CHAPTER XI
The paroxysm of tears swept Neal as the Atlantic waves sweep foaming andfurious over Rackle Roy. Then it passed and left him panting, shakingwith recurrent sobs, and a prey to an hysterical dread of hearing somesound from the vault beside him. He sat absolutely motionless. Hehardly dared to breathe. He waited in horrible expectation of hearingsomething. He listened intent, agonised, feeling that if a sound reachedhim he would cry aloud and on the instant become a raving madman. Thescene inside the vault rose to his imagination. Far more really than hesaw the dim church and the trees, he saw Finlay grovelling on theground and the stern men crouching over him. He saw a knife gleam in thelantern's light. He shut his eyes, as if by shutting them he couldblot out the pictures of his imagination. He waited to hear a shriek,a smothered cry, a groan, the laboured breath of struggling men, thesplash of blood. The suspense became an agony. He rose to his feet andfled.
He stumbled over a grave, and fell headlong, bruising his outstretchedhands against a tombstone. He rose instantly and fled again. Stumblingagain, he struck his head against the wall of the church. Dizzy andbewildered, he hastened on, driven forward by the terror of hearing somedeath noise from the vault. Tripping, staggering, rushing blindly, hereached the stile at last, and stood beyond it on the road. Before himwas Moylin's house. The window was lighted up, the door was open. He sawmen seated within, and heard them laugh aloud. They seemed to him notmen, but fiends making merry over murder, and the winning for their hellof a new damned soul. He fled from them as he had fled from the soundhe dreaded. He rushed down the steep lane. Loose stones rolled under hisfeet. Sparks started into sudden brightness where the nails in his bootsoles struck flints. The hedges rose high on each side of him, makingthe lane, even in the pale June night, intolerably dark. He fled on,blind, reckless, for the moment mad.
Suddenly he was stopped short. Strong arms were round him. He was flungto the ground. A man knelt on his chest. Rough hands grasped his throat.
"Who have you there, Tarn?"
"A damned fool for certain, whoever he is. What brings him down a hilllike this in the dark, as if the devil was after him?"
"Loose his throat; do you want to choke him. Let him speak. Now, then,man, tell us who you are, and what you're doing here."
Neal's powers of reasoning and thought returned to him. With thepresence of real danger his fear vanished. He saw the forms of the menabove him, discerned against the dull grey of the sky that they werearmed and in uniform. He understood at once that he had fallen into thehands of soldiers, perhaps of yeomen.
"Who are you?" said the voice again.
Then the man who knelt on him added a word of warning--
"If you won't speak, we're the boys who know how to loose your tongue.We've made many a damned croppy glad to speak when we'd dealt with him."
Neal remained silent.
"Get him on his feet, Tam, and we'll take him to the Captain. If he'snot a rebel himself he'll know where the rebels are hid."
Neal was pulled up by the arms and marched along the lane again toMoylin's house. He was led into the kitchen. Two men sat at the tabledrinking. They were in uniform. Neal recognised it as that of theKilulta yeomen, the men who had raided his father's meeting-house. Herecognised one of the officers--Captain Twinely. The sergeant made hisreport. He and his men had been patrolling the lane as they had beenordered. They had heard a man running fast towards them, had stoppedhim, and arrested him.
"Who are you, and what are you doing here?" asked Captain Twinely.
Neal made no answer. The sergeant peered closely at his face.
"I think I know the man, sir. He's the young fellow that was with thewomen at the meetinghouse in the north. The man the old lord made usloose when we had him. What do you say, Tarn?"
"You're right as hell," said the trooper who stood by Neal. "I'd knowthe young cub in a thousand."
Captain Twinely rose, tools the lamp from the hook where it hung, heldit close to Neat's face, and looked at him.
"I believe you're right," he said. "Now, young man, we know who you are;You're Neal Ward." He drew a paper from his pocket and looked it over."Yes, that's the name, 'Neal Ward, son of the Reverend Micah Ward,Presbyterian minister of Dunseveric. A young man, about six foot high,well built, fair hair, grey eyes, active, strong.' Yes, the descriptionfits all right. Now, Mr. Neal Ward, since I've answered my firstquestion myself, perhaps you'll be so good as to answer my second forme. Where are your fellow-rebels?"
Neal was silent.
"Come now, that won't do. We know there's a meeting of United Irishmenhere to-night. We know that the leaders, M'Cracken, Monro, Hope, and therest are somewhere about. Where are they?"
