

"Loose my hands, " said I, "and give me the book. "

The muzzles of the guns laid their cold touch on my cheeks as the cordwas unfastened. 

Then in a sort of dream I held the book and began to repeat the words. I know not how far I had gone, or to what I had pledged myself, when asudden shout from one of the sentries brought everything to an end. 

"Whisht--soldiers!" was the shout. 

In a moment the hollow was almost empty. Men scuttled away right andleft like sheep at the alarm of the dog. Those who guarded me let me goand raced for the gap. The clerk left paper and pen and lantern on theground and slunk towards the rocks. I was left standing, book in hand, with but one of the party, and that one the leader, beside me. 

"Kiss the book, " said he in a menacing tone. 

I looked at him. He was not armed, and I was as free a man as he. Quick as thought I seized the list which the clerk had dropped on theground. 

"Your secret is safe, " said I, flourishing it in his face, "so long asthe women at Knockowen are unhurt. But my soul and my hand are my own. "

So saying I flung the book and struck him a blow on the breast whichsent him reeling back against the rock. And off I went among thebracken, thanking God for this peril escaped. 

As I have often proved many a time since, the road to safety lies oftenon the side of danger. Most of the fugitives had made for the hills inan opposite direction to that towards which the sentinel had pointed. Iwent the other way, and hid myself under a broad flat rock near theroadside, guessing that no one would ever look for lurkers there. 

And in so doing I was able to discover what the others would have givensomething to be sure of:--that the sentinel's alarm had been a false onealtogether, and that what he took for soldiers was no more than a partyof revellers returning from a harvest dance in high good spirits alongthe road. I even recognised some of the familiar faces I had known atFanad in the old days, and was sorely tempted to claim acquaintance. 

But prudence forbade. As sure as daylight came no effort would bespared to hunt me down. For had I not the secret of this society in myown hands, down to the very list of its members? A word from me couldsmoke them in their holes like rats in a drain. It was not likely Ishould be allowed to remain at large; and when caught next time, I mightpromise myself no such good luck as had befallen me to-night. 

So I lay low till the road was clear, and then struck north for Fanad, where I knew nooks and crannies enough to keep me hid, if need be, for amonth to come. 

For a week I lodged uncomfortably enough in one of the deep caves thatpierce the coast, which at high tide was unapproachable except byswimming, and at low so piled up with sea-weed at its mouth as to seemonly a mere hole in the cliff. Here, on a broad ledge high beyond reachof the tide, I spent the weary hours, living for the most part on sea-weed, or a chance crab or lobster, cooked at a fire of bracken or hay, collected at peril of my life in the upper world. 

Once as I peeped out I saw a boat cruising along the shore, anddiscovered in one of its crew no other than he who had acted as leaderof the gathering of a week ago. So near did they come that I could evenhear their voices. 

"You're wastin' your time, captain, over a spalpeen like that. Sure, ifhe's alive he's far enough away by this time. "

The leader turned to the speaker and said, --

"If I could but catch him he would not travel far again. Was there nonews of him at Knockowen?"

"'Deed no; only lamenting from the ladies when his empty boat cameashore. "

Then they passed out of hearing, never even looking my way. At last, when I judged they had abandoned the pursuit for a time and werereturned to Rathmullan, I ventured out on to the headland, and one dayeven dared to walk as far as to the old cabin at Fanad. 

It had become a ruin since I saw it last. The winter's winds had liftedthe thatch, and the wall on one side had tumbled in. There was no signof the old life we lived there. The little window from which theguiding light had shone so often was fallen to pieces. Even thefriendly hearth within was filled with earth and rubbish. 

I left it with a groan; it was like a grave. As I wandered forth, turning my way instinctively to the old landing-place, a flash of oarsover the still water (it was a day of dead calm) sent my heart to mymouth. The place was so desolate that even this hint of life startledme. Who could it be that had found me out here?

Quick as thought I dropped on my hands and knees and crawled in amongthe thick bracken at the path-side. There was one place I remembered ofold where Tim and I had often played--a deep sort of cup, grown full ofbracken, and capped by a big rock, which to any one who did not know itseemed to lie flat on the soil. Hither I darted, and only just in time, for the boat's keel grated on the stones as I slipped into cover. 

I peered out anxiously and as best I could without showing myself. Bytheir footsteps and voices there were two persons. And when they camenearer, and I caught a momentary glance as they climbed the path to thecabin, I recognised in one of them the face of one of my late captors. 

Whether they were here after me or on some other mischief I could notguess. But I hid low, as you may fancy. 

Then a sudden thought came to me. The boat was down at the pier. Whyshould I stay where I was, hunted like a partridge, while across thelough I should at least be no worse off, and have seven clear miles ofwater between me and my pursuers? Now was my time if ever. Besides--and once more I think I blushed, even under the bracken--on the otherside of the lough was my little Lady Kit. 

So while the two men walked up the steep path to the cabin I slippedfrom my hiding-place and ran down to the boat. And a minute later I wasclear of the land, with my bows pointing, as they had pointed so oftenbefore, for the grim turrets of Kilgorman. 

CHAPTER TWELVE. 

HOW I JOINED THE GOOD SHIP "ARROW. "

It was a still, sultry afternoon, and as I lay on my oars half-a-milefrom shore I made up my mind I had little help to look for from thebreezes; nor, as the tide was then running, could I afford to drift. Imust row steadily, unless I wished to find myself out in the open, without supplies, before nightfall. However, that was no greathardship, and after my idle week in the cave I was glad enough (had mystomach only been a little less empty!) of a little hard work. 

Whether the two men whose boat I had borrowed discovered their losssooner or later I do not know to this day. But they might have left mea handier craft. I knew her of yore, an old Rathmullan tub, usefulenough to ferry market women across to Inch, but ill-suited for a singlerower on a windless sea. 

For all that I was glad enough to have her, and feel myself once more myown master. 

I would fain have put her head to Knockowen had I dared. But there Iknew I could not look for safety. His honour, no doubt thankful to beallowed to consider me dead, would resent my return, and a way wouldsoon be had of handing me over to the League, who by this time were inhue and cry to have my life. Martin, fool as he was, could be trustedto see to that business, while his honour received the compliments ofhis brother magistrates on his loyalty and sacrifices. 

No; if I landed anywhere it must be at Kilgorman, where I should hardlybe looked for, or if I was, should possibly pass for one of the ghostsof the place. 

It was a dark night, without even a moon, before the distant light ofKnockowen far up the lough showed me I must be coming within reach of mydestination. A little breeze was now coming in from the open, whichwould, did I only dare to take it, carry me to my little lady's side inless than an hour. Alas, it was not for me! and I pulled toilfully on. 

It was not without some groping that at last I found the little creekinto which the _Cigale_ was wont to creep on her secret visits; and hereat last, worn-out with fatigue and hunger, and still more with care, Iran my boat and landed. 

What to do next I hardly knew. Food was what I needed most; after that, sleep; and after that, safety. It seemed as if I was to sup off thelast, which was poor comfort to an empty stomach. I felt my way asquietly as I could up the track which led from the creek, and foundmyself presently on the cliff above, close to my dear mother's grave. Imight as well sleep here as anywhere else, and when they found me deadin the morning they would not have far to carry me. 

Was I turning coward all of a sudden--I, who had looked down the barrelof a gun a week ago and not quailed? The gleam of the white cross onthe Gormans' tomb made me start and shiver. I seemed to hear footstepsin the long grass, and detect phantom lights away where the house was. 

Presently I felt so sure that I heard steps that I could stay where Iwas no longer, and hurried back by the way I had come towards the boat. Then gathering myself angrily together, and equally sure I had heardamiss, I turned back again and marched boldly up towards KilgormanHouse. 

Whether it was desperation or some inward calling, I know not, but mycourage rose the nearer I came. What had I to fear? What worse couldhappen to me in the house of my birth than out here on the pitilesshillside?

Even when I found the avenue-gate locked and barred I did not repent. It was easily climbed. 

Soon I came under the grim walls, and, as if to greet me, a wanderingray of the moon came out and fell on the window above the hall-door. Iteven surprised me how little fear I felt as I now hauled myself up bythe creepers and clambered on to the porch. But here my triumph reachedits limit. 

The window this time was closely barred. His honour had no doubtguessed how, on my former visits, I had found entrance, and had takenthis means to thwart my next. No shaking or pulling was of any avail. Kilgorman, by that way at least, was unassailable. 

Yet I was not to be thwarted all at once. My courage, I confess, was alittle daunted as I clambered down to earth, and proceeded to feel myway carefully round the house for some more likely entry. But entrythere was none. Every window and door was fast. The moonlight, whichswept fitfully over the stagnant swamp, struck only on sullen, forbidding walls, and the breeze, now fast rising, moaned round theeaves to a tune which sent a shudder through my vitals. 

My courage seemed to die away with it. But I determined to make onemore round of the walls before I owned myself beaten. I tried the barof every window. One after another they resisted stiffly, till suddenlyI came on one (that below the room where I had found the strange relicof my mother months ago) which yielded a little in my hand, and seemedto invite me to test it again. The second time it gave more, and aftera while, being eaten through with rust, it broke off. 

The bars on either side of it proved equally yielding, and though somecost more trouble than others, I succeeded in about half-an-hour inbreaking away sufficient to effect an entrance. The window behind thebars was easily forced, and once more I found myself standing insideKilgorman. 

It would be a lie to say that I felt no fears. Indeed every step I tookalong the dark passage helped to chill my blood, and long before I hadreached the door of the great kitchen I wished myself safe outsideagain. 

But shame, and the memory of that pathetic message from my dead mother, held me to my purpose. And, as if to encourage me, the candle stoodwhere I had found it once before on the little ledge, and beside it, tomy astonishment, a small crust of bread. It must have stood there aweek, and was both stale and mouldy. But to my famishing taste it was arepast for a king, and put a little new courage into me. 

It surprised me to find the great apartment once again crowded witharms, stacked all along the sides and laid in heaps on the centre of thefloor. What perplexed me was not so much the arms themselves as themarvel how those that brought them entered and left the house. 

But just now I had no time for such speculations. I was strung up to acertain duty, and that I must perform, and leave speculation for later. My mother's letter, if it meant anything, meant that I was to seek forsomething below or behind the great hearth; and as I peered carefullyround it with my candle I could not help recalling the ghost which Timand I had both heard, years ago, advance to this very spot and therehalt. 

Save the deep recess of the fireplace itself, there was no sign above orbelow of any hiding-place. The flagstones at my feet were solid andfirm, and the bricks on either side showed neither gap nor crack. Ipushed the candle further in and stepped cautiously over the crumbledembers into the hollow of the deep grate itself. 

As I did so a blast from above extinguished the light, and at the samemoment a sound of footsteps fell on my ear, not this time from the outerpassage, but apparently from some passage on the other side of the wallagainst which I crouched. 

I felt round wildly with my hands for the opening by which I hadentered. Instead of that I found what felt like a step in the angle ofthe wall, and above it another. An instinct of self-preservationprompted me to clamber up here, and ensconce myself on a narrow ledge inthe chimney, some six feet above the level of the ground. 

Here I waited with beating heart as the footsteps came nearer. I couldjudge by the sound that they belonged not, like the last I had heard, toa wandering woman, but to two men, advancing cautiously but with setpurpose, and exchanging words in whispers. 

Presently, to my amazement, a ray of light shot through the blackness ofthe recess below me, followed by a creaking noise as a part of the floorof the hearth swung slowly upwards, and revealed to my view a dimly-lit, rocky passage below, slanting downwards, and leading, as I could judgeby the hollow sound that came through it, towards the shore of thelough. 

I could now understand how it came that a house so closely barred andbolted was yet so easily frequented. And, indeed, the whole mystery ofthe smuggled arms became clear enough. 

The two men who now clambered up, carrying a lantern, which illuminatedthe whole of the recess, and (had they only thought of looking up) thevery ledge on which I sat, were sailors; and in one I recognised theforeign-looking fellow who, years ago, had commanded the _Cigale_ andattended my mother's wake. I knew from what I had overheard at hishonour's that, since my father had given himself up to the smuggling ofarms, and received charge of the _Cigale_, this worthy fellow had left, that ship and devoted himself to the more perilous occupation of robbinghis Majesty's subjects indiscriminately on the high seas. His companionwas evidently, by his villainous looks, a desirable partner in the samebusiness. 

"I told you so, " said the latter, turning his lantern into the room. "Guns enough for a regiment. Luck for us. "

"We have room enough for the lot, " growled the Frenchman in pretty plainEnglish. "Monsieur Gorman shall find that two can play at one game. Hesmuggles the guns in in the _Cigale_, I smuggle them out in the _Arrow_. _Parbleu_! we are quits. "

And he laughed a loud laugh at his own jest. Then they proceeded tocount their booty, and while so engaged it seemed to me that I hadbetter escape before my position became more exposed, as it would besure to be as soon as the business of carrying the guns through therecess began. So I took advantage of the darkness, when they wereengaged at the far end of the kitchen, to drop from my perch and slipthrough the trap-door. 

The peril of this movement only dawned on me when I found myself in thenarrow, rocky cave. If this secret passage were guarded at the otherend, as was most likely, by sentinels from the ship, what was to becomeof me? However, there was no retreating now. So I groped my wayforward, down the ever-widening passage, till at last I found myself ina great wide-mouthed cave, full of water, in the middle of which ran asmooth causeway of stones, forming a kind of natural pier and landing-place. The rocky ledges running out beyond on either side formed alittle harbour, in which, in the roughest weather, the water was fairlycalm; and a further tongue of rock beyond that, rising some thirty orforty feet, and seeming to any one approaching it from without to bepart of the cliffs, offered a safe riding-place for a ship of moderatedraught. 

As good luck would have it, the cave was empty. The _Arrow_ must havecome in after I had crossed the lough that evening. And the Frenchskipper and his mate had evidently left their crew to anchor and clearthe vessel in the roads while they reconnoitred the house. 

I could see very little of the ship through the darkness, and, indeed, was too busy making myself scarce to heed her. 

Nor had I much time to spare. For almost before I had got round theledge and clambered partly up the cliff at the top of the cave mouth, Iheard a boat putting off and voices making for the little harbour. 

After that, fatigue and hunger did their work with me, and despite theperil of my position I fell asleep, and never woke till the sun was highand hot in the heavens. 

Then, when I looked out, I saw as pretty a little schooner as I had everset eyes on lying in the roads. I used to think it hard to beat the_Cigale_ for looks, but the _Arrow_ was her superior in every way. Shewas a bigger vessel, and armed at every port. Her lines were both lightand strong, and by the cut of her rigging I could fancy she had thespeed of a greyhound. 

The sight of her set all my old sea-longing aflame. Pirate as she was, it would be good, I thought, to be on her and face the open sea, faraway from my persecutors and enemies--away from Knockowen, andKilgorman, and--

Here I stopped short. Knockowen, next to the _Cigale_ where Tim was, held what counted most to me of this world's good. Kilgorman held thespirit of my dead mother, waiting to be relieved of its trouble. Howcould I desert the one or the other and call myself a brave man?

What I could not decide, fate decided for me. The cave below me wasguarded by the pirate's men, who clattered their muskets on the stonesand kept a keen look-out on all sides for any chance intruder. To quitmy present perch would be certain death. So I lay and watched the boatas she plied backwards and forwards with the guns, and wondered how soonthe task of loading would be done. 

It went on all the day, and every hour I felt myself grow fainter andmore sick with hunger. For nearly two days, except last night's crust, I had tasted nothing; and before that, sea-weed had been the chiefarticle of my diet. The scene presently seemed to swim before me, andat last, what with the heat and famine, I fairly swooned away. 

When I came to, two curious faces were bent over me, and my bed was nolonger the rocky cliff side, but the hard floor of a boat as it dancedover the waves. 

"He looks a likely lad, " said one voice. 

"He's safer with us than ashore, " said another. "I warrant he was putthere to spy on us. "

"Come, lad, " said the first speaker, shaking me not altogether roughly;"we have you safe this time. "

"'Deed, sir, " said I, "as long as you give me some food you may do whatyou like with me. "

And with this I rolled over again and all grew dim. When I opened myeyes next it was dark, and by the motion under me I guessed I was on theship. A lantern swung dimly overhead, and a loud snoring below meshowed me I was not alone in my bunk. What was of more interest justthen, a piece of a loaf and some salt meat stood within reach of where Ilay, and had evidently been put there for my use. You may guess if Ilet them stand long. 

This refreshment, with the sleep I had had, and a few drops of rum inthe tail of a bottle that stuck from my messmate's pocket, made a newman of me. And I sank back to my rest with a sense of comfort I haverarely known the like of since. 

In the morning a rough hand roused me. 

"Come, you have had enough coddling, my hearty. The captain wants you. And, if you'll take my advice, you'll say your prayers before you go ondeck, as he'll likely drop you overboard. "

This failed to frighten me, as it was meant to do; and I gathered myselftogether and climbed the hatchway, feebly enough, I confess, but withgood cheer, and stood on the deck of the _Arrow_. 

The coast of Donegal was clear over our stern, and a smart breeze fromthe east filled our sails and sent us spanking through the water. 

The skipper was sitting aft, pipe in mouth, and waiting for me. Iresolved to take the bold course and not wait to be spoken to. 

"The top of the morning to you, captain, " said I, saluting; "and it'swell you're looking since you were at my mother's wake. "

He stared at me, and then seemed to understand. 

"You--you are Gallagher's boy, then?"

"The same, captain, " said I; "and I'm obliged to you for this day'sfood. "

"Gallagher was no friend of mine, " said he; "but since he is dead, thatshall not be against you, if you sail with me. "

"Dead!" I exclaimed. "Is my father dead?"

"The _Cigale_ went down off Foreland Head a month since. "

"And Tim, my brother, was he drowned?"

"Likely enough, if he was aboard. Only two of the crew escaped. --So yousail under my orders?"

"I have nothing else to do, " said I. 

"You may swing at the yard-arm, if you prefer it, " said he. 

"Thanking you all the same, I'll sail where I am, " said I. 

So, with a very heavy heart, I found myself one of the crew of the_Arrow_. 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN. 

THE GUARD-HOUSE AT BREST. 

Captain Cochin--for so the commander of the _Arrow_ styled himself, though I always had my doubts whether he had any right to one title orthe other--was too well aware of the value of his cargo to risk it inpursuing his ordinary calling of a pirate on the present voyage. So hestood well out to sea, ostentatiously flying the English flag, andgiving friendly salutes to any chance vessels that came in his course. 

"_Parbleu_!" said he, "England owes me one debt for taking the guns awayfrom those who would have used them against her, and selling them to mypoor countrymen, who will use them against one another. But there is nogratitude in England, and if I want payment I must help myself. But notthis voyage--by-and-by. "

As for me, the joy I should have felt at finding myself free and at seawas damped by the news of the loss of the _Cigale_, and with it, of myfather and Tim. The hope of seeing Tim again had kept me in heartduring many a trouble and danger, and now I felt more alone than ever. 

In the whole world, except Con the dog, there was left me but onefriend; and she, if she ever thought of me, did so as of one below her, and already dead. But that I was young and clung hard to life, I wouldas soon have dropped over the side of the _Arrow_ as anywhere else, andso ended the bad business of my little history. 

In a day or two, however, as the wind freshened and the great Atlanticwaves pitched the _Arrow_ like a plaything from one to the other, myspirits began to rise once more, and the cloud on my mind gave waybefore the cheery influence of a seaman's life. 

One of the first things I discovered was that I knew far less aboutseamanship than I gave myself credit for. Sailing the _Arrow_ was avery different business from sailing his honour's lumbering tubs acrossLough Swilly, and I had to own that I had a great deal to learn and verylittle to teach before I could call myself a complete sailor. Still, Iwas handy, and not afraid to lend a hand at anything, from holding thehelm to cooking the mate's dinner. And so, before many days were over, I had taken my place without much ado as one of the crew. 

For a ship of that size, engaged in such a trade, a crew of thirty menwas small enough. Most of them were foreigners, a few, like myself, Irish, and the rest English. The one thing that kept them all fromquarrelling was the hope of plunder; and it was easy to guess that, inthe matter of the stolen guns, although the credit of that achievementbelonged to Captain Cochin alone, the men would not have agreed on thispeaceable journey to France if they had not been promised a share in thefruits of the cargo when sold. 

Captain Cochin found out that it is as hard to avoid the enemy's shipswhen you do not want them as it is to fall in with them when you do. 

We had been out nearly a week, beating about against fitful winds downthe west coast of Ireland, when one evening just before nightfall wesighted land on our weather-bow, and between us and it a sail bearingdown our way. 

As far as we could make out the stranger was a cruiser, in allprobability one of the government vessels at that time stationed offBantry Bay, on the look-out for some of the foreign smugglers andprivateers that made it their hunting-ground. The light fell toosuddenly to enable us to see more, but Captain Cochin flew the Englishcolours at his mast-head, and held on his course until night hid uscompletely. 

Then we put out into the wind and ran for the open sea, and waited forthe morning. 

The short midsummer night left us little waiting; and as soon as daybroke, the first thing we saw, within a league of us, and bearing rightacross our course, was the stranger in full chase. She was a brigantinefully armed, and carrying a great spread of sail, but to our surpriseshe flew not the English but the French colours. 

On seeing this, Captain Cochin quickly hauled down the English flag, andran up that of his own country; but he disregarded the stranger's signalto come to, and held on with every breath of wind he could get into hiscanvas. 

"Set a thief to catch a thief, " they say. And so, the French privateersuspecting the French pirate to have good reason for running away, pressed on all sail, and gave full chase. 

What surprised me most was to see that she was fast coming up on us. Ihad never contemplated such a thing as the _Arrow_ being caught byanything on water; but I had to admit now I was wrong. If the _Arrow_was a hare, the Frenchman was a greyhound. 

However, there was no time to speculate on questions of speed. Thequestion was, should we show fight, or lie-to and explain ourselves?There was no hope of a ship like ours, so slenderly manned, being ableto capture or even disable our heavily-armed pursuer. On the otherhand, to surrender meant losing all our booty, and possibly our shipinto the bargain; for the French, when it suited their purpose, wereready enough to take advantage of a chance of pressing a smart craftlike the _Arrow_ into their own service, especially as she bore anEnglish name, and was known to have preyed pretty impartially on friendand foe alike. 

An eager consultation took place on deck, some urging one course, someanother, while some proposed to throw the cargo overboard, and one ortwo to scuttle the ship. 

However, as good luck would have it, there was a fifth way out of thedifficulty which we had little dreamed of. 

"A sail on the weather-quarter!" suddenly shouted our watch. 

The captain and mate went aloft to view her, and presently reported anEnglish frigate in full sail bearing down in our direction. She seemedto be coming fast, across the wind, and by the look of her was a regularline-of-battle ship, with a double row of guns snarling from her ports. 

"That settles us, " said Captain Cochin, rapidly recovering his spirits. "While the lion and the tiger fight, Mister Fox slips off with thebooty. Way there; keep her as she goes, master; and good-day to you, monsieur. "

He spoke the truth. The Frenchman, as soon as she caught sight of theEnglish frigate, altered her course abruptly, and instead of being thehunter became the hunted. So, for an hour or more, each of us held herown way, the Englishman closing on the Frenchman, and the _Arrow_sailing clear of both. Towards afternoon, the distant sound of a gunbehind us told us the battle had already begun, and before nightfall thetwo were no doubt at it broadside to broadside. 

After that, we gave the land a wide berth, and met nothing we need fear, till at last, with the French flag flying, we sailed merrily into BrestHarbour, safe and sound, without a scratch on our hull or a hole in ourcanvas. 

But here Captain Cochin's good luck suddenly deserted him; for no soonerwas he berthed, with sails stowed and anchors out, than he discoveredthat the French merchantman next him was none other than a vessel whichon his last voyage out he had attempted to board in mid-channel, and, but for a sudden squall, would have captured and plundered. The captainof the merchantman had already reported his wrongs to the authorities;and now, finding himself cheek by jowl with the offender, lost not amoment in taking his revenge. 

So, just as we were about to lower our boat for a jaunt on shore, torefresh us after our voyage, the port-admiral sent off a galley to boardus, and summon us to attend on shore in irons, and show cause why weshould not, each one of us, be hanged by the neck. 

It was a pretty end to our jaunt, and so suddenly done that there wasnothing for it but to surrender and follow where we were bidden. Nodoubt a smart craft like the _Arrow_, with a cargo of guns, was a goodenough excuse for the French admiral, quite apart from ourdelinquencies; and at a time like this, when France lived under a reignof terror, the only excuse needed for any act, just or unjust, was theforce to perform it. 

You may imagine, out of all the hang-dog prisoners who marched that daythrough the streets of Brest, I felt myself the most ill-used; for I hadsailed in the _Arrow_ by no will of my own, and had taken part in no actof violence against any Frenchman, dead or alive. And yet, because Ichanced to be among the crew, I was to be hung by the neck! I knew wellenough, from what I had heard of French justice, that any excuses wouldbe but breath wasted. Indeed, as one of the few English of the party, Ishould probably be spared even the farce of a trial. My only hope wasthat Captain Cochin, who had not been unkind to me so far, would speak aword in my favour. 

We were marched to a dismal, white-washed guard-house on the edge of thetown, and were there locked up by half-dozens till it suited theadmiral's convenience to consider our case, and that was not till nextday. The cell in which I and five of my shipmates were confined was asmall, underground cellar, reeking with damp and foul smells, and litonly by a narrow grating in the ceiling, through which all night therain poured steadily, forming a huge puddle in the middle of the earthfloor. 

There was one narrow bench on which we sat huddled together, to eat ourscanty portion of black bread, and pass the dismal night as best wecould. For my part, that night reconciled me to the prospect of aFrench gallows as much as anything. 

In the morning we were ordered to march once more, and were brought intothe presence of some official who acted as judge to try cases ofmisdemeanour on the high seas. With the exception of Captain Cochin andmyself (I was able to speak the language a little) few of us understoodFrench, and the formality of having the proceedings interpreted to uswas not even allowed. The captain and certain of the crew of themerchantman were present and told their grievance, and with a largesweep of assumption swore that we were each as bad as the other. Thejudge demanded what Captain Cochin had to say, and cut him short beforehe had well opened his mouth. 

I made a feeble effort to put myself right, not so much in any hope ofmoving the tribunal as of reminding Captain Cochin of my claims on hisgood offices. But he was too savage and perturbed to take the hint. 

Then it came out that we were bringing arms into France, and were calledto prove that they were not for the use of the enemies of liberty. Whomwere they consigned to? They were not consigned. --Where did they comefrom? Ireland. --Ireland was in sympathy with France in her war againsttyranny. To rob Ireland was to rob the friend of France. To whom werethe arms about to be sold? To any that would buy them. --None but theenemies of France needed arms. Her sons were all armed already. Therefore the traffic was not only wicked but treasonable, and fortreason there was but one punishment--death. 

At this the audience, who had crowded into the court, cheered loudly. 

Had we any defence? any witnesses? Of course we had none but ourselves. 

Then the sentence of the court was pronounced. Captain Cochin was to beguillotined next morning. The rest of us were to be hanged in chainsthat afternoon, and our bodies left exposed to view for three days as awarning to pirates and traitors. 

So ended our trial; and had it not been so tragic in its ending, I couldhave laughed at the farce of it. 

We were marched back to our prison to spend the few hours that remainedof our lives; and on the way our attention was directed by a friendlyguard to a great gallows with accommodation on it for at least tenpersons side by side. I only hoped, if it came to that, I might be inthe first batch. 

This time I was placed in a different cell from that I had occupied thenight before. It was above ground, and lit by a larger window. Indeed, it was not intended to be used as a cell at all; but, as my jailerexplained in a jocular way, he had so many guests that day that he wasobliged to accommodate some of them in the soldiers' quarters, andbegged monsieur (that was I) would accept his excuses for not havingmade more elaborate preparations for his reception. In half-an-hour orso, he said, there would be more room. If monsieur could kindly waittill then, he should have an apartment suited to his dignity. 

"Monsieur is too good, " said I in the politest French I could muster, thinking it wise to humour him; "but I should take it as a favour to beallowed to give up my apartment. "

"By no means, " said the other, slapping me on the back; "we cannot spareyour company a moment before the time. --Meanwhile, make yourself athome, and receive the assurance of my profound esteem. "

"There is one favour I would beg, if I might be so bold, " said I. "Inthe short time left me I would like to write a letter to a friend. "

"If it is a lady friend, " said the Frenchman with a wink, "it might beallowed--provided she is fair, and I may have the honour of deliveringit. "

"She is fair, " said I, trying hard to keep up the jest; "and I willgladly trust you with what I write to her. "

The fellow was, after all, of the good-natured kind, and I think meantno harm by his jests. At any rate, after some demur, he agreed to loosemy handcuffs for half-an-hour while I wrote; and having fetched me inpen and paper, left me to myself, double locking the door after him. 

This was what I wanted. I waited till his footsteps died down thepassage, and then crept silently to the window. It was above my reach, but by jumping I could just catch the bars and haul myself up. Notbeing intended as a dungeon, the bars were loosely fixed, and I foundthat it would be possible to remove one, and so allow room through whichto squeeze. The casement itself was of the ordinary kind, and openedoutwards with a simple catch-fastener. 

Outside was a courtyard at the back of the guard-house, in which werescattered sundry brooms and buckets, and a pile of rubbish in onecorner. By mounting this I calculated I could get my hands to the topof the outer wall; and once over that, my chance was come. 

I returned to my table and pretended to be occupied with writing, whilereally I was listening with all my ears for any sound that might show onwhich side of the prison the guard was set. 

The Frenchman, I believe, had been quite correct in saying that thecompany at present being entertained in the place was inconvenientlylarge; and if so, the guard set over them was probably dangerouslysmall. And if the executions were to begin at once, it was conceivablethey might be still smaller as the afternoon wore on. So, though I knewthat my precious half-hour was slipping by, I waited patiently for agood part of it, till presently I heard a word of command, and aconfused tramp of footsteps down the passage. 

This was the first batch of my luckless comrades being marched to theirdeath, and I shuddered as I thought how near I stood to their fate. 

But cost what it would I would make a dash for freedom first. I sprangto the window and hauled myself up on to the ledge. The loose bar gaveway after a very little coaxing, and next minute I was out of thecasement and in the little courtyard. One or two windows overlooked it, but either these were too high for any one to look from, or there was noone to look, or if there was, the attraction of the ghastly scene goingon at the other side took them the other way. And to this sameattraction, no doubt, was due the fact that no sentry was patrolling theback of the prison. 

I succeeded by means of the rubbish heap in scaling the wall. Butbefore leaping down on the other side, the thought occurred to me thatif I could hide somewhere near till night, I should have a better chanceof escaping with my pursuers ahead of me than behind me. 

By following the line of the wall I found I could reach a corner of theprison where there was a blank wall, up which a gutter pipe ran to therambling, gabled roof, where, if I could only reach it, I should hardlybe looked for. 

The clamber was a perilous one, especially as the heavy rain renderedthe iron pipe more than usually slippery. But I was sailor enough tounderstand how to grip with hands and feet, and succeeded with no greatdifficulty in reaching the top and hiding myself away in a deep angle ofthe roof--not safe, indeed, but with time at least to breathe andconsider what next. 

Nor was I too soon; for I had not lain there two minutes before I hearda sudden shout and rush of feet in the yard below, and knew that myescape had been discovered and that a price was upon my head. 

CHAPTER FOURTEEN. 

THE WOOD NEAR MORLAIX. 

As I expected, the hiding-place I had chosen was about the safest Icould have had. For my jailers, taking note of the trampled dust-heapin the corner, and finding, moreover, my half-written letter (which Ihad taken the precaution to drop on the far side of the wall before Idoubled on my steps), had no doubt that I had fled either towards theopen country or to the harbour, where possibly I might succeed insmuggling myself on board a ship. 

So, instead of increasing the sentries round the house, they actuallyreduced them in order to reinforce the pursuing party. My policy was toget away while the coast was comparatively unprotected, and trust tonight and my good angel to get clear of the place. So, when theexcitement had subsided a little, and the remaining soldiers on guardwere summoned to assist at the hanging of the second batch of myshipmates, I stole from my hiding-place and, covered by the sea-mistwhich came with the sundown, slid down the pipe and crossed the wall, and set off as briskly as I could in an easterly direction through theoutskirts of the town. 

The streets were moderately crowded with wayfarers and loungers, and asI sauntered along with a big French cigar in my mouth, which had cost metwo of my few remaining sous, no one paid me any particular heed. A fewof the soldiers eyed me suspiciously as a doubtful character, but theywere too accustomed to queer sea-dogs prowling about the place toconsider me worth the trouble of a challenge. 

At last I came to one of the posting taverns of the town where the coachfor Paris was beginning to take up passengers in the presence of theusual curious crowd of idlers. At the present time, when everybody wentin terror of his life, and to be suspected of any design against theliberties of France was the same thing as being condemned for it, it wasno easy task even for the most innocent and well-conducted traveller toget clear of a town like Brest. 

The few merchants and tourists and nervous women who ventured were madeto pass through a row of soldiers, who examined their passportsnarrowly, and sometimes ordered them to stand aside for further inquiry;a command which sent the blood out of the cheeks of him who heard it, and made him think no more of the mail-coach but of the low tumbrel onwhich the victims of the guillotine took their last dreadful drive. 

Even while I stood, there was one woman--a would-be traveller--whofailed to satisfy the officer on guard, and who, on being ordered back, fell on her knees with shrieks and begged for mercy. And not one ofthose who stood gaping beside me but said she would be in luck if shegot it. 

Still more fuss was made about a horseman who demanded leave to rideforward to Paris on an errand of hot haste. He was, to all appearance, a gentleman's lackey, and, from the little I heard of the talk, spokeEnglish easier than French. He was ordered to dismount while theofficer carefully read his passport by the light of a lantern andinspected his letters of introduction and even of credit. Finally, after much suspense, he was allowed to remount, which he did in lessthan a moment, and clattered away through the pouring rain out into thewet night. 

The sight of him made me envious indeed. What would I not give for asound horse under me and a sound passport in my pocket!

At last the diligence was nearly ready. The luggage was stowed in theboot, and two great mail baskets were swung and padlocked on the barunderneath. The four horses were brought out and put to, and driver, guard, and officer retired to the hostel for a parting glass. 

An impulse seized me then to slip out of the crowd and creep forward onthe road under the deep shadow of the wall. Far I could not go, I knew, for at the barrier I should be detected and stopped. But the coach, having been so carefully inspected at its starting-point, would, Ijudged, be allowed through the barrier without further challenge. Itshould not be my fault if I did not go through with it. 

The rain was pouring in sheets, and on such a night no one would belikely to walk abroad for pleasure. Nor between the hostel and thebarrier was it probable that any sentinel would patrol the empty street. At any rate I met nothing, except a market-cart coming in, theoccupants of which were too busy discussing the handling they hadreceived at the barrier to look under the shadow of the wall for avagrant boy. 

At last I found a convenient place, where the road was dark as night, and where a sharp turn made it likely that the horses would be takenslowly past. Here I crouched, dripping from head to foot, for a longten minutes. 

Then my heart beat as I heard the dull rumble of the wheels, and caughtthe lurid glare of the two lamps coming. By the brief glance I got Isaw that the guard (as I had hoped) had crouched in for shelter underthe driver's hood, and that the sole occupant of the back _coupe_ wasburied under his tarpaulin. 

Now was my time. I had carefully selected my point of attack. The twobaskets I spoke of underneath the coach swung on double iron bars, andbetween the two, could I only scramble there, there was just room for meto perch, completely hidden, at any rate while night lasted, from thekeenest of eyes. 

I saw the driver throw himself back and pull in the reins for thecorner, and in the momentary check of the speed I darted out from myhiding-place, and clambered in under the tail of the coach and reachedthe bars between the baskets. But for Providence I should have fallenbetween the wheels. As it was, the start forward of the horses carriedme dragging on my toes twenty yards before I could haul myself up andlie face upwards across the bars, with my head on one basket, my feet onthe other, and my nose almost rubbing the bottom of the coach. 

I have, I own, travelled many a mile more comfortably, but few morehappily. I had but one terror, and that was short-lived. At thebarrier the coach pulled up, and the guard got down to hand in hispapers, and to help himself to a spare wrapper out of the boot. Then, with a cheerful "Hi! hi!" he clambered back to his place, the barrierswung open, and we were out of Brest in the open country outside. 

Little I cared that the mud plastered my back with a coat as thick asthat I had on. Little I cared that the drippings of the coach fell inmy mouth and eyes, and the stench of stale straw almost choked me. Iwas free! The noose on the gallows would remain empty for me. I was sogay I believe I even laughed under the coach. 

Presently, however, I began to realise that this security was not to befor ever. When daylight came, or even sooner, should we reach the endof our first stage before, I should be able no longer to hide myself. It would be wiser to escape half-an-hour too soon than be discoveredhalf-an-hour too late. 

So when, some four hours out, I judged by the toiling of the horses wewere approaching the summit of a hill, I slipped from my perch, andafter running some little way under the boot, cast loose just as thedriver cracked his whip and the horses started at a spanking trot downthe incline. 

It frightened me to find myself standing in the open road and hear thediminishing sounds of the friendly diligence. In front of me I couldsee the grey break of dawn struggling among the heavy clouds. Behind meswept the rain, buffeting me forward. Somewhere or other I must findshelter from the night. 

No sooner had I resolved upon this than the sound of a horse approachingat full gallop sent my teeth chattering in real earnest. I had barelytime to dart to the roadside and hide below the hedge when a horsemanswept by. By his look he was not a soldier or an ordinary traveller, such as the courier I had seen set out from Brest. I cared little whohe was, provided he rode on and let me alone. But till I lost all soundof him I spent an uneasy time in the ditch. 

As soon as the August dawn gave me a view, I found myself on the top ofa great exposed heath, across which the road reached for a mile or so, and then plunged downwards into a thick wood. Towards this wood Ihastened with all the speed I could. Here at least I could lie hid awhile till my next chance turned up. 

That chance was nearer than I thought. About half-way through the woodthe road forked into three, one way on either hand striking deep amongthe trees; that in the middle holding straight on, and by the marks ofwheels being evidently the highroad. I struck to the right some way, and then quitted the road altogether for a glade in the wood whichseemed to lead to denser shelter. 

I had scarcely left the track when I was startled by the sound of avoice and a groan close by. Had I wanted to retreat I could hardly havedone so unseen, but a glance in the direction from which the soundproceeded held me where I was. 

A horse stood quietly nibbling the grass, and on his back, fallenforward, with arms clasping the beast's neck, and head droopinghelplessly downward, was his rider, bleeding from a pistol wound in theneck, and too weak even to disengage his feet from the stirrups. In asingle glance I recognised the horseman who had ridden ahead of thecoach. 

A pistol, evidently dropped from his hand, lay on the grass, and his hatlay between the horse's feet. 

If life was not already extinct, it was fast ebbing away. I lifted himas gently as I could and laid him on the grass. He opened his eyes, andhis lips moved; but for a moment he seemed choked. I tried with somemoss to stanch his still bleeding wound, but the groan he gave as Itouched him caused me to desist. 

Then he tried to speak something in French. 

"What is it?" said I, in English. 

A look of quick relief came into his face. 

"Ride forward with the letters--for God's sake--promise. "

Even in the feeble, broken words I could recognise a countryman. 

"Yes, " said I. 

"Horses--at each post--my purse, " he gasped. 

"I promise I will do as you ask--as I am an Irishman and a Christian. "

That seemed to satisfy him. 

"Your hand, " said he, at last. 

I gave it to him, and as it closed on his he groaned, and died. 

It had all happened so suddenly that for a minute or two I knelt where Iwas, with my hand still in his, like one in a dream. Then I rousedmyself, and considered what was to be done. 

The dead man was a good-looking youth, scarcely twenty, dressed in thehabit of a gentleman's groom, and evidently, by the smartness of hisaccoutrement, in the employ of some one of importance. As to how he hadcome by his death I could only guess. But I suspected the horseman Ihad seen galloping back towards Brest in the morning twilight had hadsomething to do with it. The highwayman had met the traveller, andshots had been exchanged--the one fatal, the other telling enough tosend the bandit flying. The poor wounded fellow had had strength enoughto turn his horse into the wood and cling to his seat. How long he hadstayed thus, slowly bleeding to death, I could not say; but thediligence must have passed that way two hours ago, and he must have beenwell ahead of it when his journey was thus suddenly stopped. 

Then I recalled his dying words, and after tethering the horse setmyself to look for the papers he spoke of. I found them at last--thepassport in his breast pocket, whence he could easily produce it, theothers in his belt. The former described the bearer as John Cassidy, travelling from Paris to Dublin and back on urgent private business, duly signed and countersigned. It gave a description of the bearer, even down to the clothes he wore: I supposed to enable any official whopassed him from one point of his journey to another to identify him. The letters were two in number, one addressed to Citoyen Duport, aDeputy of the National Convention, and marked with the greatest urgency. The other--and this startled me the most--to one George Lestrange atParis, with no other address. Lestrange! The name called to mind oneor two memories. Was not the gay young officer I had once ferriedacross to Rathmullan a Lestrange--a kinsman of my lady; and was notBiddy McQuilkin of Kerry Keel, who once set her cap at my father, in theservice of this same Lestrange's aunt in Paris? Strange if this hoterrand should concern them! All things considered, I decided that thewisest thing would be for me to put on the dead man's clothes, and makemyself in general appearance as near to the description of the passportas possible. In fact, for the rest of this journey I must be JohnCassidy himself, travelling post to Paris, with a horse waiting on himat each stage, a purse full of money, a pistol, and a belt containingtwo urgent letters of introduction. Little dreamed I when I sneaked outof Brest under the belly of that lumbering diligence that I was to go tomy journey's end in this style!

Before I started I buried the dead man, and along with him my cast-offclothes, in a pit in the wood, which I covered over with leaves andmoss. Then I mounted my horse, stuck my loaded pistol in my belt, commended my ways to Heaven, and cantered on in the face of the rosysummer dawn towards Paris. 

CHAPTER FIFTEEN. 

A RAT-TRAP IN THE RUE D'AGNES. 

The worth of my credentials was very soon put to the test; for an hour'sride brought me to Morlaix, where, as I had learned from a hastilyscrawled list of places on the cover of the passport, I was to expect myfirst fresh horse. 

Here there was some grumbling at my lateness and wondering as to thecause of it. For the diligence guard had reported that I (or rather hewhom I represented) had started ahead of the coach from Brest, andshould have passed Morlaix three hours in front. 

Whereupon I explained that I had been attacked by a highwayman, andobliged to hide in the woods till daylight. At which they laughed, andsaid if I chose to travel to Paris alone on horseback, instead ofjourneying as most honest citizens did, I must expect to be shot at. Then I was ordered into the _conciergerie_ while my passport and paperswere examined. 

It was lucky for me I had put on the dead man's clothes, and that thedescription chiefly related to these. As regards personal appearance Iwas described as young, beardless, with blue eyes, brown hair, and"nothing remarkable, " which equally well described me as it did poorJohn Cassidy. 

"Who is your master?" demanded the officer. 

"Citoyen Lestrange, " said I boldly, "an Irishman resident in Paris. "

"Where have you been?"

"To Dublin, to see my master's agent, Mr Patten. "

"Is this Monsieur Patten's letter?"

"That to my master is his. That to the Citoyen Duport is from a Frenchgentleman in Dublin whose name I do not know. "

It hurt me to tell so many lies in one breath. But I must needs havesome story to tell, and prayed Heaven to forgive me for this. 

To my relief the officer seemed satisfied, and I gathered that theCitoyen Duport must be a man of consequence in Paris. 

"Pass, John Cassidy, " said he, handing me back my papers. 

The same ceremony awaited me at each halting-place, and I realisedbefore I was half-way to Paris that it was no easy matter for a strangerto travel in France in those days. What would have become of me but forthe accident in the wood near Morlaix it were hard to say. 

But though I had much to congratulate myself on, I confess that as Idrew near to the capital I had much to perturb me. At every halting-place on the way there were some who shrugged their shoulders when theyheard I was going to Paris. Paris, I heard it whispered, was no safeplace just then even for a Frenchman, still less for a stranger. Thestreets were flowing with the blood of those whose only crime was thatthey were suspected of not being the friends of the people. As to mypassport, it would be of little use to me unless I could give a fitaccount of myself and my masters. As for Citoyen Duport, if I once putmy head in his jaws I need not expect to see it on again. And as for myletter to Citoyen Lestrange, I had better carry it in the sole of mystocking, and let no one know I bore a missive to any Englishman orIrishman in Paris. My wisest course, so one frank official at Alencontold me, was to know no French, to have no errand but my letter toCitoyen Duport; that delivered, he thought I should save trouble if Ishot myself through the head. 

All this was very alarming; and I began to doubt, when at last I caughtsight of the towers and domes of Paris in the distance, whether I shouldnot have been better off after all hiding in the caves under Fanad, ordangling on the gallows beside Brest harbour. 

At the barrier, however, things fell out easier for me than I hadfeared. For, just as I arrived, a common cart on the way out had beenstopped and searched, and in it, hidden in a wood packing-case, had beenunearthed some notorious enemy of the people, over whose detection therewas great rejoicing, and the promise of a famous execution in themorning. For all these reasons the soldiers and officials into whosehands I fell were in high good-humour, and after scanning my passportand the letter to the deputy let me go by. 

I had followed the advice of my late counsellor, and forgotten all thelittle French I knew, and had hidden the letter to Citoyen Lestrange inmy stocking. Whether I was to carry out the rest of his advice remainedto be seen. 

The officer at the barrier retained my passport, saying it was donewith, from which I concluded that now I was in Paris there was littlehope of getting out of it again. So, feeling like a mouse in a trap, Iparted company with my horse, my passport, and even my pistol (of whichI was also relieved), and walked forward into the noisy city, wishing Ionly knew where to go next. 

Presently I came into a long narrow street, where the houses overheadslanted towards one another and nearly shut out the light of heaven. Poles stuck out from the windows, on which hung clothes or signs orlegends; the sight of which, swaying in the wind, mingled with the foulodour and the noise and the jostling crowd, fairly dazed a country boylike me. How, in such a place as this, was I to find what I wanted--namely, a meal and a night's lodging?

At last, in front of me, there swung a flaunting sign--"A l'Irlandois"--at which I cheered up. Here, at any rate, in the midst of this noisomebabel, seemed to come a whiff from the old country, and I felt like acastaway in sight of land. 

But before I had time to reach the place the whole street seemedsuddenly to go mad. First there was a yell and a roll of drums at theend by which I had entered. Then every window seemed alive with people, straining forward with howls and execrations and clenched fists. Fromevery door below poured forth a crowd, who fought with one another for aplace next the roadway, waved their red caps, and shouted in a wild sortof chant some French song. In the rush stalls and barrows wereoverturned, but there was no one to heed; children were trampled on, butno one heard their cries; pockets were picked, but there was no one tomiss their loss; windows were smashed, but there was no one to feel adraught. To my wondering fancy, all Paris had suddenly turned into thisnarrow Rue d'Agnes and there run mad. 

I noticed that the one thing all were agreed upon, was to keep a clearspace in the roadway, and strain their necks impatiently in thedirection of the drums; and soon enough the reason of all thisexcitement became clear. Drawn by a single horse, and escorted by atroop of National Guards, came a low open cart, in which sat twopersons, deadly white, gazing in a dazed vacant way at the scene aroundthem, and sometimes casting a reproachful glance at the slowly ploddinghorse. One of the two was an old man, of fine, aristocratic presence, which the coarse clothes he wore could not disguise. The other was alow ruffian, with swollen face and bleared eyes, in the dress of abutcher. Between the two, except that they were on their way to death, there was nothing in common. Till to-day they had never met, and afterto-day they would never meet again. The crime of one, so I heard, wasthat he was related to an aristocrat; that of the other, that he hadmurdered his own daughter. For both offences the law of France justthen had but one penalty. And of the two, he who was most execrated andhowled at and spat upon was the gentleman. 

In less time than it takes to write it the show had passed. A few ofthe crowd followed to see the end of the business. The rest, for themost part, returned to their callings, and before the drums were out ofhearing the Rue d'Agnes was once more a plain, dirty, ordinary Parisstreet. 

With a heart a good deal weighted by what I had seen, I turned into theCabaret "a l'Irlandois. " If I had expected to find anything there toremind me of my own country, I was sorely disappointed. A few blouse-clad idlers sat at a table, smoking and drinking sugar and water, anddiscussing the news of the day with their host, a surly-looking fellow, who, whatever his inn might be, was himself a common type of Frenchman. "Now?" demanded he as I approached. "Monsieur, " said I in English, "Idesire a bed and some food. "

"Speak French, " said he in English. "I speak no French, " replied I inFrench. Whereupon one of the idlers was summoned as interpreter. Iknew French enough to hear in the words that passed between him and minehost the two expressions "spy" and "money, " and I wished I had nevercome into the place. But it was not easy to get out now withoutconfirming the suspicion, and I deemed it wise to appear indifferent. 

"If monsieur can give me a bed, I will put up with him, " said I to theinterpreter; "if not--"

"Citizen Picquot sees his money before he sells his wares, " said theother. 

I laid a gold piece on the table. "Citizen Picquot is a wise man, " saidI. 

Then followed a cross-examination of me, prompted by the cautiousPicquot and interpreted by his ally. 

"Who was I? Where did I come from? Why did I seek a lodging at hishouse of all others? How long was I going to stay? What was myoccupation in Paris? How much more money had I got?" and so on. 

To all of which I answered my best; and when I produced my letter to theDepute Duport they treated me more ceremoniously. I was shown to aroom, the like of which for filth I had never slept in before, and shallnever, I hope, sleep in again. It was a large chamber, the boards ofwhich were furred with mildew, and the valance on the bed was droppingoff with rottenness. Generations of cats had haunted it and slept onthe coverlet. The dungeon at Brest was fresh and sweet compared to it. Yet Citizen Picquot smilingly demanded two francs a night and the priceof my candle. 

"Monsieur is safe here, " said he, forgetting, as did I, that I knew noFrench. "I had a guest, a week ago, who was found by the Guards andtaken before the Tribunal and guillotined. He would have been safe too, but we had a difference about money, and I denounced him. It was only aweek ago. They will not search my house again for a month to come. Monsieur will be quite safe; but if, alas, he perish (and who is quitesafe in these days?), I will myself protect his effects, and see hisletter to the depute duly forwarded. "

All this was vastly consoling. 

"Apropos, " said I, "cannot I deliver my letter this evening?"

"This evening, " said my host with a shrug; "it is death to approach adepute a la Convention Nationale after the seance is closed. The lastwho did it was Mademoiselle Corday, and she-- In the morning, monsieur, when the Convention sits, you shall deliver your letter; till then, peace and sound repose. " And he bowed himself out. 

I knew not much of the world, but I knew enough to wish myself out ofthis rat-trap. To try to escape just now would, I saw, be futile. Yetto spend the night there meant, if not murder, at least robbery andpestilence. A brave face was the only thing to put upon the business, and I followed Citizen Picquot downstairs and called for food and drink, in which I invited not him only but his gossips to join me. 

I noticed that the door was carefully locked when any one came in orwent out, and that any chance motion of mine in that direction wasquickly intercepted. So the evening wore on, and presently the lightsof the cabaret were extinguished, and my host passed me my candle andagain bade me good-night. 

I went up by no means gaily. Three other men, I observed, were still inthe house, and would in all probability join in the attack upon me. Ihad parted with my pistol. The door was without a lock. The window wasshuttered from the outside. My only arms were a small pocket-knife andmy belt. 

I took the precaution to secrete my letter to the deputy, along withthat to Mr Lestrange, in my boot, and the little money I had left Itied up in the tail of my shirt. Then I considered that the only safeplace for me that night was to sit on the floor with my back against thedoor and my heels against the foot of the bed, which chanced to stand atjust the required length. In this posture, even if I fell asleep, anyattempt to force the door would arouse me; and if the door wasreasonably sound I could reckon, with my back and feet, on keeping itfast against the four, at any rate for a while. 

I had a long time to wait. They evidently meant to give me time to fallasleep, and themselves, perhaps, time to consume some more of the cognacwhich my money had provided. I was indeed almost dozing when my earscaught the sound of an unsteady footstep on the stairs and a whisperingof voices below. Then the footstep stopped outside my door, and a handcautiously turned the handle. 

"The young dog smells a rat, " muttered my landlord, with a hickup whichgave me some hope. 

"True for you, monsieur, " replied I, in as good French as I couldmuster. "I can shoot rats as well as smell them. " And I made the bladeof my knife give a click that sounded for all the world like the cockingof a pistol. 

"Armed!" ejaculated the tipsy scoundrel. "God have mercy! Pardon, monsieur, I came to see if you were comfortable. "

"Monsieur citoyen is too good. I am most comfortable, and beg to bewaked at cock-crow. _Bonsoir_. "

I knew of course that was not the end of him, but while he stumbleddownstairs to take counsel with his comrades I had at least time tobreathe. I peeped out of the door. All was dark, and there was nosound but the ticking of the great Dutch clock in the shop below. 

The clock! I had noticed it that evening--a great unwieldy structurelike a coffin on end, and a dial above. If I could but get down to it, while my assailants were up despatching me, I might yet have a chance ofeluding them. I could hear them discussing together at the foot of thestairs, and presently advance once more to the charge, not this timewith my host as an advance-guard, but all together. I slipped out intothe passage, and hid in a dark corner at the head of the stairs, soclose, indeed, that they all but brushed against me in passing. 

"_Alors, il dort_, " said my host, listening for a moment. "No; hemoves. All together now. "

And with one accord they hurled themselves against the door, which ofcourse offered no resistance, and admitted them toppling one over theother into the room. 

I waited no longer, but slipped down the stairs and into the clock. Ihad to displace the pendulum to do it, but trusted to the muddledcondition of the enemy not to miss the ticking. 

After a while they came down in a towering rage, blaming one another forwhat had happened. They were just in the humour to be quarrelsome, andas I stood motionless in my narrow sentry-box I heard as pretty a battleof words as it has ever been my lot to listen to. 

Their one comfort was that I could not be far away. Either I had goneout by the window, in which case I had undoubtedly broken my neck; or Iwas down in the cellar, in which case I would keep till morning. "Meanwhile, comrades, let us drink long life to the Republic, and downwith the Girondists. "

So to drink they fell, but were hardly settled when a loud summons cameat the outer door, and a shout of, "Open, in the name of the RepublicOne and Indivisible!"

Then did mine host quake in his shoes, and his comrades turned pale. 

"To bed!" whispered my host with trembling voice. "Go up and sleep. "

They were not long in obeying, and that night the bed that was meant forme held three of the soundest sleepers in all France. 

The knocking continued, and mine host, feigning a great yawn, took downhis key and asked who was there. 

"Citoyen Picquot, open to the National Guard. "

The door opened, and half-a-dozen soldiers trooped into the shop. 

"Produce your lodgers, " demanded the soldier in command. 

"I have but three, citizen soldier. Follow me, they shall be at yourservice. "

The officer followed my host upstairs; the others remained below. Presently I heard a loud outcry and scuffling of feet above, and ashouted word of command. The soldiers instantly rushed up the stairs. 

But no speed of theirs could equal that with which I darted from myhiding-place and out at the open door into the street, thanking Heaventhat whatever rats might be caught that night in the Rue d'Agnes I wasnot one of them. 

CHAPTER SIXTEEN. 

"VIVE LA GUILLOTINE!"

It was midnight when I got clear of the Auberge "a l'Irlandois" in theRue d'Agnes, and being a fine, warm autumn night I was by no means theonly occupant of the street. This was fortunate for me, for the guardsposted at either end would have been more inquisitive as to a solitarystranger than one of a company of noisy idlers. 

That night there had been a great performance in one of the theatres inParis, which had lasted far into the night, and was only lately over. Those I overheard speak of it said it had been a great patrioticspectacle, in the course of which National Guards and cadets had marchedacross the stage, unfurling the banner of the Republic, and taking theoath of the people amid scenes of wild enthusiasm and shouting. To addto the enthusiasm of the occasion a party of real volunteers hadappeared, and after receiving the three-coloured cockade from theirsweethearts, had shouldered their guns and marched, singing theMarseillaise, straight from the theatre to the road for La Vendue, wherethey were going to shed their blood for their country. 

The audience had risen, waving hats and handkerchiefs to bid them God-speed, and then poured forth into the streets, shouting the chorus, andcheering till they were hoarse and tired. 

It was into a party of such loyal revellers that I found myself suckedbefore I was half-way out of the Rue d'Agnes; and yelling and shoutingat the top of my voice I passed safely the guards, and reached the broadRue Saint Honore. Here the crowd gradually dispersed, some one way, some another, while a few, with cries of "_A la Place_, " held on incompany. With these I joined myself, and presently came to a great opensquare, where on a high platform stood a grim and terrible lookingobject. "_Vive la guillotine_!" shouted the crowd as they caught sightof it. 

It was strangely lit up with the glare of the torches of some workmenwho were evidently busy upon it. I could see the fatal knife beingraised once or twice and let fall with a crash by way of experiment. And each time the crowd cheered and laughed, and invited one of theirnumber to ascend the platform and put his head in the empty collar. Itmade me sick to watch it, yet for safety's sake I had to shout "_Vive laguillotine_!" with the rest of them, and laugh with the loudest. 

Presently some one near noticed me and caught me by the arm. 

"Here is one that will do, Citoyen Samson. Lift him up, comrades. Letus see if the knife is sharp enough. "

At the touch of his hand I broke into a cold sweat, and clung to hisknees amid shouts of laughter. It was all very well for them, who wereused to such jests. I was new to it, and fell a victim to a panic suchas I have never known since. A herculean strength seemed to possess me. I flung my tormentors right and left, and darted away from them intothe dark recesses of the surrounding gardens. They began by givingchase, but in the end let me go, and returned to their more congenialspectacle, and presently, tired even of that, went home to bed. 

It was an hour before I durst look out from my hiding-place in the midstof a clump of thick bushes. I could still see the guillotine looming inthe moonlight; but the workmen, like the sightseers, had gone. The onlyliving persons were a few women, who had seated themselves on one of thebenches in front of the instrument, evidently determined on a good viewof to-morrow's spectacle. 

I retreated to my hiding-place with a shudder, glad I was too far awayto overhear their talk. 

But if I heard not theirs, I heard, oddly enough, another conversation, so near that had it been intended for my ears it could not have takenplace in a better spot. 

One of the speakers, by his voice, was an Englishman, of more thanmiddle age; the other, a woman, who also spoke English, but with aforeign accent. 

This is what I heard, and you may guess how much of it I comprehended:--

"No news yet?" said the old man anxiously. 

"None. I expected to hear before this. "

"Who is the messenger?"

"A trusty servant of madame's, and an Irishman. "

"So much the worse if he is caught. "

There was a pause. Then the old man inquired, --

"What hope is there for Sillery?"

"Absolutely none. He is as good as guillotined already. "

"Has Edward no influence then?"

"Not now. Duport is no longer a man, but a machine--deadly, mysterious, as yonder guillotine. He would denounce me, his wife, if the Republicdemanded it. "

"God forbid! for you are our last friend. "

Then there was another pause, and the man spoke again. He was evidentlybroken-down by terror, and engrossed in his own safety. 

"My fear _now_ is, " he said, "that, if Sillery is doomed, the messengershould deliver Edward's letter to Duport at all. It will only makematters worse for us. "

"Very true. It is no time for appeals to mercy, " said Madame Duport. "But you said you expected a letter for yourself. "

"Ay; money to escape with. That's all I live for. "

"Money from Edward?"

"No. From my kinswoman, Alice Gorman. --Hush! what was that?" he cried, breaking into a whisper. 

"Only a falling leaf. --How was she to reach you?"

"She was to send it to Edward, and he would forward it by the samemessenger that carried his letter to Duport. "

"Pray Heaven that be lost too, " said the lady. "You are safer in Paris. Besides, money without a passport will avail nothing. "

The old man gave a bitter laugh. 

"They all desert me, " said he querulously. "My nephew never shows sign;Sillery is to perish, you fear to speak to me; even my poor wife chidesme. "

"Surely Madame Lestrange--"

Here I started again, and slight as was the sound it broke up theconference. They separated, one in either direction, the lady glidingtowards the benches in front of the guillotine, the old man (whom I nowknew to be Mr Lestrange) creeping under the shadow of the trees, andpresently lying at full length on a seat apparently fast asleep. 

I curled myself up on a seat not far off, where I could watch himwithout being seen by him. A little before dawn he got up, and aftercarefully looking up and down the road, walked hurriedly back towardsthe Place de la Revolution, where he lost himself among the nowincreasing groups who mustered in the grey light for an early seat atthe spectacle of the hour. 

I dropped into a seat not far off, and in the distance, among a row ofpale, hard, fatigued faces, I could see the deputy's wife, who neverlooked our way, but sat with her eyes fixed on the dreadful machine. 

The old man looked across at her once and again, and then triednervously to join in the general talk, and nod assent to the loyalsentiments of those who crowded near. 

As for me, I was too sick even to keep up appearances, and was thankfulwhen one rough interloper shouldered me from my place and sent mesprawling down among the feet of the onlookers. 

"Shame! Let the young citoyen have a view, " called some one. 

"We are all equal, " said the usurper. "Let him take the place from me, and he may have it. "

I declined the challenge, and slunk off at the back of the crowd, whichwas all too busy and expectant to heed whether I got a view or not. 

What I heard that morning was bad enough. There was the sound of thedrums and the dull rumble of wheels, drowned by yells and shouts fromthe men and screams from the women; then a silence, when no one stirred, but every neck was craned forward to see; then a sudden tap of the drum;then the harsh crash of the knife; then a gasp from a thousand throats, and a great yell of "_Vive la Liberte_. " Three times I heard it all. Then the spectacle was at an end, and the crowd dispersed. 

I kept a keen look-out among the groups that straggled past me for thebent figure of Mr Lestrange, but no sign of him could I see. Afterall, thought I, this errand of mine to Paris was to be all for nothing, when close by I perceived Citoyenne Duport walking aloof from the crowdand bending her steps towards the gardens. I resolved, cost what itmight, not to lose sight of her, and followed her at a distance till thepaths were quite deserted. 

Then I quickened my steps and came up with her. 

"Madame Duport, " said I boldly, "I am the messenger you and MrLestrange expect. "

She looked round at me with blanched face, and held up her hand with agesture of silence. 

"No, no, " said she, "I am not Madame Duport. You mistake, my friend. "

"Madame need not fear me; I am no _mouchard_. I overheard all you andMr Lestrange said last night. Here is the letter I bear to DeputeDuport. Either I must deliver it myself or ask madame to do so. "

She held out her hand for it. 

"We are at your mercy, " said she. "Is this from Lord Edward himself?"

"I know nothing of it, madame, " said I, and recounted the story of how Ihad come by the missive in the wood near Morlaix. 

She sighed, and said, --

"John Cassidy is happier where he lies than we are. Is this your onlymissive?"

"No; I have a letter for Mr Lestrange, and beg you to tell me hisaddress. "

At that moment she looked round, and gave a little scream as first afootstep, then a voice, fell on her ear. 

"Adele, " said a lean, bilious-looking man, with a hard, pinched face andknit lips, approaching from one of the side-walks--"Adele, what do youhere?"

"My husband, " said the lady, so far recovering her composure as to smileand advance to meet him, "you are come in a good moment. This lad bearsa missive for you, and, having discovered me in the crowd, was beggingme to deliver it for him. Here it is. "

Duport took the letter with a frigid glance at me as if to say hebelieved not a word of the story, and mechanically tore it open. 

I watched his eyebrows give a sudden twitch as he read the contents. 

"Who gave you this?" demanded he. 

I repeated my story, which once more he received with an incredulousstare. 

Then turning to his wife he said, half to himself, half to her, --

"From Edward Fitzgerald on behalf of his kinsman, Sillery. But toolate. Come, Adele. The twenty-two are before the Tribunal to-day, andI have a place for you in the gallery. "

And without heeding me further (for which I was devoutly thankful), hedrew his wife's arm in his own and walked off rapidly in the directionof the Tuileries. 

Lest my reader should suppose that my letter to Depute Duport was one ofgreat moment to my own story, let me say at once it was not so, at leastdirectly. It was, as the deputy had said, a letter addressed by LordEdward Fitzgerald, a young Irish nobleman (of whom more hereafter), toDuport, claiming, for the sake of old comradeship, his good offices onbehalf of one of the twenty-two impeached Girondist deputies, Sillery byname, whose adopted daughter, or, rather, the adopted daughter of whosewife, Lord Edward had lately married. Many letters of the kind were nodoubt constantly coming into the hands of powerful members of theConvention just then; and many, like it, came too late. 

Next morning, so I was told, the whole of the accused, and Sillery firstof the batch, were guillotined; the headsman doing his work with suchdexterity that in thirty-one minutes the twenty-two were all disposedof. 

My letter to Mr Lestrange (which I still carried in my stocking) wasanother matter, and concerned me considerably, especially now that Iunderstood it was from my lady at Knockowen. Where to find him I knewnot, and to be found with the letter on me might compromise not merelyme but him and his Irish kinsfolk. 

All things considered, I decided to read the letter and commit it tomemory, and then destroy it, hoping my good intentions might be excuseenough for the breach of faith. And, indeed, when that afternoon Isought a sheltered place in the woods and produced the soiled andstained letter from my stocking, I was glad I had done what I did. 

"Dear Cousin, " wrote my lady at Knockowen, "I hear there is a chance ofgetting a letter to you by the messenger who is to carry back LordEdward's petition on behalf of the poor Marquis Sillery. Your nephew, Captain Lestrange, told us of his trouble when he was here in thesummer, and gave us to understand there was little to be hoped for. IfSillery perish, your position in Paris will be painful indeed. I wouldfain send you the money you ask for, but Maurice keeps me so low infunds that I cannot even pay for my own clothes. I trust, however, yournephew may bring you some relief, as he spoke of going to Paris thisautumn on a secret mission for the English Government. Affairs with usare very bad, and, indeed, Maurice succeeds so ill in winning theconfidence of either party, loyalist or rebel, that he talks of sendingme and Kit over to you till times are better here. Take the threat forwhat it is worth, for I should be as sorry as you would, and I hearParis is a dreadful place to be in now. But you know Maurice. Kit iswell, but all our troubles prey on her spirits. I suspect if yournephew were in Paris, she would be easier reconciled to our threatenedpilgrimage than I. Between ourselves, my dear cousin, as Maurice nowholds all the mortgages for your Irish estates, it would be well to keepin with him, even if the price be a visit from your affectionatecousin, --

"Alice Gorman. "

"P. S. --I forget if you are still in the Quai Necker, but am told LordEdward's messenger will know where to deliver this. "

Such was my lady's letter, and you may guess if it did not set the bloodtingling in my veins, and make Paris seem a very different place fromwhat it was an hour before. 

I carefully read and re-read the letter till I had it by heart, and thenas carefully tore it into a thousand pieces and scattered them to thewind. The one sentence referring to Captain Lestrange's visit as anagent for the British Government was (little as I yet knew of the stateof affairs in Paris) enough to hurry the innocent folk to whom it wasaddressed to the guillotine. What if my little lady and her mother wereby this time in this terrible city and liable to the same fate?

I spent that afternoon wandering along the river on both banks, seekingfor the Quai Necker, but nothing of that name could I find. The nameswere mostly new, and in honour of some person or place illustrious inthe Revolution. At last, in despair, I was giving up the quest, when onan old book-stall I lit upon a plan of Paris dated ten years ago. 

The _bouquineur_, a sour fellow whose trade had evidently suffered inrecent months, would by no means allow me to look at it till I had paidthe five sous he demanded, which I was glad enough to do. And after avery little study I found the Quai Necker marked down near thecathedral; and having carefully noted its bearings, I carried my map toa stall higher up, where I sold it for eight sous, thus making one ofthe most profitable bargains I ever struck. 

Before dark, and while all Paris was ringing with the news that thetwenty-two unfortunate Girondists were to be executed next morning, Ifound myself standing in a shabby passage beside the river, under theshadow of the great cathedral of Notre Dame. 

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. 

THE OVERTURNED DILIGENCE IN THE RUE SAINT ANTOINE. 

For a night or two I haunted the Quai without success. If Mr Lestrangereally lived there, he was either too fearful of venturing out, or somemisadventure had already befallen him. I durst not make any inquiries, for fear of attracting attention to him, which was the last thing anyone desired just then. 

At last one night, after a week's patient waiting, and when thelightness of my own, or rather poor Cassidy's purse reminded me that Ishould soon have to seek, among other things, for my daily bread, I wasskulking off for my lodging, when a woman hurried past me, whom, in themomentary glimpse I got of her, I recognised as Biddy McQuilkin, myfather's old gossip of Kerry Keel. 

"Whisht, Biddy, " said I, laying my hand on her arm, "is it you? Sure, I'm Barry Gallagher, and I'm looking for your master, Mr Lestrange. "

She gave a gasp of terror as she felt my hand on her. 

"Saints help us! what a fright you gave me, Barry, my boy. Sure, it'snot safe to be seen speaking with any one in the streets. I'm toldthere's fifty more to die to-morrow!"

"I'll follow you; you needn't fear me; and I've a message for themaster. "

"Thank God for that, if it's a good one!" said she. "Keep close on theother side, and mark where I go in. I will leave the door open; we areon the top stage. " And she darted across the road. 

I kept her well in view, till she disappeared at the door of a tall, dingy house of some six stories high. The bottom floor was occupied bya seller of wreaths and candles for worshippers at the cathedral--a poorenough business in those days. Above him was a dresser of frills andlace shirt-fronts; and above this were various tenants, some withcallings, some with none, all apparently needy, and glad of the chanceof hiding in so economical a tenement. A list of the occupants was hungon the door, by order of the Convention, and the names of _Lestrange, femme, et domestique_, duly figured upon it. A common staircase led toall the floors, but I encountered no one as I toiled to the top of all, where stood Biddy, with her finger up, motioning to me to be silent. 

It went to my heart to see the two poor rooms into which I was ushered--one occupied as a bedroom and sitting-room by the old couple, the otheras a kitchen and bedroom by Biddy. The walls were plain plaster, behindwhich you could hear rats running. The ceiling was low and black withsmoke, the windows small and broken. The furniture, once good, wasfaded and in rents; and the few luxuries, such as books and pictures, looked so forlorn that the place would have seemed more comfortablewithout them. 

All this I took in as I advanced into the room at Biddy's heels. 

"Plaze, yer honour, this is Barry Gallagher from Knockowen with amessage for yez. "

Mr Lestrange sat dozing beside the fire, with a _Moniteur_ on his knee. His wife, a sweet and placid-looking woman, sat opposite him knitting. 

At the sound of Biddy's announcement both started to their feet. 

"A message!" exclaimed Mr Lestrange; "what message?"

"None too cheery, " said I, anxious not to raise false hopes. 

I then recounted my adventures by the road, and ended up with recitingthe contents (or most of them) of the letter from my lady at Knockowen. I took care to omit the little sentence about Miss Kit's interest inCaptain Lestrange's movements, which did not seem to me worth recalling. 

Mr Lestrange's face fell heavily as he heard me out. 

"No money!" he groaned. "We are still penned here. Yes, to be sure, you did well to destroy the letter. I thought Alice would have sentsomething--"

"Maybe she will bring some help with her, " said his lady. 

The selfish old man laughed bitterly. 

"She brings herself and her girl--a pretty help in times like these. Thank God, there is no room in the house for them!"

"You forget they cannot have heard of our losses. When last they heardof us we had received Gorman's money for the mortgage, and were incomfort. It is since then that all has been confiscated. "

"That mortgage was robbery itself, " said Mr Lestrange. "Gorman knew Iwas hard hit, and not likely to stand out for a bargain, and he tookadvantage of it. The estates are worth treble what he gave. "

"That is past and gone, " said the lady. "We must be patient. PerhapsFelix will help us. "

"My nephew is a selfish man, " said the old gentleman; "besides, he hasbut his pay. And now he has no expectations from us we need not expecthim to come near us. "

All this talk went on while Biddy and I stood near, hearing it all. Atlast the sturdy Biddy could stand it no longer. 

"Hoot! take shame to yourself, Mr Lestrange. Thank God you're not oneof the fifty that ride in the tumbrel the morrow; thank God you've got asweet wife that will bear with your grumblings; and thank God you've gota body like me that's not afraid to tell you what I think of yez. Holdyer tongue now, and get to your beds. "

Biddy, as I learned later on, had stuck of her own accord to her masterand mistress through all their troubles, and presumed on her position totake her chicken-hearted lord severely to task when, like to-night, thegrumbling fit was upon him. 

As for me, I was dismissed with little thanks from anybody; but Biddybade me call now and again to have a crack with her. 

"I had a liking for your father, poor soul!" said she, wiping a cornerof her eye, "and thought he might have done worse than make me a motherto you and Tim, rest his soul! But it's as well as it is, maybe. PoorTim! I always liked him better than you. He was his mother's son. Well, well, he's dead too. Barry, my boy, we can't all just have whatwe've not got; we all have to stand out of our own. Good-night to yez, and come and see an old body sometimes that held you in her arms whenyou were a fine kicking boy. "

I confess Biddy puzzled me a little by her talk. Whenever she spoke ofold days she had the air of keeping a secret to herself, which roused mycuriosity, and made me recall my poor mother's dying words to myself. That set me thinking of Kilgorman and the strange mystery that hungthere; and that set me on to think of Knockowen, and his honour and mylady and Miss Kit; and so by the time I had reached my shabby kennel inthe Rue Saint Antoine, I was fairly miserable and ready to feel verylonely and friendless. 

However, I was not left much time to mope, for in the night the streetwas up with a rumour that a "federalist" deputy, who was known to be inthe pay of Pitt, the English minister, had been traced to some hiding-place near, and that a strict house-to-house search was being made bythe soldiers for him. 

"_A bas les mouchards! a bas Pitt! a bas les etrangers! Vive laguillotine_!" shrieked the mob. 

Whereat I deemed it prudent to join them and shriek too, rather thanawait the visit of the soldiers. Not, thought I, that any one would dome the honour of mistaking me for an agent of Mr Pitt; but there was noknowing what craze the Paris mob was not ready for, or on what slightpretext an innocent man might not be sent to the scaffold. 

So I sneaked quietly down the stairs, where, alas! I found I had fallenfrom the frying-pan into the fire. 

A file of soldiers was ready for me, and received me with open arms. 

"Your name, your business, your destination, " demanded they. 

"Citizen soldiers, my name is Gallagher; I am a stranger in Paris insearch of occupation. "

"Enough. You are arrested. Stand aside!"

"But, citizen--"

A stroke with the flat of the soldier's sword silenced me, and I gavemyself up for lost. But as a prisoner of the Revolution I should atleast not be lonely, and on the guillotine itself I should have company. 

The soldiers were too intent on watching for further fugitives to domore than keep me in sight of their loaded pistols. That was badenough, however, and would have sufficed to land me in the Conciergerie, had not an alarm of fire, followed by volumes of smoke, just thenproceeded from a house opposite that in which the fugitive deputy wassupposed to be hidden. A rush took place for the spot and the loudsounding of the tocsin down the street, and in the midst of theconfusion I dived between the legs of my captors, upsetting the one whocovered me with his pistol, so that the weapon went off harmlessly overmy head, and next moment I was safe in the thick of the crowd, struggling for a view of the fire. 

It was a strange, motley crowd, composed not only of the rascality ofParis, but of a number of shopkeepers and respectable citizens whom therumour of the fire and the arrest of the notorious deputy had called onthe scene at this midnight hour. Many of the faces lit up by the luridglare of the flames were haggard and uneasy, as if they belonged tothose who, like me, found a crowd the safest hiding-place in those days. A few seemed drawn together by a love of horror in any form. Otherswere there for what they might steal. Others, sucked in by the rush, were there by no will of their own, involuntary spectators of a gruesomespectacle. 

Among the latter were the unfortunate occupants of a travel-stainedcoach, who, after surviving all the perils of the road between Dieppeand Paris, had now been suddenly upset by the crowd, and were painfully, and amid the coarse jeers of the onlookers, extricating themselves fromtheir embarrassing position. Just as the tide swept me to the spot, amale passenger had drawn himself up through the window and wasscrambling down on to _terra firma_. 

"Help the ladies!" cried he, glad enough evidently of his own escape, but not over-anxious to return to the scene of his alarm; "help theladies, some one!"

Just then, first a hand, then a pale face appeared at the window, which, if I had seen a ghost, could not have startled me more. It was the faceof Miss Kit, with the red light of the fire glowing on it. 

"Help us!" she said, in French. 

Need I tell you I had her in my arms in a moment; and after her hermother, who was not only frightened but hurt by the shock of theoverturn. 

That little moment was worth all the perils and risks of the pastmonths; and if I could have had my own way, I would have stood there, with my little lady's hand clutching my arm, for a month. 

It was impossible they could recognise me, with my back to the light, happening upon them in so unlooked-for a way. But when I said, "Trustto me, Miss Kit, " her hand tightened on my sleeve with a quick pressure, and she said, --

"Barry! thank God we are safe now!"

I was a proud man that night as I fought my way through the crowd withtwo distressed ladies under my wing, and a fist and a foot for any onewho so much as dared to touch the hem of their garments. 

Mrs Gorman became so faint in a little that I was forced, as soon as wewere out of the thick of the crowd, to call a vehicle. 

The soldiers at the end of the street, when they saw who our party was, and heard that we were passengers in the overturned carriage, let us goby; "for we had been already well overhauled at the barrier, " said they. 

Once clear--and she kept her hand on my arm all the time--Kit said, --

"Then you are alive still, Barry?"

"Ay, Miss Kit; and ready to die for you. "

"This is a dreadful place!" said she with a shiver, looking up at thehigh houses we passed; "but it was worse before you found us. "

How could I help, by way of answer, touching her hand with mine, as ifby accident?

"We are to go to the Hotel Lambert, Rue Boileau, " said she; "and to-morrow we are to seek our kinsmen the Lestranges. "

"I have found them, " said I. 

Here Mrs Gorman looked up. 

"Found them? That is good; we shall have shelter at last. "

"Alas, mistress, " said I, "they have lost all their goods and are livingin great poverty. It will be poor shelter. "

Here the poor lady broke down. 

"O Kit!" moaned she, "why did your father send us on this cruel journey?Did he want to be rid of us before our time?"

"Nonsense, mother; he thought we should be safer here than among theLeaguers in Donegal. So we shall be--at least we have Barry to protectus. "

Whereat we drove up at the Hotel Lambert. 

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. 

DAYS OF TERROR. 

I confess, delighted as I was to find again my lady and my littlemistress, I could have wished them anywhere but in Paris at such a timeas this. How they reached the place at all it was difficult tounderstand, till I heard that they had crossed from Dublin under theescort of a prominent member of the Jacobin Club, with whom his honourhad large dealings in the matter of arms, and who had provided thenecessary passports. 

"Indeed, " said Miss Kit, "the soldiers everywhere were so respectful tous that I think Monsieur Cazin must have passed us off as his wife anddaughter. At any rate he accompanied us into Paris, only quitting us atthe barrier, and has promised to call on us at the hotel to-morrow. Seehere is his letter to the _maitre d'hotel_, in which he states that weare French ladies, kinswomen of his own. "

The _maitre d'hotel_, when he read the letter, made no difficulty aboutadmitting "_les citoyennes Cazin_" as he entered them in his book, andtheir valet. So for that night, at least, we were safe. And as bothladies spoke French fluently, and I tolerably, we passed well enough forwhat we were not. 

But I disliked the whole business, still more when I heard from some ofthe attendants in the hotel that this citizen Cazin was a man lookedaskance upon by some of his own party, and reputed to be both greedy andheartless. 

If I could have had my own way, I would have tried that very night toget them out of the city they had been at so much trouble to reach. Butthey were worn-out with fatigue and anxiety, and were fain to lay theirheads anywhere. Before the night was out their baggage, rescued fromthe overturned diligence, was brought to the hotel, labelled (as I couldnot help noticing) with the name "Cazin, " which only involved us all indeeper complication and trouble. 

Next day we waited for the promised visit from my ladies' travellingcompanion, but he never came. And in the evening we discovered thereason. The _maitre d'hotel_ demanded admission to their apartment andannounced, with a roughness very different from his civility of thenight before, that at the Convention that day several suspected personshad been denounced, among others the citizen Cazin, for having been intraitorous treaty with the enemies of the Republic. In a few hours itwould become known that he had travelled to Paris with two ladies, andit was as much as his (my host's) neck was worth to allow those ladiesto remain another hour in his house. Indeed his duty was to inform theauthorities at once who his guests were. 

Happily for us his hotel had been visited by the police only the nightbefore--ere the travellers arrived--and he had not yet exposed theirnames on his list. But it was known that the baggage, delivered lastnight, bore the name of the suspected Cazin, and that was enough to ruinus all. 

You may fancy the distress of the ladies at this news. All they coulddo was to hand one of their little rolls of _assignats_ to the landlord, and promise that within an hour he should be rid of them. 

"But the baggage, " said mine host, who, in the midst of hisperturbation, saw his way to a _solatium_ for himself; "I must detainthat, and hand it over if required. "

"But it is not Monsieur Cazin's; it is my lady's, who is no connectionof the suspect, " said I. 

"If the ladies cannot part with their baggage, " said mine host, fumblingthe notes, "they must remain here with it. I confiscate it in the nameof the Republic One and Indivisible. "

It was no use arguing or appealing; our only hope lay in civility. 

"Citizen host, " said I, "is quite right, and the ladies are grateful forhis consideration. Their name is Lestrange. They know nothing ofCitizen Cazin or his baggage, and they bid adieu to the Hotel Lambertforthwith. "

The cunning landlord, having gained his ends, returned to his civility. 

"The ladies, " said he, "are wise. But they will do well to put on thegarments of plain citoyennes, which I can provide, in exchange for whatthey wear; otherwise they may be traced. That done, they will do wellto leave my poor house on foot with the young Citoyen Lestrange, " (herehe pointed to me), "and forget to return. "

It was good advice, though it went to my heart to see my mistressesfurther robbed. But when presently they appeared in the plain garb ofcommon Parisiennes I confess I felt relieved, for no one who saw themwould suspect them of being foreign ladies, though any one would bebound to admit they were two very fair women. As for me, I was not longin bartering my livery coat for the blue blouse of a workman; and thusthat afternoon, as the light was beginning to fail, and all the worldwas talking of the execution of the beautiful Madame Roland, which wasto take place in the morning, three humble persons quitted the side doorof the Hotel Lambert and bent their steps dolefully towards the bridgethat led across to the Quai near the Island of the City, once known asQuai Necker. 

We hoped that here at least we should find a retreat until it waspossible to consider what next should be done. 

Leaving the ladies to inspect the stalls which lined the river, Iascended first to announce their arrival; but half-way up the longstairs I encountered a middle-aged woman with sour, haggard face, whodemanded my business. 

"I desire to see Madame Lestrange, who lives on the highest stage, " saidI. 

"Madame Lestrange lives there no longer, " said she with a shrug. "Lastnight she and her husband and their servant were put under arrest on theaccusation of Depute Duport, for holding connection during his life withthe traitor Sillery. "

"Arrested!" exclaimed I, staggered at the news. 

"Arrested, " said she dryly, "and are now at the Austin Convent. To-morrow, perhaps, we may hear of them at the Place. "

This was too terrible, but I durst not betray my horror. 

"Then, " said I, "if that is so, the top stage is vacant. I am seekinglodgings for my mother and sister and myself, and had hoped MadameLestrange could have helped me. "

"The top floor is vacant, " said the woman, brightening up, for thecalamity of the day had robbed her of her tenants, "to any one who canpay five francs a week. "

"We can do that, " said I, "and can pay you in advance. "

"Enough, " said the woman, holding out her hand greedily. 

I brought the ladies up, breaking the news about their kinsfolk on theway, and imploring them to keep up appearances. The landladyscrutinised them sharply, and demanded what their occupation was. 

"We are seamstresses, my child and I, " said my lady; "and my son earnswhat he can at the stables. "

"If you are good workers, " said the woman, "I can give you some employ. Come up and see your rooms. "

It was a sad introduction, that of these delicate ladies to the squalidapartments of their arrested kinsfolk. But they kept up bravely; onlywhen the woman departed with her first five francs in her hand, theyfell on the little shabby sofa and broke into tears. 

But miserable as we were, we were at least safe for a while; and as theweeks followed one another--terrible weeks for Paris--we grew not onlymore reconciled to our lot, but sometimes almost happy. 

We gave ourselves the name of Regnier, and in a little time our sourlandlady fulfilled her promise of finding work for the ladies' needles. As for me, I lit on occupation close by, with a man who let horses forhire, and here once more I found myself engaged in the old familiaroccupation of the Knockowen days. The ladies rarely ventured out, andwhen they did it was usually after dark, and always under my escort. 