"I don't know," said Neal, "and if I did I wouldn't tell you."
The sergeant struck him sharply across the mouth with the back of hishand.
"Take that for your insolence. I'll learn ye to say 'sir' when yespeak to a gentleman."
"Answer my question," said Captain Twinely, "or, by God, I'll make you."
"Try him with half hanging," said the other officer, speaking for thefirst time. "I've known a tongue wag freely enough after it's beensticking black out of a man's mouth for a couple of minutes."
"Too risky, Jack. The last fellow you half hanged wouldn't come to lifeagain; turned out to be whole hanged, by gad." He laughed. "There'sfifty pounds on the head of this young cock, and it's ten to one but therascally Government would back out of their promise if we broughtthem nothing but a damned corpse. Besides, I want the information. Thevermin's nest must be somewhere round. I want to get the lot of them.No, no; there's more ways of making a croppy speak than half hanginghim. We'll try the strap first, any way. Now, Mr. Neal Ward, will youspeak or will you not?"
"I will not."
"Hell to your soul! but I'm glad to hear it. I owe you something, youngman, and I like to pay my debts. If you'd spoken without flogging Imight have had to bring you into Belfast with a whole skin. Now I'llhave you flogged, and you'll speak afterwards. Tam, give the sergeantyour belt. Sergeant, there's a tree outside. Tie the prisoner up andflog him till he speaks, but don't kill him. Leave enough life in him tolast till we get him to Belfast, unless he speaks at once."
"Yes, sir, but if your orders are so particular I'd rather you'd bepresent yourself to see how much he can stand."
"I'm not going to leave my bottle," said Captain Twinely, "to standsentry over croppy carrion. Flog him till you lay his liver bare,sergeant, but don't cut it out of him."
The sergeant saluted, and marched Neal out of the house. His coat wasdragged off him, his shirt stripped from his back, his hands tied to thetree which stood before Moylin's house. He set his teeth and waited.The predominating feeling in his mind at first was not fear but furiousanger. He had shrunk in terror from the near prospect of seeing Finlaydie. He felt nothing now except a passionate desire for revenge.
The sergeant swung the trooper's belt round his head, making it whistlethrough the air. Neal shivered and shrank, but the blow did not fall.The sergeant was in no hurry.
"You hear that," he said, swinging the belt again. "Will you speakbefore I lay it on you? You shall have time to consider. Nobody shallsay I hurried a prisoner. We'll sing you a psalm, my dearly beloved, asweet psalm to a most comfortable tune. At the end of the first verseI'll give you another chance. If you don't speak then----. Now Tarn,now lads all, tune up to the Ould Hunderd,
"'There was a Presbyterian cat Who loved her neighbour's cream to sup; She sanctified her theft with prayer Before she went to drink it up.'"
The troopers, who appeared to have learned both tune and words since thenight when the sergeant sang them in Dunseveric meeting-house, shoutedlustily. Following their sergeant, they drawled the last line until itseemed to Neal as if they would never reach the end of it.
"Now, Mr. Neal Ward," said the sergeant, "you've had a most comfortableand cheering psalm for the hour of your affliction. Will you speak,or----. Damn your soul, Tam, w
hat are you at?"
The man next him lurched suddenly forward, clutching at the sergeant.In another instant there was a dull thud, and Donald Ward stood overthe sergeant with a pistol, grasped by its barrel, in his hand. He hadbrought the butt of it down on the man's skull. Two more of the yeomenfell almost at the same instant. The rest, three of them with wounds,fled, yelling, down the lane.
"The croppies are on us! Hell and murder! We're dead men!"
There were about twenty of them, all well armed, but a night surprisehas a tendency to shake the firmest nerves. Captain Twinely and hisfellow-officer played no very heroic part. At the first sound of theshouting and the footsteps of the flying troopers they rushed into theinner room and crawled under the bed, fighting desperately with eachother for the place nearest the wall, but Donald Ward had no time to goafter them.
"Cut the boy down," he said.
It was Felix Matier who set Neal free.
"Oh, whistle and I will come to you, my lad," he quoted, as he hustledthe shirt over Neal's shoulders. "Why didn't you whistle, Neal, orshout, or something? Only for that devil's song we'd never have foundyou. I guessed he was at some mischief when I heard him begin it."