Somehow or other our common lot, the common garb we wore, and the commondependence we felt on one another, made our make-believe little familyinto something very like a real one. When the day's work was done, andthe candle was lit and the log thrown on the fire, it was hard not toforget that I was after all only a poor serving-man to these two ladies. They were so grateful and gentle to me, and my little lady's eyes, whensometimes they met mine, were wont to light up so brightly, that, had Ibeen less strict with myself, I should have been--tempted, many a time, to presume on all this kindness, and give myself the airs and privilegesof an equal. But Heaven kept me in mind of what was due to her; andthough I loved her secretly, she was always my little mistress when wewere together. 

I was not long in hearing, among other things, the news of what hadhappened at Knockowen since I left. When my overturned boat had driftedashore, they all set me down as dead, some with regret, some withindifference, some with relief. 

Among the latter, I guessed, was his honour, who never took kindly tome, and bestowed more dislike on me, I always thought, than myimportance deserved. However, my absence did not make much difference. 

"It was dreadful after you had gone, " said my little mistress. "Wenever knew what would happen next. Father could not keep friends withboth sides, and yet he durst not break with either. The house was firedinto from time to time by the Leaguers; and yet he continued to obeytheir biddings and wink at all the smuggling of arms and secret drillingthat went on, which he, as a magistrate, ought to have stopped. Ohdear, it was hard to know what to wish! And one day he was summoned bysome other magistrates to lead a party to capture the crew of asmuggling ship. He sent Martin off secretly to give them warning; butsomehow Martin failed to deliver his message in time, and the smugglerswere caught. Then he was in dread lest they should betray him, and usedall his efforts to let them escape. Then, when one night they brokebonds, he led a hue and cry after them for appearance' sake, but, ofcourse, in a wrong direction, and in consideration of all this he waslet alone by the League. Mr Cazin then came over and stayed atKnockowen a week, collecting all the arms he could get, and makinghimself polite to mother and me. My father, who desired to be rid of usthat he might follow his own plots, saw a way, at last, of getting outof his difficulty, and handed the Frenchman over a large number of gunswhich had been intended for the Donegal men, on condition he would seeus safe to Paris. "

"And where is his honour, meanwhile?" I asked. 

"I can't say, Barry. Not, I think, at Knockowen. He has written us nota line, though we have written several times to him. I sometimes wishwe were safe back at home, " said she with a sigh. 

Well might she wish it, for that winter Paris was a hell upon earth!

For a time I succeeded in keeping away the shadow of "the terror" fromthat little top storey in the Quai Necker. The ladies knew that bloodwas being shed, that liberty was being extinguished, that holy religionwas being spurned, in the world below them. But the tumbrels that madetheir daily ghastly journey did not pass their way. They heard nothingof the roll of drums, of the shrieks of the mob, of the dull crash ofthe knife, of the streams of blood, in the Place. They saw nothing ofthe horrors of the prison-houses, in which, day by day, and week byweek, the doomed citizens made their brief sojourn on the road to death. They did not even know, as I did, that one evening, in one of the sadbatches which rode from the Austin Convent to the Conciergerie, and nextmorning from the Conciergerie to the guillotine, rode a broken-downcouple called Lestrange, and beside them, in the same cart, the _ci-devant_ Citizen Cazin. 

As the Citoyennes Regnier sat patiently and knitted red caps for theblood-drunken citizens without, their gentle ears may have caughtoccasional shouts and rushings of feet, and they may have guessedsomething of the tragedies that were being enacted below. But they kepttheir own counsel, and looked out seldom from the little window, andtalked in whispers of the shadows that flitted across Lough Swilly, andthe happy life that was to follow after all this buffeting and exile. 

Alas! that was not to be yet. For all their courage, their cheeks grewdaily more pale; and into that little damp, cold attic, from which theynever ventured except at night, and where, as poverty gradually enteredby the window, the fire went out on the hearth, the stress of "theterror" at last penetrated. 

Our hostess, the grim woman of whom I spoke, was the first to losenerve, and during the day, when I was away, would come and retail someof the horrors she herself had witnessed. I could tell by their blanklooks when I returned that some one had been tampering with their peace, and I fear the warmth with which I expostulated with the disturber didus all no good. 

Another day, also when I was absent, the police made a visitation; andthough my two mistresses passed muster, they carried off one shriekingvictim from the floor below--a widow, whose only crime was that herhusband had once been in the service of his king. Her cries of terror, as they dragged her to her doom, rang in my lady's ears for weeks, andunnerved her altogether. 

A still worse fright befell them, one early morning, when we sought thefresh air in the direction of the Champ de Mars, where I hoped we shouldbe safe from crowds of all kinds. At a turning of the road we suddenlyencountered, before there was time to avoid it, the most terrible of allcrowds--that which escorted a _condamne_ to his execution. It was invain I tried to draw the ladies aside; the mob was upon us before wecould escape. I had seen many a Paris mob before, but none so savage orfrantic as this. The poor doomed man, one Bailly (as I heardafterwards, formerly a mayor of Paris), stood bare-headed, cropped, withhands tied behind him, and with only a thin shirt to protect him fromthe cold. His face, naturally grave and placid, was so marred andstained with mud and blood as to be almost inhuman. At every step ofthe way the people hurled dirt and execrations upon him, laughing at hissorry appearance, and goading on one another to further insult. Bysheer force they were carrying him, guillotine, executioner, and all toa great dirt-heap by the river-bank, where only they would permit thedeed of death to be performed. 

Just as this ghastly procession passed us, a missile, better aimed thanmost, sent the poor wretch staggering to his knees, and in the rush thatfollowed he was happily hidden from our sight. 

But the two poor ladies had seen enough. Miss Kit's beautiful face waswhite as marble, her lips quivered, and her hands clenched in a spasm ofself-control. Her mother, less strong, tottered and fell heavily on myarm in a faint. 

It was a terrible position just then, for to be suspected of pity for a_condamne_ was an offence which might easily place the sympathiser onthe tumbrel beside the victim. I observed one or two faces--brutal, coarse faces--turned our way, and overheard remarks not unmingled withjeers on the lady's plight. Happily for us, a new humour of the crowd, to make their poor prisoner dismount and carry his own guillotine, sweptthe crowd in a new direction, and in a moment or two left us standingalmost alone on the path. 

It was some time before my lady could recover enough to leave the place. Still longer was it before we had her safe in the attic on the QuaiNecker; and ere that happened more than one note of warning had fallenon my ears. 

"Save yourselves; you are marked, " whispered a voice, as we came to theQuai. 

I looked sharply round. Only a lame road-mender was in sight, and hewas too far away to have been the speaker. The voice was that, Ithought, of a person of breeding and sympathy, but its owner, whoever hewas, had vanished. 

"There they are, " said another voice as we entered the doorway. 

This time I saw the speaker--a vicious-looking woman, who stood with herfriend across the road and pointed our way with her finger. 

"So, " thought I, as Miss Kit and I carried our fainting burden up thestairs, "we have at least one friend and one enemy in Paris. "

Not a word did my little mistress and I exchange as we laid my lady onthe bed, and took breath after our toilsome ascent. She tried to smileas I left her to the task of restoration, and retired to my kitchen toprepare our scanty breakfast. 

While thus occupied I was startled by a tap at the window, followed by ahead which I recognised as that of the road-mender I had lately seen. He must have crawled along the parapet which connected the houses in ourblock, or else have been waiting where he was till he could find mealone. 

His cap was slouched over his eyes, and his face was as grimy as theroads he mended. His finger was raised eagerly to his lips as hebeckoned to me to open the sash. 

An instinct of self-preservation impelled me to obey. He clambered inand shut the window behind him. Then, turning to face me, I encountereda double shock. The lameness had gone; the figure was erect; the face, in spite of its grime, was youthful and handsome! That was the firstshock. The second was even greater. For I suddenly recognised in theform that stood before me my old acquaintance, Captain Lestrangehimself. 

CHAPTER NINETEEN. 

THE COURTYARD OF THE CONCIERGERIE. 

"Hush!" said Captain Lestrange, before I could utter a word. "Theladies are not safe here; they are marked down by the spies. They mustescape at once. "

"My lady is still in a faint, " said I. 

"Faint or no, she must come. Tell them I am here. "

He spoke as a soldier with authority; and a pang of jealousy smote me asI looked at his handsome presence in spite of its disguise. 

I went to my lady's room and announced him. She lay half stupified, with her eyes open, her bosom heaving, and a choking sob in her throat. Miss Kit kneeled at the bedside and held her hand. 

Both were too numb and dazed to express much amazement at the news Ibrought; and when Captain Lestrange followed me in, no breath was wastedon empty greetings. 

"I lodge in an attic six houses away. If you could only get on to theroof, " said he, "you would reach it easily. "

"We are not far from the roof already, " said I, pointing to a corner ofthe ceiling through which, even as we spoke, flakes of snow weredrifting into the room. 

Captain Lestrange took a log of fuel and poked the hole, till it waslarge enough to let a person through. 

He bade me tear the sheet, make a band of it, and fasten it round mymistress, while he clambered through my window on to the roof. It was aperilous climb, but the captain was lithe and active as a cat. In aminute we saw him looking in through the hole in the ceiling. 

"Now hand me the end of the band, " said he, "and come here and help meto haul. --Nerve yourself, cousin, and all will be well. "

Between us, we had no difficulty in drawing the poor lady through theopening on to the roof; and when we let down the band for Miss Kit, herlight, little form followed readily enough. 

"Down, " said the captain, crouching in the gutter of the parapet andbeginning to crawl along it. 

We followed painfully and slowly, finding the journey very long, andexpecting any moment to hear the pursuer behind. 

Presently we came to a halt, and saw our conductor remove some slatesand discover an opening into the house below. 

Once more the linen band came into requisition. The ladies were loweredinto the room. The captain and I paused to set the slates, so that noone should be able to detect the place of our entrance. Then he swunghimself over the parapet on to the ledge of the little window below, bidding me follow. Next moment we stood, all four of us, in a tinychamber, no bigger than a cupboard, with nothing in it but a little bed, a chair, and a shelf, on which stood a loaf and a bottle of wine. 

"Welcome to my humble quarters, cousins, " said he. "They are neitherlarge nor water-tight, but I natter myself they are airy and command anextensive view. We will be safe here till night, but then we must seeksomething more spacious and secluded. "

And with all the grace in the world, he poured out a glass of wine formy lady and begged her to drink it. 

Presently Miss Kit said, with the first smile I had seen on her facethat day, --

"I am too bewildered to ask questions, otherwise I should like to knowhow all this has come to pass. "

"Not now, " said he. "I am as bewildered and perplexed as you are. --Gallagher, go to your daily work, but return early; and bring withyou, "--here he handed me a gold piece--"provisions for a journey. "

It was hard to be dismissed thus at a moment of peril. But my littlelady's words and the smile that accompanied them made up for it. 

"Yes. Come back early, Barry. We shall feel short of a protector whileyou are away. "

And she held out her hand, which I kissed with a glare at the captain, who only laughed, and said, --

"Don't forget the provisions. "

Little I thought as I groped my way down the tumble-down staircase howmany weary months were to elapse before I was to hold that gentle littlehand in mine again. 

I had reached the stables, and was rubbing down a spent horse, when Ibecame aware that a woman was standing at the gate. I recognised her atonce as the woman who had pointed us out that morning when we enteredour house, and my heart filled with forebodings as I saw her. 

It was a relief when my employer presently ordered me to take a horseround to the house of a citizen in the suburbs. The woman had gone whenI started, and after half-an-hour's trot I almost dismissed her from mymind. My orders were, after delivering the horse at its destination, toreturn on foot, calling on my way at the hay merchant's with an order. This I duly performed; and was hastening back by way of the Rue SaintHonore, when two muskets were suddenly crossed in front of me, and aharsh voice said, --

"Regnier, you are arrested by order of the Committee of Public Safety. "

"On what charge?" faltered I. 

"On the accusation of the Citoyenne Souchard, who denounces you as thefriend of royalism and of the miscreant Bailly. "

"I am no friend of either, " I exclaimed. "I do not--"

"Silence! march!" said the soldier. 

Resistance was hopeless, escape impossible. In a daze I marched on, pointed at and hooted at by the passers-by, amid cries of, --

"_A bas les mouchards! Mort aux aristocrates_!" [Saint Patrick! that Ishould be taken for an aristocrat. ] "_Vive la guillotine_!"

I cared not what became of me now, but when presently my conductorsactually turned towards the Island of the City, and I caught sight ofthe high roofs of the houses on the Quai Necker, a wild hope of seeingmy little mistress once more took hold of me. Alas! it was but for amoment. The cold muzzle of the soldier's gun recalled me to myself. 

I longed to know if the accuser, who seemed to know my name and all mymovements, had joined the names of the ladies in my denunciation. Ifso, woe betide them and all of us. In the midst of my trouble the onethought that cheered me, despite the pang of jealousy that came with it, was that they were not without protection; and that Captain Lestrange, who had shown himself so ready of resource in the morning, might succeedeven without my help in rescuing those innocent ones from the bloodyhands of "the terror. "

A chill went through me when it dawned upon me at last that I was beingconducted to the fatal Conciergerie--that half-way house between lifeand death towards which so many roads converged, but from which onlyone, that to the guillotine, led. 

An angry parley took place at the door between the jailer and mycaptors. 

"Why here?" demanded the former; "we are packed to the bursting point. "

"To-morrow you will have more room by fifty, " said the other. 

"This is not to-morrow, " growled the hard-worked official. 

"The _detenu_ is your parishioner, " said the soldier. 

"It is scandalous the slowness with which the Committee works, " said thejailer. "Fifty a day goes no way; we want one hundred and fifty. "

"You shall have it, Citizen Concierge. Patience!--Now, Regnier, enter, and adieu, " said he, with a push from the butt-end of his gun. 

Beyond entering my name and assigning me my night's quarters, no noticewas taken of me by my jailers. I was allowed to wander on into thecrowded courtyard, where of the hundreds who prowled about like cagedanimals none troubled themselves so much as to look up at the newunfortunate. Men and women of all sorts were there: gentlemen who heldthemselves aloof and had their little _cercle_ in one corner, withservants to attend them; rogues and thieves who quarrelled and gambledwith one another, and made the air foul with their oaths; terrifiedwomen and children who huddled together for shelter from the impudentlooks and words of the ruffians, who amused themselves by insultingthem. Sick people were there with whom it was a race whether disease orthe guillotine would claim them first. And philosophers were there, wholooked with calm indifference on the scene, and jested and discussedamong themselves. 

Among this motley company I was lost, and, indeed, it would havetroubled me to be anything else. I found leaning-room against the wall, and had no better wish than that the promised fifty who to-morrow wereto feed the guillotine might count me in their number. 

As soon as the short February day closed in, we were unceremoniouslyordered within doors. Some of the more distinguished and wealthyretired to their private apartments; the women (though I heard they werenot always so fortunate) were shut up in quarters of their own. Othersretired in batches to chambers, for the use of which they had clubbedtogether in bands of twenty or thirty. The rest of us, comprising allthe poorer prisoners, were huddled into great foul, straw-strewn roomsto sleep and pass the night as best we might. 

Rough countryman as I have been, the thought of those nights in theConciergerie turns my stomach even now. The low ceiling and smallwindows made the atmosphere, laden as it was with dirt of all sorts, choking and intolerable. The heat, even on a winter night, wasoppressive. The noise, the groaning, the wrangling, the fighting, thepilfering, were distracting. Only twice in the night silence, and thatbut for a few moments at a time, prevailed. 

Once was when the guard, accompanied by great dogs, made their nightlyround, kicking us who lay in their way this side and that, and testingevery bar and grating of our prison with hammers and staves. For thesake of the dogs, who were stern disciplinarians, we kept the peace tillthe bolt was once more turned upon us. 

The other time the hush was of a more terrible kind, as I discoveredthat first night. A jangle of keys without imposed a sudden lull on thenoise. The door opened, and in came the concierge and his turnkeys. Every eye turned, not on the man or his myrmidons, but on the paper thathe held in his hand. It was the list of prisoners who to-morrow were toappear before the Tribunal--that is to say, of the victims who the dayafter to-morrow were to ride in the tumbrels to the guillotine. 

A deadly silence prevailed as the reading proceeded, broken only by theagonised shriek of some unfortunate, and the gradual sighs of relief ofthose whose names were omitted. 

The ceremony over, the door (on the outside of which a turnkey hadchalked the doomed names) swung to, and all once more was noise andbabel. The victims drew together, embracing their friends and utteringtheir farewells. The others laughed louder than ever, like schoolboyswho have escaped the rod. Morning came, and with it the summons. Thosewho quitted us we knew we should never see again. They would spend thatnight in the dungeon of the _condamnes_; the next day the lumbering rollof the tumbrels would announce to us that they were on their way to thePlace de la Revolution. 

The first night, I confess, I was disappointed that the fatal list didnot contain my name; but as days, and then weeks, and then monthspassed, the love of life rose high within me, and I grew to tremble forthat which I had once hoped for. Day by day I scrutinised the newarrivals in the vague expectation of seeing among them those I lovedbest. But they never came. 

I made few, if any, acquaintances, for I resolved to keep my mouth shut. Spies, I knew, infested the prisons as they did the streets, and many achance word uttered in the confidence of the dungeon was reported andused as evidence against the victim. Now and again we were thrown intoexcitement by the arrival in our midst of some notable prisoner, beforewhose name, a few short weeks since, all Paris, nay, all France hadtrembled, but who now was marked down and doomed by his rivals in power. And sometimes rumours of convulsions without penetrated the walls ofour cells, and made us hope that, could we but endure a while, the endof "the terror" was not far distant. 

I remember one night when a new prisoner whispered to me that the greatRobespierre, at whose nod any head in Paris might drop into the dreadfulbasket, had been blown upon within the walls of the Convention itself. 

"Death is marked on his face, " said he; "and when he falls there is hopefor us, for the people are sick of blood. "

Alas! this same poor whisperer heard his name called out that verynight, and fell grovelling at my side, as if I could help him. 

Still my name was held back. Either they had overlooked it in thecrowd, or had marked it through as dead already, or considered it lessimportant than others who had more pressing claims on the executioner'sknife. 

Hope rose within me. I became so used to being passed that I ceased toexpect anything else, and only counted the days till the blood-red cloudshould have drifted past and left me free. 

When, therefore, on the very night that news had come in thatRobespierre had indeed fallen, and was even then before his judges, Iheard the name "Regnier" read off the fatal list, I broke into a coldsweat of amazement and terror, and fancied myself in a dream. 

My name was the last on the list. With a dreadful fascination I watchedthe turnkey chalk it on the door and the governor fold up his paper andstick it in his belt. Then as they turned to the door despair seizedme. But before they could leave, a sudden clamour at the far end of theroom detained them. One of the condemned, driven mad by theannouncement of his doom, had sprung to the window and was tearing atthe bars with such superhuman force that they promised at any moment toyield. 

The jailer and his men made a dash to seize him, and in that moment Islipped out of the half-closed door, stopping only to wipe out my namewith my cap as I passed, and crept into the courtyard. 

No one could have seen my departure, for though I lay hid an hour underthe shadow of the wall, and even saw the jailer and his men cross thecourt, there was no hue and cry or alarm of an escape. Nor, I surmise, did any one even of my fellow-prisoners, distracted as they were bytheir own concerns and the excitement of the madman's attempt, miss me. 

My only hope now lay in patience and prudence. To scale the wall I knewwas impossible. To steal through the governor's office would meaninstant detection. But to wait where I was was my only chance. 

I had studied the ways of the place enough to know that on the stroke ofsix the outer gates swung open to admit the carts which were to carry tothe scaffold the victims of the day. I knew, too, since the horse-master I had served had often supplied carts on an emergency, that thesevehicles were usually sent in charge of common carters, one man oftenbeing in charge of two or three. These men, having deposited theircarts in the yard, were wont to go off to breakfast and return in anhour to convey their freight under an escort of Guards to the place ofexecution. 

Their daily arrival was now so common an occurrence that it attractedlittle attention inside or out. Indeed, the gate was often leftstanding open a minute or two while some parley was taking place; for noprisoners were allowed in the court till after the departure of theprocession, and no precautions therefore seemed necessary for closing itwith special celerity. 

This, then, was my hope. Could I but lie _perdu_ beside the gate tillthe time of opening, I might in a happy moment slip out. As if tofavour me, a cart of straw intended for the floors of the prison roomshad been admitted into the court the night before, and stood drawn upclose to the gate. It was not difficult to conceal myself at the tailof this, under the straw, and so remain unseen, not only by the cartersthat entered, but by the turnkey that let them in. By equal goodfortune, the owner of the cart had left his coat and whip and cap behindhim, thus giving me just a disguise that suited me best. 

The night--it was July then--seemed interminable; and with morning adrenching rain set in that found its way through the straw and soaked meto the skin. I heard the city without gradually waking up. Market-carts rumbled in the roads, the shrill cry of the street vendors soundedin the air, and above all was the heavy splash of the rain. 

At last a long low sound fell on my ear, which I knew only too well toproclaim the approach of the carts crawling in our direction. Nearerand nearer they came till they stopped at the gate, and the familiarbell tolled out. I heard the footsteps of the warder plashing acrossthe yard, growling at the rain. Then I heard the grating of the boltsas they were slowly drawn back, and the creaking of the gates on theirhinges. Then the rumble began again, and one by one the carts drew upinto the yard. There were eight of them, and as I peeped out I couldsee that the last three were all in charge of one driver, who rode onthe leader. The warder, impatient to return to shelter, called to thisman to see the bolts made fast after him, which the man, a surly fellowand hardly sober, grumblingly promised to do at his own convenience. 

Now was my chance. I slipped from my hiding-place, clad in the driver'sblouse and peaked cap, with a whip over my shoulder and a straw betweenmy lips, and strolled quietly and to all appearance unconcernedly outinto the street. If any saw me come out, they probably set me down asone of the tumbrel drivers on his way to breakfast, and paid me no moreheed than such a fellow deserved; indeed less, for on that day of allothers Paris was in a tremendous ferment. The tocsin was ringing fromthe steeples, there was a rush of people towards the Tuileries, andcries of "_A bas Robespierre_"--the most wonderful cry Paris had heardyet. 

In the midst of it all I walked unchallenged to the Quai Necker. Alas!any hopes I had of comfort there were vanished. The familiar top storeystood empty, with the hole still in the roof, and six doors away, whereI had left them last, the attic was empty too. 

CHAPTER TWENTY. 

A VOICE IN THE DARK. 

All Paris seemed up that morning, hurrying to the scene of the day'swonder. There was a rumour of fighting in the streets, of guns beingpointed against the sacred doors of the Convention, of tyrants fallenand heads to fall. To Paris, sick of blood and strained by terror, itseemed like the end of all things, and the people with one accord rushedeastward to witness the dawn of their new revolution. 

I, who had had enough of revolutions, wandered disconsolately westwardalong the river-bank till the rush was over and the sounds behind megrew faint in the distance. Where next? I asked myself. WhetherCitizen Robespierre fell or not, there was not much quarter to be hopedfor by a runaway from the Conciergerie. Paris was a rat-trap still, andthough large, I should be cornered sooner or later. 

As I ruminated thus, I came to a bridge below which was moored a barge, laden with goods and spread over with its great waterproof sheet, readyto drop down the stream. How I envied the two men in charge of her, towhom the barrier of the city would offer no obstacle, and who were freeto go in and out of the rat-trap as they pleased!

Apparently they were not so sensible of their good fortune as I was, forthey were quarrelling angrily, and filling the air with their insultsand recriminations. 

"Villain! robber!" I heard one say, who seemed to be assistant to theother, "I demand what is due to me. "

"It will be paid you at Rouen, fool, " said the other. 

"I shall not be there to receive it, " snarled the other. "I will haveit here, or nowhere. "

"What, you will dare to desert! It is treason against the Republic whomwe serve. I will denounce you. "

"Idiot, I defy you, " exclaimed the man, stripping off his jersey andflinging his red cap on the deck. "I spit on your Republic which doesnot pay its debts!"

"I promise you shall receive all arrears at Rouen, " replied the other. "I am under penalties to reach Havre in a week. "

The mutineer laughed savagely. 

"Pay me what you owe me, and you shall reach it. "

"At Rouen, " persisted the skipper. 

"No! here, I tell you. "

The skipper's reply was to make a grab at his companion, who, however, was quick enough to elude him and jump ashore. 

"There, thief and robber, villain and assassin, I wash my hands of you!I have done with you. Reach Havre when you like. Adieu!" and he spatat the barge. 

The skipper looked as if he would have followed him, but thought betterof it. He shrugged his shoulders and pulled out a cigar. The other, after standing insultingly on the bank for some minutes, heaping allsorts of imprecations and taunts on his late employer, swaggered away, and was presently caught up in a knot of belated sightseers hastening tothe scene of the insurrection. 

I waited till the coast was clear, and then descended to the river side. 

"Citizen bargee, " said I, with a salute, "do you want a man to-day?"

The skipper looked up at me and took his cigar from his lips. 

"Can you sail a barge?" said he. 

"Ay, and tow it too if you like, " said I. "And as for wages, suityourself, and give me what you like at the journey's end. "

"I serve the Republic, " said the man. 

"_Vive la Republique_, " said I. "She does not desert her sons. "

"Your name?" demanded he. "Belin, " said I, inventing a name for theoccasion. "You are engaged, Belin, " said the skipper; "we start thisminute. "

With a grateful heart I stepped on board and busied myself with castingloose the rope. 

"Observe, Belin, " said my new master, noticing approvingly that at leastI knew how to handle a rope, "your name under me is Plon, that of avagabond scoundrel who has just deserted me, and who is named on theway-bill. There are his jersey and his cap; put them on, and keep yourcounsel. "

"Pardon, my captain, " said I, when I had obeyed him, "what is ourbusiness for the Republic?"

"We carry coats and boots for the Army of the North. "

"Long live the Army of the North, " said I devoutly. 

We soon reached the bridge which marked the boundary of the city. Hereour bill of lading was carefully scrutinised, and our cargo inspected tomake sure we carried no fugitive hidden in the midst of it. 

As for me, I took my skipper's advice, and sat smoking my cigar andsaying nothing while the ceremony lasted. 

But when at length we were ordered to pass, you may guess how thankfullyI cast off the rope and found myself gliding down the quick current ofthe Seine out of that horrible city in which for nearly a year I hadbeen cooped, expecting every day to be my last I showed my gratitude byundertaking any hard work my skipper chose to put upon me; and when hefound me so willing, and on the whole so handy, he was content enough, and we became tolerably good messmates. Only I had learned enough tokeep my mouth pretty close respecting matters which did not concern me. I professed to know very little of what had passed in Paris during thepast few months, and in what I did to agree entirely with the opinionsof Citizen Benoit, my captain. I cumbered him with few questions oropinions of my own, and was never backward to take an extra watch ortrudge an extra mile on the bank beside the occasional horses which hereand there we engaged to help us on. 

It was a tedious and dull journey, threading our way through endlesstwists and between numerous islands, halting only between the latesummer dusk and the early summer dawn, quitting our barge only in searchof provender or a horse, parleying only with officials and returningbarges. 

One or two of the skippers on the latter inquired of Benoit what hadbecome of his former assistant, and alarmed me somewhat by questioningme as to my previous calling. But my skipper's explanation wasgenerally enough, and I was admitted into the noble fraternity of Seinebargees without much objection. The few who did object sailed the otherway, so that their objection mattered little. 

Our longest stay was at Rouen, where once more my master reminded methat I was Citizen Plon, and that my policy was to hold my tongue andlie low. 

The police here were very suspicious, and insisted on searching ourcargo thoroughly for fugitives, of whom reports from Paris said therewere a good many lying hid in boats and barges. 

However, they found none with us. How I toiled and sweated to assisttheir search! and what a reputation poor Plon acquired for zeal in theservice of the Republic One and Indivisible!

After leaving Rouen we used our sail a good deal in the broad reaches ofthe river. Monsieur Benoit (who had quite forgotten my pay) was goodenough to compliment me on my skill in handling canvas, and as we nearedour destination his civility became almost embarrassing. He sought toengage me as his permanent lieutenant, and promised to make all sorts ofexcellent reports on my behalf to the officials. I humoured him as bestI could; but the scent of the sea-breezes as we gradually reached thewide estuary and saw before us the masts and towers of the city ofHavre, set me longing for old Ireland, and determined me, Benoit or noBenoit, to set my foot once more on Fanad. 

I requested of Benoit a few days' leave of absence, after our storeswere duly delivered at the depot, which he agreed to on theunderstanding that my wages should not be paid me till I returned to thebarge. In this way he imagined he made sure of me, and I was content toleave him in that simple faith. 

But now, as I wandered through the squalid streets of the city of Havre, and looked out at the great Atlantic waves beating in on the shore, Ibegan to realise that France itself was only a trap on a larger scalethan Paris. True, I might possibly find a berth as an able-bodiedsailor on a French ship; but that was not what I wanted. As for Englishships, it was a time of war, and none durst show their prows in theharbour, save under a false flag. Yet the longing for home was sostrong in me, that I think, had I found one, I would even have seized asmall rowing-boat and attempted to cross the Channel in it single-handed. 

For two days I prowled hither and thither, vainly looking for a chanceof escape, and was beginning to wonder whether after all I should haveto return to Benoit, when I chanced one evening on a fellow who, for allhis French airs and talk, I guessed the moment he spoke to be anIrishman. He was, I must confess, not quite sober, which perhaps madehim less careful about appearances than he should have been. 

It was on the cliffs of La Heve we foregathered. He was walking sounsteadily on the very margin that I deemed it only brotherly to lendhim an arm. 

"Thank you, my lad, " said he, beginning the speech in French, butrelapsing into his native tongue as he went on; "these abominable Frenchcliffs move about more than the cliffs at Bantry. Nothing moves there--not even custom-house runners. Bless your dear heart, we can land ourbales there under their very noses! Steady, my friend, you were nearlyslipping there. You French dogs never could walk on your hind legs. There she lies, as snug and taut as a revenue cutter, and just as manyteeth. What did I come ashore for now? Not to see you, was it? 'Ponmy word, monsieur, I owe you a hundred pardons. I quite forgot. Youlook a worthy fellow. I press you into the service, and the man thatobjects shall have an ounce of lead through him. Come, my lad, row meaboard. The anchor's apeak, and we're off for the ould country, and amurrain on this land of yours!"

So saying he stumbled along, down a zigzag path that led to the foot ofthe cliff, where lay moored a small boat and two men in her. 

"Belay there, hearties! I've got the villain. Clap him in irons, Isay! He tried to send me over the cliff, but-- how are you, my friend?Give us your hand. You're one of the right sort. --Pull away, boys. Thewind's in the east, and the tide's swung round the _cap_. This time to-morrow we shall be scraping the nose of ould Ireland--glory to her!"

The men, who evidently were used to their captain's eccentricities, madeno demur, and laid on with their oars. Presently I volunteered to lenda hand, which was readily accepted. The captain meanwhile lay in acomfortable slumber in the stern-sheets, uttering occasional greetingsto the world at large, and to me in particular. 

"Where does she lie?" said I presently to the man in front of me inplain English. 

He turned round sharply. 

"What! you're not a Frenchman then?" said he. 

"Heaven forbid! I'm as good an Irishman as you. "

"How came you to know Captain Keogh?"

"Sure he found me out and engaged me. "

"It's no lie, " gurgled Captain Keogh from the bottom of the boat. "Ishould have been over but for him. Enter him as sailing-master or cook, for he's the right sort. "

"We're for the _Kestrel_. She lies a mile or two up the coast, with acargo for Bantry. "

"Lace; I know that. I've been in the business before, " said I. 

This completed my recognition as a proper shipmate, and no morequestions were asked. 

When we reached the _Kestrel_ it was pitch dark, but we could tell bythe grating of the chain as we came up that no time was to be lost ingetting under way. 

Not a light was shown, only a whistle from our men, answered by anotherfrom the ship and a voice over the bulwarks, --

"Boat ahoy!"

"_Kestrel_ ahoy!" sang out our men, and in a moment a rope was thrown tous and we were alongside. 

Captain Keogh, happily asleep, was hauled up the gangway, and wefollowed. 

"A new hand, lieutenant, " said my comrade, pointing at me with his thumbover his shoulder. 

"All right. Send him forward to help with the anchor. "

At the sound of this voice in the dark I staggered like one struck. Itcalled to mind days spent under the drifting clouds at the edge ofFanad, boyish quarrels and battles, winter nights over the peat fire ofour little cabin. Who but Tim had that ring in his voice? Whose voice, if it was not his, could set my heart beating and swelling in my breastso that I could scarcely hold it?

Just now, however, I was hurried forward to the business of weighinganchor, and the lieutenant had gone aft to take charge of the helm. 

In a minute or two the _Kestrel_ floated free on the water. The sailsspread out to the wind, the welcome splash of the bows proclaimed thatwe had way on us already, and the twinkling lights of Havre in thedistance reminded us that France, land of terrors, was dropping asternat every pitch we took. 

But the excitement of all this was as nothing to the echo in my ears ofthat voice in the dark. 

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE. 

THE WRECK OF THE "KESTREL. "

The crew of the _Kestrel_ consisted of less than fifty men, most of themIrishmen. While the work of setting sails and making all snug lasted Ihad little chance of looking about me, but the impression I formed wasthat the schooner was not at all worthy of the praise her tipsy captainhad bestowed upon her. She was an old craft, with a labouring way ofsailing that compared very unfavourably with the _Cigale_ or the_Arrow_. Her guns, about a dozen in all, were of an antiquated type, and badly mounted, and her timbers were old and faulty. As long as wehad a sharp east wind astern we had not much to concern us, but I had mymisgivings how she would behave in dirty weather with a lee-shore on herquarter. 

That, however, concerned me less just then than my impatience to get aglimpse of the face of the lieutenant. I volunteered for an extra watchfor this purpose, and longed for some excuse to take me aft. 

Sure enough it came. The same voice rang out again through thedarkness:--

"Hand there! come and set the stern light. "

"Ay, ay, sir, " cried I, hurrying to the place. 

For the first hour or so after slipping our moorings off Havre the_Kestrel_ had remained in perfect darkness. But now that we were beyondsight of the lights ashore there was no occasion for so dangerous aprecaution. I unlashed the lantern and took it down to the galley for alight, and then returned with it to the helm. 

As I did so I could not help turning it full on the face of the man atthe tiller. 

Sure enough it was Tim, grown into a man, with down on his chin, and theweather wrinkles at the corner of his eyes. Every inch a sailor and agentleman he looked as he stood there in his blue flannel suit andpeaked cap; the same easy-going, gusty, reckless Tim I had fought withmany a time on Fanad cliffs, loving him more for every blow I gave him. When I thought I had lost him, it seemed as if I had lost a part ofmyself. Now I had found him, I had found myself. 

"Look alive, my lad, " said he. 

Without a word I fixed the light in its place. I had never, I think, felt so shy and at a loss in my life. 

At last I could stand it no longer. 

"Tim, old man, is that really you?"

He staggered at the sound of my voice, just as I had staggered at thesound of his, and let go the helm. 

"Saint Patrick! it's Barry. "

And I felt his hand on my shoulder, and heard him give a little laugh ofwonder. 

"Fetch that light! Let me have a look at you!"

I obeyed, and it would be hard to say which side of the lantern, as itswung between us, witnessed the greatest wonder. 

"Look to the helm, " said I. "She's falling off a point or two. "

"Ha, ha!" said the joyous Tim, "to think of me manning the helm with youon the ship. Take you it, you dog you, and spin us your yarn. "

"Not till you tell me how you came to life again. I heard the _Cigale_was lost with all hands. "

"Except one, " said Tim. "Father might have escaped too, but he was soashamed to have run the ship on the rock that nothing would drag himfrom her. I held on to a spar for a whole day, and drifted to within aswim of Tory Island, where for a whole month I waited to get across. Iheard you had been drowned in the Swilly, and Knockowen was empty, so Imade my way to Sligo, and Keogh, an old mate of father's, gave me aberth on this crock of a boat. As I could talk French and knewsomething of the business, he called me lieutenant--me that hates thesea like the very mischief, and French lace worse than that! I tellyou, Barry, even if I hadn't found you, this would have been my lastvoyage. There's other work for you and me. "

"What work is that?"

"The work of Ireland! There's a new age dawning there, and you and Iwill be in it. The chains are dropping right and left, and the poorprisoner is struggling from his knees to his feet. We shall live in afree country of our own before long, Barry, my boy--free because she haslearned to help herself, and will remain the plaything or the slave ofothers no longer. France is free; she has learned to help herself. Wein Ireland have our Bastille to storm and our feudalism to destroy. "

He spoke with a glow on his cheeks and a fire in his eyes that quitetook me aback, and made it hard to recognise the Tim of old days. 

"I could tell you something about this glorious freedom in France, " saidI, with a jerk of my head in the direction of that accursed land. 

"You shall; and mark me, Ireland will not be a pace behind her. "

"God forbid!" said I. 

"But you haven't told me your story yet, " said he, carrying the lampback to its place, as if he were the seaman and I at the helm theofficer. 

Then I told him all, not omitting my love for Miss Kit, or my disgustfor the Republic One and Indivisible. 

He heard me with evident disquiet. 

"I am sorry about the girl, " said he bluntly. "She may be all you say, but Ireland wants you heart and soul just now. It is no time fordancing attendance on ladies. "

"For all I know she lies buried under the guillotine, " said I. 

"Oh no, she does not, " said Tim. "She and her mother are back atKnockowen, so I was told a month ago, before we sailed on this voyage. "

I seized his hand so eagerly at this news as almost to startle him. 

"Watch her helm, she's falling away, " said he, almost sharply. "Ay, she's back, but no nearer your reach for that. I hear Gorman has becomea rich man since. The English estates that belonged to the master ofKilgorman have yielded a great profit, and besides that he has got holdof the Lestrange property too. The young lady is an heiress, and thisCaptain Lestrange you spoke of, who saved them out of Paris, is notlikely to lose the chance of getting a wife and his family estates backinto the bargain. Don't be a fool, Barry. You and I are only sailorlads. It does not become us to be hankering after heiresses. But thefreedom of Ireland we may and must strive for; and, Barry, brother, "(and what a whack he caught me on my back), "we'll get it!"

I turned in that night with my head in a whirl. It seemed as if everyjoy I had was destined to crumble in my hand. No sooner had I found mylittle lady in Paris than a cruel hand swept us asunder. No sooner hadI found my brother than I found him estranged from me in a hopelesscause. No sooner had I heard of the safety of her I loved than I heardshe was lifted further out of my reach than ever. I could have wished Ihad never met Tim again. I should at least have slept better had I lainin my bunk with no thought but that of the French coast dropping leagueby league astern. Now, even Ireland seemed to have its terrors ahead. 

But sleep came to my rescue, and with sleep came courage and hope. Whyshould I be afraid? What had I to hang my head at? Was I, who had comethrough a reign of terror, going to mope at troubles in advance?Sufficient unto the day should be the evil thereof!

So I met Tim with a smile in the morning, and asked him to report me toCaptain Keogh. 

That worthy officer had quite slept off the debauch of last night, andwas apparently looking forward to the next, for a bottle of rum stood onthe cabin table. He had not the slightest recollection of me, but whenhe heard I was his lieutenant's brother, he poured out three glasses andproposed luck all round. 

"Sit down, Gallagher, " said he to Tim. "I can't ask your brother tosit, for the sake of the discipline of the ship; but I'm pleased to seehim, and if he's a handy lad like you I'll make a seaman of him. "

"Barry's worth any dozen of the likes of me, " said Tim, "when it comesto sailing. If any one can get an extra tack out of the old _Kestrel_, he can. "

"Don't talk disrespectfully of your ship, lieutenant, " said CaptainKeogh. "To be sure, the carpenter has been pestering me this morningabout the timbers; but I told him he'd probably only make things worseby patching. You can't put new wine into old bottles, you know, "--herehe poured himself out a fresh glass--"and we shall hold well enoughtogether till we reach Bantry. "

"Sligo, " said Tim. 

"Well, Sligo. We must keep clear of French privateers and give thecoast a wide berth. That's the very thing. This wind must have beenturned on to suit us. I positively thought the _Kestrel_ was sailingfast to-day. "

"She's well enough as she is, but if we get into dirty weather, we oughtto run in for the nearest port we can reach. "

"We are much more likely to run into dead calms, and have to sitwhistling for the wind--dry work at best, but in this weather terrible. "And he gulped down his rum, and nodded a dismissal. 

The captain's forecast, as it turned out, was pretty near the mark. Offthe Cornish coast we fell into a succession of calms, which kept uspractically motionless for half a week. Even the light breezes whichwould have sufficed to send the _Arrow_ spinning through the water, failed utterly to put way upon our cranky tub; and every day thecarpenter was growing more persistent in his complaints. At lastCaptain Keogh ordered him to do what he pleased so long as he held hispeace, whereupon the sound of hammering and tinkering might be heard fora day across the still water. 

During these lazy days, Tim and I talked a great deal. He was full ofvisions and hopes of an emancipated Ireland, and all the glories whichshould belong to her. 

"Think of it, Barry. Every man's land will be his own. We shall haveour own army and navy. There will be no England to tax us and bleed usto death. We shall have open arms for the friends of liberty all theworld over. Irishmen will stay at home instead of carrying theirmanhood to foreign climes. Nay, we shall stand with our heel on theneck of England, and she who for centuries has ground the spirit out ofus will sue to us for quarter. "

"How will you manage all this?" said I. 

"The people are armed, only waiting the signal to rise and throw off theyoke. England is not ready, she is beset on all sides, her fleet isdiscontented, her armies are scattered over Europe, her garrison inIreland is half asleep. Our leaders are only waiting their time, andmeanwhile Irishmen are flocking to the banner daily. And more thanthat, Barry, " added he, with a thump on the bulwark, "at the first blowfrom us, France will be ready to strike for our liberty too. I knowthat for certain, my boy. "

"France!" said I. "If there are innocents to be slaughtered, and bloodto flow, and fiends to be let loose, you may depend on her. "

"She at least is more our friend than men like Gorman, who one day, whenthey are poor, with nothing to lose, are for the people, and the next, when they are rich, are for the crown and the magistrates and theProtestant ascendency. It will be a sorry look-out for such as thesewhen we come into our own. --There comes a breeze surely!"

"South-easterly, " said I; "that will suit us. "

It was a moderate breeze only, but it brought us on our way opportunely, until one day, as we looked out, there was land on our weather-beam. 

Then fell another calm, longer and more dead than the last. The sea waslike glass, the horizon hazy, and the heat oppressive. The carpenter, as now and again he looked up at the lifeless sails, muttered betweenhis teeth. 

"I hear, " said Tim, "our timbers above the water-line have sprung hereand there. The old tub is quite rotten, and every day we lie idle likethis she grows worse. "

"This time to-morrow, by all signs, we shall not be lying idle, " said I, glancing up at the metallic sky, and following the line of a school ofporpoises as they wheeled across our stern. 

"So much the better. We must run before the wind wherever it comesfrom. We could not live through a cross-sea for an hour. "

The storm came sooner than I expected. The metallic sky grew overcast, and a warning shudder fell over the still surface of the water. Then asudden squall took us amidships, and sent us careening over on our beam, before we even knew that the calm was at an end. 

We had no more than time to shorten our courses and turn her head, whenthe tempest struck us from the south-west, lashing up the sea at ourstern, and making our cranky masts stoop forward and creak like thingsin mortal pain. 

The carpenter's face grew longer than ever. 

"For mercy's sake, captain, " said he, "keep her in the wind, or she'llcrack to pieces. You can't afford to take a point. We're only soundunder calm water-line; above it, she's as thirsty as a sieve. "

"More shame to you, " growled Captain Keogh. "We're all thirsty here. "

"You'll have water enough presently, " muttered the carpenter to himselfas he went below. 

"Gallagher, you and your brother take the helm. Keep her out a taste, whatever yonder fool says. My! she's spinning along for once in a way. At this rate we shall make Achill by night. "

"Better try for Galway, sir, " said I. 

"Hold your tongue, you French fool, " cried the captain, who was greatlyexcited. "Save your advice till it's asked, or go aloft. --I tell you, "said he, turning to Tim, "it's Sligo or nowhere. There's not a cruiserthere to interfere with us, or an exciseman that we can't square. Ireckon there's profit enough in this lace to pay an admiral's prize-money. Galway! You might as well try to land at London Bridge. "

Here the carpenter once more rushed on deck. He looked up at thecanvas, then at the compass, then at the helm. 

"I declare, after what I told you, you're two points out of the wind, sir. The ship won't stand it, I tell you. She's leaking already. Youneed all that canvas down, and only your jibs and foresails; and eventhen you must let her run. "

Captain Keogh turned upon him with a torrent of abuse. 

"Saints help us! Am I the captain of this ship, or are you, you long-jawed, squint-eyed, whining son of a wood-chopper you? First it's aFrench stowaway wants to tell me my business, then it's you. Whydoesn't the cabin-boy come up and take charge of the ship? Way theretake in the courses, and let the helm go. Give the fool what he wants, and give me a dram for luck. "

All that day we flew through the water in front of as fierce a south-wester as I was ever out in. The carpenter reported that the pumps wereholding their own and no more, but that a dozen cross-seas would splitus open like rotten medlar. When night fell, the weather promised togrow worse, and the rain and hail at our backs made it almost impossibleto keep up our heads. 

"It's all very well, " said Tim, who had been down to the cabin toinspect the chart, "but this can't go on. We've had water-room all day, but I reckon we are closing in on the land every yard now, and if wedon't put out her head we shall find ourselves on the Connemara coast. "

"Better run for Galway, and say nothing, " said I. 

"Too late now. I wish we had. "

"Out she goes then, " said I; "it's a question between going down wherewe are or breaking to pieces against Slyne Head. "

"That's just it, " said Tim. "The captain's dead drunk below. Call allhands aft, Barry; let them choose. "

The men crowded aft, and Tim spoke to them. 

"We're in for an ugly night, my lads, and we're on a rotten boat. Thecarpenter says, unless we run before the wind, we shall go to pieces inhalf-an-hour. I say, if we do run, we shall be on Slyne Head in twohours. Which shall it be? I don't mind much myself. "

"Put it to the vote, " said one. 

So a vote was taken, and of forty men who voted, twenty-five were fordeath in two hours, and fifteen for death in an hour. 

"Very good, " said Tim. "Get to your posts, and remember you are underorders till we strike. Then shift for yourselves; and the Lord havemercy on us all!"

"Amen!" said the sailors, and returned to their duties. 

It was a terrible night, and, to make matters worse, as black as pitch. We should not even have the help of daylight for meeting our doom. 

"Barry, " said Tim, "I don't think we shall both perish. If it's I, promise me you will fight for Ireland till she is free. "

"If you die, Tim, I don't care what I do. I promise. And if I die, promise me--"

"Not to go near that girl?"

"No, " said I, with a groan. 

"What, then?"

"Search below the great hearth at Kilgorman, and do whatever the messageyou will find there bids you. It is not my message, but our mother's. "

"I promise that. But hold on now, " said he, catching me by the arm, "the old ship's beforehand with us. She's going to pieces before wereach shore. "

Sure enough she was. The rough water into which we were plungingloosened her already warped timbers, and she gradually ceased to rise onthe waves, but settled down doggedly and sullenly as the water poured inon this side and that and filled her hold. Captain Keogh, suddenlyroused to his senses, staggered on deck, and took the helm, not for anygood he could do, but from the sailor's instinct to be at his post atthe end. 

All hands came on deck, and the order was given to lower the boats. Forthe credit of these Irishmen be it said that no man stepped in till hewas ordered by name. The first boat capsized before she even reachedthe water, and swung with a crash that shivered her against the side ofthe ship. The other was more fortunate, and got clear just before wefoundered. 

Tim, who might have joined it, preferred to stand by me. The other menprovided themselves with spars or corks, and prepared for the end. 

"Keep near me, " said Tim with a tremble in his voice, not of fear but ofaffection. 

That was all I heard; for at that moment the _Kestrel_ gave a diveforward, which cleared her decks, and sent her, captain, lace, and all, to the bottom. 

"Jump!" cried a voice at my side. 

I felt an arm round me as the water closed over us; and when, strugglinghard against the suck of the foundering ship, I rose to the surface, Timwas beside me with one arm still round me, the other clinging to afloating spar. 

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO. 

ON HIS MAJESTY'S SERVICE. 

How long Tim and I clung to the spar I know not. The next thing Iremember was opening my eyes and finding myself in the bottom of a boatcrowded with men from the _Kestrel_. The sea was running mountainshigh, and the boat, without rudder or oars, was flung like a cork fromwave to wave. The dawn was just beginning to show in the sky, and thethunder of surf and wind was deafening. 

"Where is Tim?" said I. 

No one heard me, or, if they heard, heeded me. I raised my head andlooked anxiously from one to another of my comrades. 

"Where is Tim?" I asked again, louder, and with a pluck at the sleeveof the man nearest me. 

"Where all the rest are, " replied the man, "if you mean the lieutenant. "

I crawled from where I lay and came beside him on the bench. 

"Drowned?" I asked. 

"There was only room for one of you when we picked you up. He made ustake you, and it was all we could do to get you aboard. "

"And Tim?"

"We gave him a rope to lash him to his spar, and lost sight of him. "

Half-drowned and bruised as I was, this blow sent me back to the bottomof the boat like one already dead. What had I to live for now?

When I came to myself next a change had come over the scene. The seahad quieted down, the afternoon sun was striking across the waves, andahead of us, on the northern horizon, was a low, grey line of coast. 

But it was not at that that all eyes were turned, but at a noble-lookingship hove-to in the offing, not a mile away, and flying a signal fromher peak. 

Our men had sighted her an hour ago, and rigged up an oar with a rag atthe end, which the ship had observed. And what all eyes were now intenton was her pinnace, as she covered the distance between us. 

It was always my luck to be rescued when I had least heart for life, andI confess if I had seen the boat capsize that moment I should have beenwell enough pleased. 

But she had no notion of capsizing. Long before she came up we couldsee that she was manned by smart English blue-jackets, and belonged to aline-of-battle ship in the king's navy--one of the very ships, no doubt, that Captain Keogh had been so anxious to avoid in Galway Bay. 

Half-an-hour later we were on the shining deck of his majesty's ship_Diana_, thirty-eight guns, standing out, with all sails set, for thewide Atlantic. My comrades were too thankful to find themselves alive, with food to eat and dry clothes to put on, to concern themselves as tothe ship's destination. But I, who yearned to know and share the fateof those I loved, groaned as I saw the coast-line drop astern, andrealised that, after all, I was as far from home as ever. 

As soon as we were revived and fed--and I am bound to confess we werehumanely treated in that respect--a ship's officer came forward andquestioned us. 

I, as brother to the lieutenant, was put forward to answer; and I toldhim all, not omitting our contraband cargo, or the manner of my ownjoining the _Kestrel_. 

"Well, lads, " said the officer, "you've paid for your bit of fun. Ifthe _Diana_ had had her full complement of men, you might have beenwhistling in the breakers still. Now you belong to his Majesty, andyour names are entered on the books of his ship. It's more than youdeserve, but that can't be helped. Report yourselves to the boatswain. "

"Begging your pardon, " said I, "I have business in Ireland that presses, and--"

"Hold your tongue, sir, " said the officer, turning on his heel. 

The land was now out of sight; the ship's course was due west; everysail was full. The boatswain's whistle was calling to quarters. Tim, and Miss Kit, and Fanad, and Kilgorman were part of an ended life. There was nothing for it but to grin and bear it. 

So I reported myself, and wrote my name on the books, and became aservant for life of his Majesty. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Now it is no part of my story to relate all that happened to me duringthe year or two that followed. Not that it was without adventure orperil, or that it would not bear the repetition. On the contrary, if Ionly knew how to write a book (which none of those who read what I havewritten so far would be cruel enough to impute to me), I could fill avolume with adventures which not many sea-dogs could show a match to. 

But somehow those years, save in a few particulars, never seemed to rankas part of my life. Just as when you come to the old cabin at Fanad, and want to reach Kilgorman, you find a mile or two of water in yourway, which, though it has to be traversed, belongs neither to one sidenor to the other, so I reckon those years as years by themselves, makingonly a break in the coast-line of my story. 

The _Diana_, spent most of her time in foreign waters, whither no newsof any of those I desired to hear of reached me. For a year we cruisedin the West Indies, fighting Frenchmen and yellow fever and pirates. Then a summons came to take a convoy into Indian waters, where we wereengaged in protecting English merchantmen from the depredations ofFrench and Spanish privateers. Then, just as the welcome order toreturn to Europe arrived, an engagement in the Persian Gulf disabled us, and compelled us to put into the nearest port for repairs. And beforewe were fit to sail again, a sudden demand for reinforcements in theWest Indies called us back there, where we fought the Frenchmen everyother day. 

That was the one part of the business I liked best. Every broadside wepoured into the enemy helped to wipe out my scores against the RepublicOne and Indivisible. I am told I distinguished myself more than once inthe course of the cruise, though I can take little credit to myself fordisinterested gallantry if I did. I had only to call to mind the visionof my dear little mistress as I saw her last, pale and scared in thesqualid attic in the Quai Necker, with her bright eyes turned on mine, with her hand on my arm, and her voice, "Come back early, Barry, " tomake a demon of me, as with my cutlass in my teeth I sprang on to theenemy's rigging, and dashed for his hatchways. 

I cared so little for my life in those days that I was ready for anyreckless or desperate adventure, and was pretty sure to be selected asone of the party when any specially critical exploit called forvolunteers. If I bore a charmed life it was no credit of mine, and if Ihad more than my fair chance of distinguishing myself it was because theadventure always comes to the adventurous, not that I was greedy of whatbelonged to others. 

On one occasion--it was an evening towards the end of our long term ofservice in foreign waters--I found myself not only lucky but famous, ina way I had never dreamed of. We were lying off Chanson, a Frenchisland, embayed by a strong gale of wind, and uncomfortably near therange of a fort, with which for some hours we had been exchangingdistant shots of defiance. Captain Swift, our commander, would haveliked, had it been possible, to secure himself more sea-room; but as thewind then blew it did not seem safe to attempt to shift our anchorage, and incur the risk of getting further under the guns than we were. 

Captain Swift was in the act of debating with his officers as to theadvisability of sending an expedition ashore to deal with the fort, whenthe look-out man announced two French sail in the offing bearing down onus. 

This decided the question. To stay where we were was to wait to becaught between the two fires of the ships and the fort. We must get outof the bay somehow, and to do it we must make a desperate effort tosilence the fort. 

Two boats were ordered out, each in charge of a midshipman and a pettyofficer. Twenty men were told off for each boat. Our instructionswere, as soon as night fell, to put off for shore, land at two differentpoints a mile apart, and approach the fort from opposite sides. The_Diana_, meanwhile, was to slip her cables and attempt the perilous featof warping out of the bay, so as to be ready for the French ships. 

Much depended on the promptitude and success with which theexpeditionary force tackled the fort. For if morning dawned with itsguns on our lee-side and the two enemies to windward, there was littlechance of getting out of the dilemma. 

The lieutenant in charge of the first boat selected me among his crew. With cutlasses and pistols in our belts, a coil of rope over ourshoulders, and spiking gear handy, we took our places silently, andwaited impatiently for the dark. The sun as usual in those partstoppled down suddenly into the sea, and almost before the last edge ofhis orb dipped, we were on our way for the shore. Our only difficultyin landing was the heavy surf, which nearly stove in our boat. Wemanaged to beach it, however, without much damage, and then started at arun for our destination. 

Before we reached it we heard shouts and the sharp crack of muskets, which told us our manoeuvre had been detected and prepared for. 

Then followed a regular race, led by the officers. While some fell, others would get in; but that we should all return to the _Diana_ wasnot to be hoped for. 

The guns of the fort were so placed that once under them they could dolittle harm. Our danger came from the enemy's infantry, who wereevidently in reserve to protect the guns. 

Now I had spent part of the day in carefully studying the fort through atelescope, and had come to the conclusion that a few nimble fellows, byaid of ropes and the trees whose branches almost overhung the wallbehind, could enter it by the rear, and possibly, by creating adiversion in that quarter, help the main body who attacked it from thefront. As soon as the order for a rush was given, I called on a few ofmy comrades--among them one or two of the _Kestrel_ men--to follow meand make the attempt. We made a long detour, and, as I expected, foundlittle or no difficulty in reaching the trees. 

Once up these, it was not a very difficult feat to swing ourselves on tothe top of the broad wall and so gain the yard, where we could even nowsee the gunners hard at work. 

"Now, lads, " whispered I, "each pick your man, fire when I give thesignal, and then for the guns. "

There were but six guns, each manned by two men, and so intent were theyon the attack in front that they had not so much as the tail of an eyefor the rear. There were five of us in all. We kept well in the shadowtill we covered each our man. Then I gave the signal. The pistols rangout, followed by a loud British cheer, as we rushed forward, cutlass inhand, on the gunners. Aided by darkness and surprise, and the good aimof our first volley, we were soon on equal terms as regarded numbers;and after that there was of course no question as to whom the gunsbelonged. Two of our fellows were killed and one wounded, leaving butme and one other to haul down the French flag. 

Our orders had been to spike the guns, but as things had turned out itseemed better now to hold them, and if possible turn them on the enemy. All had been done so quickly that those without knew nothing of what hadhappened. We could hear the firing grow feebler and more distant, andguessed that our men had been outnumbered, and were being chased down totheir boats. In the present darkness we could do nothing to help them;for even if we could have lowered the guns enough to cover them, ourshot might have hurt them more than the enemy. 

Our only hope was in the faint glow of dawn on the horizon, and theprospect, in a few minutes, of sufficient daylight to work by. Meanwhile we loaded, and reconnoitred the fort, in readiness for themoment of action. 

Day came at last, and showed us the _Diana_ with the two French shipsclose-hauled, trying to keep their weather-gage. Our men ashore werestill hemmed in between the fort and the troops, who, now we came tolook at them, were posted in force behind some earthworks whichcommanded the passage from the shore to the fort. One of our boats wasstove in, and the other was in the hands of the enemy. 

Without a glass it was hard to read the signals on the _Diana_; but shemust have noticed that the French flag on the fort was down, for we sawher set her sails and prepare to meet her two assailants in the open. If she could only get the weather-gage, we would startle the Frenchmenin a way which would amaze them. 

As for our own fellows ashore, a pounding shot from one of our guns, which we contrived to lower sufficiently to command the earthworks, soonapprised them what was in the wind, and with a rush they made for thenow friendly fort. The enemy followed, but too slowly to prevent theirentrance. The few shots they sent were wild and high. Only one tookeffect, and that, alas! was on my faithful comrade; so that when thegate was opened, I was the only man left to hand over the fort to hisMajesty's officers. 

After that, we made short business of the Republic One and Indivisiblein the island of Chanson. The _Diana_ slipped out cleverly in thewind's eye, with a broadside a-piece to her opponents, who, when theyfound themselves caught between the two fires, thought better of theirenterprise, and tried to get out of it. 

Only one of them succeeded; and our fellows spent a merry morning andafternoon with the other, boarding her and running the king's flag tothe top of her mainmast. 

This adventure--though, as I say, I deserved no more credit for it thanthe score of gallant fellows who lost their lives--gained me no smallrenown; and when presently the _Diana_ was ordered home to Britishwaters, one of the first pieces of news that met me when we landed atPortsmouth was that I had been recommended to the Admiralty as asuitable person to receive his Majesty's warrant as boatswain to myship. Meantime, as necessary repairs to the _Diana_ would necessitate afull month in dock, leave of absence for a week or two was granted tomost of her crew in consideration of their long service. 

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE. 

LORD EDWARD. 

Captain Swift, himself an Irishman, when he understood that I wasdesirous of spending my leave of absence in Donegal, was gracious enoughto appoint me his secretary for the time being, and thus made easy whatmight otherwise have been a difficult journey. The captain'sdestination was a few miles south of Derry, where his family resided, sothat I was brought well on my way. 

Our journey took us through Dublin, in which city the captain remainedsome days, to confer with the naval authorities there as to the futureservice of the _Diana_ in Irish waters. During that short halt I hadtime to look about me, and form some impressions of a place of which Ihad so often heard but never yet seen. 

I am not going to trouble my readers with those impressions. Indeed, when it came to looking about me, I found my attention taken hold of bymatters far more important than streets and edifices. 

On the day before our departure for the north, one of my first errandswas to the coach-office, to engage places for the captain and myself forthe journey. I had done this, and was about to quit the yard, when aprivate travelling coach, evidently about to start (for it was piledwith baggage on the top), drew up at the gate, to take on board a sackof corn for the horses. 

It was evidently the equipage of a wealthy man. Two passengers wereinside--a lady and a gentleman--both well cloaked, for it was a coldspring day. I could not see their faces, and should probably not havetroubled myself twice about them, but for two strange incidents whichhappened, just as, having taken up what they called for, the carriagestarted on its journey. A man on the pavement, who had evidently beenwatching the halt, uttered a howl of execration and shook his fist atthe window. A moment after, a young gentleman of military bearing, mounted on a grey horse, cantered up the road and overtook the coach onthe other side. He carried a small bunch of flowers, which he stoopedto pass in at the window to the lady, receiving in exchange a wave fromone of the prettiest hands I ever saw. Next moment the coach wasrattling down the street; and the gentleman having accompanied it ashort distance, kissed his hand and wheeled up a side street anddisappeared. 

Unless I was greatly deceived, that gentleman was Captain Lestrange. 

"Who are the travellers?" said I to the man who had shaken his fist. 

He was apparently a countryman, dressed in an old frieze coat, with aslouching hat. 

He ground his teeth as he turned on me. 

"The greatest villain on earth, " said he. "I know him. "

"I suppose so, " said I, "or you would hardly excite yourself about him. "

"Excite, is it? Man, dear, if there is a Judas on this earth, that'shim! Excite? you'd be excited too. "

The man talked like one tipsy, but I did not think it was with drink. 

"What has he done to you?" said I. 

"Done? Isn't that the boy who's lured us all on, and then comes toDublin to denounce us? Man alive, did you never hear of Maurice Gormanin your life?"

It was as much as I could do to stand steady under this shock. 

"I was never in Dublin before, " said I; "how should I? Is he anEnglishman?"

"Englishman? he's worse. He's an Irish traitor, I tell you, and feedson the blood of his people. He was the toad that made fools of us all, and wormed himself into our secrets, and then turned and stabbed us inthe back. But we're not dead yet. We'll be even with him. "

"Where has he gone now?" said I. 

"Away home with his girl, who's as bad as himself. Sure, you saw hercoquetting with the young dandy just now. He's in the very middle ofthe nest of vipers that are plotting to grind the life out of Ireland. Maybe, " said he, stopping suddenly and looking hard at me, "you're oneof that same nest yourself?"

"God forbid!" said I; "I love Ireland. "

"That's good hearing. You're one of us?"

"Of the friends of my country, yes. "

"A sworn friend?"

"I was sworn, yes, " said I, determined at all cost to hear more of thebusiness. 

"Come this afternoon to the printer's house in Marquis Street; you'llhear more of Gorman then, maybe. _Pikes and hemp_ is the word. Noquestions will be asked--not if you are Ireland's friend. "

"I'll be there, " said I; "and God save Ireland!"

"Amen!" said he, and we parted. 

It was, as I learned presently, the babbling of foolish talkers likethis poor fellow that wrecked the Irish conspiracy. 

As for me, I confess I felt misgivings. I was a servant of his Majesty, and had no business with secret conspiracies. Yet, when a life soprecious to me was at stake, how could I help trying to do something tosave it? Besides (and this salved my conscience a little), had I notpromised Tim, in the last hour I was with him, to strike a blow for mycountry?

For hours that morning I paced the streets of Dublin debating withmyself, trying to reconcile dishonour with honour, and love with duty;determining one hour to fail in my appointment, in another to keep itand report all I heard to the government. 

Finally, anxiety and curiosity got the better of me, and at theappointed hour I stood at the door of the printer's office in MarquisStreet. 

No one challenged me as I entered or passed through the outer shop, where a lad was at work folding pamphlets. But at the inner door, leading to the press-room, a little shutter slid back and a face lookedout. 

"_Pikes and hemp_, " said I. 

"Name. "

"Barry. "

"Pass, friend. "

I found myself in a large apartment, in one corner of which stood theprinting-press, and in another an iron table and a can of ink. 

My friend of the morning, looking restless and haggard, was there, andgreeted me, I thought, somewhat anxiously, as though he doubted theprudence of his invitation. He did not, I am sure, feel more anxiousthan I, who every moment found the act in which I was engaged moreintolerable. 

At last, when about a hundred men, most of them of the class of myfriend, had dropped in silently, and stood talking in knots, awaitingone further arrival, I could stand it no longer. 

"I told you a lie this morning, " said I in a low voice to my companion;"I am not sworn. "

He turned as white as a sheet. 

"Then you are here to betray us?"

"No, " said I. "Let me go, and no one shall hear a word of this. "

"You cannot go, " said he excitedly, "it would be death to me if it wereknown, and to you too. Stay where you are now. "

"I don't want to stay, " said I; "I was a fool to come. "

"You will be still more a fool to go, " said he. "Sit down; eyes are onus already. Life may be nothing to you, but it is everything to me. "

He spoke so eagerly, almost piteously, that I felt sorry for him, andfor his sake more than my own took the seat at his side. 

At that moment there entered the room a noble-looking young man, atsight of whom every one present rose to his feet and uncovered. 

"It's Lord Edward himself!" exclaimed my companion, still trembling. 

Lord Edward! I had heard of him before. It was he whose letter I hadcarried four years ago to Depute Duport on behalf of the unfortunateSillery; and it was he on whom just now the eyes of all Irish rebelswere turned for guidance and hope in the desperate enterprise on whichthey were embarked. 

There was something fascinating in his open frank countenance and thehalf reckless, joyous air with which he carried himself. The assembly, which, till he arrived, had been sombre and mysterious, lit up under hispresence into enthusiasm and eagerness. 

He had news to give and receive; and as I sat and listened I came tolearn more of the state of Ireland in half-an-hour than a week in Dublinwould have taught me. 

The fuel was ready for the torch. The United Irishmen were organisedand drilled in every county. The English garrison was becoming day byday more slack and contemptible. What traitors there were were knownand marked. The dawn was in the sky. A little more patience, a littlemore sacrifice, a little more self-restraint, and the hour of Ireland'sliberty would soon strike. 

But it was not in generalities like these that the speaker moved myadmiration most. It was when the meeting came to consider the state ofthe rebel organisation in various parts that the soldier and generalshone out in him, and convinced me that if any man could carry themovement through he would. The present meeting, as I understood, consisted of delegates from the north, where people were beginning togrow impatient for the signal to rise; and where, as some one boasted, one hundred thousand men were ready even now to move on Dublin and drivethe English garrison into the sea. 

"What of the Donegal men?" inquired Lord Edward, looking at a paperbefore him. "I see there is a question of treachery there. "

"By your lordship's leave, " said my companion, starting up, "I denounceMaurice Gorman of Knockowen as a traitor to the cause. He has been inDublin within the last week in conference at the Castle. "

Lord Edward's brow clouded. 

"Was it not through him the Donegal men got their arms?"

"It was; and it's through him many of them have lost them, for he's asbusy now disarming as he was a few years back arming. "

"What is the reason of the change?"

"Money, my lord. He's grown a rich man; he must keep in with thegovernment, or his estates will be taken. "

Lord Edward shrugged his shoulders. 

"We have not much to fear from a poltroon like him; but let theProvincial Directory of Ulster deal with the matter. Meanwhile we wantto know that Donegal is as ready as other parts. We have some good menthere surely. Order a return of all secretaries and officers in amonth, " said he to the clerk. 

Then other matters were talked of, including the prospect of a Frenchlanding; and presently the meeting broke up. At the end of it LordEdward walked straight up to me. 

"Yours is a new face here, " said he. 

"It is, my lord, " said I. "I am a Donegal man who has been abroad forfour years; yet we have had dealings together before now. "

"Were you at Hamburg or Basle?" said he. 

"Neither; but I had the honour of carrying a letter from your lordshipto a French deputy in '93, as well as another, franked by your lordship, for a certain Mr Lestrange in Paris. "

He looked hard at me. 

"You are not John Cassidy?" said he. 

Then I told him the story of my adventure in the wood near Morlaix, andhow I delivered the letters of his dead messenger in Paris. 

He clapped me on the back. 

"You are a good fellow, " said he, "and I thank you. Little came of myletters; but that was no fault of yours. So you are one of us inDonegal?"

"No, my lord, " said I. "I am here on false pretences, though not whollyof my own accord. I cannot expect you to be troubled with myexplanations, but they are at your service if you require them. If not, here I am at your mercy. "

He looked at me suspiciously for a moment, then he smiled. 

"Walk a little way home with me, " said he. 

So I followed him out, the members present saluting as he passed throughthem, and wondering, no doubt, what high official of the society wasthis whom the leader of Ireland chose thus to honour. 

"Now, " said Lord Edward, as we got to the end of the street, "what isthis mystery?"

"Shortly, my lord, I am in love, " began I. 

He laughed pleasantly at that. 

"There we agree entirely, " said he. 

"I am a servant to his Majesty, and have sworn him allegiance, " Icontinued. 

"His Majesty has more than he deserves. "

"I am a sailor, sir, on leave. I arrived only yesterday in Dublin afterfour years' absence. To-morrow (unless you or your society shoot methrough the head) I start northward, hoping to get a glimpse of her Ilove. By chance to-day I heard her father's name mentioned in thestreet as a man whose life was in peril. In a weak moment I so farforgot my duty to my king as to pass myself off to my informant as aUnited Irishman, in the hope of obtaining information which might enableme to help him. "

"I trust you got it, " said his lordship. 

"I did not, " said I; "the Provincial Directory of Ulster is to deal withthe case. "

Lord Edward stopped short. 

"You don't mean--" began he, and stopped. 

"I mean that I love Maurice Gorman's daughter--a hopeless questperhaps--but the prize--"

"The most charming lady in Ireland, " said he. "Your name is Barry, Ibelieve?"

"Barry Gallagher, my lord. "

"Are you a kinsman of Tim Gallagher of Fanad?"

"Twin-brother. Is he alive then?" and in my eagerness I seized hislordship's arm. 

He did not resent the liberty at all. 

"He is, and is a trusty member of our society, as I hope you will beeven yet. "

"Pardon me, " said I; "had Tim been dead, I promised him to fight forIreland. As it is, I am bound to my king. "

"Well, " said he, with a shrug, "that is no concern of mine. As to yourspying on our meeting--all's fair in love and war. You will, no doubt, make use of what you have heard against us. "

"That I certainly shall not do, " said I. "I am a poor man, but I am atleast a gentleman. To protect the lady I love I shall certainly try;but to betray those whose gallantry and chivalry have spared me to doit, I certainly shall not. Besides, apart from my obligations to you, Iam already sworn to secrecy. " And I told him how I had once been forcedto take the oath of the society, and had already got the length ofpledging myself to secrecy before a happy diversion saved me from therest. 

"Well, Gallagher, " said he, stopping short and extending his hand withthat engaging smile which, rebel as he was, knit my soul to him, "I donot say but, were I in your shoes, I should feel compelled to act as youdo. It is a delicate position. When we meet again it may be with drawnswords. Meanwhile, luck go with your wooing, and may it turn out ashappy as my own. "

This kindness quite humbled and abashed me. I had been guilty ofmeanness and disloyalty, and this noble way of passing it over took allthe conceit out of me. 

I returned crestfallen, with slow steps, to the captain's hotel. Eventhe news of Tim's safety failed to inspirit me. "The most charming ladyin Ireland, " were the words that rang in my ears; and who was I--commonseaman, sneak, and cadger--to aspire to such as her? Would she, Iwondered, ever care to take a flower from me as she had taken one fromCaptain Lestrange that morning?

I was half minded to beg Captain Swift for leave to remain behind inDublin. But then the thought of the peril that threatened her urged meto go forward. At least I could die for her. 

At the door of the hotel a person in plain clothes, but evidently asoldier, touched me on the shoulder. 

"I see you are a friend of Lord Edward Fitzgerald, " said he with asmirk. 

I did not like the looks of the fellow, and replied shortly, --

"What if I am?"

"Only that you can earn five hundred pounds as easily as you ever earneda shilling, " said he. 

"Indeed! how?"

"By giving the government some information. "

"As to what?"

"The plans of the United Irishmen. "

"Who are they?" said I. 

"Come, don't pretend to be innocent. The money's safe, I tell you. "

"And I tell you, " said I, bridling up, "that I know no more of theUnited Irishmen or their plans than you do. I saw Lord Edward for thefirst time in my life to-day. Our business had nothing to do withpolitics; and if it had, I would not sell it to you or your masters forten thousand pounds. If you want news, go to Lord Edward himself; andwear a thick coat, for he carries a cane. "

The man growled out some sort of threat or defiance and disappeared. But it showed me that, as matters then were, there was no doing anythingin a corner, and the sooner I was north the better for every one. 

So when next morning my captain and I, on the top of the coach, rumbledout of the gate at which only yesterday my little mistress had waved herhand, I was glad, despite many forebodings, to find myself once more onthe wing. 

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR. 

WHAT I FOUND UNDER THE HEARTHSTONE AT KILGORMAN. 

Our journey northward was uneventful. Captain Swift and I partedcompany at Derry. My orders were to join the _Diana_ at Dublin at theend of the month, which allowed me only a little over a fortnight for mybusiness in Donegal. 

You may fancy with what mingled feelings I found myself one eveningstanding once more on the quay at Rathmullan, looking down the lough asit lay bathed in the shifting colours of the spring sunset, trying todetect in the distance the familiar little clump of trees behind whichnestled Knockowen House. Was this journey one of peace or of war? Didhope lurk for me behind yonder trees; or had I come all this way todiscover that the old comrade was forsaken for the new, and that thehumble star of the sailor boy had been snuffed out by the gay sun of thegentleman soldier?

Then as my eye travelled further north and caught the bluff headlandstowards the lough mouth, other doubts seized me. My mother's messagehad burned holes in my pocket ever since I set foot again on Irish soil. And that sacred duty done, what fate awaited me among the secret rebelsfrom whose clutches, when last I saw the Swilly, I was fleeing for mylife, but who now, if I was to believe what I had heard, counted Tim, myown brother, in their ranks?

Late as it was, I was too impatient to postpone my fate by a night'srest at the inn, and hired a boat for a sail down the lough. 

Few men were about, and those who were could never have recognised inthe tall, bronzed, bearded boatswain the poor, uncouth lad who fouryears ago rowed his honour's boat. One or two that I saw I fancied Iknew, one particularly, who had changed little since he held his gun tomy head that night on the hills when I half took the oath of thesociety. 

It was market day, and many boats were on the water, so that littlenotice was taken of me as I hoisted my sail and ran down on the familiartack for the point below Knockowen. 

The light soon fell, and I watched eagerly for the window lights. Onceor twice on the road north I had heard of the travellers in the privatecarriage, and knew they had reached home a day or two ago; and to thisnews one gossip that I encountered on the road to Rathmullan added thatMistress Gorman, my little lady's mother, had died two years ago, andthat the maid was now her father's only companion and housekeeper. 

Presently the well-known twinkle of light shot out, and towards it, witha heart that throbbed more restlessly than my boat, I turned my keel. 

When I came up level with the house it was all I could do to refrainfrom running my boat alongside the landing-place as of yore. I loweredmy sail and let her drift as close under the bank as possible. No onewas stirring. There were lights in the upper room, and one above thehall-door. Towards the former I strained my eyes longingly for aglimpse even of her shadow. How long I waited I knew not--it might havebeen a minute or an hour--but presently she came, her figure, morewomanly than when I last saw it, dark against the light within, and herhair falling in waves upon her shoulder. She stood for a moment at theclosed window, then opened it and looked out. The night was cold anddark; but she braved it, and sat humming a tune, her hand playing withthe ivy that crept up to the window-sill. 

The air was one I knew. Many a time had she crooned it in the old daysas I rowed her in the boat. Once, on a specially happy evening, she hadsung it in the attic on the Quai Necker in Paris, and had laughed when Iput in a rough bass. 

I could not help, as I stood and listened, repeating the experiment, first very softly, then less so, and finally loud enough for her tohear. 

What fools we men are! At that instant, with a savage howl, a dog--myown dog Con--rushed down the garden to the spot. The window closedabruptly; there was a sound of voices in the yard and a drawing of boltsat the hall-door, and a hurrying of lights within. I had barely time tocast off from the stake by which I held, and let my boat into the rapidebb, when footsteps sounded on the gravel, and a shot fired into thenight woke the echoes of the lough. 

So much for my serenading, and so much for the life of security andpeace my little mistress was doomed to live in her father's house. 

I cared not much where the tide took me after that, till presently thetossing of my boat warned me that I must be on the reef off Kilgormancliffs. In the darkness I could see nothing, but my memory was strongenough to serve for moon and compass both. On this tide and with thiswind ten minutes would bring me into the creek. 

Why not? Why not now as well as any other time? I was a man, andfeared ghosts no longer. Love had been warned away from Knockowen; dutyshould welcome me at Kilgorman. So I put down my helm, let out mysheet, commended myself to my Maker, and made for the black rocks. 

I was determined to avoid the creek and make for the house by the narrowcave which, as I had discovered at my last visit, led up from the shoreto the great hearth in the kitchen of the house, and which, as it thenseemed, was a secret passage known only to his honour and the smugglersin his employ. It needed some groping about in the dark to find theledge of rock behind which was the small crack in the cliff that markedthe entrance; but I hit on it after a little, and, shoving through, found myself inside the cave. I moored my boat beside the rocky ledge, and then clambered up to the entrance of the narrow gallery. Once theremy course was clear; only I wished I had a light, for I knocked first myhead, then my knees, then my elbows, and finally had to complete thejourney in humble fashion on my hands and knees. 

It surprised me greatly, when after long groping I supposed myself closeto my destination, to perceive the glimmer of a light at the end of thepassage, still more to hear the sound of voices. Were they ghosts orsmugglers, or what?

If ghosts, I was disposed to venture on. That they were smugglers Icould hardly believe, for there had been no sight of a ship anywherenear, nor of a boat in the cave. Whoever they were, they must haveentered the place by the ordinary way above ground, and if so wereprobably unaware of the secret passage. At any rate, I had come so far, and would not turn back till I saw good reason. I had a pistol in mypocket and a tolerably handy knife, with which, even if surprised, Icould give a good account of myself. So I crawled on, and presentlycame to a place where I could stand upright, and crept close under thecorner of the upright stones that flanked the great hearth. 

The mystery of the light and voices was soon explained. About a dozenmen were assembled in the kitchen, lit up by the glare of a commoncandle, engaged in earnest consultation. Among the few faces which thelight revealed to me I recognised some of my old foes of the secretsociety, and in the voices of others whose faces were hidden Irecognised more. 

The subject under discussion was twofold, and as its meaning graduallydawned on me I felt no compunction in listening. 

The first matter was a letter, which had evidently been read before Iarrived, from the leaders of the United Irishmen in Dublin, calling fora return of the members and officers and arms in each district. Fromwhat I could gather, Donegal was not a hopeful region. It numbered, indeed, a few branches of the society scattered up and down the countylike that now in session, and was supposed to possess a few arms, and tobe able when called upon to put into the field a few drilled men; butcompared with other districts it was ineffective, and more given over tosmuggling and unorganised raids than to disciplined work for the causeof Irish liberty. 

This, as far as I could gather, was the subject of the somewhatupbraiding letter which had arrived from headquarters. 

"Arrah, thin, and it's the truth they're spakin', " said one voice, "andwe'll need to be moving. "

"Move, is it? How'll you move when only the half of yez--and that'ssome of yez as are not here the night--come to the meetings? Sure wecould move fast enough if all the boys that's sworn would jine us. "

"Anyhow, here's the paper. It 'ud be a shame if Donegal was not to havea hand in the turn-out when it comes. Bedad, I'd move across to Antrimif it came to that. "

"And as for officers, sure we're well off for them. Isn't LarryFlanagan here a rale born secretary; and Jake Finn makes an iliganttreasurer; and as for captain--"

"Ah, I can name you the man for that. "

"Who now? for it's not iverybody that'll suit. "

"Tim Gallagher's your man. "

If I started at this, the sound was lost in the general acclamationwhich the proposal evoked. 

"Faith, and you've named the very boy. Young as he is, his heart's inthe business. "

"And more by tokens, he's well spoke of by them that know. I'm eventold Lord Edward has a good word for him. "

"If there's anything against him, it is that he's brother to that scurvyinformer that set Gorman on to us, and who, I hear, is still about. Timwill have to go the whole hog if he's to lead us. There's hunting downto be done, I warn you, as well as fighting. "

"Anyhow, Tim's the boy for us, and I propose him. He's due back thisweek, if he's not caught by his honour's ferrets. "

"That brings us to the other matter, " said the man already spoken of asFlanagan, the secretary, in whom I recognised one of my old persecutors, "and it's about that same vermin. I've a letter from the UlsterCommittee bidding us deal with Gorman in a way that's best for the goodof Ireland. "

"That means a bullet in him, " said one man bluntly. 

"Faith, and you've hit it, my lad. We've been squeamish enough. "

"It's got to be done, and soon, or he'll get the upper hand of us. There's men of his away seizing the arms in Rathmullan and Milford thisweek--him as was the manes of bringing them in too!"

"It's one man's job. His house is too well guarded for a raid; he mustbe met on the hillside. I say, let's draw lots. To-morrow he's to rideto Malin by the Black Hill road. "

"Ay, that's the road Terence Gorman rode the night he paid his debts. It's a grand place for squaring up is the Black Hill. "

"Come now, " said Flanagan, who had been busily marking a piece of paper, "there's a paper for each of yez, and the one that draws the cross isthe boy for the job. Come, one at a time now; draw out of my ould hat, and good luck to yez all. "

One by one they advanced and drew, and the lot fell on one they calledPaddy Corkill, whose vicious face fell a little as he saw the fatalmark. 

"Arrah, and it's me hasn't aven a gun, " said he. 

"Take mine--it's a good one, " said the secretary; "and more by tokens itwas Tim Gallagher's once, for he gave it me, and his name's on it. To-morrow noight we meet here to hear your news, Paddy, if we're not on thehill, some of us, to see the job done. "

"Faith, if it must be done it must, " said Paddy. "It's no light thingsetting a country free. "

"Away with yez now, " said the secretary, "or the ghost will be huntingyez. "

On which the meeting dispersed. I could hear their footsteps die awaydown the passage, and presently pass crunching on the gravel outside, while I remained crouched where I was, as still as a mouse, hardlyknowing if I was awake or dreamed. 

There was no time to be lost, that I could plainly see. But how toprevent this wicked crime was what puzzled me. I could not hope to gainadmittance to Knockowen at this time of night; or if I did, I shouldprobably only thwart my own object, and subject myself to arrest as theassociate of assassins. His honour, I knew, was in the habit ofstarting betimes when business called him to Malin. If I was to doanything, it must be on the Black Hill itself; and thither, accordingly, I resolved to go. 

But before I quitted Kilgorman I had another duty scarcely less sacredthan that of saving a life from destruction. I stood on the very spotto which my mother's last message had pointed me, and nothing shouldtear me now from the place till that wandering spirit was eased of itsnightly burden. 

"_If you love God, whoever you are_, " (so the message ran), "_seek belowthe great hearth; and what you find there, see to it, as you hope forgrace. God send this into the hands of one who loves truth and charity. Amen_. "

Even while I repeated the words to myself, my ear seemed to catch thefluttering footstep advancing down the passage and hear the rustle ofthe woman's dress as she passed through the door and approached myhiding-place. A beam of moonlight struck across the floor, and thenight wind-swept with a wail round the gables without. Then all wassilence, except what seemed to my strained senses a light tap, as withthe sole of a foot, on the flagstone that stretched across in front ofthe fireplace. After that even the wind hushed and the moonlight wentout. 

I advanced cautiously over the embers, and felt my way down the room andinto the passage without. There, where the conspirators had left it, stood the candle, and the tinder-box beside it. I carried the lightback to the hearth, shading it with my hand for fear any one withoutmight see it, and set it down beside the flagstone. All over this stoneI groped without finding any trace of a rift or any hint of how to liftso formidable a weight. It seemed fast set in the boards, and gave nosound of hollowness or symptom of unsteadiness when I tried it. 

I was almost beginning to lose heart, when I knelt by chance, not on thestone, but on a short board at the side, which ran at right angles withthe general planks, and seemed intended as part of a kind of frameworkto the stone. This board creaked under my weight; and when I lookedmore closely at it, I discovered a couple of sunk hinges let deep intothe plank adjoining, and covered over with dust and rust. With mysailor's knife I cleared away at the edges, and after several trials, one of which broke my blade, I managed to raise it and swing it back onits hinges. 

The slight cavity below was full of dirt and rubbish, and it was nottill I had cleared these away that I found it ran partly under theadjoining flagstone. The hole was too small to look into, but I couldget in my hand, and after some groping came upon what I wanted. 

It was a small leather packet, carefully folded and tied round, not muchlarger than an envelope, and fastened on either side with a wafer. Slipped under the outer string was a smaller folded paper, on the coverof which I recognised, to my great amazement, my own name. 