"Silence," said Donald, "and let us get out of this. The place mustbe swarming with troops, and those yelling cowards will arouse everysoldier within a mite of us. It may not be so easy to chase the nextlot. Over into the churchyard again, and then, Moylin, we must trust toyou. You know the country, or you ought to, and I don't."
Aeneas Moylin led the way into the churchyard again, and across the wallat the lower end of it. The noise of many horsemen riding fast reachedthem from the lane they had left. The frightened yeomen had gatheredtroops to aid them, dragoons who had been posted on the main road downbelow. From the top of the rath, which rose dark above even the tower ofthe church, there came shouts. Men had been placed there, too, and weregathering to their comrades opposite Moylin's house. The hunt wouldbegin in earnest soon. Donald called a halt and, cowering underthe shadow of a thick hedge, the little party of fugitives held aconsultation.
"We might go back to the vault," said James Bigger. "They would find ithard to get at us there, even if they discovered us. They couldn't burnus out, for the walls are solid stone and four foot thick at least."
"I'm not going to spend the night with---- with what's there," saidFelix Matier. "I'm not a coward, but I won't sit in the dark all nightwith my knees up against--ugh!"
"James Finlay?" said Bigger. "He won't hurt you now."
"I'm for getting away if possible," said Donald. "I'm not frightened ofdead men, but I want to be at the fight tomorrow. If we stay here allnight we'll miss it."
"Hark!" said Moylin, "they're in the churchyard. I hear them stumblingabout among the graves. We can't get back now, even if we want to.Follow me."
Creeping along the side of the hedge, they crossed the field they werein, another, and another after that. They came upon a by-road.
"We must cross this," said Moylin, "and I think there are soldiers nighat hand."
Suddenly the sky behind them grew strangely bright. A flame, which castblack shadows from hedge and tree and wall, which lit up every openspace of ground, shot up.
"Down," said Donald, "down for your lives, lie flat. Where the devilhave they got the fire?"
"It's my house," said Moylin, quietly, "the roof is thatched. It burnswell, but it won't burn for long."
The shouts of the soldiers round the burning homestead reached themplainly. A body of horsemen cantered along the lane in front of them.
"Now," said Donald, "now, while their backs are turned, get across."
They crossed unseen, and gained the shelter of the ditch at the farside. They crept along it, seeking some boundary wall or hedge runningat right angles which would cast a shadow over them. The horsemen passedagain, but this time the risk of discovery was less. The thatch ofMoylin's house had almost burned itself out. Only a red glow remained,casting little shadow, lighting the land dimly. They crossed the fieldin safety and reached a grove of trees.
"We're right now," said Moylin. "We can take it easy from this on."
"Neal Ward," said Felix Matier, "next time you get yourself into ascrape I'll leave you there. I haven't been as nervous since I played 'Ispy' twenty years ago among the whins round the Giant's Ring. Fighting'sno test of courage. It's running away that tries a man."
"Phew!" said Donald, wiping his brow. Even he seemed to have felt thestrain of the last half-hour. "I did some scouting work for GeneralGreene in the Carolinas. I've lain low in sight of the watch-fires ofCornwallis' cavalry, but I'm damned if I ever had as close a shave asthat. I felt jumpy, and that's a fact. I think it was the sight of yourbare back, Neal, and that blackguard brandishing his belt over you thatplayed up with my nerves."
"Let's be getting on," said Moylin, "my house is ashes now, the house Ibuilt with my own hands, the room my wife died in, the bed my girl wasborn in. She's safe out of this, thank God. I want to be getting on. Iwant to be in Antrim to-morrow with a pike in my hand and a regiment ofdragoons in front of me."
Under Moylin's guidance they travelled across country through the night.About three in the morning, when the east was beginning to grow brightwith the coming dawn, they reached a substantial farmhouse and climbedinto the haggard.
"We're within twenty yards of the main road now," said Moylin, "abouta mile and a half outside the town of Antrim. We can lie here tillmorning. It's a safe place. The man that owns it won't betray us if hedoes find us here."
At six o'clock Donald Ward awoke. The rest of the party lay stretchedaround him, sleeping as men do after severe physical exertion and mentalstrain. He sat still for a while, and then crept out of the barn wherethey slept, and reconnoitered the farmhouse. He was surprised to find nosign of life about it. Doors and windows were fast shut. No dog barkedat him. No cattle lowed. Not even a hen pecked or cackled in the yard.He returned to the barn and roused the rest of the party.
"I've been looking round," he said, "to see what chance we have ofgetting breakfast. As far as I can make out the place is deserted."