I thrust both packet and paper into my pocket, and after satisfyingmyself that the hole contained nothing more, filled it up again, andrestored the hinged board to its old position. Then I extinguished andreplaced the candle, and a few minutes later was hurrying, with myprecious freight, down the rocky corridor towards the cave where I hadleft my boat. 

I was not long in getting into the outer world once more. My boat Ileft where it was, and scrambled up the rocks to the place from which Ihad once watched the _Arrow_ as she lay at anchor. Here I flung myselfon the turf and waited impatiently for daylight. 

It came at last, and at its first glow I took the packet from my pocket. The small outer paper addressed to me was in Tim's hand, and was verybrief. "Dear Barry, " it said, "I searched as I promised, and have readthis letter. Time enough when Ireland's business is done to attend toyours and mine. --Tim. " From this I turned with trembling curiosity tothe packet itself, and took from it a faded paper, written in a strange, uncultured hand, but signed at the end with my mother's feeblesignature, and dated a month after Tim's and my birth. 

This is the strange matter it contained:--

"I, Mary Gallagher, being at the point of death, "--that was as she thensupposed, but she lived many a year after, as the reader knows--"and asI hope for mercy from God, into whose presence I am summoned, declarethat the girl-child who was buried beside my Mistress Gorman was nothers but mine. My twins were the boy who lives and the girl who died. My lady's child is the boy who passes as twin-brother to mine. It wasMaurice Gorman led me to this wrong. The night that Terence Gorman, mymaster, was murdered and my lady died of the news, Maurice persuaded meto change my dead girl for my lady's living boy, threatening that unlessI did so he would show that Mike, my husband, was his master's murderer. To save my husband I consented. Had I been sure of him I would haverefused; but I feared Mike had a hand in that night's work, though I amsure it was not he who fired the shot. Thus I helped Maurice Gorman tobecome master of Kilgorman and all his brother's property. But they nomore belong to him than the boy belongs to me. And if this be the lastword I say on earth, it is all true, as Maurice knows himself, and Biddythe nurse, who writes this from my lips. God forgive me, and send thisto the hands of them that will make the wrong right. 

(Signed)

"Mary Gallagher. "

"N. B. --The above is true, every word, to my knowledge. 

(Signed)

"Biddy McQuilkin. "

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE. 

ON THE BLACK HILL ROAD. 

This, then, was the mystery which for eighteen years had hung overKilgorman. My mother's letter cleared up a part of it, but the rest itplunged into greater mystery still. That Maurice Gorman was a villainand a usurper was evident. But who was the rightful heir my mother, either through negligence or of set purpose, had failed to state. Wasit Tim? or I?

I recalled all I could of my mother's words and acts to us both--how shetaught us our letters; how she sang to us; how, when need be, she chidus; how, with a hand for each, she took us as children to church; howshe kissed us both at nights, and gave us our porridge when we startedfor the hills in the morning. In all this she never by a sign betrayedthat one of us was her son and the other a stranger. Even to the last, on the day she died, the words she spoke to me, I was convinced, shewould equally have spoken to Tim, had he, not I, been there to hearthem. 

Could it be possible that she did not herself know? Any mother whoreads this will, I think, scoff at the notion; and yet I think it wasso. Weak and ill as she was when it all happened, bewildered and dazedby the murder of her master and the terrible suspicion thrown on herhusband, lying for weeks after in a half swoon, and believing herself atthe gate of death, I think, in spite of all the mothers in Ireland, thatwhen at last she came back to life, and looked on the two little fellowsnestled in the bed at her side, she knew not the one from the other. 

My father, I was sure, if he even knew that one of us was not his ownboy, neither knew nor concerned himself which was which, so long as hekept his honour in good-humour. 

But as regarded Biddy McQuilkin, it was different. She was not ill orblind or in mortal fear when it all happened. If any one could tell, itwas she. And she, unless all reports were false, slept in the pit ofthe guillotine in Paris, beside her last master and mistress. It wasnot likely that the Republic One and Indivisible, when it swept away theold couple, would overlook their faithful and inseparable attendant. 

So, after all, it seemed that mystery was to hang over Tim and me still. I could have been happy had the paper said outright, "Tim is the son ofTerence Gorman. " But to feel that as much might, with equalprobability, be said of me, paralysed my purpose and obscured my path. How was I to set wrong right? As for Tim, it was evident from his briefnote, written at a time when he did not know if I had survived the wreckof the _Kestrel_ or not, that the matter concerned him little comparedwith the rebellious undertaking on which he was just now unhappilyembarked. 

Tim was, I knew, more of a natural gentleman than I, which might meangentler blood. On the other hand, I, of the two of us, was less likeMike Gallagher in looks. Who was to decide between us? And meanwhilethis Maurice Gorman--

That reminded me with a start of last night's business. This very man, robber of the widow, unnatural brother, and oppressor of the fatherless, was appointed for death that very morning, and might already be on hisway to meet it. I confess, as I then felt, I could almost have let himrun on his doom; yet when I recalled the vision in the kitchen lastnight of Paddy Corkill shouldering the borrowed gun, my humanityreasserted itself. How could I stand idle with a human life, howeverworthless, at stake? As to his being Miss Kit's father, that at themoment did not enter into my calculations; but as soon as it did, iturged my footsteps to a still more rapid stride as I made across thebleak tract for the Black Hill. 

The morning was grey and squally, and the mists hung low on the hill-tops, and swept now and then thickly up the valleys. But I knew the waywell. Tim and I had often as boys walked there to look at the spotwhere Terence Gorman fell, and often, in the Knockowen days, I haddriven his honour's gig past the spot on the way to Malin. 

The road ascends steeply some little way up the hill between high rocks. Half-way up it takes a sharp turn inward, skirting the slope on thelevel, and so comes out on to the open bog-road beyond. Just at theangle is a high boulder that almost overhangs the road, affordingcomplete cover to any one waiting for a traveller, and commanding a viewof him both as he walks his horse up the slope and as he trots forwardon the level. It needed not much guessing to decide that it was herethat Terence Gorman's murderer had lurked that fatal night, and thathere Paddy Corkill would come to find his victim this morning. 

As I came to the top of a hill that gave a distant view of the road bywhich the traveller would approach, my heart leaped to my mouth. Forthere, not a mile and a half away, appeared, in a break of the mist, ablack speck, which I knew well enough to be his honour's gig. In half-an-hour or less it would reach the fatal spot, and I could barely hopeto reach it before him. The ground in front of me was littered withboulders, and in places was soft with bog. Rapid progress wasimpossible. A false step, a slip might lame me, and so stop mealtogether. Yet on every moment hung the fate of _her_ father!

It was a wild career I made that morning--down hollows, over rocks, through swamps, and up banks. I soon lost all sight of the road, andknew I should not see it again till I came above the boulder behindwhich the assassin probably lurked. Once I fancied I heard the clatterof the hoofs very near; and once, on the hill before me, I seemed tocatch the gleam of a gun-barrel among the rocks. 

A minute more brought me in view of the boulder and the road below. Stretched on the former, with his gun levelled, lay Corkill, waiting themoment when his victim should reach the corner. On the road, stilltoiling up the hill, came the gig, and to my horror and dismay, not onlyhis honour in it, but Miss Kit herself. 

Even in that moment of terror I could not help noticing how beautifulshe looked, her face intent on the horse she was driving as she sat, inclined a little forward, gently coaxing him up the hill. His honour, aged and haggard, leaned back in his seat, glancing uneasily now andthen at the rocks on either side, and now and then uttering an impatient"tchk" at the panting animal. 

I had barely time to whip out my ship's pistol from my belt--luckilyalready loaded--and level it at the assassin. Almost at the instant ofmy discharge his gun went off; and in the moment of silence thatfollowed, I heard the horse start at a gallop along the level road. 

Paddy lay on his face, hit in the shoulder, but not, as I judged by hiskicking, fatally so. I was less concerned about him than about theoccupants of the gig. As far as I could see, looking after them, neither was hurt, and the assassin's gun must have gone off harmlesslyin the air. The horse, who seemed to know what all this meant as wellas any one, raced for his life, and I was expecting to see the gigdisappear round the turn, unless it overturned first, when a huge stonerolled down on to the road a few yards ahead, and brought the animal upon his haunches with such suddenness that the two travellers were almostpitched from their seats. 

At the same moment two men, armed with clubs, leaped on to the road, onemaking for the horse's head, the other for the step. 

All this took less time to happen than it takes me to tell it, andbefore the gig actually came to a standstill I was rushing along theroad to the spot. My discharged pistol was in my hand, but I had notime to reload. I flung myself at the man on the step just as he raisedhis club, and sending him sprawling on to the road, levelled my weaponat his head. 

"Move, and you're a dead man!" said I. 

Then turning to his honour, I thrust the pistol into his shaking hand, and said, --

"Fire if he tries to get up, your honour. Let me get at the other one. "

He was easily disposed of, for the terrified horse was jerking him offhis feet and dragging him here and there in its efforts to get clear. Isoon had him on the road beside his companion, helping him thereto by acrack on the head from his own club; and I then took the horse in hand, and reduced it, after a struggle, to quietness. 

Till this was done I had had neither time nor heart to lift my eyes tothe occupants of the gig. His honour, very white, kept his eyes on themen on the road and his finger on the trigger of the pistol. But MissKit had all her eyes for me. At first her look was one of meregratitude to a stranger; then it clouded with bewilderment and almostalarm; then suddenly it lit up in a blaze of joyful recognition. 

"Barry, it's you after all?" she cried. 

And the light on her face glowed brighter with the blush that covered itand the tears that sparkled in her eyes. 

At the sound of her voice his honour looked round sharply, and afterstaring blankly for a moment, recognised me too. 

"How came you here?" he exclaimed, as I thought, with as muchdisappointment as pleasure in his voice. 

"I'll tell you that by-and-by, when I've tied up these two scoundrels. --Come, stand up you two, and hands up, if you don't want a taste of coldlead in your heads. "

They obeyed in a half-stupid way. One of them I recognised at once asthe man who had acted as secretary at last night's meeting. No doubt heand his fellow had had their misgivings as to Paddy Corkill's ability, and had come here to second him in case of failure. 

"So, Mr Larry Flanagan, " said I, "there'll be grand news for themeeting to-night!"

"Who are you? I don't know you. Who's told you my name?"

"Never mind. The same as told me that Paddy Corkill borrowed your gunfor this vile deed. Come, back to back now. "

I had already got the tether cord from the boot of the gig, and in a fewminutes had the two fastened up back to back as neatly as a sailor cantie knots. 

"There, " said I, dragging them to the roadside, "you'll do till we sendthe police to fetch you. --Your honour, " said I, "I chanced to hear ofthis plot against your life last night. Thank Heaven I was in time tohelp you and the young mistress! Maybe you'll do well to take a braceof police about with you when you travel, and leave the young lady athome. She will be safer there. "

"Stay, Gallagher, " said his honour, as I saluted and turned to go; "youmust not go like this. I have questions to ask you. "

"And I, " said Miss Kit. "Don't go, Barry. "

"The gig will only hold two, " said I; "but if his honour gives me leave, I'll be at Knockowen to-morrow. "

"Certainly, " said Gorman. "And, Barry, say nothing of this. Leave meto deal with it. "

"As your honour pleases. Besides these two by the roadside, you'll finda boy on the top of yonder boulder who wants a lift to the lock-up. "

"Don't forget to-morrow, Barry, " said my lady with her sweetest smileand wave of the hand, as she gathered the reins together. 

I stood cap in hand till they had disappeared round the bend, and thentook a final look at my captives. 

"So you are Barry Gallagher?" snarled the secretary. 

"What of that?"

"Just this, that unless you let me go, and say not a word, your brotherTim shall swing for a rebel before a week's out. "

It must have been satisfaction to him to see how I was staggered bythis. I had never thought that what I had done to-day might recoil onthe head of my own brother. However, I affected not to be greatlyalarmed at the threat. 

"Tim can take care of himself, " said I, sitting down to load my pistol;"but since that is your game, I'll save the hangman a job. "

And I levelled the weapon at his face. 

"Mercy, Mr Gallagher, " he cried all in a tremble. "Sure, I was onlyjoking. I wouldn't let out on Captain Tim for the world. Come now, won't you believe me?"

His face was such a picture of terror and panic that I was almost sorryfor him. His fellow-prisoner, too, who stood a good chance of the fag-end of my bullet, was equally piteous in his protestations. 

"Mark this, " said I, lowering the pistol, to their great relief, "there's more eyes on you and your confederates than you think. Murderis no way to help Ireland. Tell on Tim if you dare. My pistol cancarry in the dark, and the first of you that has a word to say againsthim may say his prayers. "

And I left them rolling back to back on the roadside. As for PaddyCorkill, when I went to look for him where he had fallen, there was nosign of him but a pool of blood and a track of footsteps, whichpresently lost themselves in the bog. 

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX. 

MARTIAL LAW. 

I spent the rest of that day in wandering over the familiar haunts onFanad, in the vain hope of encountering Tim. Towards night, worn-outwith weariness and excitement, I abandoned the quest, and dropped backon the tide to Rathmullan. 

The place was full of reports of the new orders which had come fromDublin for the disarming of the people, and of the military rigour withwhich soldiers and magistrates between them were putting their powersinto force. Nearly a hundred stands of arms had, it was rumoured, beencaptured the day before at Milford, and one man who resisted the searchhad been hung summarily on the nearest tree. 

As I sat screened off in a quiet corner of the inn over my supper, anew-comer entered and joined the group who were discussing the news ofthe day in the public-room. 

"Well?" was the greeting of one or two as he entered. 

"Whisht, boys! we're done intirely, " said the new-comer. 

"How done? Did he not pass that road?"

"He did; but never a hair of him was singed. "

"I knew Paddy was a botch with the gun, " said one; "there should havebeen better than him for such a job. Was he taken?"

"'Deed, I don't know how it all happened, but you're out about Paddy. He did his best, I'm told, and there were two to second him. But thejob had got wind, and Paddy got a shot in the arm before he could letfly. And they tell me the other two are taken. "

A cry of consternation went round the audience. "If Flanagan's one ofthem--"

"The very boy. "

"It'll be a bad job for us all, then, for Flanagan will save his skin iftwenty others swing for it. Where is he?"

"At Knockowen for the night. "

"No news of Tim Gallagher?"

"Not a word. It's a wonder what's keeping him. He's badly wanted. "

"'Deed, you may say so. He's the only gineral we have. "

"As for Flanagan, " said some one else, "I'm thinking he may not havetoime to turn king's evidence. They're making quick work of the boysnow. Is there no getting him away out of that before he tells?"

"Knockowen's guarded like a fort, with a troop of horse quartered init. "

"Dear, oh! Do the rest of the boys know of it?"

"Ay, and they've scattered. And I'm thinking that is what we'd best do, in case Flanagan names names. "

"You're roight, " said the chief speaker, rising. "By the powers, there'll be a big reckoning for all this when Tim comes home. "

And they trooped out into the road. 

All this was disturbing enough, and decided me to be early at myappointment with his honour in the morning. 

"Yet, " said I to myself, "men who can talk thus above their breath in apublic inn are not the sort of men that will turn the land upside down. What would Lord Edward say if he could hear them--or Tim, for the matterof that?"

It was scarcely eight o'clock next morning when I pulled boldly up tohis honour's pier and moored my boat. 

At the garden entrance stood a trooper on guard, who brought his gun tothe port and demanded what I wanted, "I am here to see his honour, athis bidding. "

"What is your name?"

"Barry Gallagher. "

The soldier gave a whistle, and a comrade from within approached, towhom he spoke a few words. 

"Wait there!" said the sentinel to me, closing the gate as if I were abeggar, and resuming his pacing to and fro. 

I swallowed my pride as best I could. If I had been fool enough toflatter myself I was to be welcomed with open arms and made much of foryesterday's exploit, this was a short way of undeceiving me. For aquarter of an hour I kicked my heels on the narrow causeway, looking upsometimes at the windows of the house for a chance glimpse of my littlelady. How would she meet me after all these years? Would it be meregraciousness to one who had done her a service, or something more? Ishould soon know. 

The sentinel presently opened the gate and beckoned me to approach. 

"Pass, Gallagher, " said he, motioning me to follow his comrade. 

The latter conducted me up the garden, and round the house to the yard, where a strange scene met my eyes. 

A soldier stood on guard at each doorway. In the middle of the openspace was a table, and at it three chairs, in which sat his honour, another gentleman, and a choleric-looking man in the uniform of acaptain of horse. Standing before the table handcuffed, and in thecustody of three policemen, stood Flanagan and his comrade, whom I hadlast left back to back on Black Hill Road. 

His honour recognised my arrival with a cold nod, and Flanagan, who wasapparently under examination at the moment, scowled viciously. Theother prisoner, who seemed as much fool as knave, looked with white facefirst at his judges, then at the doors, and finally with a listless sighstraight before him. 

"How many does your society consist of?" his honour's fellow-magistratewas inquiring of Flanagan as I arrived. 

"Och, your honour, there you puzzle me, " began the shifty informer; "itmight be--"

The officer brought his fist down on the table with a sound whichbrought all the soldiers about the place to attention, and made theprisoners start. 

"Speak out, sir, or you shall swing on that hook on the wall in twominutes. "

"Arrah, colonel dear, sure I'm telling you. There's forty-eight swornmen, and that's the truth. "

"You are the secretary, " said the magistrate. "Give me a list of theirnames. "

"'Deed, sir, my memory is not what it was, and the book--"

"Here 'tis, captain, " said a soldier, advancing with a salute, andholding out a small copy-book; "it was found on him. "

"That will do, " said the magistrate, putting it down without examiningit. "Who is your captain or leader?"

"Who's the captain?" repeated the prisoner vaguely. 

"You hear what I say, " replied the magistrate. "Answer the question atonce!"

"The captain? Sure, sir, it's Tim Gallagher, own brother to the manwho's standing there. "

Here all eyes were turned on me, and I found it difficult to endure theunfriendly scrutiny with composure. Had I walked into a trap after all, and instead of thanks was I to find myself implicated in this plot andsuspected as a rebel?

"Tim Gallagher, " said the magistrate, turning to his honour. "Do youknow him, Gorman?"

"I do, " replied Mr Gorman shortly, and evidently uneasy. "His fatherwas once a boatman on my place. "

"Ah, and a smuggler too, wasn't he? We used to hear of him at Malinsometimes. "

"Likely enough. He was drowned some years ago. "

"And his two sons are rebels?"

"One is by all accounts, " said his honour; "the other is here, and canspeak for himself. "

"I am no more a rebel than you, " said I hotly, without waiting to bequestioned. "I am a servant of the king. His honour here knows if Iever joined with them. "

"It is true, " said his honour, as I thought rather grudgingly, "thisrough-spoken young man was the one who frustrated the attempt on meyesterday. I know of nothing against his loyalty. "

"Yet, " said the presiding magistrate, who had been turning over theleaves of the secretary's book, "I find Barry Gallagher's name down hereas having taken the oath. How's that?"

"It's false!" exclaimed I, betraying more confusion at this suddenannouncement than was good for me. "I was once forced, years ago, witha gun at my head, to repeat the words or some of them; but I was neverproperly sworn!"

"How did you hear of the attempt that was to be made on Mr Gorman?"demanded the officer suspiciously. 

"By accident, sir. I overheard the whole plot. "

"Where?"

"That doesn't matter. I'm not under arrest?"

At this the officer glared at me, his honour drummed his fingers on thetable, and the other magistrate looked sharply up. 

"We can remedy that in a moment, " said he; "and will do so unless youtreat this court with more respect. We require you to say if you knowthe meeting-place of this gang. "

"Sure, your honour, I'm after telling you--" began Flanagan, when he wasperemptorily ordered to be silent. 

"Answer the question!" thundered the officer, "or--"

Mr Gorman looked up. He had his own good reasons for preventing anyrevelations as to the secret uses to which Kilgorman had been put inpast times. 

"Pardon me, captain, would it not be much better to take informationlike this in a more private manner, if we are to run these villains toearth? At present, what we have to decide is as to the two prisoners;and there seems no question as to their guilt. I identify them both asthe men who attacked my car, and whom Gallagher here helped to capture. "

The officer growled something about interfering civilians, but the othermagistrate adopted his honour's view. 

"Perhaps you are right, Gorman; but we must find out their hiding-placesfor all that later on. --Have you any questions to ask, Captain Lavan?"

"Only how long is this formality going on? It's as clear a case as youcould have, and yet here have we been sitting an hour in this draughtyyard trying to obscure it, " said the soldier gruffly. "I'm sent here toadminister martial law, not to kick my heels about in a police-court. "

The two magistrates took this rebuke meekly, and the president proceededto pronounce his sentence. 

"Cassidy, " said he to the prisoner who had not spoken, and who hadevidently refused to answer any question, "you have been caught red-handed in a cowardly attempt to murder an officer of his Majesty, andhave admitted your guilt. You have also been proved to be a sworn rebelagainst the king, and engaged in a conspiracy to overturn his governmentin Ireland. According to the law, your life is forfeited, and I have noalternative but to hand you over to the military authorities forimmediate execution. "

"Guards!" cried the captain, rising, "advance! Take the prisoneroutside and shoot him. Quick march!"

Cassidy, who heard his sentence without concern or emotion, shouted, --

"Down with the king! Down with informers!" and fell in between hisexecutioners, as they marched from the yard. 

"As for you, Flanagan, your guilt is equally clear and heinous; but youhave given evidence which entitles you to more lenient treatment. Youwill be taken to Derry Jail, till arrangements are made to send you outof the country--"

"Faith, I'd start this day!" said Flanagan, on whom the perils ofremaining within reach of his late comrades were evidently beginning todawn. 

"Silence! Remove the prisoner!"

At this moment the report of a volley in the paddock without sent a grimshudder through the party. Flanagan, with a livid face, walked offbetween his guards, and the three magistrates turned to enter the house. 

His honour beckoned to me to follow, and took me into his private room. 

"I owe you something for yesterday, " said he in his ungracious way. "Take a word of advice. Get out of these parts as soon as you can, andwarn your brother to do the same. "

"Why should I go?" said I. "I've done nothing to be ashamed of. "

"Unless you are prepared to tell the authorities everything you know, and assist in hunting down the rebels, you are better away. You are amarked man already among the rebels. Unless you assist our side youwill be a marked man among the authorities. "

"If it comes to that, your honour, " said I, "there is no man more markedin these parts than yourself. The boys could forgive you for being onthe English side, but they can't forgive you for having encouraged themonce and turned against them now. "

His honour turned white at this. 

"How do you know that?" he demanded. 

"How does every one know it?" replied I. "Your enemies are not likelyto let you off with yesterday's attempt. "

His honour looked at me as if he would read in my face something morethan my words expressed. I was older now than I once was, and I was myown master, so I had no reason to avoid his scrutiny. 

"I have given you the advice of a friend, " said he coldly; "take it orleave it. Meanwhile, your business here is at an end. "

"May I see Miss Kit?" said I, in a milder tone, which his honour at onceobserved. "She desired to see me when I came to-day. "

"Miss Gorman is not at home. "

This was a blow to me, and I had not the art to conceal it. 

"Will she be back to-day?" I ventured to ask. 

"No; she has gone on a visit to friends, " replied his honour, whoevidently enjoyed my disappointment. 

"She expected to be at home when I saw her yesterday. "

"And what of that? Pray, what matters it to you?"

"Only this, " said I, warming up, "that I would lay down my life any dayfor Miss Kit; and it is for her sake, and for her alone, that I would besorry to see harm come to a man to whom I owe nothing but harshness andinjury. "

I repented as soon as I had said the words, but he gave me no chance ofdrawing back. He laughed dryly. 

"So that's at the bottom of it? The son of a boatman and smuggleraspires to be son-in-law to the owner of Knockowen and Kilgorman--apretty honour indeed!"

Here I flung all prudence to the winds, and glared in his face as Isaid, --

"Suppose, instead of the son of a boatman and smuggler, the man wholoved your daughter were the son of him whose estates and fortune youhave stolen, what then, Mr Gorman?"

He looked at me attentively for a moment, and his face turned so whitethat I thought him about to swoon. It was a moment or two before hecould master his tongue, and meanwhile he kept his eyes on me like a manfascinated. 

"Fool!" he gasped at last. "You don't know what you are talking about. "Then with a sudden recovery of composure, and in a voice almostconciliatory, he added, "Miss Kit is about to visit her friends inDublin, and will not be back here for weeks. Take the advice of afriend, Gallagher, and get away from these parts. To give you thechance, you may, if you wish to serve me, ride to Malin instead ofMartin, and escort my daughter as far as Derry. "

"Miss Kit might prefer some other escort, " said I. 

"She might. You are not bound to wait upon her. But I can give you apass if you do. "

"When does she leave Malin?"

"To-morrow forenoon. "

"And what of Tim if he is caught?" said I. 

"Warn him to keep on Fanad. He will be safe there. "

"Let the horse and the passport be ready as soon as it is dark to-night, " said I. "I will be here. "

"Very good. And see here, Gallagher, " said he, "what did you mean whenyou said just now that I had stolen any one's land and fortune?"

"What should I mean?" said I. "It's an old story you've got hold of, "said he, "that was disposed of twenty years ago by the clearest proofs. Do you suppose, if you had been what you are foolish enough to imagine, I would have brought you up in my own house, eh? Wouldn't it have beensimpler to drop you in the lough? It was only my esteem for your poormother, Mary Gallagher, that prevented my letting all the world knowwhat you may as well know now, that Mike Gallagher, your father, was themurderer of my brother. "

"That is a lie, " said I, "and some day I'll prove it. "

"Ay, do, " said he with a laugh. "It will take a good deal of proof. "

"Not more than Biddy McQuilkin can give, " said I. 

He staggered at this like a man shot. 

"Biddy is dead long ago, " he exclaimed. 

"Are you so sure of that?" said I. "Any way, I'll be here for the horseand the pass at dark. And take my advice, Maurice Gorman, and see thatnot a hair of Tim's head is hurt. You are safe as long as he is, and nolonger. "

And not waiting to take food or encounter the other officials, I wentdown to my boat and cast myself adrift on the dark waters of the Swilly. 

My most urgent business was to find or communicate with Tim, and forthat purpose I set sail once more for the headlands of Fanad. 

As to his honour's curious behaviour, I knew him and distrusted himenough not to think much of it. He was a coward, cursed with a guiltyconscience, and would fain have passed himself off as a righteous judgeand powerful patron. He was anxious to conciliate me, not so much, Ithought, because of my hint about the property, which he was satisfiedwas incapable of proof, as from a fear I might compromise him with theauthorities about his past dealings with the rebels. He was nervouslyanxious to get me out of the country, and was willing to promiseanything, even Tim's safety and Miss Kit's society, to get rid of me. 

But it would go hard with Tim if he had no security better than hishonour's word; and my dear little mistress, if she was to be won at all, was not to be won as the price of a political bargain. 

All the morning and afternoon I searched up and down in vain, meetingnot a soul nor any sign of my brother. With heavy misgivings I returnedto my boat, and set sail once more towards Knockowen. Half-way down thelough it occurred to me that I would do better to pay a visit first ofall to Kilgorman. After the scare of this morning's business the rebelswould hardly have the hardihood to meet there to-night; and althoughthere was little chance of finding Tim there, the place contained a spotknown to both of us, in which a message could be safely deposited. 

So I tacked about, and soon found myself once more in the deep cave. The place was empty and silent, and as I crept along the rocky passagenothing but the echoes of my own feet and of the dull waves withoutdisturbed the gloomy stillness of the place. 

The big kitchen, already darkening, was deserted. Everything was as Ihad left it two nights ago. 

I lost no time in lifting the board and depositing in the recess belowthe hearth my brief message for Tim:--

"Beware, Tim! You are marked down, and there's martial law after you. Informers are at work, and the names are all known. Keep on Fanad. Iserve on H. M. S. _Diana_. --Barry. "

This done, and the board replaced, I was about to retire so as to be intime at Knockowen, when, taking a last glance round the gaunt room, myeye was attracted by the flutter of a paper pinned to the woodwork ofone of the windows. 

It contained a few words roughly scrawled with the end of a charredstick. This is what it said, and as I read my heart gave a great boundwithin me:--

"She's safe at Malin. The Duchman sails on the flud to-night. --Finn. "

This, if it meant anything, meant foul play, and crushing the paper intomy pocket, I lost not a moment in regaining my boat and making all sailfor Knockowen. 

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN. 

WHAT I FOUND AT MALIN. 

It was nine o'clock when I came alongside his honour's jetty, and oncemore demanded entrance of the sentry. This time I was received evenmore suspiciously than in the morning, and was allowed to wait fornearly half-an-hour before it was decided that I might safely beadmitted into the premises. For this irritating delay I had probably tothank the impatience with which I met the sentinel's questions; for whenat last I found myself at the house, his honour met me with an inquirywhy I had delayed my coming to so late an hour. 

"It is four long leagues to Malin, " said he, "and on such a road you arenot likely to be there before midnight, when the inn will be closed. However, get Martin to saddle Tara for you. I wish Miss Kit and hermaid to start for Derry at daybreak. "

"Where is she now?" I asked. 

"At the house of Mr Shannon, the magistrate who is with me here. "

"And where is she to be taken in Derry?"

"To the Foyle Inn, where she will find instructions from me as to herjourney to Dublin. "

"Have you the pass?"

He handed me a paper, which read:--

"The bearer rides on my orders. Pass him, and two ladies. --MonsieurGorman of Knockowen. "

I was turning to the stable when he called me back. 

"Remember my advice of this morning. Don't return here if you valueyour liberty. There are warrants out against all the men named in thelist. The authorities are in earnest this time. "

The tone in which he said this, coming from a man who had paltered withtreason for years, struck me as contemptible; but I had no time justthen to let him see what I felt. 

"I will take care of myself, " said I; "and your honour will do well toremember what I said about Tim. When the reckoning for all thisbusiness comes, it will stand you in good stead. " And not waiting tohear his reply, I went off to the stables. 

Martin, whom the reader will remember, and who, despite his connectionwith the marauders and his bad odour with the police, continued toretain his place in his honour's service, was nowhere to be found. Hehad been absent, said the boy, since the afternoon, when he had takenoff Tara for exercise. 

I was obliged, therefore, to put up with an inferior animal, and tosaddle him myself. But I was too impatient to be off to allow of anyfurther delay. 

"At what hour is the tide full?" I asked of one of the servants. 

"Half-an-hour after midnight, " was the reply. 

As he spoke, the clock in the hall struck half-past nine. 

"In three hours, " said I to myself, as I galloped down the avenue, "theDutchman at Malin weighs anchor. "

It was well for me I was no stranger to the rough, mountainous road Ihad to travel, for the night was pitch dark, and scarcely a soul wasafoot at that late hour. I did, indeed, encounter a patrol of troopersnear the Black Hill, who ordered me to halt and dismount and give anaccount of myself. But his honour's passport satisfied them, as it didthe sentry who challenged me on entering the little town of Carndonagh. Thence to Malin it is but two leagues; but my wretched beast was sospent that, unless I wished to leave it on the road, I was compelled totake it most of the way at a foot's pace; so that when at last I pulledup before the little inn at Malin, it was on the stroke of midnight. 

"Faith, Mr Gorman's fond of sending messengers, " said the landlord. "There was another of his here two hours since. "

"What!" I exclaimed, springing up from the bench at which I waspartaking of a hurried supper. 

"Ay; he came with a message for the young lady up yonder at MrShannon's. "

"What sort of man was he?"

"Much like yourself--a common-looking man, with a shaven face and a nosethat turns up. "

"Did he ride an iron-grey mare?" said I. 

"Faith, a beauty. "

"It's Martin!" I exclaimed, confirmed more than ever in my suspicionsof foul play. "Show me Mr Shannon's house, like a decent man, " said Ito mine host. 

"There'll be no one stirring there at this hour. His honour's away withMr Gorman, and the women folks will be a-bed long since. "

"Never mind about that, " said I; "show me the house. "

The landlord grumblingly turned out and walked with me to the Hall, which was some half-mile beyond the village. 

"Yonder's the house, " said he, stopping short, and pointing to a clumpof trees just discernible in the darkness. "You'll not be wanting mefurther?"

I hastened on, and was presently knocking loudly at the door of theHall. The house was quite dark, and every one had evidently retired forthe night. Nearly ten minutes elapsed before a window opened, and asurly voice called out, --

"Well? Who's there, disturbing decent folk at this hour?"

"A messenger from Mr Gorman. Is the young lady at home? I must seeher instantly. "

"Young leddy! There's none younger than the mistress, and she sleeps atnight like a decent woman. "

"Has Miss Gorman gone, then?" I exclaimed. 

"Why not, when she was sent for?"

"Who sent for her? When did she go? Where has she gone? Let me in, Isay. There's foul play, and I must see your mistress instantly. "

My agitation succeeded in convincing the fellow that something wasamiss, and he put in his head and presently unbarred the front door. 

"Mercy on us! what's the meaning of all this?" said the old man-servantas I stepped into the hall. 

"Let me see Mrs Shannon, " said I. 

"What is it?" said a voice on the stairs before the butler could answer. 

I explained my mission, and inquired if it was true that Miss Kit hadalready departed. 

"To be sure, " said the lady. "Mr Gorman's groom, Martin, rode overfrom Knockowen this evening with a message--"

"Written?" I interrupted. 

"No; Mr Gorman was too busy to write. It was to say that a passage hadbeen taken for Miss Kit and a maid on a brig that happened to be lyingoff the Five Fingers; and that, as he found the ship was to sail forDublin with the flood to-night, he had sent over Martin to see hersafely on board. I confess it seemed a little unusual; and Miss Kit wasvery reluctant to start on such short notice, saying it had beenarranged she was to travel overland by way of Derry. But tell me, what's amiss?"

"Foul play; nothing less!" cried I. "That ship is bound, not forDublin, but for Holland; and this is a vile plot of the rebels to berevenged on Gorman, and decoy away his daughter as a hostage. Where didMartin say the ship lay?"

"At Five Fingers, west of the headland; two leagues from here. "

"When did they start from here?"

"Ten o'clock. "

"On foot?"

"No. They rode; and will have been there an hour ago. "

"Can you lend me a horse? Mine at the inn is spent. "

"There's the cart-horse, " said the butler. 

"That wall do. Mrs Shannon, I beg you will send over a man at once toKnockowen and let his honour know how matters stand. I will ride toFive Fingers and see if anything is to be done or learned. What sort ofgirl is the maid?"

"A soft creature enough. She and this Martin have been courting a yearpast. "

With a groan of despair I followed the butler to the yard, and bridledthe unwieldy beast I found there. 

"It's a fool's errand you are on, " said the old retainer; "but maybeyou'll have the luck to come within arm's-length of that blackguardMartin. I always doubted him. Are you armed?"

"I have a pistol. "

"Take yonder old sword, " said he, pointing to a rusty weapon suspendedon the stable wall. "It has seen service before now. "

Thus mounted and accoutred, I dug my heels into the flanks of the greathorse, and, in the breaking dawn, made along the rocky track which thebutler had pointed out as leading to Five Fingers. 

"If nothing can be done, " said I, as I left, "I will return here. "

"Dear send we shall see you no more then, " said the old man. 

Along the road which led from Malin village to the promontory rapidprogress was impossible, and but that I hoped to have better use for myhorse later on, I could almost have gone as well on foot. 

As the early May dawn lifted, I could get glimpses of the sea lying calmon my left, with a light breeze off the land stirring its surface. 

"That is in favour of the Dutchman, " groaned I. 

Not a human being, scarcely a wayside hut, did I see during that tediousride, as my lumbering beast stumbled over the loose stones and plashedhis way, fetlock deep, through the bog. At length I came to the placewhich the butler had described as the spot where I was to turn off theroad and make by a grass track for the sea-level. 

A short way down this latter path brought me to a corner which opened asudden view of the sea to northward. Gazing eagerly in that direction, the first sight which met my eyes was a brig, with all sails set, standing out to sea before the wind, about a mile or two from the shore. 

Too late! I had expected nothing else, but the certainty of it nowdrove me into a frenzy of wrath. I flung myself from the horse andstrode, pistol in hand, towards the deserted shore. There, except forhoof-marks, which convinced me three horses had passed that way, therewas no sign of living being. By the tracks I could almost fix the spotat which the party had put off, doubtless in one of the brig's boats. Of the return track of the horses I could find nothing, and judged thatthey had been taken off either at the edge of the water, which the tidehad subsequently covered, or up one of the hard rocky tracks towards theforeland. 

Along one of these, which seemed the most likely, I went for somedistance. It brought me out on to the cliff-top, but disclosed no traceof what I sought. 

I took my red scarf, and fixing it on the end of the sword, waved itdefiantly at the receding ship. Whether it was seen or not, or whether, if seen, it was understood by those who alone would be likely tounderstand it, I could not say. 

I was about to return to Malin when a thin curl of smoke from behind arock advised me that there was at least one human habitation withinreach, where it might be possible to get information. It was a wretchedmud hovel backing on to the rock--its roof of sods being held at thecorners by stones--and boasting no window, only the door out of whichthe smoke was pouring. 

An old man, with the stump of a clay pipe in his lips, was turning hispig out to grass as I approached. He looked at me suspiciously, andwent on without replying to my salutation. 

"Good-morrow, father, " said I. "You've had a ship in overnight, I see. "

"Like enough, " replied he in Irish. "Thrt--thrt!" and he gave the pig aswitch. 

"Was she English?" I asked. 

"'Deed I know nothing of her, " said he with a cunning look whichconvinced me he was lying. 

"What does she carry?" I continued, playing with the butt of the pistolin my belt. 

He was quick enough to notice this gentle hint. 

"Bad luck to the ship!" said he; "she's no concern of mine. What areyou looking for? The trade brings me no good. "

"Hark here, " said I, pulling the weapon from my belt and balancing it onmy fingers. "I'm no custom-house runner. Your cabin may be full, as itprobably is, of rum or bitters for all I care, " here he gave a wince ofrelief. "I want to know what yonder brig carried off, not what she leftashore. "

"Sure, I thought your honour was from the police, " said the man with aleer. 

"Tell me, " said I, "who went off in the ship's boat early this morning. "

"Three just--a man and two females. "

"Did you know any of them?"

"Maybe I did, maybe no. One of the ladies was maid to Mistress Shannon, away at Malin. "

"And the man?"

"He's the boy that's courting that same maid, and comes from Knockowen. "

"And the other lady?"

"I never saw her before; but I'm thinking she was a rale lady. "

"Who rowed them out to the ship?"

"Some of the crew, by the lingo they talked. "

"Did they leave the horses?"

"They did. It was me took them and turned them back over the hill. They'll find their ways home. "

"What is the ship's name?"

"That I can't say, except that she was Dutch. "

"How long had she been lying off here?"

"Since yesterday morning just. "

"What was her cargo?"

"Sure, your honour said that was no matter at all. "

"Was it Dutch goods?"

"It was; and if you'll wait here I'll fetch a drop of it to you, " saidhe nervously. 

"Stay where you are, " said I. "Tell me, who is there can say what theship's name is and where bound?"

"No one, unless it's Hugh Henry at the inn below. "

"Did the young lady say anything as they took her on the boat?"

"Sure, she asked to see the captain, and to know when they were to reachDublin, and seemed to mislike the voyage altogether. But I heard Martinsay it was her father's orders, and that he would be in Dublin to meether. "

This was all the news I could gather, but it was enough to confirm myworst suspicions. Leaving the old man still in doubt as to the motivefor my questions, I returned as rapidly as I could to Malin, andpresented myself at the inn. 

"Sure, I thought you were away, " said the host, who came down half-dressed to admit me. 

"I want to know something about the Dutch ship that was in hereovernight, " said I. "Not, " I added, as I noticed the conscious fall ofhis face, "that I care what she carried. No doubt she was a smuggler, and that you and she had your business together--"

"'Deed, sir, " he began, "may the--"

"Whisht!" said I, "that will do later. Just now I must know her name, and whither bound. The young lady at the Hall has been decoyed away inher, and must be found. "

His amazement convinced me that at least he had been no party to theabduction, which had probably, and wisely so, been confided to no onebeyond Martin and the officials of the secret society. 

"The young leddy, Mr Gorman's daughter, carried off!" and he indulgedin a long whistle. "I always said his honour would get into troublewith a kittle girl like that. "

"Hold your tongue, you scoundrel, " shouted I, "unless you want itcrammed down your throat, and tell me the ship's name and her port. "

"No offence, sir, " said the honest landlord, taken aback by my anger, and by the gleam of the pistol which I set down on the table--"nooffence, sir. She was the brig _Scheldt_ from Rotterdam, a well-foundcraft that's been this way before with messages from the Irish inHolland to those at home. "

With this I made once more for the Hall, where I found the household up, and in a state of anxious expectation. When they heard my story, greatwas the distress of the lady of the house to discover how she, in whosecharge Miss Kit had been left, had been imposed upon. She implored meto wait till Mr Shannon returned from Knockowen; but as it was doubtfulwhen that would be, such delay seemed useless. 

Before I left I wrote a letter to Mr Gorman giving him all theparticulars I could. He would no doubt receive an official notice fromthe rebels, naming their conditions for restoring their hostage. But socowardly and shambling a creature had this father become, that I doubtedvery much whether he would risk much even to recover his child. 

I then returned once more to the inn, where already the news of thenight's adventure had attracted a group of gossips. The landlord seeingme, took me aside and handed me a paper. 

"Here's a song of another tune, " said he. "It was left by the Dutchskipper, and may be news to some of you. "

I read it. It was a proclamation to the people of Ireland, couched inbombastic language, and stating that the hour of deliverance was athand. A foreign fleet was about to descend on our northern coasts. Anyday now the signal might be given for Ireland to rise. All was ready, and trusty leaders would accompany the friendly fleet. A strong blowwell struck would end Ireland's ills for ever. And so on. 

"What do I want with this?" said I, giving back the paper. "Give it tothose who want it. I've had enough of the Dutch for one night. "

And saddling my horse I started, in what sort of humour my readers mayimagine, towards Derry. 

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT. 

TWO OLD ACQUAINTANCES. 

Save to turn my back on a region which had now become full of gloomyassociations, I had no very definite purpose in view in that morning'sride. There was nothing to be done. The mischief to her I loved wasbeyond recall. Even those who had made themselves the agents of thisvile conspiracy had placed themselves out of reach. Tim, my ownbrother, was nominal chief to the hated band, and though he was absent, and would, I knew, have had no hand in this business, to denounce thewhole company would be only to strike at him. From Maurice Gorman, coward and time-server, there was nothing to be hoped. Not a friend wasthere on whom I could count, not an enemy on whom I could have the sorrysatisfaction of being revenged. 

As, however, the gallop through the bracing morning air produced itsnatural effect, it occurred to me to offer my services, during theremainder of my leave of absence, to Captain Swift, or, should he desireit, join the _Diana_ forthwith, and try to forget my trouble in hardwork. 

His honour's passport took me safely past the numerous patrols whichbeset my way between Malin and Derry, and which spoke much for therigour with which the new _regime_ of martial law was being enforced. Once or twice I was questioned as to the two ladies named in the pass, to which I replied that I was to foregather with them presently--which Idevoutly wished might be true. 

At Derry more than usual ceremony awaited a stranger at the gates. Iwas conducted to the guard-room, and there detained under a kind offriendly arrest for half-an-hour or so, until it suited the pleasure ofthe officer on guard to inspect me. 

When this gentleman made his appearance, I recognised, not altogetherwith delight, my old acquaintance and supposed rival, Captain Lestrange. He failed to recognise me at first, but when I reminded him of our lastmeeting in Paris, he took in who I was. 

"Those were hard times, " said he. "How I ever got the ladies out ofthat terrible city I scarcely know to this day. I see you travel on MrGorman's business, and escort two ladies. Where are they?"

"I wish I knew, " said I, and gave him a full account of my ride to Malinand all that happened there. 

He heard my story with growing attention and consternation. 

"Decoyed!" he exclaimed vehemently. "The dogs shall pay for this! Iremember that scoundrel Martin. "

"Shall you go to Rotterdam?" said I. 

"I?" said he, looking at me in surprise. "I am no man of leisure justnow. "

"But report says you have a particular interest in Miss Gorman'swelfare. "

"Rumour commits many impertinences, " replied he with an angry frown. "For all that, I am not master of my own movements just now. I am hereto hunt down rebels; and among them, unless I mistake, a brother ofyours holds a prominent place. "

I winced. 

"At least, " said I, "he never had hand either in murder, or pillage, ormeanness to a woman. He is an honest soldier, though, alas! on thewrong side. "

Captain Lestrange laughed. 

"It is the fashion of these rebels, " said he, "to dignify themselves assoldiers and claim the honours of war. But when we get hold of themthey will learn that there is a difference between felony and warfare. Can you not persuade your brother out of it? I hear he is a finefellow. "

"I have tried, " said I, mollified by this compliment; "but it isuseless, and at present he is not to be found. "

"That's the best place for him. As to Miss Gorman, I will go over toKnockowen and see if anything can be done to intercept the Dutchman. Meanwhile what of you?"

"I go to join my ship. "

"Good. We may meet again, Gallagher. Our paths have met strangelybefore now. Heaven grant they may bring us out into fair weather atlast. "

I left him on the whole in good cheer. There was a blunt franknessabout him which led me to believe that were I ever to be called upon tomeet Captain Lestrange as an enemy, it would be as an honest andgenerous one. His affected indolence had already been disproved by theservice he had rendered to the ladies in Paris. His regrets as to Timshowed that he was a man in whom the kindlier instincts were not allwanting. What, however, comforted me most was his tone with regard toMiss Kit. There was nothing of the lover about the words, and toolittle of the actor about the man to lead me to suppose he was deludingme. Why should he? He was my superior in birth and rank. He hadclaims of kinship and property which pointed him out as the naturalsquire for the heiress of Kilgorman. The idea of my being a rival hadprobably never entered his head; and if it had, would have done so onlyto raise a smile of incredulous pity. But that a lover could receivethe news I brought as he did seemed quite impossible. So I went on myway, if not cheered, at least with a less heavy weight on my mind thanbefore. 

I found Captain Swift in bed with an attack of jaundice, and in a stateof high excitement. 

"How did you know I wanted you?" he said when I presented myself. 

"I did not, sir, " said I. "Have you any orders for me?"

"A despatch has come from the Admiralty, " said he, "cancelling all leaveof absence. The _Diana_ being still under repair, I am appointed to the_Zebra_, now off Dublin, and ordered to sail on Saturday to join thefleet watching the Dutch off the Texel. "

I hope he put down to zeal for the service the whole of the satisfactionwith which I received this announcement. No work just then could fit inbetter with my humour than watching the Dutchmen. 

"Be ready to start by to-night's coach, " said he. "I shall follow to-morrow, with or without my doctor's leave. Here is a letter I wish youto deliver at the Admiralty. Then report yourself on board. I hearshe's an ill-found craft, and no one knows what sort of crew they willrake up for us. I wish the _Diana_ hands were within call, " he added tohimself. 

Next day I was in Dublin, and duly left my captain's letter at theAdmiralty. I was instructed to report myself on board the _Zebra_before sundown, as there was much work to be done getting crew andstores in order ready for our immediate departure. 

Having an hour or two at my disposal, I took a walk through the streets. Dublin, to all outward appearance, was in an orderly and peaceablestate, and gave few signs of being, what it actually was at that time, the hotbed of a dangerous rebellion. It was only when I dived into someof the lower streets near the river, and saw the mysterious and ominousgroups which hung about at the corners, and noticed the menacing lookswith which they greeted any chance passer-by who was known to be aservant of the government, that I realised that I walked, as it were, onthe edge of a volcano. How soon I was to experience for myself theterrors of that coming explosion the reader will hear. 

I had got beyond the streets and into the Park, attracted thither bystrains of martial music, when, in a retired path, I encountered agentleman dressed in a close-fitting, semi-military coat, with a greenscarf round his neck, and switching a cane to and fro as he pacedmoodily along. I recognised him as Lord Edward. 

He looked up as I approached and at once recognised me. 

"Ah, Gallagher, what news from Donegal? How is the charming fair one?"said he. 

"The charming fair one, " said I, with a bitterness that startled him, "is a victim in the hands of your lordship's followers. She has beendecoyed away and carried off to Holland as an act of reprisal againsther father. "

"What?" said he. "Tell me what you mean. "

And I told him my story. He listened, switching his cane against hisleg, and watching my face with keen interest. 

"It is part of the fortune of war, " said he, "that the innocent sufferfor the guilty. But this must be seen to at once. The _Scheldt_ willprobably make for Holland by the north route. If so, she will notarrive at Rotterdam for a week or two. By that time I will communicatewith some one I know near there, and see she is taken care of. Hang thefools!" muttered he. "What good can come to any one by such an act?"

"Indeed, my lord, " said I, "if I may venture to say so; Ireland haslittle to look for from her professed friends in Donegal, where privatespite and greed are the main support of your confederacy. "

"You are not the first who has told me that, " said he gloomily. "Nodoubt you are glad to see our weakness in this quarter. "

"I should be but that my brother, although absent, is the nominal headthere, and it's little credit to him. "

"Tim Gallagher is too good a man to be wasted. "

"Do you know where he is?" I inquired. 

"Abroad on his country's service, " said Lord Edward. "You must becontent with that. Here our ways part. Good-bye, my lad. " And he gaveme a friendly nod. 

"Your lordship will pardon me one question. Have you any objection totell me the address of the friend in Holland to whose care you proposeto commend Miss Gorman?"

"She is an old retainer in a kinswoman's family, one Biddy McQuilkin. She keeps a little inn on the outskirts of the Hague, called the 'WhiteAngel. '"

"Biddy McQuilkin!" exclaimed I with excitement. "Why, she was servantto the Lestranges in Paris, who perished in 'the terror. '"

"The same. This Biddy was overlooked, and finally escaped, and by theinterest of Madame Sillery got to Holland, and set up at this small inn, frequented by English and Irish visitors. "

It was difficult to disguise the joy which this unexpected discoveryafforded me. I bade adieu to his lordship with a grateful salute, andthen betook myself in a state of wonder and jubilation to the harbour. 

In Biddy McQuilkin were centred any hopes I entertained of righting thewrong which had been done at Kilgorman, and so of carrying out mymother's sacred bequest. Moreover, the thought that Miss Kit would findso stalwart a protector at the end of her unhappy voyage lifted a heavyweight from my mind. 

And all this relief I owed to the man whom, of all others, I, as a loyalsubject of his Majesty, was bound to consider as my country's mostdangerous enemy! Alack! I was not born to be a good hater. For as Istrode that evening through the streets of Dublin I counted this LordEdward as one of the few men for whom I would gladly have given my life. 

When in due time I procured a boat to row me out to the _Zebra_, I foundthat Captain Swift's forebodings as to the state of the ship were onlytoo well founded. The _Zebra_ was a second-rate frigate, which for someyears had been out of regular commission, doing duty on coast-guardservice, or cruising under letters of marque. She was not an ill-looking craft; though, to judge by her looks as she rode at anchor, herlines were better adapted to fast sailing than hard knocks. 

When I reported myself on board, however, I was better able tounderstand my captain's misgivings. The first lieutenant in charge wasa coarse, brutal-looking fellow, who, if he spared me some of the abusewhich he measured out to the ordinary seamen, did so because he lookedto me to take some labour off his hands. 

"It's high time you came, " said he; "and unless you can lick a pack ofwolves into shape, you may as well swing yourself up at the yard-arm atonce. They seem to have emptied all the jails in Dublin to find us men;and as for stores--well, the less said about these the better. "

I was not long in discovering that he had good reasons for his gloomyopinions. The hands, whom presently I piped on deck, were as ill-assorted and ill-conditioned a lot as boatswain ever was called upon tooverhaul. Many were raw hands, who did not know one end of a mast fromthe other. Others, who knew better, appeared to be the refuse of crewswhich had rejected their worst men. And the few old salts of the rightkind were evidently demoralised and dissatisfied, both at their enforcedassociation with their present messmates and with the abrupt terminationof their leave ashore. 

As to the officers, with the exception of the first lieutenant and a fewof the petty officers who took their cue from him, they seemed a decentand fairly smart set, although few of them had been tried in activeservice, and fewer still, I fancy, had had charge of so ill-found a shipas the _Zebra_. 

One of the first complaints I was called upon to hear and report to myofficers was as to the ship's food, which was truly as scurvy andunsavoury a provision as I ever saw. Biscuits and grog and pork weresuch as the lowest slop-shop in Letterkenny would have been ashamed tosell. 

"It's good enough for hounds like them, " was all I could get out of thelieutenant. "They can take it or leave it. "

The next complaint I made was on my own account, and referred to theship's stores. We had barely our complement of anchors and cables, still less any to come and go on. For reserve spars and sails and othertackle we were almost as badly off; while the ammunition and arms werecertainly not enough for a service involving any considerable action. 

The officer in charge received all these representations with the utmostindifference. 

"Get better if you can, " said he; "it's all of a piece, and quite properfor a service that's gone to the dogs. Hark at those demons now! Therum seems good enough, anyhow. "

And indeed all that night the _Zebra_ was more like a madhouse than oneof his Majesty's ships. What authority there was was maintained at theend of the cat-o'-nine-tails. As for the enthusiasm and patrioticardour which are usually supposed to hail the prospect of close-quarterswith the enemy, one would have had to listen long and hard for any signof either below decks that night. 

"The best that can happen to us, " said I to myself, as I turned in atlast, "is a hurricane up Channel, and the Dutch fleet at the end of it. These may hold us together; nothing else will. "

When Captain Swift came on board next evening things mended a little, for our gallant officer was a man whose name and manner both commandedrespect. At the last moment some few additional stores were broughtoff; and the little speech he made to the crew, reminding them of theirhonourable profession, and holding out a prospect of distinction andprize-money in the near future, was listened to with more respect than Ifeared it would meet. The men, through one of their number, made aformal complaint of their grievances, which Captain Swift received onhis part without resentment. The order was then given to weigh anchor, and half-an-hour later the _Zebra_ was standing out to sea on as ill-starred a voyage as vessel ever made. 

Had Captain Swift's health been equal to his gallantry and tact allmight even yet have gone well. But he came on board ill, and two daysafter we sailed he was confined to his berth with a dangerous relapse, and the fate of the _Zebra_ was left in the hands of the worst possibleman for the duty--Mr Adrian, the first lieutenant. 

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE. 

MUTINY. 

A week of light and fickle winds brought us through the Channel and wellon our way to Yarmouth Roads, off which we understood Admiral Duncan waslying. As we passed the Downs, strange and ugly rumours of troubleahead met us. One night, as we lay anchored waiting for our wind, I wason deck at my watch when I caught the sound of oars approaching the_Zebra_. Shortly after several missives were pitched on deck, one ofwhich alighted just at my feet. 

I examined it with some curiosity. It was a bundle of printed papersaddressed to the sailors of England, calling upon them to insist on theredress of grievances, and to stand by their brethren who at that momentwere in a state of mutiny at the Nore. Other papers described thesuccess which had attended a similar mutiny at Spithead a week or sopreviously. Another was a flaring proclamation, signed "Parker, President, " on board H. M. S. _Sandwich_ at the Nore, announcing that thefleet was in the hands of the men; that all the obnoxious officers wereunder arrest; that the Thames was under strict blockade; that conditionshad been offered to the Admiralty; and that, if these were not acceptedwithin a given time, it was the intention of the leaders of the mutinyto put to sea and hand the ships in their possession to the enemy. Further, it was stated that the fleet at the Nore was being dailyrecruited by deserters from the North Sea squadron and elsewhere; thatarms and supplies were abundant; and that England was at the mercy ofthose whom up till now she had treated as veritable slaves. And so on. 

All this greatly troubled me; for, from what I knew of the crew of the_Zebra_, such seditious stuff furnished just the fuel required to setthe spirit of the men in a blaze. The other missives thrown on board, no doubt containing the same or similar matter, had pretty certainlyfallen into the hands of those who would read the call to mutiny withdifferent eyes from mine. If so, the mischief was already far gone. 

I hastened with my papers to Lieutenant Adrian, who glanced over themcontemptuously. 

"All bunkum and wind, " said he, pitching them into a corner. "We haveheard this sort of thing before. "

"If it is true, sir, " I ventured to say, "that the ships at the Norehave mutinied, we had better give them a wide berth, for it's a catchingthing. "

"Pooh! there's no more in it than the cat and a noose or two at theyard-arms can cure, " said he. "However, keep your eyes open, MrGallagher, and report the first sign of mutiny. There's nothing likenipping it in the bud. "

For all the lieutenant's assumed indifference, further consultation withthe captain and the other officers resulted in some needful precautionsbeing taken. The watches were increased, the ammunition was placedunder extra guard, and picked men were told off to man the helm. As thesouth-easterly breeze was rising, too, orders were given to weigh anchorat once and put to sea. 

The men obeyed the orders to set sail in a sullen, mechanical way, whichdid not grow more hearty as they saw that every officer carried hispistol in his belt, and watched the execution of every command withsuspicious keenness. 

It was only when the order to turn in gave them the opportunity ofcongregating in larger numbers and discussing the proclamation that theytook heart, and arrived at something like a united policy. Had I had myown way that night, convinced as I was of the inevitable outcome ofdelay, I would have clapped down the hatches and left them there todeliberate till doomsday, or such time as they chose to beg for releaseon the captain's terms. As it was, there was nothing to do but tospeculate moodily on what the morrow would bring forth, and meanwhilemake what use we could of the favouring breeze to put as many leagues aspossible between ourselves and the treasonable neighbourhood of theNore. 

The worst of it was that the honest grievances of the seamen were sopatent, and the injustice they suffered at the hands of officers likeLieutenant Adrian so flagrant, that had they been fairly stated andfairly met nothing but good could have come of it. But put forward asthey were likely to be by a crew like ours, and encouraged and fomentedby agitators such as those who had drawn up the proclamation, what issuewas probable but one of desperate struggle and probably bloodshed?

It was plainly seen, when hands were piped next morning, that the temperof the men had changed for the worse. As they strolled indolently up ondeck, and glanced up at the well-set sails, and saw the bows pointingdue north, and as their eyes fell on the bright pistols and side-arms atthe officers' belts, it was evident they were in some doubt as to whatcourse to pursue. 

They talked together in surly groups, arguing probably that on the highsea, away from support, and in the presence of a forewarned andforearmed body of officers, their chances of seizing the ship were notpromising; and one or two were bold enough audibly to regret their follyfor not having struck their blow and hoisted the red flag while the_Zebra_ lay in friendly company in the Downs. 

Finally, as I supposed, it was decided to wait till we reached YarmouthRoads, and claim the support of the mutineers there. Meanwhile orderswere obeyed with ominous silence; and worse still, the few loyal men onwhom the officers had counted to stand by them were got at and drawninto consultation with their messmates, and some of them were seducedinto taking part with the malcontents. 

Next afternoon we sighted sails to northward; but as just then thebreeze fell dead, we were unable before nightfall to ascertain whetherthey were ships of Admiral Duncan's squadron or not. While LieutenantAdrian was deliberating with the other officers as to whether we shouldput off a boat to get word of them, the men came aft in a body anddemanded a conference. 

Their spokesman was an Irishman whom I recognised as one of the newhands brought on board at the last moment off Dublin. He was a glib, noisy fellow, clever most likely at anything but seamanship, of which heknew nothing, and very little acquainted with the seamen's grievances ofwhich he elected himself to speak. 

Lieutenant Adrian, who was in an ill-enough temper at the time, orderedhim to take himself and the dogs at his heels to the place they camefrom, unless he wanted to taste the lash. 

The men, who had expected some such reception, stood their ground, andordered Callan, for that was the leader's name, to say on. 

"It's not yourself we need to speak to, " said Callan, "it's the captain. Let us see him. "

"My lads, " said the ship's surgeon, who was one of the officers present, "you are like enough to see your captain in his shroud before morning, for he is this moment at death's door. "

"So much the worse, " replied Callan. "There was hope of justice out ofCaptain Swift; there's none at all out of the lieutenant. "

"There's precious good hope of a rope's end, " retorted the enragedlieutenant hotly. --"Mr Gallagher, see that the fool is put in irons atonce, and any one else that joins with him. We'll soon put an end tothis, even should a man dangle at every yard-arm for it!"

The only reply to this was a cheer from the men, and, what was quiteunexpected, a sudden click of pistols as they drew up in two linesacross the deck. 

"Look'ee here, Mr Adrian, " said Callan, "we're not the fools you takeus for. While you have been drinking, we have not been idle. Thepowder-magazine is ours, and the forward guns are loaded and primed andturned this way. --Stand aside, lads, and let them see for themselves. "

The ranks opened, and sure enough in the forecastle we could see themuzzles of two twenty-four pounders pointed at the quarter-deck, andmanned by some of the very men of whose loyalty until yesterday therehad been least question. 

Lieutenant Adrian, although a bully and a brute, was not lacking inanimal courage, and betrayed no sign of dismay at this discovery. 

"If you think we are to be frightened, hang you, " said he, "you are muchmistaken. What is it you want?"

A coarse laugh greeted this tame ending to his speech. One old tar puthimself forward before Callan could reply. 

"It's like this, " said he, with a salute. "We mean no disrespect to thecaptain or the service, but--"

"Hold your tongue, " said Callan, pushing him aside. --"What do we want?That's easy told. "

And he took a paper from his pocket and read:--

"_First_. The first lieutenant, the third lieutenant, the master, themaster's mate, the boatswain, and Midshipmen Gamble and Brock, to leavethe ship and be put ashore. 

"_Second_. The ship to be taken to the Nore, and placed under theorders of Admiral Parker. 

"_Third_. The remaining officers either to take the oath or be placedunder arrest. 

"_Fourth_. Two delegates, chosen by the men, to attend the admiral'scouncil, and act and vote on behalf of the ship. "

Lieutenant Adrian listened with an ill-concealed smile, in which, Iconfess, he was by no means alone. 

"And what if we reject your precious first, second, third, and fourthpiece of infernal impudence?"

"Then we shall take what we want without asking, " replied Callan withcool effrontery. "You may take an hour to decide. --Come, boys. "

The men gave another cheer, and retired singing "Rule, Britannia. " Theyleft, however, a strongly-armed picket to cut off access from thequarter-deck to the rest of the ship. 

The night was still dead calm, and the _Zebra_ lay like a log in thesea, her sails drooping, and her head swinging idly with the tide. 

"Well?" inquired one or two, looking at Lieutenant Adrian. 

"Well?" retorted that officer. "If you want to know what I intend todo, I mean to drink a bottle of port below. There is but one answer togive, and nothing to discuss. So you may fetch me in an hour. "

"Shall we tell the captain?" asked Mr Felton, the second lieutenant, who, if he had only been superior to Mr Adrian, would have seen usthrough the crisis with more credit than we were likely to get. 

"Certainly not, " said the doctor authoritatively. "The consultation inhis cabin yesterday was a fatal mistake as far as he is concerned. Lethim at least die in peace now. "

"How many loyal men do we muster, Mr Gallagher?" said Mr Felton. 

"Twenty-five, all told, sir, " replied I. "We cannot count on any of themen for certain, though one or two may join us if it comes to a fight. "

"It will certainly come to that, " said Mr Felton quietly. And no oneentertained the least question on that score. 

"We have one ally more, " observed the master, who had for some time beensniffing the night air. "Unless I mistake, there's a sou'-wester comingup in a jiffy. "

"I think you are right, master, " said Mr Felton. "That will put usover to the Dutch side, anyhow. "

"And there's another ally yet, sir, " said I. "They've got possession ofthe two casks of rum that were last shipped at Dublin. "

"In that case, " said the second lieutenant, laughing, "we may count on afull hour before we are disturbed. If we are to make a fight of it, letit be a good one. Gentlemen, " said he, addressing the company, "thequarter-deck is still ours; twenty-five loyal men are a match for twohundred and fifty scoundrels any day. Bring the stern-guns intoposition, and throw up a barricade here. Look to your pistols andswords, and don't waste bullets or powder. The worst they can do is toblow the ship up, and that they won't do. --Master, you were right aboutthe breeze. Bring her round as soon as she moves. --And some of youyoung gentlemen, " said he to the midshipmen, "be ready to bear a handaloft with the sails. --Mr Gallagher, watch your chance of getting roundto the forecastle and doctoring the guns there. You are not a new hand, I hear, at such a job. --Now, gentlemen all, we can but die once; let usdo it well while we are about it. "

This spirited address had a great effect, and whatever sense ofhelplessness had been caused by the disparity of our numbers and thestrong position of the mutineers, gave way to a desperate resolve togive a good account of ourselves before we yielded up the ship. 

I could not help believing that some of the older and more experiencedhands, though now borne down by the general feeling of insubordination, would side with us if only we could show a strong hand. If so, therewould not be seamanship enough in the rest to set a topsail or read achart; and every moment the breeze was freshening and promising us alively morning. 

The _Zebra_ still hung listlessly in the water, but any moment now shemight get under way. There was no time therefore to be lost in gettingunobserved at the forward guns, which I was convinced was only to bedone by dropping overboard and swimming round to the stem, where therewas sufficient hanging tackle to help oneself on board with. 

I secured the services of the master's mate in this perilous venture--atough sea-dog who was ready for anything, provided it was out of thecommonplace. This business, I promised him, would at least be that. 

The quartermaster had charge of the helm. 

"Look alive, my lads, " said he, as we prepared to let ourselvesoverboard; "her head may go round any moment. As she lies you can dropon to it easy. Take a line with you, and pay out as you go, as you'llneed it to come back by. Over you go. "

We secured our pistols as best we could against the water, and then oneafter the other dropped over the stern and struck out for the peak. Theship was already beginning to sway on the breeze, and once or twice aswe kept close under her side we were in peril of being sucked under orelse crushed down by her lurches. However, we managed to reach thehanging tackle below the bowsprit without misadventure; and making fastthe end of the line we carried, so that it hung close on the water-linefrom stem to stern, we began to haul ourselves, with our knives betweenour teeth, up into the shrouds. 

While we were doing so the ship swung round into the wind, and began tomove through the water. 

As soon as we got our heads level with the gunwale we could dimly seethe forecastle deck before us, and the breeches of the two twenty-fourpounders, pointed astern. There was a man in charge of each. The twosat on the deck, with a can of liquor between them, playing dice in aquarrelsome, half-tipsy way. The rest of the company were assembled onthe middle deck, and, to judge by the sounds, were deep in thediscussion of their rum and their grievances. 

I gave my comrade a signal, and next moment we sprang noiselessly onboard, and had the two gunners overpowered, gagged, and made fast beforethey could utter a sound or reach for their arms. 

Then without losing a moment we drove our nails into the touch-holes ofthe guns, trusting to the noise of the revellers and the dash of thewater at the bows to drown the sound of the hammer. This done wedropped overboard, each with a prisoner, as quietly as we had come, andwith the aid of the line reached the stern in safety, and foundourselves once more on the sanctuary of the quarter-deck. 

Scarcely had we done so when we became aware of a movement among theenemy. So busily occupied had they been in their debauch that they hadnot noticed the change in the weather, or the advantage which had beentaken of it to put the ship under way. As it was, they might have evenallowed that to pass, supposing it only brought them nearer to YarmouthRoads, when one of the old salts in their number pronounced that the newwind was from another quarter, and that instead of closing in with theadmiral's fleet off Yarmouth the _Zebra_ was running for the open seawith a strong south-wester astern. 

Finding themselves thus hoodwinked, and already excited by drink, theleaders, and as many of the men as could be enticed from the liquor, came once more aft and demanded another interview. 

The quarter-deck, except for the sentries, the watch, and the men at theguns, was comparatively deserted, the officers having retired belowuntil the hour allowed by the enemy had expired. 

The senior officer present was Mr Felton. 

"Quartermaster, " said he, as he stepped up to the helmsman, "how doesshe sail?"

"Nor'-east by east, sir. Making ten knots an hour. "

"Keep her so. --Mr Gamble, " said he, turning to a midshipman, "have thegoodness to go to my cabin at once and fetch the magnet you will findlying in the drawer of my desk. "

In a minute Mr Gamble had performed his errand. Mr Felton meanwhilehad lifted the cover of the compass-box, into which he now inserted thesmall magnet, so that it pulled the needle a quarter of the circleround, and made it appear that our course was due north. 

"That should give us time, " said he as he replaced the cover. "Theland-lubbers will know no better. --Use your pocket-compass, quartermaster, and keep her as she is. --Now, my man, " said he, addressing one of the loyal marines who had been standing sentry, "whatis it?"

"If you plaze, sir, the hounds beyant there want a word with yez. "

"Tell them the hour is not yet up, and that Mr Adrian is below. "

"Sure I told them so, and Callan, he's their talking man, says he mustsee yourself, or there'll be mischief. "

"Very good, " said Mr Felton. "Pass the word below for all hands ondeck; and let every man go quietly to his place. --Marine, allow Callanon the quarter-deck. "

But Mr Callan was not tipsy enough to fall into such a trap, andinsisted on the honours of war and the word of a gentleman that he andthree of his followers should be allowed safe-conduct, hinting at thesame time that the forward guns were still in position, and that anyattempt to break parole would be visited with ugly consequences. 

Lieutenant Felton gravely gave the necessary assurance, whereupon, ordering their followers to wait below, Callan and three comrades, astipsy as himself, staggered up the ladder. 

"Now, sir, what is the matter?" demanded Mr Felton. 

"Matter? The ship's on the wrong tack. You're sailing her out to sea;and if she's not put round at once, we'll put her about for you. "

Mr Felton laughed. 

"Not so easy to sail out to sea in this wind as you think, my lad. Iwonder, now, if you really know what direction we are going in. "

One of the four replied, "Nor'-east, " unless he was mistaken. 

"Bless me, " said the officer, "and these are the men who pretend tospeak in the name of the British seaman! I should prefer to take theword of the compass against yours in a cap of wind, my fine fellow, anyday. Nor'-east, indeed!"

"The compass will say the same as us; or maybe we're a point more toeastward. "

"You can satisfy yourself as to that if you please, " said Mr Feltondryly. --"Mr Gallagher, take these men and show them the compass. Itwill be a lesson to them in navigation. "

The laughter of the company succeeded in effectually damping theconfidence of our amateur seamen as they slowly followed me abaft. 

"Steer gingerly round these guns, " said I, as we passed the two gunswhich had been brought to bear on the forecastle; "they're loaded. Gently now; it's not so steady walking on a deck as round the Newgateexercise-yard. Come away now. --Quartermaster, show a light on thecompass here for these gentlemen. They have come to give us a lesson inseamanship. "

"Compass!" said the quartermaster with a chuckle. "Ain't the stars goodenough for you? Who but a landlubber ever needed to look at a compassto see which way the wind blew? However, look away; and if it's a pointout of due north call me a Dutchman. "

The men peered stupidly over the compass. 

"It's north, sure enough, " growled the only man of the party who was atall weatherwise. "I could have sworn it was nor'-east or more. "

To encourage him I tapped the glass. 

"We could make it nor'-east for you by putting a spring on the needle, if that's what you want, " said I with a laugh. 

Callan and the others looked wisely at the mendacious instrument, andthen began to sheer off with the best grace they could. 

"We should be in Yarmouth Roads at this rate by daybreak, " said he, "provided they play us no tricks. "

"We'll see to that, " said the old salt. "Now we know she's sailingnorth we'll see she keeps so, or there'll be the mischief in it. "

"Come away now, " said I, "your friends will be missing you; and whatwill become of your first, second, third, and fourth without you?"

It did not tend to raise the spirits of the four noble mariners as theypassed round the guns to hear the laughter and cries of "nor'-east byeast it is, sir, " which greeted their passage. Nor did they quiterecover till they returned to the arms of their comrades, who bore themoff with the glorious news that a fresh cask of rum had been broached, and that the lights of Yarmouth were already visible on the horizon. 

CHAPTER THIRTY. 

"BATTLE AND MURDER AND SUDDEN DEATH. "

It was past midnight, and in two hours the summer night would be past. After that, further mystification as to our course would be impossible;but could we hold on till then, with half a gale of wind behind us, weshould be well over to the Dutch side, and clear at any rate of themutinous atmosphere which infected Yarmouth Roads and the Nore. 

The men, having, as I supposed, satisfied themselves that the _Zebra_was being sailed according to their own directions, decided to wait tilldaylight, by which time they counted on the encouragement and company ofthe Yarmouth mutineers, before they finally hoisted the red flag andtook possession of the ship. Meanwhile they applied themselvesassiduously to the liquor, an indulgence which, in the case of a goodmany of the land-lubbers of their company, must have been seriouslyspoiled by the rolling of the ship and their first acquaintance since weleft Dublin with really dirty weather. 

I reckoned that we were some twelve leagues from the Dutch coast, withthe wind shifting westerly and sending heavy seas over our counter, whenthe grey dawn lifted and showed us a waste of water, with nothingvisible but a single speck on the eastern horizon. 

After close scrutiny we concluded this to be one or more sail beating upagainst the gale; but whether they were Dutch or English, it was toosoon to say. 

"Keep her as she is, " said Mr Adrian; "and, Mr Gallagher, pipe allhands. The sooner we come to an understanding with these fiends thebetter. "

I obeyed. A few of the old tars instinctively turned up to the call, but seeing all decks but the quarter-deck deserted, they rememberedthemselves and went off to look for their comrades. 

Presently an uneasy group assembled on the forecastle, many of themshowing traces of the mingled drunkenness and sea-sickness of the night. We could see them scanning the horizon with their glasses, and slowlyawaking to the discovery that instead of being in the arms of theconfederacy of "the Republic afloat" (as one of the proclamations hadcalled it), the _Zebra_ was scudding over the high seas. 

There was an angry consultation, and shouts to those below to turn up. About half the number obeyed, though many of these were fit only to liehelplessly about the deck. A more miserable crew you never beheld. 

"Hands aloft! Take in the main-topgallant sail!" cried Mr Adrian, andthe order was shouted forward. 

Not a man moved, except Callan, who came to the forecastle rail, andholding up a pistol, shouted back, --

"Surrender the ship, or we fire!"

Mr Adrian's reply was to repeat the order just given, and draw hispistol. 

One of the mutineers, sent forward by the leaders, advanced to themainmast with a red flag in his hand, which he proceeded to fasten tothe flag-lines and to hoist, bringing down the Union flag as he did so. 

Mr Adrian levelled his pistol. There was a sharp, clear ring above thenoise of the gale; the man flung up his arms, uttered a yell, and rolledover on the deck. 

"Stand clear!" cried Callan, waving his men on either side of theforecastle guns. "Fire, my lads!"

There was a silence. No one on the quarter-deck stirred. Those on theforecastle who had stood with their faces our way, expecting to see theeffect of the volley, looked round impatiently to see why the guns weremute. 

Then came a cry of "Spiked!" followed by a howl of dismay as thecontents of one of our quarter-deck guns crashed with a dull, savageroar on to the forecastle. 

When the smoke cleared we saw a ghastly sight. Men lay in alldirections--some blown to pieces, some groaning in pools of blood, somedragging themselves with livid faces to a place of shelter. 

For my own part, I dreaded to hear Mr Adrian give the order to fire thesecond gun. The only thing which prevented it was the sudden clearingof the forecastle. All who could rushed to the main-deck, where atleast they were below the range of the deadly grape. 

Here Callan, who had escaped unhurt, called on his men to form, whichthey did in three straggling lines across the deck, howling execrationsand flourishing their knives in our direction. 

Before they could advance--before, indeed, those of them who carriedpistols could fire--Mr Adrian, who had ranged us up behind thebarricade, gave the signal to present arms and fire. 

It was a volley almost as deadly as the first. Callan sprang a foot ortwo in the air, and fell back shot through the heart. The front rank ofthe mutineers went down like ninepins, and those behind fell back a pacein consternation, "Reload! Mark your men!" cried Mr Adrian, whose facewas savage and as hard as a flint. 

The wretches gathered themselves together after a moment's hesitation, and stepping over the fallen bodies of their comrades, advanced with ahalf-hearted rush for the quarter-deck. 

"Present! fire!" cried Mr Adrian. 

Once more man after man went down dead or wounded, and the deck wasstrewn with bodies. A heavy sea at the moment broke over the quarter, sweeping the deck and clashing living and dead in a heap into the lee-scuppers. A few stood still, eyeing dubiously first one another, thenthe quarter-deck, then the waves as they broke across the waist. 

"Reload! Mark your men!" cried Mr Adrian again, with a curl of hislips. 

The mutineers heard the command, and dropping their weapons, retreatedin a panic to the hatchways. 

"Fire!" said Mr Adrian; "and after them, some of you, and make fast thehatches. "

The first order was not obeyed. It had been bad enough, in defence ofthe ship, to fire on one's own shipmates, but to fire on their backs wastoo much; and Lieutenant Adrian probably understood as much when he sawthat we all preferred his second order to his first. 

It was a short business making good the hatchways, after first drivingbelow the few stragglers who lingered above board. Then we had leisureto take stock of the execution our volleys had effected. Eleven men, including Callan and two of his fellow ringleaders, were dead. Eightmore were mortally wounded, and thirty-eight lay hurt, some badly, someslightly. We lost no time in throwing the dead overboard, and carryingthose most in need of succour out of the reach of the waves. Tarpaulinswere spread for the rest till a place could be found for them in some ofthe after-cabins. 

The doctor (who reported that Captain Swift had breathed his last whilethe engagement was at its height) did what he could to dress the woundsof the sufferers, and impressed the services of one or two of thehandiest of the men present as assistants. 

Just then, however, with the gale threatening every moment to snap themasts, it was even more important to get hands aloft to shorten sail. The midshipmen and officers gallantly undertook this difficult task, butnot in time to save the main-topgallant mast, which fell with a crash, carrying away the purser and the boatswain's mate, and fouling therigging below with its wreck. No sooner was this cleared, and the topcourses taken in, than the man who had been for some moments conning thestrange sails on the horizon reported, --

"Two Dutchmen, sir, thirty-six guns a-piece, bearing this way. "

During the struggle with the mutineers we had almost forgotten thepresence of these strangers, and now found them not a league awaystanding across the wind to meet us. 

It was a hopeless venture to meet them, but Mr Adrian preferred it toputting the _Zebra_ about and running away. 

"Let them come, " said he; "they can't do worse than these scoundrelsdown below. Stand by the guns, gentlemen!"

We obeyed willingly enough. Had Mr Adrian only been a gentleman aswell as an officer we could have cheered him. But the vision of hisface as he gave the word to mow down his own crew stuck in my memory androbbed _me_ of all the enthusiasm which his present courage deserved. 

On we sped, and nearer drew the Dutchmen. Evidently they were cruiserson the prowl for an enemy, or sent to observe the motions of ourdisorganised fleet. Had we been a sound company we might have held ourown against the two of them. But crippled as we were, with our gunsunmanned, our ammunition lost, and part of our crew lying wounded ondeck, while the rest were prisoners below, we might as well have hopedto capture Rotterdam. 

Fate, however, determined our destiny in her own way. Just as we werecoming about, and those at the guns were blowing their matches for afirst and possibly a last broadside, the _Zebra_ gave a sudden shiver inevery timber, there was a dull growl, followed an instant later by aterrific explosion which rent the vessel in twain, and dimmed the skyoverhead with spars and smoke, and set the ship reeling on her beam-ends. At the moment, I was in the act of firing the charge of the gunin my care, and remember nothing but the tremendous noise, and findingmyself hurled, as it seemed, clear over the breech of the weapon outinto the boiling sea. 

Instinctively I clutched at a spar within reach, and clung to it. Allelse I saw and heard as in a dream--the ship heeling over further andfurther, and the waves leaping on her as she plunged down; the cries andshrieks of the imprisoned wretches who sought to escape from theconsequences of their own desperate revenge; the sea strewn withwreckage and struggling swimmers; the first lieutenant's dyingmalediction flung into the wind from the quarter-deck; the looming hullsof the two Dutchmen as they hung in the wind and watched our fate. All, I say, passed like a grim nightmare. What woke me was an arm suddenlyflung across me, and the white face of Mr Midshipman Gamble looking upat me out of the water. 

I hauled him up on to the spar; and the effort to keep him afloat, andsave myself from his wild struggles, helped me to find my wits. 

"Easy, lad!" said I; "you're safe enough here. Keep quiet!"

The sound of a voice steadied him, and he ceased his struggles, and letme lash him as best I could to the spar. 

The Dutchmen, who had, no doubt, witnessed with anything but pleasuretheir prey snatched out of their hands, were humane enough to make ashow of lowering a boat for the succour of those who still lived. Butthe heavy sea rendered this a very difficult and dangerous task, andafter very little trying we had the dismay of seeing them abandon theattempt and haul off on their course, leaving us to our fate. 

You may fancy with what feelings we watched them gradually growing lesson the horizon, and realised that we were at the mercy of an angry sea, with no support but a piece of broken timber, and every moment findingourselves more and more alone, as comrade after comrade gave up thestruggle and fell back among the waves. 

Presently Mr Gamble, whose leg, I found, had been crushed by theexplosion, groaned, and his head fell forward. Three great waves insuccession washed over us with the force of a falling wall; and whenthey had passed, and I looked to my companion, he was dead, with thelife simply beaten out of him. 

Sorrowfully enough I unlashed him, and let him drop beneath the pitilesswater; and then, finding my own strength beginning to fail, I lashedmyself under the arms and over the spar, and hung on for dear life. Inthis posture I spent weary hour after hour watching the waves, andendeavouring to ward off from my head the fury of their onslaught. 

About mid-day the gale eased somewhat. I looked about me. Not a signor vestige remained of the _Zebra_ or her hapless crew. Not a floatingthing among the waves caused me to count on the company of a livingwretch like myself. Not even a livid corpse across my track served toremind me that I, of all that ship's company, still clung to life. 

Strange visions, as I rose and fell with the heaving sea, floated beforemy eyes. The gloomy kitchen at Kilgorman, and my mother's lettergleaming under the hearthstone--the hollow on the cliff's edge where Timand I had once fought--Biddy McQuilkin sitting at the fireside in ourcabin, setting her cap at my father--Miss Kit with the gun at hershoulder behind the hall-door at Knockowen--the unhappy old man beingdragged to the guillotine in Paris--the lumbering barge floating downthe Seine--Tim in the light of the lantern at the helm of the_Kestrel_;--these and many other visions chased one another across mymemory, first in regular procession, then tripping one over the other, then all jumbled and mixed together in such chaos that it was Kit whowas being haled to the guillotine, and Tim who lay below thehearthstone, and Biddy who navigated the barge. 

Presently one vision seemed to hang in my memory longer than the others, and that was the light of the morning sun as it struck on the retreatingsails of the brig _Scheldt_ of Rotterdam, standing out to sea off Malin. One by one all my other fancies merged into this--the guillotinechanged into a brig, the _Kestrel_ changed into the _Scheldt_, theKilgorman kitchen became a deck, and Miss Kit a Dutch skipper. Why wasit? Why should everything come back to that one brig in the offing?

Suddenly I understood it. There, as I looked up from my restless raftand followed the gleam of the afternoon sun as it broke through theclouds, I perceived just such another vision in the offing--a brig, withcanvas set, and the light glancing on her sails as she laboured over thewaves towards me!

She may have been a mile away. By the look of her she was a foreigncraft, and may have been a trader coasting between the Dutch ports. Whatever she was, the sight of her put new life into me. 

I took my red scarf--the very scarf I had waved so vainly at the_Scheldt_ scarce three weeks ago--and spreading it wide waved it withall the energy of which I was capable. How long the minutes seemedthen! If she gave me the go-by, my last chance would go with her. Evenas I raised myself to wave, my head reeled, and a dimness clouded myeyes. 

Then, with a wonderful bound at my heart, half surprise, half joy, I sawthe brig suddenly put about, while a flag waved at her stern showed thatmy signal had been seen. A minute later the welcome sight of a boatcoming towards me assured me that I was saved, and with a cry ofthankfulness to Heaven my weary head drooped, and the mist in my eyesbecame darkness. 

What roused me was the consciousness of two strong arms round me, andthe taste of liquid fire between my lips. My saviours, who wereDutchmen, had lifted me from the spar, and were plying me with spiritsas I lay more dead than alive in the stern-sheets. I looked up. Thesails of the brig, flapping against the wind, towered above me, and herdark hull as she swung over us hid the sun. The boat pulled round herstern to reach the lee-ladder. As we passed I glanced up, and my eyesfell on two words, painted in gilt letters--

"_Scheldt_. Rotterdam. "

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE. 

THE HIGHWAYMAN ON THE DELFT ROAD. 

The next thing I clearly remember was crawling up on deck, clad in aDutch sailor's jacket and cap (I had been stripped for action when I waspitched into the waves out of the _Zebra_), and seeing a stretch of red-tiled roofs and windmills and tall towers on the bank of the broadstream up which we sailed on the tide. Rotterdam was in sight. 

I had lain in a sort of stupor since I was carried on board twenty-fourhours ago. The Dutchmen had been kind to me in their rough way, particularly as they took me for a Frenchman. I thought it prudent notto undeceive them, and passed myself off to the skipper as a castawaycitizen of the Republic One and Indivisible, which my knowledge of thelanguage made easy. 