"I wouldn't wonder," said Moylin, "if the man that owns it has clearedout. He's a bit of a coward, and he's not much liked in the countrybecause he tries to please both parties."
"I thought you said last night," said Donald, "that he wouldn't betrayus."
"No more he would," said Moylin, "he'd be afraid of what might happenhim after, but I never said he'd help us. It's my belief he's gone offout of this in dread of what may happen in Antrim to-day. He'll be athis brother's farm away down the Six Mile Water."
"Well," said Donald, "it doesn't matter about him. The question is, howare we to get something to eat?"
A long consultation followed. There were serious difficulties. Theamount of food required for seven hungry men was considerable, andDonald Ward insisted strongly on the necessity of having a good meal. Itwas decided at last that two of the party should venture into Antrim tobuy bread and wine. No one knew what troops there might be in the town.It would not be safe to count on the support of the inhabitants if theyhappened to have soldiers in their houses. The inns might be full ofofficers. The shops might be in the hands of the royal troops.
"It's no use discussing the difficulties and dangers," said Donald atlast. "We've got to risk it. We can't fight all day on empty stomachs.We'd fight badly if we did. I and Neal here will go into Antrim, we'rethe least likely to be recognised. The rest of you are known men. We'llbring you back something to eat."
At eight o'clock they set out, and reached the town just as the peoplewere beginning to open their doors. Donald Ward pressed some money intoNeal's hand.
"Go into the inn where we stopped," he said. "Get a couple of bottlesof wine and some cold meat if you can. I'll go on to the baker's. We'llmeet again opposite the church. If I'm not there in twenty minutes goback without me; I'll wait that long for you. Walk in as if you ownedthe shanty. There's nothing starts suspicion as quick as lookingfrigh
tened. Bluster a bit if they look crooked at you, and answer noquestions for anybody."
Neal did his best to follow the advice. But it is not easy for a man whohas slept two successive nights in the open, who has had no opportunityof shaving, and who has crawled in ditches for several miles, to assumethe airs of an opulent and self-contented tourist. Neal was painfullyconscious that he must look like a disreputable tramp. Nevertheless hesquared his shoulders, held up his head, and jingled his money inhis pocket as he passed through the door. He called valiantly for themaster. A girl, tousle-headed and heavy-eyed, looking as if she, too,had slept on a hillside or slept very little in bed, came to him. Herecognised her as the same who had waited on him and Donald when theyspent the night in the inn. She was sharp-sighted in spite of hersleeplessness. She knew Neal.
"In there with you," she said, pointing to a door, "I'll get you whatyou're after wanting. The dear knows there's broken meat in plenty herethe morn."
Neal entered the room. The table was littered with the remains ofbreakfast. A large party had evidently been there and had gone. Nealguessed that at least a dozen people had sat at the table. With his backto the room, looking out of the window, stood a young man, booted andspurred for riding, well dressed, well groomed, a sword by his side. Hisfigure struck Neal as being familiar. A second glance made him sure thatthis was Maurice St. Clair. For a moment he hesitated. Then he said--
"Maurice."
"Neal," said the other, turning quickly. "What brings you here? God,man, you mustn't stay. My father is in the house and Lord O'Neill. ThankGod the rest of them are gone."
"What brings you and your father to Antrim, Maurice?"
"There was to have been a meeting of the magistrates of the county hereto-day. My father rode in last night and brought me with him, but therecame an orderly from Belfast this morning with news which fluttered ourcompany. The rebels are to attack the town to-day. Oh, Neal, but it wasfun to see the hurry the worshipful justices were in to get home thismorning. There were a round dozen of them here last night drinking deathand damnation to the croppies till the small hours. This morning itwas who would get his breakfast and his horse first. You never saw suchscrambling."
"You and your father stayed," said Neal.
"Yes. Is it likely my lord would ride away from danger? You know him,Neal."
The girl entered with a basket on her arm. With a glance at Maurice St.Clair she came close to Neal and whispered--
"There's for you. There's plenty wine and cold meat for half a score.I'll be tongued by the master after, it's like, but I'll give it for thesake of Jemmy Hope, who's a better gentleman than them that wears finercoats, that never said a hard word or did an uncivil thing to a poorserving wench no more than if she'd been the first lady in the land."
Neal took the basket and bade farewell to Maurice, but as he turned toleave the room Lord Dunseveric and another gentleman entered. Neal stoodback, hoping to escape notice, but Lord Dunseveric saw and recognisedhim.