But, as you may imagine, now that I stood on the deck of the _Scheldt_, my mind had room for but one thought. Miss Kit--where was she?

Even had her curiosity brought her on deck yesterday to see the rescueof the poor foreigner, she would hardly have recognised in the smoke-begrimed, swollen features of the half-drowned man her old squire andcomrade of long ago. Still less would Martin, who had never set eyes onme for four years, discover me. I knew him well enough as I came uponhim just then leaning over the bulwark taking an eyeful of Dutchscenery. 

He turned round as I approached and nodded. 

"_Comment vous portez-vous_?" said he, using up one of the slender stockof French phrases he had at command. 

I replied in French that I did well, and was entirely at monsieur'sservice, and madame's too, for I heard, said I, monsieur did not travelalone. 

Martin, who only half-comprehended, looked at me doubtfully, and turnedon his heel. 

Presently, as I leaned over the port watching the river, I overheard himin conference with the skipper, who spoke imperfect English. 

"Convent of the Carmelite Nuns?" said the latter; "that is outside thetown some distance. Is mademoiselle to be taken there?"

"Ay; those are my orders. "

"Will she go?"

"She must, " said Martin. 

"She has not been very obedient so far, " said the skipper with a laugh. "You have not received much encouragement. "

"What do I want encouragement for, " growled Martin, "from her?"

"Perhaps the encouragement of Mees Norah, her maid, has been enough foryou. But I warn you, my young lady will not travel so easily by land asby sea. You will need a troop of horse to take her to the Carmelites, Iexpect. "

This was said with a sneer at Martin's qualifications as a squire ofdames which that gentleman did not enjoy. 

"I can manage my own business, " said he in an unpleasant voice. "Ishall take her there in a carriage, and if she resists she will have tofind out she is not her own mistress. "

"As you will, " said the skipper. "I thank my stars I have not thetask. "

Indeed, I came to learn later on that he had good reason for so wishing. For Miss Kit, as soon as ever she discovered the vile plot which hadbeen practised on her, had retired to her cabin, and held every one onboard the _Scheldt_ at arm's-length except her maid, refusing to seeMartin, of the skipper, or any one, and fortifying herself like abeleaguered garrison. Her cabin had a private companion ladder by whichshe could reach the deck without passing through the men's quarters, andafter the first day or so, the poop was yielded to her as her ownterritory without protest. 

How was I to communicate with her now? I must if possible prevent herincarceration in the convent, from which I knew escape would bedifficult. 

I retired below and hastily scrawled on a piece of paper the followingnote:--

"Miss Kit, --The half-drowned man who was taken on board yesterday was hewho writes this, and who is ready to die for you. You are to be carriedin a coach to-night to the Convent of the Carmelite Nuns. Make all thedelay possible before you consent to go, and so give me time to getbeforehand on the road, where I will find means to take you to a placeof safety. --Your devoted--

"Barry Gallagher. "

This paper I folded, and returned on deck in the hope of finding somemeans of getting it into my lady's hands. 

Just as I passed the cook's galley, I came upon Norah, the maid, comingout with a tray on which was a little bottle of wine and a plate ofbiscuits. As we suddenly met, the tray slipped from her hand and fellto the floor, spilling the contents of the bottle and scattering thebiscuits. 

"Ach, but you're clumsy!" exclaimed the damsel. 

It was on the point of my tongue to return the compliment in her ownlanguage; but I remembered myself, and with a Frenchman's politenessbegged ten thousand pardons. 

"Permit that I assist you to make good the damage, mademoiselle, " saidI. 

This mollified her, and she bade me hold the tray and pick up thebiscuits while she went for another bottle of wine. 

When she returned, nothing would content me but that I should carry thetray for her to the door of her lady's cabin, which she graciouslypermitted, with a coquettish glance at Martin as we passed him on deck. 

My agitation, if I betrayed any, was not all due to the fascinations ofMiss Norah, and Martin had no cause to be jealous on that score. Thetruth was, that between the two top biscuits on the dish I had slippedmy little note!

"_Merci bien_, monsieur, " said Norah at the door as she took the tray;"and it's sorry I am I called you names. "

"Any name from those pretty lips, " began I, but she left me to finish mycompliment to the outside of the door. 

When we moored alongside the Quai, I renewed my thanks to the Dutchskipper, and offered to return him his coat. But he would not hear ofit. Only, said he, if I was disposed to-morrow to lend a hand atunlading, he would consider the trouble of fishing me out of the NorthSea sufficiently repaid. This I promised by all means to do; and gladto get free so easily, stepped ashore with the first to land. 

As I passed the brig's poop I thought I saw a face peep from the littlecabin window, and after it a little hand wave. I put my own hand to mylips as a symbol both of secrecy and devotion, and taking advantage ofthe bustle attending on the arrival of a fresh craft, slipped out of thecrowd into the street beyond. 

Here, among the first, I met a priest, to whom I made obeisance. 

"Holy father, " said I in French, "I beg you to direct me to the Conventof the Carmelite Nuns of this town, to which I have a message ofimportance from Ireland. I am a stranger here, and have but justlanded. "

The priest eyed me suspiciously. 

"The holy sisters receive no visitors but the clergy, " said he. "I willcarry your letter. "

"Alas! I have no letter. My message is by word of mouth, and I am freeto impart it to no one but to the lady superior. Does monseigneursuspect me of ill motives in seeking the convent?"

He liked to be called monseigneur; and looking me up and down, concludedthe holy sisters had little to fear from me. 

"The holy sisters live a mile or so beyond the city, before you come toOverschie, on the road to Delft. You will know the house by the highwall and the cross above the gate. "

"Monseigneur, " said I, "a thousand thanks, and may the saints make yourbed to-night;" and I departed along the road he pointed out. 

I had not gone far, or reached the open fields beyond the town, when Iperceived, grazing at the roadside, a horse with saddle and pillion, such as market folk rode, which had evidently broken tether while itsriders were away on some errand at a neighbouring _auberge_. 

Necessity, which knows no law, and made me villain enough to deceive apriest, was hardly likely to stick at borrowing a nag, especially whenthe safety of my dear young mistress was at stake. It went to my heartto think that the honest couple would have to complete their marketingon foot; but I promised them in my mind that if the beast was one ofsense and natural affection, it should find its way home sooner or laterwhen its present task was done. 

A short ride now cleared me of the town and brought me on to the roadwhich follows the canal to Delft. It was already dark, and as I ambledpast the lofty windmills that skirt the canal, I met scarcely a soul. Presently at a junction of roads I distinguished a little way back fromthe highroad the roof of a building almost hidden in trees, and closedround with a high wall. A thick, nail-studded gate, surmounted by across, marked the entrance. Here, then, was my destination. 

I reined in my horse under the deepest shadow of the wall, within viewof the portal, and waited. To pass the time, I took from my pocket thepistol which had lain there all the while I was in the water, anddrawing the wet charge, replaced it with powder and shot which I hadtaken the precaution to provide myself with before I left the _Scheldt_. 

Then it occurred to me, if I was to play highwayman, I could do it moresecurely out in the solitary road than within earshot of the holysisters, who might harbour within their precincts watch-dogs, human oranimal, who could spoil sport of that kind. 

So I rode a little way back on my steps and halted under a clump oftrees at the cross-roads, straining my ears impatiently for the noise ofwheels. 

Nearly an hour elapsed before they came, and I concluded Miss Kit musthave taken my advice and given her custodian a bad time of it before shepermitted herself to be conducted from the ship to the vehicle. Now thewheels advanced rapidly, and the frequent crack of the driver's whipshowed that Martin was trying to make up for lost time. 

I could see as they approached that the two men were on the box, leavingthe inside to the ladies. The driver was evidently pointing out theroof of the convent, dimly visible among the trees, and a face at theopen window was peering out in the same direction. 

At that moment I darted out of my hiding-place, and firing my pistol inthe air, but near enough to the driver's ears to make him jump, shoutedgruffly, --

"_Haltez la_!"

The horse came up short on his haunches. The terror-stricken men gapedround in a dazed way and tumbled off on the far side of the coach, whilethe maid within uttered a loud scream. But almost before any of themknew what had happened, I was bending beside the face at the window. 

"Quick, Miss Kit, mount behind me. " And passing my arm round her, Idrew her through the window and set her on the pillion behind me; andnext moment we were galloping away as fast as the beast could carry us, with her dear arms clasping me, and her breath coming and going in quicktumult on my neck. 

For a mile we rode thus without a word, when I heard her give a littlelaugh. 

"What is it?" I asked. 

"What a trouble for Martin!" said she, "He has Norah to console him. "

"I am not jealous of Norah. "

And I thought her arms held me a little firmer. 

"How well you managed it, " said she in a little. "I was terrified too, just at first. Where are we going?"

"To Biddy McQuilkin's, at the Hague. "

"Biddy McQuilkin's!" exclaimed she, with a start of surprise. "Surelyshe is dead. "

"So I thought; but she is not. She keeps an inn at the Hague; and hasorders from one in high authority among the Irish rebels to take care ofyou. "

"As a prisoner?"

"Surely not; as a lady. "

She sighed. 

"One peril never seems to be past, " said she, "but a new one loomsahead. "

"Courage, " said I. "Providence that saved you from the old peril willsave you from the new. "

"Ah, Barry, " she said gently, "I begin to wonder if your name spellsProvidence to me. On that hateful ship I wondered often what had becomeof you. When I saw behind us at Malin a red flag waved on the cliff-top, I said, Could that be you, but for once too late to help?"

"It was, " I replied. 

"I knew it!" she exclaimed almost triumphantly, "Night by night as wesailed further and further from home, I prayed Heaven to send you. Oncewhen an English warship crossed our path, I pictured you among the crew, and wished they might capture us. Then when I got that wonderful littleletter among the biscuits I knew my prayer was answered; and I troubledmyself about nothing but to do your bidding. Poor Martin, " and shelaughed again, "he was the sufferer by that. "

You may fancy if her voice across my shoulder that night was not musicin my ears! It humoured her to talk of all the perils we hadencountered together, and of the ups and downs in our lots since thatfirst day I brought her in the boat from Rathmullan to Knockowen. Thenshe spoke of her father and the peril he was in, and of the feuds anddangers that beset our distracted country. From that we came to talk ofmy adventures, and of Tim. But I could not find it in my heart to tellher of the paper under the hearth at Kilgorman, or of the villainy bywhich her father came into the estates he now held. 

Near the end of our talk I mentioned that I had seen Captain Lestrangein Derry. 

She was silent a little, and then said, --

"He is the man my father says I must marry. " This was a speech I foundno ready answer to, except a mumbled, "He is a fortunate man. "

"He does not think so, " said Miss Kit with a laugh. "He is good andkind, but he loves his liberty more than any woman. "

"And what says my little lady to that?" I faltered. 

"_Vive la Liberte_, " said she. "Heigho, Barry, are we nearly there?"

We were past Delft, where no one supposed but we were a belated pair ofmarket folk trudging home. Our horse had dropped into a leisurely jog, and the morning sky was beginning to show streaks of grey. 

"Are you weary?" said I, putting my hand on the little arm that held meround. 

"No, Barry, I am very happy so, " said she; and after that we were silenttill the stars began to fade and the towers and spires of the Hagueloomed ahead against the northern sky. 

Despite our loitering, it was still early when we found ourselves in thestreets of that city, inquiring for the _auberge_ of the "White Angel. "After some trouble, we were directed through the town to the road thatleads to the little fishing village of Scheveningen, two miles beyondthe Hague, where, just as we came in sight of the sea, a little waysideinn with a swinging sign of a heavenly body in a snowy robe told us wehad at last found our journey's end. 

No one was astir, but our knocking brought a groom on the scene, whorather surlily admitted us to the stable-yard. 

"Tell madame she is wanted at once; I bear a message from Lord Edward, tell her. "

Here a head looked out from a window, and madame's voice called out inbroadest brogue, --

"Lord Edward, is it? And who might you be yourself?"

"I'm Barry Gallagher, Biddy. Put on your clothes, like a decent soul, and let us in. "

Biddy obeyed with an alacrity which led us to doubt whether her toiletbelow the shawl she wore had been very elaborate. 

On the sight of me, still more of my fair charge, she broke out into atumult of Irish welcome. 

"Arrah, darlints, sure it's glad I am to see you; and it's expecting youI've been, for didn't Lord Edward send me word to look to the youngleddy? Come away, honey; for you look as white as the painted angelbeyant there. So they sneaked you away, did they? And all because hishonour was hanging the boys. Never ye fear, dearie, you'll be safe withold Biddy, even if the whole of the United Irishmen come after you. --Andyou, Barry, you're welcome too, though your father Mike wouldn't let mebe mother to you. Dear, oh. There's many changes to us all since then. The last time I set eyes on yez 'twas in Paris, and little I looked tosee you again when they had us all to the prison. And where's Tim atall? He's the boy, and a rale gentleman. "

"Give us some food, Biddy dear, " said Miss Kit, "and tell us all thenews to-morrow. "

"'Deed I will, " said the good soul, and she bustled about till the wholehousehold was awake to give us breakfast. 

I waited only to allay my hunger, and then rose. 

"Good-bye just now, Miss Kit, " said I. 

Her face fell. 

"Oh, " said she, "you're not going to leave me, Barry!"

"Till to-night. I am pledged to pay the Dutchman for saving my life byworking for him this day. After that--"

"Oh, go, " said she, holding out her hand, "for he deserves all thethanks in the world for saving you for me. "

She blushed as she saw how I lit up at the words, but left her hand inmine as I raised it to my lips. 

"Farewell, my dear Barry, " said she. "Heaven bless you, and bring yousafely back!"

All the world then seemed turned to brightness, and I stepped out like aman who treads on air. But at the door I remembered myself enough toreturn and seek Biddy in her kitchen. 

"Biddy, " said I, "tell me one thing, as you will answer for it at thelast day--which of us two, Tim or I, is the son of Mike Gallagher, andwhich is the son of Terence Gorman?"

She turned very white and sank into a chair. But I had no time toparley, and I urged her to speak. 

"As I hope for salvation, " said she, and her breath came hard and herbosom heaved fast, "the one of you that has the mole between hisshoulder-blades is the Gorman's boy. "

"It is Tim then, " I exclaimed, and hastened to my horse. 

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO. 

DUTCH JUSTICE. 

I should be no better than a hypocrite were I to deny that, as I rode myweary, borrowed nag back that morning along the Delft road, there shotin and out of the turmoil of my feelings a sharp pang of disappointment. 

It was no disloyalty to Tim; it was no greediness for name and wealth. It was but the dashing of a passing hope that I might find myself, afterall, a gentleman, and so prove worthy to be regarded by Miss Kit assomething more than a trusty servant. As a Gorman, and her cousin, Imight claim her with the best of her suitors. As the son of MikeGallagher, boatman and smuggler, myself but a plain boatswain, how durstI suppose, for all her kindness and gentleness, she could comprehend mein the ranks of her equals?

Yet to serve her was something--to have snatched her from the scoundrelMartin, and set her in a safe place, was some little triumph to setagainst the disappointment of Biddy's news; and as I jogged Delft-wardthat morning, I fell to considering how best I could help her to herhome and Tim into his estate. 

More people were about now than when I rode last, and some opened theireyes to see a sailor on horseback. But I answered no questions andhalted for no parleys. At Delft I hoped to find a road round outsidethe town, fearing lest I might encounter the owners of the nag on thestreets. But I found no way except that straight through the midst ofthe town. 

As I crossed the market-place two soldiers accosted me and ordered me todismount and give an account of myself. As they spoke only Dutch, and Iknew none of the language, it was hard for us to understand one another. But the feel of their muzzles on my ears convinced me I had betterobey; and abandoning the luckless animal, I was conducted to the guard-house and there locked up until business hours. 

I demanded, in the best French I could muster, on what charge I was thuslaid by the heels. 

My captors grunted by way of answer, and searched my pockets, from whichthey drew my pistol and the little leather case containing my mother'sletter. 

I repeated my question in English, at which they pricked their ears, spoke something to one another in which the word "spy" occurred, andclapped irons on my ankles. 

Evidently then my crime was not horse-stealing, but that of being anEnglish spy, which meant, I supposed, a volley at ten paces before noon. So here was an end to the business of Miss Kit, my sweetheart, and Tim, my brother. 

I confess, as it all dawned on me, I found myself smiling over my bighopes and resolves of an hour ago. But I had long enough to wait tolose all sense of humour, and sink into the most woeful depths ofdespair. It always happened so. The cup was ever at my lips, and asoften rudely dashed aside. My little mistress had never before spokenso gently; my mother's dying charge had never been nearer fulfilment. And now, what could be further from my reach than either? How Iexecrated that ill-starred jade, and the Dutch skiver, but for whom Imight at this moment have been my own master. 

In due time I was marched into the burgomaster's presence, and deemed itwise to make no further mystery of myself. I demanded an Englishinterpreter, unless the magistrate would hear me in French, which latterhe graciously agreed to do. 

"Sir, " said I, "my name is Gallagher; I am an Irishman, a servant ofKing George, and a sailor in Admiral Duncan's fleet. I am, as Ibelieve, the sole survivor of the wreck in mid-sea of his Majesty's ship_Zebra_, foully blown up by her mutinous crew. I was picked up by theDutch brig _Scheldt_, now lying at Rotterdam. I am no spy. I rode lastnight to visit an acquaintance--a countrywoman at the Hague--and am onmy way now to fulfil my promise to the skipper of the _Scheldt_ to givehim a day's labour in unlading his brig in return for his kindness tome. The sailor's coat and cap I wear were given me by him. "

The magistrate heard my story attentively, and not altogetherunfavourably. 

"Admiral Duncan's fleet, " said he, "is in arms against the Dutchrepublic. "

"It is, " said I. 

"How many sail does he muster?" demanded my judge. 

"I cannot tell you, mynheer, " said I. 

"Where do his ships lie?"

"Mynheer, " said I, "would you expect a Dutch sailor to betray hiscountry to an English magistrate? I refuse to answer. "

He frowned, less at my refusal than at the terms in which it wascouched. 

"Give me the name of your acquaintance at the Hague, " said he, changingthe subject. 

I gave him Biddy's name. 

"What was your business with her?"

"I never expected to land on Dutch shores, and so had no specialbusiness; but finding myself here, I sought her out. "

This all seemed fair enough; and the burgomaster, who was an honest manand blessed with true Dutch stolidity, after consulting with his clerkand colleague, informed me that inquiries would be made, and thatmeanwhile I should remain in custody. 

To my request to be allowed to send a letter to Biddy he returned a flatand suspicious refusal. Nor, till my case stood clearer, would he orderthe removal of the irons. So for the next twenty-four hours I lay in adamp cell, with black bread and water to support my spirits, and thethought of my little mistress to carry me through the weary hours. 

About noon next day I was again summoned to the burgomaster's court, where, among the curious crowd assembled to see the supposed Englishspy, I recognised not only the Dutch skipper, but Martin. Biddy was notthere. 

The burgomaster wore an air of sternness and self-importance which bodedno good. 

"Captain Koop, " said he to the skipper, "identify the prisoner. "

"Most worshipful, " replied the sailor, "this is the man we picked up, who said he was a Frenchman, wrecked in the French ship _Zebre_. "

"Was that true?" said the judge to me. 

"Mynheer, I told you my tale yesterday. I am no Frenchman. "

Then Martin was called forward, and looked hard at me with his sinistereyes. An interpreter explained the burgomaster's questions. 

"Witness, you state you know the man Gallagher. Is this he?"

"Now I look at him--yes; but I did not know him before with his beard. "

"Is he a sailor in the service of the English Government?"

"He is; and no friend to the Irish people, for whom the Dutch republicis fighting. More, by tokens, your honour, " added Martin through theinterpreter, "now I know him, I know who it was who last night carriedaway a certain Irish lady under my protection while on her way to theConvent of the Carmelite Nuns. "

"What do you say to that?" said the burgomaster to me, with a look ofhorror, for he was a stout Catholic. 

"I don't deny it, " said I, curtly; "nor do I deny that this blackguard, instead of trying to defend the lady, tumbled all of a heap with frightoff the carriage-box on to the road when I accosted him. "

The interpreter smiled as he translated this, and Martin looked roundnot too well pleased. 

"Where is the lady?" demanded the burgomaster. 

"That is my affair, " said I. "She was carried away from her home bythis man against her will. She was rescued from him by me with her owngood will, and is now safe. "

"With your friend at the Hague, doubtless?"

I made no answer. 

"Inquiries have been made as to this friend. She is known, but hasdisappeared since yesterday. "

"What!" I exclaimed, "Biddy gone? And what of--"

"In company with a young lady, " said the burgomaster, eyeing me sternly. "Prisoner, I demand to know where these persons have gone. "

"I do not know, " said I, and my own bewilderment might have answered formy sincerity. 

"I do not believe that, " said the burgomaster. "A messenger arrived ather inn with a letter early yesterday, and she and the lady left, it issaid by boat, soon after. Do you deny that you sent that message?"

"I do. "

"Do you deny that you know who did?"

"I do. "

"Do you deny that you know where they have gone?"

"I do, " retorted I; "and, if it please your worship, what has all thisto do with whether I am a spy or not?"

"This, that a man who has lied in one particular is not to be believedin others. The same reason which induced you to pass yourself as aFrenchman may explain your refusal to say where the woman McQuilkin hasgone. Her house is known to be a resort of spies and foreigners ofdoubtful character, and your connection with her, and the abduction ofthe young lady, and your refusal to give any information, are stronglyagainst you. "

I am not learned in Dutch logic, and was not convinced now; butapparently my judges were, for I was ordered to be handed over to themilitary authorities of Amsterdam as a prisoner of war, suspected ofbeing a spy, for them to deal with me as they might consider best. 

Before I departed, the burgomaster handed me back my mother's pocket-book, the contents of which he had had translated, and which he was goodenough to say appeared not to be incriminating. My pistol he detainedfor the service of the Dutch republic. 

The military authorities at Amsterdam were far too busy to attend to myaffairs. They were in the midst of equipping an armament to land onIrish shores and strike at England with the cat's-paw of an Irishrebellion. The place was full of Irishmen, some of whom honestly enoughlooked to see their country redeemed by Dutch saviours; others, hungryhangers-on, seeking what profit to themselves they could secure from theventure. A few faces, even during the short time I was kept waiting inquarters, seemed familiar to me as of men I had seen in former days inthe secret conclaves at my father's cabin or under his honour's roof, and one or two I was certain I had seen that day in Dublin not longsince when I was present at a meeting of the United Irishmen. 

Little I knew then or for months after that among these very faces, hadI looked long enough, I might have seen that of Tim, my brother, or(must I say now?) my brother that was, before he became Tim Gorman ofKilgorman. 

But, as I said, the authorities were too busy to inquire into my case, and, taking the word of the Delft burgomaster, locked me up with a batchof other English prisoners to await the issue of the coming war. 

For three months I languished here in a dismal dungeon in dismal companyand fed on dismal fare. But I who had lodged in the Conciergerie atParis in "the terror" could afford to think my Dutch hosts lavish intheir comforts. 

Once and again some new captive brought us news from outside, thepurport of which was that the great Irish expedition, after lying forweeks and weeks at the Texel, held prisoner there by the unyielding westwind and by Admiral Duncan, had collapsed like a burst bubble. Thetroops had all been landed, the ships had returned to refit, and thepack of Irishmen, seeing the hunt up in this quarter, had gone off infull cry to Paris. If the Dutch ventured anything now, it would beagainst England, and on their own account. 

One day towards the end of September a great surprise broke the tediumof our captivity. Our jailer brought an announcement that an exchangeof prisoners was in contemplation, and that some twenty of us mightreasonably hope to see our native land again in a few days. Whether thefortunate score would be selected according to rank or to seniority ofcaptivity would depend on the prisoners handed over by Admiral Duncan. 

It was a pleasing subject of speculation with me, as you may guess. Forwere the selection to be by seniority, I was excluded; if by rank, as apetty officer in a company which largely consisted of common seamen, Imight count with tolerable certainty on my liberty. 

The few days that intervened were anxious and wearisome. Should I missmy chance, I had nothing to look for but a prolongation of this wretchedexistence, with perhaps an ounce of lead, when all was said and done, toend it. If, on the other hand, luck were to favour me, a week hence, who could say, I might be by my little mistress's side at home; for Imade no doubt that when I came to inquire at the "White Angel, " as Icertainly would do, I should find that Biddy had taken her thither, or, if not there, at least to some safe place at which I could hear of her. 

In due time came the end to our suspense. The twenty were appointed byrank, and I marched one fine evening out of that wretched dungeon a freeman--stay, not quite free. There was no slipping away to the Hague andthe "White Angel;" no walking through the port of Amsterdam to inspectthe enemy's preparations. We were marched, under arrest, with anescort, in the dark of night, to some little fishing-station among thedunes, where we found an English lugger, attended by two armed Dutchboats, waiting to receive us. On this we embarked, bidding farewell toour captors; but not until the white cliffs of Margate appeared on thewestern horizon did our Dutch convoy sheer off and leave us in Englishwaters in undisturbed enjoyment of English liberty. 

Yet even so, did I still harbour a thought of returning home or seekingthe lost, I was destined to disappointment. For from Margate we weremarched direct to Sheerness, and there inspected by Lords of theAdmiralty, who, without ceremony, told us off to fill vacancies in shipsat that moment engaged in active service, promising us, when the presenttroubles were over, to recompense our hardships and services in somebetter way. 

I found myself under orders to sail forthwith to Yarmouth, there toreport myself on board the _Venerable_, the flag-ship of Admiral Duncanhimself. 

An Admiralty cutter was just then sailing with despatches for the fleet, and on it I embarked the same afternoon, and found myself in YarmouthRoads next morning. 

The admiral's fleet was all in a flutter; for news had only just comethat the Dutch admiral, taking advantage of the temporary withdrawal ofthe English ships from the mouth of the Texel (for Admiral Duncan, afterhis long cruise there, had been compelled to return to refit hissquadron), was setting sail at last, and determined to venture anengagement in the open. Our fleet was wild with joy at the news--aswild as the greyhound who for hours has been straining at his leash withthe hare in view is to feel his collar thrown off. 

Signals were flying from every mast-head. The last of the barges andbumboats were casting loose. The dull thunder of a salute came from theshore, the yards were manned, sails were unfurling, and the anchorchains were grinding apeak. 

At such a moment it was that the Admiralty cutter hove alongside of the_Venerable_, and I found myself a few minutes later lending a hand tohaul to the mast-head the blue flag of that most gallant of sea-dogs, Admiral Duncan. 

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE. 

THE FAMOUS FIGHT OF OCTOBER THE ELEVENTH. 

My readers do not, I hope, expect from me a full, true, and particularaccount of the glorious sea-fight of October 11, 1797, off Camperdown;for if they do, they will be sadly disappointed. Indeed, it seems tome, the worst person to describe a battle is one who has fought in it. For if he does his duty, he has no eyes for any business but his own;and as to seeing what is happening along the entire line at any time, itwould take an eagle poised in mid-air, with eyes that could penetrate acloud of smoke, to do it honestly. I am no eagle, and my eyes can carryno further than those of any other plain mortal. I can tell only what Isaw. For the rest, the eagles have written their story in books, whereany one can read all about the famous victory--and more than all. 

There was little time to observe anything in the bustle of our puttingout from Yarmouth. The ship was not yet clear of the confusion of herhurried refitting and revictualling. Stores lay about which neededstowing; there were new sails to bend and old ropes to splice; therewere decks to swab and guns to polish, hammocks to sling, and ammunitionto give out. Yet all worked with so hearty a will, and looked forwardso joyously, after eighteen weeks' idleness, to a brush with the enemy, that before sundown all was nearly taut and ship-shape. If anythingcould help, it was the kindly nod and cheery word of our admiral himselfas he paced to and fro among us. A beautiful man he was--a giant tolook at, and as gentle as he was tall; yet with a flash in his eye, ashe turned his face seaward, that told us that there was not a man in theship who looked forward with more boyish eagerness to the brush aheadthan he. Though it was but for a week, I hold it to this day somethingto be able to say that I have served under Duncan. 

Had I been in the mood to stand on my dignity, I might have feltaffronted to find myself set to do ordinary seaman's work on board the_Venerable_. For in the hurry of our setting out from Yarmouth therewas time neither to report myself nor to choose my work. I was nosooner on board than I was hurried forward to set the fore-courses; andno sooner was that done than a mop was put into my hands to swab themain-deck; and no sooner was that done than I was told off to carrystores below. At any rate, it was better than a Dutch prison, and, thought I, a common sailor under Duncan is better than a lieutenantunder Mr Adrian. Time enough when prizes were towed into port to standout for dignities. 

The next day, the tenth, despite the strong north-wester, our fleet, which numbered fourteen sail of the line, held well together for theTexel, picking up one or two fresh consorts during the day, and beatingabout now and again in expectation of news of the longed-for enemy. Wesaw nothing but a few merchantmen; and the admiral was beginning to fearthat, after all, the Dutchmen had given us the slip, and made off tojoin forces with the French fleet at Brest, when an armed lugger, flyinga signal, hove in sight, and reported that the Dutch admiral was only afew leagues away to the south. 

The joy on board was indescribable; and as night closed in, and we stoodout on the starboard tack, the certainty that daybreak would discoverthe enemy was almost as great a cause for jubilation as if we hadalready won our victory. 

Eager as we were, however, the admiral ordered all of us who were not onthe watch below, charging us to get sleep while we could, and layprovender on board, for we had hungry work before us. 

The first lieutenant called me to him as I was turning in. 

"Mr Gallagher, " he said, "I have only just had time to go over thenames of the last comers in the ship's books. I see you hold rank as awarrant-officer. "

"I was boatswain to the _Zebra_, sir, " said I. 

"So I see. It does you credit that you have worked so cheerfully at thefirst work that came to hand. But to-morrow we shall want our best menat their right posts. The _Venerable_ has a boatswain already; butCaptain Fairfax has ordered me to look up double hands for the helm. Begood enough to report yourself to the sailing-master at daybreak. Wehave our work cut out for us, I fancy, and much will depend on thesmartness with which the admiral's signals are read and his shiphandled. So you may take the duty as a compliment, Mr Gallagher; andgood-night to you. "

I turned in that night still better pleased with the service than ever. 

At daybreak, as we came on deck, the first thing we spied to leeward wassome of our own ships bearing down on us with signals flying of an enemyin sight; and not long after, the line of the enemy's fleet, stragglingnortheast and south-west, came into sight, hauled to the wind andevidently awaiting us. We counted over twenty of them; and with theadditions that had joined us in the night, we were just as many. 

The sea was rolling heavily, and a good many of our ships were lagging. So, as we were already near enough to the Dutch side, the admiralordered sails to be shortened till the slow coaches came up, which theydid not too smartly. 

I reported myself to the sailing-master as directed, and soon foundmyself one of four in charge of the helm. After that I saw very littleof the famous battle of Camperdown, for I had no eyes or ears foranything but the admiral's signals. We waited for our ships to get intotheir proper stations till we could wait no longer. 

"Confound them!" growled the quartermaster, a fresh, cheery salt at myside, as one or two sail still dawdled on the horizon, "These lubberswill spoil all. The Dutch are shallow sailers, and they'll have us onthe flats before we are ready to begin. What is the ad-- Ah, that'sbetter. Up she goes! Smart now and have at them!"

This jubilant exclamation was in response to a signal to wait no longer, but bear down on the enemy, every vessel being ordered to engage heropponent as best she could. 

Up went the helm, round went the yards, and away sped the _Venerable_, and with her the rest of the British fleet, full tilt at the Dutchmen. I learned more of the battle from the ejaculations of the quartermasterat my side than from my own observation. 

"Confound the mist!" growled he as we reached out for the line. "Theywon't see the signal to cut the line and get to leeward. Take my wordfor it, mate, those Dutch dogs will pull us in on to the shallows beforewe know where we are. "

Suddenly the thunder of guns on our right proclaimed that the action hadbegun in good earnest. 

"That's the vice-admiral, " said the boatswain, "at it already, and he'smaking a hot corner down there. Ease her up a bit now. There's theDutch admiral's ship the _Vryheid_. It's her we're going for. "

A sudden order came astern. 

"Run under her stern?--right you are, " said the quartermaster. "Keepher down more, my lads. --Lie as you are, my beauty, " said he, apostrophising the _Vryheid_, "and we'll blacklead you somehow. "

"What's that ship astern of her about?" said I. "She's closing up. "

So she was. Before we could slip through and get under the _Vryheid's_stern, she had neatly swung up into the gap, blocking us out, andleaving us to put our helm hard a-port to avoid running in on the top ofher. 

"Neatly done, by the powers, " said the quartermaster; "but Duncan willmake her smart for it. Ah, I thought so, " as the _Venerable_ shook fromstem to stern and poured the broadside intended for the _Vryheid_ intothe stern of the intruder instead. "Take that, my lass, and don't pushin where you're not wanted again. "

It was a tremendous thunder-clap; and the _States-General_--that was thename of the intruder--with her rigging all in shivers, and her stern-guns knocked all on end, was glad enough to bear up and drop out of linebefore she could get a second. This suited our admiral excellently, forit enabled him to cut the enemy's line and bring the _Venerable_ snuglyround on the lee-side of Admiral De Winter's ship, his originally chosenantagonist. 

Then all was thunder and smoke. The _Venerable_ shook and staggeredunder the crushing fire which struck her hull. But for every broadsideshe got she poured two into the masts and rigging of her opponent. Morethan once, as the two ships swung together, with yards almost locked, wehad to duck for our lives to escape the falling spars of the Dutchman. I can remember once and again, as the _Vryheid_ lurched towards us, seeing her deck covered with dead and wounded men; and every broadsideshe put into us left its tale of destruction among our fellows. 

Presently, with a crash that sounded even above the cannon, down cameher mainmast by the board, and the British cheers which greeted the fallwere even louder still. 

But if we reckoned on having done with her, we were sorely mistaken; forthree other Dutchmen just then hove up to their admiral's help, and fora quarter of an hour the _Venerable_ had as hot a time of it as shipever lived through. There was not much for us at the helm to do butstand and be shot at; which we did so well that when at last (just asthe mizzen-mast of the _Vryheid_ followed the example of her mainmast)the order came to haul off and wear round on the other tack, I foundmyself the only one of four to answer, "Ay, ay, " and ram down the helm. The quartermaster, poor fellow, lay at my feet, shot nearly in two;while of our other two mates, one was wounded, with an arm shot away, another stunned by a falling timber. 

It was a job to get the ship round; and when we did, there was the_Vryheid_, with her one mast left, waiting for us as saucy as ever. After that, all passed for me in even a greater maze than before; for abullet from the enemy's rigging found me out with a dull thud in theshoulder, and sent me reeling on to the deck. I was able after thefirst shock to stumble up and get my hands upon the helm; but I stoodthere sick and silly, and of less use than the poor quartermaster at myfeet. 

I was dimly conscious of a din and smoke, like the opening of the gateof hell. Then, through a drift in the smoke, I could see the tall formof the Dutch admiral standing almost alone on his quarter-deck, as coolas if he were on the street at Amsterdam, passing a word of commandthrough his trumpet. Beyond him I caught a glimpse of the low Dutchsand-hills, not two leagues to leeward. Then, away to our right, camethe faint noise of British cheers above the firing. Then some one nearme exclaimed, "Struck, by Saint George!" and almost directly after thefiring seemed to cease, and our fellows, springing on to the yards andbulwarks, set up such a cheer that the _Venerable_ shook with it. Itried to get up my head to see what it was all about, but as I did so Itumbled all in a heap on the deck--and the battle of Camperdown wasfinished for me. 

It was nearly dark when I came to between decks, with a burning pain inmy shoulder and my mouth as dry as a brick. The place was full ofgroaning men, some worse hit than myself, and one or two past the helpof the surgeon, who slowly went his round of the berths. By the time hereached me I did not much care if he were to order me overboard, so longas he put me out of my misery. 

But, after all, mine was a simple case. There was a bullet in mesomewhere, and a few bone-splinters were wandering about my system. Apparently I could wait till my neighbour, whose thigh bone was crushed, was seen to. So while he, poor fellow, was having his leg cut off, andbeginning to bleed to death (for he didn't outlive the operation anhour), I lay, with my tongue glued to the roof of my mouth, groaning. 

"Ah, Mr Gallagher, " said the first lieutenant, as he came the round, "they picked you out, did they? Nothing much, I hope? It's cost us apretty penny in dead and wounded already. "

"And we beat them?" groaned I. 

"Beat? We made mincemeat of them! Haven't we the Dutch admiral aprisoner on board this moment, playing cards with Admiral Duncan in hiscabin as comfortably as if he was in his own club at the Hague?"

"Could you give me some water?" I asked, with a sudden change of thesubject. 

"Surely; and, Mr Gallagher, I'll see you again before we land, andwon't forget to put your name forward. "

When at last the doctor came, I saved him a good deal of trouble byswooning away the moment he touched my wound, and remained in thatcondition, on and off, till I heard the anchor running out at the bows, and understood from those who lay near that we were at the Nore. 

Had I wanted any further proof of our arrival in English waters, theshouting and saluting and bustle and laughter all around left no doubtof it. 

"Come, lad, " said the lieutenant, standing over me, while two sailorsset down a stretcher beside my berth, "the tender's alongside to takeyou poor fellows ashore. The doctor says you must go to hospital, andthey'll have another look for the bullet there. So keep up heart, man. Here are your papers, and a good word thrown in from the admiralhimself, bless him!"

The pain of being lifted on to the stretcher and carried on deck wasalmost beyond endurance, yet I could hardly help, as I passed thecheering crowd of our fellows, giving a faint "hurrah" in time withtheirs. For our noble old admiral stood on the gangway, with a kindword for every one, especially the wounded. 

"Never say die, my brave lad, " said he, as I was carried by; "you stuckto your post bravely. --Steady, men, " added he, as the two bearers brokestep for a moment; "the poor boy has had jolting enough without you. --God bless you, my fellow!"

And so I parted company with the bravest and kindliest gentleman I evercame across. 

Every one ashore was wild with the news of the great victory, and wepoor cripples were escorted to the hospital like heroes. I wished, formy part, I had been allowed to get there quietly, for the horses of ourwaggon started and winced at the noise of the shouting and music, sothat my poor shoulder was all aflame long before I got to our journey'send, and I myself in a high fever. 

The doctors had a rare bullet-hunt over my poor body; and when it wasfound, there were bone-splinters still harder to get at. The result wasthat when I was at last bound up and left to mend, I was so weak andshattered that for weeks--indeed, for nearly three months--I lay, sometimes in a fever, sometimes recovering, sometimes relapsing, sometimes recovering again, till I found myself one of the veterans ofthe hospital. 

What, during those weeks, were my fevered dreams you may guess. Infancy I was hunting through the world for Miss Kit; and as sure as Ifound her, Tim appeared and claimed my help; and ere Tim could behelped, my little mistress had vanished again and a new search wasbegun--now in Ireland, now in Paris, now in Holland, now up and down theblood-stained deck of the _Zebra_. But it all ended in naught; and Iturned over wearily on my pillow, sick in body and mind, and longing, asprisoner never longed, for wings. 

Glad enough I was when one day, early in January, the doctor pronouncedme cured, and put me on board a ship for Dublin, there to report myselfto the Admiralty, and take my new sailing orders. 

"But first, " said I to myself, "cost what it may, I will have a peep atFanad. "

CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR. 

A STEP UP THE LADDER. 

A strange thing befell me as soon as I landed in Dublin. I was prowlingalong the quay, wondering whether I should present myself then and thereat the Admiralty, or take French leave for Donegal while I was free andhad money in my pocket, when I was startled out of my wits by whatseemed to be a veritable ghost in my path. Unless I had been certainthat I was the only survivor out of the ill-starred _Zebra_, I couldhave sworn I saw Mr Felton, the second lieutenant, leaning over therails, watching the dressing of a smart-looking revenue cutter that layout in the water-way. The more I looked the less like a ghost did heappear, until at last I ventured to walk up to him with a salute. 

"Good-morrow, Lieutenant Felton, " said I. 

"Captain, if you please, " said he, turning round. "What! is that you, Gallagher, or your ghost? I thought I was the only man that saved hislife out of that fated ship. "

"I thought the same of myself, till this moment, " said I. 

"I hung on to a cask for close on twenty-four hours, till an Englishlugger picked me up. But I'll tell you of that later. Where do youspring from?"

"From hospital; I was on Duncan's ship at the battle of Camperdown--"

"You were! Lucky dog!" interjected he. 

"Where I got a crack in the shoulder, and am only just out. "

"And what are you going to do?"

"I am going to report myself at the Admiralty, and apply for a berth. Ihave my papers, and a letter from the admiral himself. "

"It strikes me they'll have to build a ship for you, " said he, with alaugh; "for, supposing you to be dead, I gave such an extravagantlyglowing account of your conduct on the _Zebra_, that I dare swearthey'll want to make a vice-admiral of you straight away. But what doyou say to serve under me? Just at the time when I called at theAdmiralty they had received a pressing request from the Customs to findthem an officer to take charge of a cutter--there she lies, " pointing tothe smart craft he had been inspecting; "and they gave me the offer, andI took it. And I'm on the look-out for a few smart hands, especially afirst officer. "

"Nothing would suit me better, " said I, "if I can get the proper step. I'm only a boatswain, you know. "

"That will not be difficult with the papers you have got and yourrecord. At a time like this they are not stiff about promotion, provided they get the proper men. So come along and beard the lions atonce. "

"There's one thing, sir, " said I, "that I must do before I can join anyship--I must take a run home to Donegal, to--"

"Donegal! why, that's where we're ordered to, man. There's a gang ofsmugglers on the coast between Inishowen and Fanad that we've got tocatch; and if that's near your home--"

"Near!" I exclaimed; "sure it _is_ my home. I know every creek andshoal of the coast in the dark. "

"That settles it, " said Captain Felton, thumping me on the back; "youare the man I want, and I'm the man you want. Come away!"

As he had predicted, my papers, and especially Admiral Duncan's letter, added to the previous favourable reports of Captain Swift and MrFelton, stood me in good stead with the authorities, especially justthen when there was a dearth of men to fill all the vacancies caused bythe war. I was told to call again on the following day, when, to myastonishment, I was handed a commission appointing me a lieutenant inhis Majesty's navy, and a letter of recommendation to the Customs forappointment to the _Gnat_, Captain Felton's cutter. 