"O'Neill," he said to his companion, "pardon me a moment. This is ayoung friend of mine to whom I would speak a word."
He led Neal to the window.
"Are you on your way home, Neal?"
"No, my lord."
"I suppose I must not ask where you are going or what you mean to do. Idon't ask, but I advise you strongly to go home. The game is up, Neal.The plans of your friends have been blown upon. Their secrets are known.See here."
He held out a printed paper. Neal took it and read--
"To-morrow we march on Antrim. Drive the garrison of Randalstown beforeyou, and haste to form a junction with the commander-in-chief.--HenryJoy M'Cracken. First year of Liberty, 6th June, 1798."
"That paper was handed to General Clavering last night," said LordDunseveric, "and half a dozen more copies were sent to other officers.Is it any use going on now?"
"My lord," said Neal, "I have heard things--I have seen things. Lastnight I myself was stripped for flogging. They have set a price on myhead. I put it to you as a gentleman, as a just man and a brave, wouldit be right to go back now?"
"It is no use going on."
"But would you go back? Would you desert friends who did not desert you?Would you leave them?"
"A wise man does not struggle against the inevitable, Neal."
"But a man of honour, my lord. What would a man of honour do?"
"A man of honour," said Lord Dunseveric, "would act as you are going todo."
"Farewell, my lord, I go with an easy mind now, if I go to my death, forI have your approval."
"Neal Ward," said Lord Dunseveric, "I have known you since you were aboy, and I've loved you next to my own children. I don't say you areacting wrongly or dishonourably, but you and your friends are actingfoolishly. You cannot win. You and hundreds of innocent people mustsuffer, and Ireland, Neal, Ireland will come to the worse, to theold subjection, to the old bondage, to the old misery, through yourfoolishness. I say this, not to dissuade you from going on, for I thinkthat you must go on now, but in order that when you look back on it allafterwards you may remember that there were true friends of Ireland whowere not on your side."
Neal bent over Lord Dunseveric's hand and kissed it solemnly.
"I have known two great and good men," he said. "You, my lord, and onewhose name you might count contemptible, James Hope, the weaver, ofTemplepatrick. I think myself happy that I have had the goodwill ofboth. And, my lord, I think Ireland the most unhappy country in theworld because to-day these two men will be in arms against each other."
He sobbed. Then, lest he should betray more emotion, went quickly fromthe inn.
He found his uncle waiting for him outside the church.
"Well, Neal," he said, "how have you sped? You have a basket; I hope itis full. See here, I have four loaves of bread. The baker man would havedenied me. He suspected me, but I had my answer for him. I told him Iwas groom to a great lord who was staying in the inn. I made free withthe name of your friend, Lord Dunseveric. I told him that if he refusedmy lord the bread he wanted he would hang him for his insolence. I gotthe bread. For the first time and the last I have been a serving man.Now, back, back as fast as we can go to our hungry comrades."
After they left the town Donald Ward grew grave again.
"My lad," he said, "we shall have a fight to-day--a fight worthfighting. It won't be the first time I've looked on bare steel or heardthe bullets sing. I know what fighting means, and I know this, that manyof us will lie low enough before the sun sets. It may be my luck to comethrough or it may not. I have a sort of feeling that I am to fire mylast shots to-day. Don't look at me like that, boy, I'm not frightened.I'll fight none the worse. But I want to settle a little bit of businesswith you now that we are alone. I have a paper here, I wrote itlast night while you slept; I signed it this morning, and I have itwitnessed. I got a parson to witness it, a kind of curate man, a poorcreature. I caught him going into the church to say prayers, and madehim witness my signature. I had time enough, for you were longer at theinn than I was at the baker's. Here it is for you, Neal. In case of mydeath it makes you owner of my share of a little business in the townof Boston. My partner is managing it now. We own a few ships, and weremaking money when I left. But it did not suit me. I got the fightingfever into my blood during the war. I couldn't settle down to books andfigures. Maybe you'll take to the work. If you do you ought to stand agood chance of dying a rich man, and you'll be comfortably off the dayyou hand that paper to my partner. Not a word now, not a word. I knowwhat you want to say. Twist your lips into a smile again. Look as if youwere happy whatever you feel, and when all's said and done you ought tobe happy. Whatever the end of it may be we'll get our bellies full offighting to-day, and what has life got to give a man better than that?"