With a bound of joy I found myself, by some strange shifting of theluck, a gentleman and an officer after all--humble and poor indeed, butentitled to hold my head with the best; and what was more--and that sentthe blood tingling through my veins--no longer beyond the range of mylittle mistress's recognition as a suitor. A paltry distinction if youwill, and one in name only; for the gentleman is born, not made byAdmiralty warrants; and had I been a cur at heart, no promotion couldhave made me otherwise. But if at heart I was a gentleman, this newtitle gave me the right to call myself one, and opened a door to mewhich till now I had thought fast shut. 

The week that followed was one of busy work; so busy that I had scarcetime to wander through my old haunts in Dublin and notice the air ofsullen mischief which brooded over the city. Men were watched andwatching at every corner, guards were doubled, officials walked abroadonly under escort. This man was pointed out as a leader of the coming"turn-out"--for so they spoke of the rebellion that was to follow--thatwas marked down as a traitor, and walked with the sentence of death inhis hang-dog face. This man was spoken of as one to be got at and wonover; and that was hooted and spat upon as he rode past in his gayequipage amid flying stones, and now and again a bullet out of space, which made him glad enough to retreat into cover. But these lastdemonstrations were less common than the dull, savage air of menacewhich pervaded the place. Something assuredly was going to happen. 

Some said the French were already on their way to Ireland, and thattheir landing was to be the signal for a general rising. Otherswhispered that Lord Edward had his plans ripe for the capture of thecapital, and the setting up of the new Irish republic. Many said allthis suspense was just the sign that no leader was ready to fire themine, and unless the blow was struck soon it would not be struck at all. As to the men in office and the police, they held their peace, sayingnothing, but hearing all. 

I encountered no one I knew, except one man, him who once had stopped meon the steps of the hotel, after my first meeting with Lord Edward, andwho had offered me money for information. To my surprise he now greetedme by name. 

"Good-day, Mr Gallagher; glad to meet you. How go matters in Donegal?and how is Lord Edward?"

I stared at him in amazement. 

"I have not the honour to know you, " said I, walking on. 

But he followed, linking his arm in mine. 

"Come now, " said he; "you know me well enough. But be assured you havenothing to fear from me if you are open. Your name is well-known at theCastle as a leader of the conspiracy, and a friend of Lord Edward's. Aword from me, and you would get free board and lodging in Newgate, ifnot a yard or two of rope thrown in; but I have no wish to hurt you. These are dangerous times, though. "

"I tell you, sir, " repeated I, "I am not the man you take me for, sokindly address yourself to some one else. "

"Tush!" said he, "what's the use between friends? Tim Gallagher is aswell-known a name as O'Connor's. "

Tim Gallagher! Then they took me for Tim, not myself. 

"And what information is it you want, and for whom?" I demanded, tryingto conceal my curiosity. 

"Turn up here; it's quieter, " said he, drawing me into a side street, "and I'll tell you. I've no commission, mind you, but I'll undertake tosay your candour will be worth a couple of hundred pounds in your pocketwithin twenty-four hours. "

"Go on, " said I, feeling my toes tingling to kick this man, who couldsuppose Tim Gallagher a common informer. 

"It's known you're lately returned from Paris, " said he, "with animportant message from the rebel leaders there, and that that messageconcerns among other things the coming French invasion. "

"Well?"

"Well! can you ask? It is presumed the leaders in Dublin know your newsby this time, and are making arrangements accordingly. If so, it isworth a couple of hundred pounds to you, as I said, to let me know whatis going forward. "

"And if not?"

"Simply that a warrant is out for the arrest of Timothy Gallagher, atpresent in Dublin disguised as a naval officer, and it rests with me toput it into motion. So come, " said he, halting and facing me, "make upyour mind. "

We had now reached the end of the street, which was a deserted one, backing on the Park. It had been all I could do to keep myself withinbounds and refrain from knocking this contemptible cur on the head. Prudence, and a desire to learn something more about Tim alone hadrestrained me. 

Now that, one way or another, the matter was come to an issue, Ihesitated as to what I should do. Either I might put him off, andinvent a story to please him, or I might refuse to answer anything, or Imight convince him of his mistake, or I might run for it. In the firstcase, I should be acting unfairly to Tim; in the other cases, I shouldbe risking my own liberty at a time I particularly needed it. Suddenlya fifth course opened before me. At the end of the street was a coach-house, the door of which stood open, and the key on the outside. It hadevidently been left thus by a careless groom, for the place was emptyand no one was in sight. 

Quick as thought I caught my man by the scrag of his neck and pitchedhim head first into the stable, taking time only to say, as I drew tothe door and turned the key. "Take that from Tim Gallagher's brother, you dog!" After which I walked away, leaving him kicking his feet soreagainst the tough timbers. 

I returned straight to the _Gnat_, and told Captain Felton exactly howmatters stood, requesting him to allow me to remain on board till it wastime to sail. 

"Which will be in two days, " said he. "I'm sorry, though, you'reafflicted with a scoundrel of a brother. I had the same trouble myselfonce, and know what it is like. "

"Tim's no scoundrel, " said I hotly, "though he's on the wrong side. He's a gentleman; and when it comes to that, I've no right to talk ofhim as my brother at all. "

"Well, please yourself, " said Captain Felton, who evidently did not careto discuss the matter. "That doesn't concern me, as long as you handlethe _Gnat_ smartly and get into no scrapes yourself. We can't afford tolet private concerns interfere with the king's business. "

Two days later all was ready, and, to my great relief, we weighed anchorand ran out of the bay with a brisk south-easterly breeze. The _Gnat_proved an excellent sailer, and, fitted as she was with ten six-pounders, and manned by a crew of twenty smart hands, she was aformidable enough customer for any smuggler that had to reckon with her. 

We put in at Larne in expectation of getting some news of the marauderswe were in search of, but found none. We were, however, warned to keepour eyes open not only for smugglers, but for foreign craft which weresaid to be at the old business of landing arms for the Ulster rebels, who by all accounts were in a very red-hot state, and longing anxiouslyfor the signal to rise. Indeed, so threatening did things appeargenerally that the authorities gave Captain Felton peremptoryinstructions to allow nothing to stand in the way of his communicatingimmediately to headquarters any intelligence (particularly as to theexpected French landing) with which in the course of his cruise he mightmeet. 

"This puts a boot on our other leg, " said the captain to me thatevening, as we watched the sunset light fade over Fair Head. "It seemsto me collecting customs will be the least part of our business. Nevermind. I'd sooner put a bullet into a rebel any day than into a poorbeggar who tries to land a keg of whisky for nothing. Fortune send useither, though!"

It seemed as if this wish were not without reason; for though we cruisedup and down for a fortnight, watching every bay and creek betweenBallycastle and Sheep Haven, we came upon nothing but honest fishercraft and traders. 

At last, to my relief--for I was growing impatient to hear news of mylittle mistress--Captain Felton bade me run the cutter into LoughSwilly. And knowing my desire, he made an excuse to send me ashore atRathmullan for provisions, bidding me return within three days, unless Iwas signalled for earlier. 

It was a Sunday morning when I found myself once more in the familiarinn at Rathmullan. I soon found that my host, who took little note ofhis customers, did not remember me; and he was civil enough now to oneof his Majesty's lieutenants, and eager to execute my commissions forstores. 

"Faith, sir, " said he, "and it's some of us will be glad to see the luckback, for it's gone entirely since the troubles began. "

"You mean the smuggling?" said I, by way of drawing him out. 

"That and other things. These are bad times for honest folk. "

As I knew the fellow to be an arrant harbourer of smugglers and rebels, I took his lamentation for what it was worth. 

"Maybe you're a stranger to these parts, captain, " said he presently, giving me another step in the service. 

"I've heard something of them, " said I. "I met a young fellow calledGallagher not long since, and he was talking of Lough Swilly. "

"Tim was it, or Barry?" asked the landlord, with interest. 

"Are there two of them, then?"

"Faith, yes; and one's as black as the other's white. Tim, bless him!is a rale gentleman and a friend to the people. "

"Which means a rebel, I suppose. And what of Barry?"

"Bedad, he's a white-livered sneak, and he'd best not show his face inthese parts. There's a dozen men sworn to have the life of him. "

I laughed. 

"It must have been Tim I spoke to, then, for he spoke well of you, andsaid you had some excellent rum in your cellar. Maybe he knew moreabout it than the Custom-House, eh?"

This put mine host in a flutter, and he vouched by all the saints in thecalendar he had not a drop in the house on which he had not paid duty. And as Tim Gallagher had mentioned the rum, would I be pleased to try aglass?

"Where is this Tim now?" I inquired, when the glasses were brought. 

"'Deed, captain, that's more than I can tell you. He was wanted badlyby the boys here, who chose him their captain for the turn-out that's tobe; but it's said he's abroad on the service of the country, and we'lllikely see him back with the Frenchmen when they come. "

"Ah, you're expecting the Frenchmen, are you? So are we. I may meetthis Tim Gallagher over a broadside yet. "

"If you do, dear help you, for Tim's got a long arm, I warn you. "

As I was about to go, I inquired, --

"By the way, you have a magistrate living somewhere near here, haven'tyou a Mr Gorman, whom I am to see on business. "

The landlord's face fell. 

"Ay. His honour's house is across the lough yonder at Knockowen. Butyou'll get little value out of him. He's a broken man. "

"How broken?"

"Arrah, it's a long story. He's run with the hare and hunted with thehounds too long, and there's no man more hated between here and theFoyle. His life's not worth a twopenny-piece. "

"Was he the man whose daughter was carried off?" I asked as innocentlyas I could. 

"Who told you that?" said he, with a startled look. "Not Tim. If ithad been Barry now, the scoundrel, he could have told you more of thatthan any man. Ay, that's he. "

"Did he ever get her back?"

"'Deed, there's no telling. He says not a word. But he hangs everyhonest man that comes across him. I'd as soon swim from Fanad to Dunaffin a nor'-westerly gale as call up at Knockowen. "

"Well, " said I, with a laugh, "get me a boat, for I must see him atonce, and take my chance of a hanging. Give me oars and a sail; I canput myself over. "

So once more I found myself on the familiar tack, with Knockowen a whitespeck on the water-side ahead. What memories and hopes and fearscrowded my mind as I slid along before the breeze! How would his honourreceive me this time? Should I find Knockowen a trap from which Ishould have to fight my way out? Should I--here I laughed grimly--spendthe night dangling at a rope's end from one of the beeches in theavenue? Above all, should I find Miss Kit there, or any news of her?Then I gave myself up to thinking of her, and the minutes passedquickly, till it was time to slip my sheet and row alongside thelanding-stage. 

"Halt! who goes there?" cried a voice. 

"A friend, " said I; "first officer of his Majesty's cutter _Gnat_, witha message from the captain to Mr Gorman. "

"Pass, friend, " said the sentry, grounding his gun with a clang. 

"Ah, " thought I, as I walked up the well-known path, remembering thehalf-hour I had been kept waiting at my last visit, "it's something tobe an officer and a gentleman after all. "

CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE. 

HIS HONOUR ESCAPES HIS ENEMIES AT LAST. 

It was less than a year since I had seen Knockowen. But all seemedchanged. Weeds and grass were on the paths, the flower-beds wereunkempt, the fences were broken in places, damp stains were spread overthe house front. Everywhere were signs of neglect and decay. Had I notknown his honour to be a wealthy man, I should have supposed him animpecunious person with no income to maintain his property. As it was, there was some other cause to seek, and that cause I set down to theabsence of Miss Kit. 

Twice between the pier and the house I was challenged by sentries, andwhen I reached the door I noticed that the lower windows were shutteredand barred like those of a prison. 

I announced myself to the servant who answered my summons as I had doneto the sentinels, without giving my name, and was presently shown intohis honour's room at the back of the house, which, as all the shutterswere closed, was lit by candles, though it was still daylight. 

I was shocked to see how Mr Gorman was changed. The sly, surlyexpression had given place to a hunted, suspicious look. His face washaggard and pale and his beard unkempt. He started at any little sound, and his mouth, once firm, now looked weak and irresolute. Worse still, there was a flavour of spirits about the room and the man which told itsown tale, and accounted for his bloodshot eyes and shaking fingers as helooked up. 

"Gallagher!" he exclaimed, rising to his feet in evident panic; "whatbrings you here in this disguise? What have I ever done to you?"

"It is no disguise, your honour, " said I, in as reassuring a tone as Icould assume. "I am Lieutenant Gallagher now. "

"And what do you want here? Why do you come in this sudden way? Goaway, sir, and come when you are wanted! Where is my guard?"

And the poor man, whom the landlord at Rathmullan had well described asbroken, actually put out his trembling hand to reach a pistol that layon the table. 

"You mistake me, " said I, paying no heed to the gesture. "I came merelyon business, and if you like you can call your guard in. I've nothingto say that they need not hear. "

"You're a good fellow, Gallagher, " said his honour, reassured. "I'm alittle shaken in the nerves, and your coming was so sudden. I know youcould mean no harm to your old benefactor. "

It made my heart bleed to hear him talk thus miserably, and I resolvedto shorten the interview as much as I could. 

"Stay and dine with me, " said he, as eager to keep me now as he was tobe rid of me a minute ago; "it's lonely, night after night, with no oneto speak to and nowhere to go. You've heard, no doubt, I am a prisonerhere. "

"How so, sir?"

"There's a sentence of death out against me--not in the king's name, butin the name of Tim Gallagher, your brother, captain of the rebels here. "

"In Tim's name!" exclaimed I. "It's false! I swear he never signed it;he is not even in the country. "

"Don't be too sure of that. Anyway he's their chosen leader, and theydo all in his name. I daren't go outside my own doors after dark forfear of a bullet. "

"The scoundrels!" cried I, starting up; "and they dare drag Tim's nameinto their vile machinations. I tell you, Mr Gorman, Tim would no morewink at murder than--than Miss Kit would. And, by the way, sir, what ofMiss Kit?"

He looked round with his haggard face. 

"What is that to you, Gallagher?"

"I love her, " said I bluntly, "and so I have a right to know. "

"You! the son of Mike the boatman, and brother of Tim the rebel! Youdare--"

I cut him short. 

"See here, Maurice Gorman; understand me. With or without you I willfind her, if I have to seek her to the world's end. I've done so beforenow; remember how we parted last. "

"Oh, " said he, "I know all that, and of your meeting her in Holland andplacing her in Biddy McQuilkin's care. She wrote me all about that; andit's little I owe you for it. Biddy belongs, body and soul, to therebel faction. "

"But she wouldn't let a hair of Miss Kit's head be hurt for all that. "

"How do you know that, so long as I could be made to suffer by it?"

"Where are they now, then?" I asked eagerly. 

"Till lately she was in Dublin, in the family of Lord Edward, who, traitor as he is, is at least a gentleman, and a distant kinsman intothe bargain. She was happy there; and what sort of place was this tobring a girl to? But look here, " said he, getting up and fumbling in adrawer among some papers, "what do you say to this?" and he put aletter, written in a delicate female hand, before me. It read asfollows:--

"To Maurice Gorman, Esquire. 

"Sir, --With great sorrow I inform you that Miss Gorman, while walkingyesterday evening in the Park with her attendant McQuilkin, wassurrounded by a gang of masked men, and they were both carried away, whither we know not. We are in terrible distress, and sparing no effortto find the dear girl, whom Lord Edward and I had come to love as asister. Be assured you shall receive such news as there may be. LordEdward's wrath knows no bounds, and he even risks his own liberty (forhe is a marked man) in seeking for them. --I have the honour to be, sir, your obedient servant, Pamela Fitzgerald. "

"That is from Lady Edward, " said his honour. "Now read this. "

The paper he handed me now was a dirty and illiterate scrawl, withoutdate or signature. 

"Maris Gorman, --Take note your doghter is in safe hands, and will not bereturnd till you take the oth of the Unyted Irishmen and pay 5 hundredpounds sterling to the fund. Allso note that unless you come inquickly, you will be shott like a dog, and the devil help you for atrayter to Ireland. "

"Now, " said he, with a gloomy smile, "you know as much of my daughter'swhereabouts as I do. "

"This is terrible news, " said I. "How is it you are not in Dublin atthis moment, moving heaven and earth to find her?"

He laughed bitterly. 

"It's easy talking, " said he. "In the first place, I should be shotbefore I reached my own gate; I have been practically a prisoner herefor weeks. In the next place, what could I do? Even if I took theoath, where is the money to come from?"

"Five hundred pounds is a small sum to a rich man like you. "

"Whoever calls me rich, lies, " said he testily, and with an uneasygesture which explained to my mind the dilapidated state of the place. Maurice Gorman was not only a poltroon but a miser, and five hundredpounds were worth more to him than his own daughter. 

"Is nothing being done?" said I. "Have you shown the letter to theauthorities, or to Lord Edward?"

"What use?" said he. "I am on too ill terms with either to expect theirhelp. "

"And so you intend to leave that poor girl to her fate?" I cried. "Butif you will not move, I will!"

"What can I do?" said he wearily. "You know how I am fixed. Perhapswhen I am shot they will let her go. Maybe that will be the simplestway out of it, after all. "

I could not help pitying him, much as I despised him, so miserably didhe speak. 

Then he began to talk about the state of the country, and of the badodour he had fallen into with his brother magistrates. 

"They suspect me of being in with the rebels, Gallagher, as if I hadcause to love them. On my soul, if I'm to be suspected, it sometimesseems I might as well be so with reason as without. Suppose, for thesake of argument, Gallagher, I took their precious oath--suppose it, Isay, how should I stand then? By all appearances, Ireland is going tobe delivered; and it will be a bad day when she comes into her own forthose who withstood her. Should I be worse off by joining them? I'mtold they are ready to welcome any man of position and landed intereston their side. It might be an opportunity of doing some service to myfellow countrymen. Besides, when a daughter's liberty is at stake, onedoes not stand at sacrifice. They hate me now because I have beeninstrumental in thwarting them. By winning me over they would be rid ofan obstacle; and all the favour I have shown them in the past in thematter of the arms, and allowing some of them to slip through thefingers of the law, would stand to my credit. Why, Gallagher, " addedhe, growing quite excited at the vision, "in the new Irish Government Ishould be a man of mark; and my fortune, instead of being confiscated, would be my own, and at the service of my friends. Why, you and Tim--"

"Are you so sure that fortune is your own now?" said I, losing my self-restraint at last. 

He turned a little whiter as he glared round at me. 

"You mean that improbable story of the changeling at Kilgorman, " saidhe, with a forced laugh. "As pure moonshine as ever was, and beyond allproof even if it wasn't. "

"You forget Biddy McQuilkin has been found. "

"Did she say anything?" he demanded. 

"She did, on her oath. "

"And, pray, what was her version of this wonderful story?"

"She told me all I needed to know--that is, which of us two was TerenceGorman's son. "

"And which is, pray?"

"That is my secret. Time will show. "

"What!" exclaimed he, "some new conspiracy to rob me? And one of theconspirators a man who presumes to my daughter's hand! Come, Gallagher, let you and me understand each other. I defy you, or Biddy, or any one, to make good your story. But if you are frank with me, you won't findme unreasonable. Let me see the documents. "

"In good time, sir, " said I. "Now, as to the smugglers. "

And we proceeded to talk about the object of our cruise. I found he hadlittle news to give me, or else he chose to give little, and after awhile I rose to go. He pressed me to stay the night, urging hissolitude; but I had no desire to prolong the interview. 

"We shall meet again, " said I; "and you may rely on hearing from me if Ihave any news of your daughter. "

We were out on the doorstep by this time. It was a beautiful, freshevening, with a half-moon hanging above the opposite hills and sending abroad track of shimmering light across the lough. 

"It's a tempting night, " said he. "I've not taken the air for days. I've a good mind to see you to your boat. "

For all that, he looked round uneasily, with the air of a man whosuspected a lurking foe in every rustling leaf. 

"Two of you men follow, " said he to the sentries at the door. "Keep mein view. Ah, how fresh the air is after that close room! Yes, Gallagher, you were speaking of my daughter. Since she left me--keep inthe shade, man, it's safer--this place has been a hell to me. What'sthe use of--what's that?" he exclaimed, catching my arm; "it soundedlike a man's breathing. What's the use of keeping it up, I say? I've amind to--"

He got no further. We had emerged from the shady walk into the moonlitpath leading down to the pier. The two sentinels were just discernibleahead, and the footsteps of the two behind followed us close. There wasno other sound in the stillness but his honour's quavering voice, andnothing stirring but the leaves of the trees and the waves of the loughas they broke gently on the beach. 

Suddenly there rang out from the water's edge the sharp crack of a gun, followed by a wild howl. Mr Gorman staggered forward a pace and fellon his face. There was a rapid swish of oars, two hurried shots fromthe sentries, and the phantom of a little boat as it darted out acrossthe moon track and lost itself in the blackness of the shadows. 

In a moment I was kneeling beside the body of the poor dying man. Theshot had struck him in the breast, and the life-blood was oozing awayfast. He was conscious as we tried to lift him. 

"Let me lie here, " said he. "I'm safe here now. "

But by this time the soldiers had him in their arms, and were bearinghim gently towards the house. 

It was little a doctor could do if we had one, but a soldier was sent toFahan to bring one, and to take word of the murder. Meanwhile we laidhim on his bed, and I did what I could to stanch the bleeding and easehis suffering. 

For half-an-hour he lay in a sort of stupor. Then he said, --

"Gallagher, I want to speak--Send the others away--no, keep one for awitness. "

We did as he desired, and waited for what was to come. 

Several minutes passed; then he tried to lift his head, and said, --

"It is true that one of you is Terence Gorman's boy, I knew it, but onlyBiddy knows which it is. I had no hand in Terence's murder, nor hadMike Gallagher, though I tried to put it on him. Write that downquickly, and I'll sign it. "

I wrote his words hurriedly down, and read them over; but when it cameto putting the pen in his hand, he fell back, and I thought all wasover. But after a few minutes he rallied again. 

"Hold me up--guide my hand--it all swims before me. "

The paper with his woeful scrawl affixed lies before me at this momentas I write. 

"Gallagher, " said he, more faintly yet, "be good to Kit, and forgiveme. "

"God will do that, your honour, " whispered I. 

"Pray for me. --Ah!" cried he, starting suddenly in bed, and throwing uphis arm as if to ward off a blow, "I'll take the oath, boys. You shallhave the money. God save--"

And he fell back, dead. 

Next day an inquiry was held which ended in nothing. No trace of themurderer was to be found, and no evidence but that of us who saw thetragedy with our own eyes. Plenty of folk, who had given him a wideberth living, crowded to the place to look at the dead Gorman; but inall their faces there was not one sign of pity or compunction--nay, worse, that very night, on Fanad and Knockalla bonfires were lit tocelebrate his murder. 

The next day we buried him. For miles round no one could be foundwilling to make his coffin, and in the end we had to lay him in a commonsoldier's shell. Nor would any one lend horse or carriage to carry himto his grave, and we had to take him by boat to his resting-place, rowing it through the gathering storm with our own arms. The flag half-mast on the _Gnat_ was the only sign of mourning; and when we bore thecoffin up to the lonely graveyard on the cliff-top at Kilgorman, andlaid it beside that of his lady, in the grave next to that of themurdered Terence, not a voice but mine joined in the "Amen" to thepriest's prayer. 

When all was said and done, I lingered on, heedless of the wind andrain, in the deserted graveyard, full of the strange memories which theplace and scene recalled. 

Eight years ago I had stood here with Tim at the open grave of her whomwe both called mother. And on that same day her ghostly footstep hadsounded in our ears in the grim kitchen of Kilgorman, summoning us to aduty which was yet unfulfilled. What had not happened since then? Theboatman's boys were grown, one into the heir of half the lough-side, theother into a servant of his Majesty. Tim, entangled hand and foot inthe toils of a miserable conspiracy, was indifferent to the fortune nowlying at his feet; I, engaged in the task of hunting down the rebels ofwhom he was a leader, was eating my heart out for love of her who calledby the sacred name of father the murdered man who lay here, to whom weowed all our troubles. Was the day never to dawn? Was there never tobe peace between Tim and me? And was Kit, like some will-o'-the-wisp, always to be snatched from my reach whenever I seemed to have found herfor my own?

I lingered beside his honour's grave till the daylight failed and thewaters of the lough merged into the stormy night, and the black gablesof Kilgorman behind me lost themselves against the blacker sky. Theweather suited my mood, and my spirits rose as the hard sleet struck mycheek and the buffet of the wind sweeping the cliff-top sent mestaggering for support against the graveyard wall. It made me feel athome again to meet nature thus, and I know not how long I drank incourage for my sick heart that night. 

At length I turned to go, before even it occurred to me that I hadnowhere to go. The _Gnat_ lay in the roadstead off Rathmullan, beyondreach that night. The cottage on Fanad was separated from me by a wasteof boiling water. In Knockowen the bloodstains were not yet dry. Kilgorman--yes, there was no place else. I would shelter there tilldaylight summoned me to my post of duty on the _Gnat_. Looking backnow, I can see that destiny led my footsteps thither. 

As I turned towards the house, I thought I perceived in that direction atiny spark of light, which vanished almost as soon as it appeared. Still more remarkable, a faint glimmer of light appeared in a smallgable-window high up, where assuredly I had never before seen a light. It may have been on this account or from old association that, insteadof approaching the place by the upper path, I descended the cliff andmade my way round to the cave by which so many of my former visits hadbeen paid. Fortunately the gale was an easterly one, so that the waterin the cave was fairly still, and I was able in the dark to grope my wayto the ledge on which the secret passage opened. 

All was quiet when at last I reached the recess of the great hearth andpeered out into the dark kitchen. By all appearance no one had lookedinto the place since I was there last a year ago and left my note forTim, and found the mysterious message which warned me of the plot tocarry off Miss Kit. I wondered if the former paper was still where Ileft it, and was about to step out of my hiding-place in search of alight, when the crunching of footsteps on the path without and theflitting of a lantern past a window sent me back suddenly intoretirement. 

A moment's consideration told me that it was easy to guess who theintruders might be. The night that Maurice Gorman had been laid in hisgrave would be a grand night for the rebels of Fanad. And who could saywhether the object of their meeting might not be to consider the fate ofMiss Kit herself, who, now that her father was dead, was no longer ahostage or the price of a ransom in their hands? There might at leastbe news of her, and even of Tim. 

So I stood close, and waited as still as a mouse. 

CHAPTER THIRTY SIX. 

THE FIGHT IN KILGORMAN. 

I had not long to wait before the footsteps sounded in the long passagewhich led to the kitchen, and a dim streak of light appeared at thedoorway. Two of the company, rather by their voices than their faces, Irecognised--one as Martin, the other as Jake Finn, the treasurer of therebels, whom I had last seen in this very place on the night that PaddyCorkill was appointed to waylay and shoot his honour on the Black HillRoad. The other two, who carried cutlasses at their belts, werestrangers to me, but seemed to be men of importance in the rebelbusiness. Evidently a fifth man was expected. 

"Sure, he'll come, " said one. 

"It's myself met him this blessed day no farther than Malin, and hepromised he'd be here. "

"Did he know this about Gorman?"

"How should he? Sure, I didn't know it myself. Besides, he's just fromthe Foyle, and our news doesn't travel east. "

"How will he take it?"

"Whisht!" cried Martin. "There he is. "

Three low taps sounded at the window, and Martin, taking the candle, hurried down the passage to admit the new arrival. 

The other three men advanced to the door. 

A quick, jaunty step sounded down the passage. The door opened, the mendrew themselves up and saluted, Martin held the candle above his head, and there entered--Tim! At the sight of him the great fount ofbrotherhood that was in me welled up and nearly overflowed. 

Tim was in the dress of a merchant sailor, and very handsome he looked, although the cut of his beard gave him a half-foreign look. His framewas knit harder than when I saw him last. His open face, tanned by theweather, was as fearless and serene as ever, and the toss of his headand the spring of his step were those rather of the boy I had known onFanad years ago than of the dangerous rebel on whose head a price wasset. 

"Well, boys, " said he, as Martin replaced the light on the table, "what's the best of your news?"

"Faith, that you're welcome, Tim Gallagher, " replied Finn; "and it'sright glad we are to get our captain. "

"'Deed if it pleasures you to call me captain, you may, " said Tim; "butI've no time to spend in these parts. I have business that won't keep. How goes the cause since I was here last?"

"Badly enough, " replied one of the men. "The boys are slack, and we'vebeen desperately thwarted by traitors and dirty informers and theEnglish gang. "

"And, saving your presence, " said Martin, "we've to thank your ownbrother Barry for some of that same trouble. It was him who thwarted uson the Black Hill Road, and nearly spoilt our trip to Holland--"

"Barry?" said Tim sharply. "What of him? He's no 'dirty informer. 'What's all this about Black Hill Road and Holland?"

"'Deed, Tim, " said Finn, "it's an old story, and has been righted bynow. You mind his honour, Maurice Gorman of Knockowen?"

"Mind him? of course I do--a coward that blew hot and cold, and led theboys on to mischief only to betray them. Yes; I mind Maurice Gorman. "

This invective seemed greatly to encourage the men present, who hadevidently feared Tim might for some reason have harboured a regard fortheir victim. 

"It was him was to be settled with on the Black Hill Road a year ago;and settled he would have been but for Barry. "

Tim's anger, I could see, was rising. 

"Settled?" he said; "do you mean murdered?"

"Shot, any way. He got off that time; and a purty use he made of hischance, hanging boys by the dozen, and giving us no peace at all, atall. But since the young lady was lost to him--"

"What?" exclaimed Tim again; "how lost?"

"Didn't we have her over the seas to Holland for a hostage? And eversince he durstn't do a hand's turn against us. But he wouldn't come infor all that, or pay the money. It was Barry as nearly spoilt that gamefor us too; for he spirited the girl away in Holland, and if it hadn'tbeen for some of the boys who got hold of her again in Dublin, she'dhave been clane lost to Ireland for all our trouble. "

"You dogs!" cried Tim, starting forward with his hand on his sword. "You mean to say you carried away an innocent girl to spite her father?You're a shame to your country!"

They looked at him in amazement. Then the speaker went on, --

"Sure, all's fair in war. The girl's safe enough. " [Here Martinlaughed in a sinister fashion. ] "And now that all is settled up withMaurice Gorman at last--"

"Is Maurice Gorman dead, then?" asked Tim, controlling himself with amighty effort, as was plain by his white lips and flashing eyes. 

"He is so. We had him watched day and night, and on Sunday came ourchance. He's gone to his account; and it's not six hours since he wasput out of harm's way under the turf. By Saint Patrick, but it's agrand day for Ireland this. "

"And you mean to tell me, " said Tim, in a voice which made his hearersshift on their feet uncomfortably--"you mean to tell me that you dare tocommit murder and outrage like this in the name of Ireland?"

"Why, what's amiss? Wasn't it yourself was saying with your own lipsthe Gorman was a dirty coward?" retorted one of the group testily. 

"And that means the same to you as saying a man should be shot in thedark without a word of warning, and his innocent daughter carried off, who never did a hand's turn in the place that wasn't kindly and good?"

Guess who it was that loved Tim as he spoke those words?

"It's no time to be squeamish, " persisted the man who had first spoken. "It's a blow for the good of the country, and there's them will give uscredit for it, if you don't. "

"You curs! I give you credit for being the meanest cowards unhung. AndI don't mind telling anybody as much. Pray, is it you and the like ofyou I'm captain to?"

"When we chose you, we thought you were for the people, " snarled Martin. 

"Then take back your choice, you crew of blackguards, " cried Tim, now ina towering rage. "I've nothing to do with such as you. No more hasIreland, thank God!"

"That's well enough, " said Finn savagely; "but what's done is done, andin your name too, whether you like it or not. You should have let usknow in time if your stomach wasn't strong enough for the work. "

"My name! The girl carried away in my name, and her father murdered. How dare you, you dirty whelp, you!"

And he struck Finn across the cheek with his hand. 

Instantly the scene became one of wild uproar. The blow was all the menhad wanted to give vent to the bitter resentment which Tim'scontemptuous reproaches had called up. As long as the quarrel was oneof words, they were sullen but cowed. Now it was come to blows, eventsbefell rapidly. Ere I could push my way into the room, sword in hand--in truth, more rapidly than I can narrate it--Tim, my brave, impulsivebrother, had sent one of the rascals to his last account, and hadstepped to the wall, with his back there, holding the others at sword'spoint. 

Martin--that malign spirit, fated to thwart and injure me at allpoints--more cunning than his comrades, had stepped back behind theother two while Tim was engaged with them, poised a long knife above hishead, and at the moment when Tim was lunging at the nearest of hisassailants, I saw the brute, as in a nightmare, strike with all hismight. The cowardly blow struck Tim full on the forehead, and broughthim down with a crash on the floor. I had sprung at Martin's raisedarm, but, alas! had just missed him by a flash of time. 

"Take _that_ for many an old score!" I shouted, as I brought him downon the instant with a cut which laid him bleeding and prostrate at myfeet. 

Then stepping across Tim's senseless body, I let out at the other two. 

My sudden appearance--for I seemed to have dropped from the clouds--amazed and paralysed them. They were too terror-stricken to show muchfight; and it was as well for them, for I was in a killing mood, andcould have sent them to their last reckoning with a relish had theyinvited me. As it was, with white faces they backed to the door, andpresently howled for mercy. 

"It's Barry himsilf!" exclaimed Finn. "Be aisy now Barry darlint, anddon't harm a defenceless man. " And he dropped his weapon on the floor. 

The other man laid down his knife and tried to edge through the door;but I stopped him. 

"Now you are here, " said I, "you shall stay here till I please. Help meto lift Tim; and the first of you that stirs for anything else is a deadman. "

We lifted Tim tenderly--I could see, now that the heat of passion wascooled, that the men really respected him and deplored the upshot of theunexpected encounter--and we laid him gently on the table. My heartalmost stopped beating as I noted the ghastly pallor of his face and sawthe blood running over his temple. He opened his eyes in a dazed wayfor a moment; but if he saw me he did not know me. I bandaged his woundas best I could, and soaking my kerchief in a pool of rain-water, whichhad oozed through and on to the window-ledge, moistened his parchedlips. 

"Now, " said I, sternly enough, stooping over Martin, on whom--withhardly a ray of pity for him in my heart, I fear--I could see the handof death was laid, "one question for you: where is Maurice Gorman'sdaughter?"

Martin half opened his eyes. I think he saw the gleam of my pistol, which, though still in my hand, I had no intention of using. Aconvulsive look of terror passed over his face as he muttered thickly, --

"Take that thing away, for mercy's sake, and you shall know all. Wetook her and Biddy to the priest's at Killurin; but Father Murphy wouldhave nothing to say to us. We didn't know _what_ to do. So we--we--we--ah, Lord, forgive all. "

There was a painful pause. For a moment I thought his secret would diewith him. Then he murmured, pointing to the ceiling with his thumb, "Webrought her _here_!"

"What?" I cried in amazement; "Miss Kit is in this house now?"

Martin raised himself with difficulty on his elbow, fumbled feebly inhis belt, and handed me a rusty key. Before I could seize it he fellback on the floor, and I had to take the key from his dead hand. 

In the midst of my woe a wild throb of joy shot through me as I realisedwhat this unlooked-for news meant. 

As I looked from Martin to his dead comrade, and from him to my poorbruised Tim, from whom, as I feared, life was rapidly ebbing away, mymind was filled with the pathos and a sense of the useless suffering ofit all. Addressing the two men who only a minute or two ago were hisassailants and mine, but who now stood with downcast faces, I said, --

"Boys, I don't doubt that ye are both acting from what ye consider to bea sense of duty to old Ireland, and maybe even to your Maker, in allthis terrible bloodshed and unhappiness. To my thinking it's a sadlymistaken sense of duty, and will only land you and the dear country inshame and misery. But that is not here or there. Let us part withouthatred. You will find a passage here to the sea, " said I, showing themthe opening by the fireplace through which I had entered the room; "andin a cave at the end of the passage you will find a boat. Carry yourdead to it, and see them taken to their places. "

Both men said gravely, as in a chorus, "God save Ireland!" to which Icould utter, though in a different sense from theirs, "Amen!"

Then they did as I bade them, and laboriously carried away their deadcomrades. 

I turned to Tim. He was stirring slowly and feebly. I took off my coatand rolled it into a pillow for his head. Presently he opened his eyes, and a smile like the smile of an angel passed over his face. 

"Barry, " said he, "dear old Barry, and is it you, my brother?"

I bent over him and kissed his cheek. 

"Methinks, Barry dear, " said he, "I have struck my last blow for belovedIreland. God bless her! But it has been a paltry, poor bit of work--all that I have been able to do. "

"Cheer up, Tim, my boy, keep up your heart; we'll soon have you rightagain, " said I, though my own heart misgave me as I spoke. "Do youknow, Tim, that I have just heard that Kit is here, in this house, now--"

"Kit? Dear old Barry!" He took my hand in his and held it there, butall the strength was gone from his grip. I saw that he read my secret. "Now that her father is dead, Barry, this is _her_ house, " he said, trying to smile. 

"No, Tim. This house and these lands are yours. "

His face seemed to flush at this. 

"Is that so? are you sure?" said he. "As sure as that I am here. "

"And it is I who am heir to the estates?"

"It is. You are a rich man, for your father besides had land in Englandwith your mother. "

Tim's eyes were wide open. He lay silent for a time. "Barry, boy, " hesaid, now almost fainting for lack of blood, "we have always beenbrothers, haven't we? even when we differed and fought when we wereboys, eh? Nothing, nothing can unbrother you and me, Barry. I hand onall my rights to you and Kit--God bless ye both!"

His eyes closed wearily, but on his face there came again the happysmile of boyhood. 

"Tim dear, shall I bring Kit down?--if, indeed, she is here. "

"No, Barry, no; this is no place to bring a lady to, nor am I in acondition to see any lady. "

As I looked at the blood-stained floor and table, and the walls whichbore marks of the fray, I could not but agree with him. It was easy tosee also that poor Tim's moments were numbered. His eyes were sunk deepin his head, his face was pallid, and his breathing became more and moredifficult. His lips moved in broken utterance, but I saw he was notaddressing me; there was a far-off, unworldly expression in his eyes. Icould hear him murmur, --

"Ah, the tragedy! ah, the farce of it all!--I dreamed of a free, happycountry, of a free, happy people prospering and blessed when the tyrantwas overthrown--I thought I could help on this glorious time; and whathappens? I am struck down by the hand of a friend in a miserablesquabble; inglorious, farcical!--O Ireland, Ireland! the follies of yourown children may be a greater curse to you in the days to come than havebeen the crimes of the stranger who has usurped your rights. "

While I held his hand, stooping over him, with a heart too full forspeech, he opened his eyes again, and said, --

"Barry, brother, you have forgiven me for that stone I threw at ye onFanad Head?--ay, and the poor old mother is gone, and father too--andthe guns are in Kilgorman--and Wolfe Tone is coming--and the French arepreparing to deliver us; yes, they are on the way--and a time of joy iscoming to Ireland--Barry, Barry, do ye hear the rustle of silk by thehearthstone? Do ye think the ghost is here?--I hear something--put butthe light, boy, and lie close--there, there--my God, it is mother!" andhe swooned away. 

I thought he was dead, and I began to pray, when I heard him murmur, --

"Barry, are ye there, dear?--I can't see ye at all, at all. Why don'tye light the lamp?--there is no air!--open the window!--light, light, give me light!" and he fell back dead. 

It was the bitterest, saddest moment of my life. Yet I felt a curiousenvy of him. He was out of the whirl and confusion and chaos of ourunhappy time! Peace be with him! I loved him as my own soul, with alove which was not weakened but made only more pathetic to me that hisideals for the happiness of our loved country were not my ideals. 

But there was comfort for me--of a kind I perhaps little deserved--closeat hand. When I had drawn my coat over Tim's face, I rushed upstairs, calling aloud as I went, --

"Kit, Kit, I am coming! where are you, Kit?"

Then by-and-by I heard, far off, from a remote attic up in the roof ofthe rambling old building to which I had never before penetrated--Iheard, faintly, a voice calling me by name, which fell on my heart likesweetest music. And when the rusty key had turned in the rusty oldlock, and the crazy door was pushed open, I found a pair of arms flungtightly about my neck, and a pair of lips pressed close against mine, with cries of "Thank God, Barry! thank God, Barry! you are here atlast. "

It was a meeting of smiles and tears, of most delicious joy, with abackground of infinite sadness. 

Kit and Biddy McQuilkin were quickly brought by me to more comfortablequarters in Knockowen, and where they were more likely to have betterprotection. Captain Felton, on my signal, came ashore from the _Gnat_, and I found in him a friend indeed. He urged me to take Kit and Biddyto the house of his aunt (the widow of one of the canons of SalisburyCathedral), who lived a peaceful life in one of the quaint old houses inthe Close of that lovely cathedral city--at any rate until quieter timesfor Ireland. Not only this, but he managed so that Kit and Biddy and Iwere landed at Stranraer, on the Scottish coast, bearing letters fromhim to his aunt, who received us hospitably, and in whose care I wascontent to leave my beloved one, with a lighter heart concerning herthan I had experienced during all the years I had known her. 

I am not going to detail here all the bloody work of the next few monthsin our loved country. The wars of brothers are best left untold. Ofthe terrible doings in the north and south and west, but especially inCounty Wexford, at Enniscorthy and Vinegar Hill, where blood was spiltlike water, we had enough, and more than enough, in the public prints, and on the loud tongue of rumour, at the time. But I was in the sea-fight off Lough Swilly, when we made mincemeat of the French squadron inOctober of that black year 1798, and pluckier fighting against enormousodds than was done on that day by the French frigate _Hoche_ I had neverseen, nor ever again wish to see. It was courage worthy of a bettercause. 

It was for the part I had in that affair that, later on, to my joy, Ireceived my promotion, and gained the coveted right to place thehonoured word "captain" after my name. With the defeat of the Frenchexpeditions in the west and north, and the capture and subsequent tragicdeath of the heroic if erratic genius Wolfe Tone, and after many wearydays of suffering on the part of Ireland's noblest sons and daughters, there came gradually a modifying of the brutal spirit of hatred andbloodshed throughout the land. And with the better and more kindlyunderstanding between the peoples there came by-and-by a measure ofpeace and prosperity and a calm after the long period of storm anddisturbance. 

In the spring of 1799 Kit and I were wedded in Salisbury. My friendCaptain Felton was my "best man. " At first our home was in Belfast, butwe made frequent expeditions to Knockowen and Kilgorman as thecountryside became more settled; for the place, in spite of all that hadpassed, had a fascination for both of us. And as the painfulassociations died away, we have long since returned to Donegal. Therefor many a day we and our little ones--beloved Tim and Kit and Eileen--have made our home by the side of our lovely lough, as happy a home asany to be found throughout Ireland, in a renovated and regeneratedKilgorman. 

THE END.