Chapter Nine.
Behind the inn door at Rathmullan.
I know not what account of our adventure was given by my little mistress to her parents, but certain it was I found myself risen in the good graces 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 me less than before, rather than liked me better. He said nothing, except to reprimand me for assaulting Martin. But I suspected it was no special 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 a difficult and dangerous game.
One week certain mysterious persons would drop in, and sit in long confabulation. Another week some fellow-justice of his honour’s would claim his hospitality and advice on matters of deep importance. Sometimes a noisy braggart from the country side would demand an audience; and sometimes an officer in his Majesty’s uniform would arrive as an honoured guest.
On all such occasions the tenor of the talk was the growing unrest of the country, and the gathering of that great storm which was soon to turn the whole country into a slaughter-house.
But the difficult task which Mr Gorman set before himself was to agree with everybody.
That he was deep in league with the smugglers on the coast I myself knew. But to hear him talk to the revenue officers who visited him, one might think that he spent his days and nights in seeking to put down this detestable trade. That he had a hand in the landing of foreign arms the reader knows as well as I. But when his brother magistrates came to lay their heads with his, none was more urgent than he to run down the miscreants. Indeed, he went to more than empty words; for once, when a rumour spread that a cargo of powder and shot was expected off Malin, he himself led the party which for three days lay in wait to intercept it. And no one knew except himself and me that during those very 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 came with.
I remember that well, for it was a day when I was secretly plotting to take advantage of my master’s absence to steal up to Kilgorman. I had indeed got not far from the place when, to my disgust, Martin and another man overtook me on horseback, and ordered me to return at once to 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 round presently from the hill-top, I recognised the flaunting sails of the Cigale standing in for the shore. This sight filled me with a new longing to see Tim, on whom for two years now I had only once, for an hour, set eyes. Come what would, I must steal away and hail him as soon as 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, who had just ridden over in hot haste from Carndonagh, by boat to Rathmullan. He was to rejoin his regiment that night, and being a distant kinsman of my lady had presumed on his relationship to beg a passage across the lough by the shortest way.
You may guess if I cast loose the boat with a merry heart, and bade farewell to my chance of seeing Tim, let alone of obeying my mother’s call to Kilgorman.
More than that, this voyage to Rathmullan reminded me of another time when my crew was more to my taste than this lumbering trooper; and, as if to complete my trouble, Miss Kit came down gaily to the jetty to speed the parting guest.
“It’s a pity we could not keep you, Captain Lestrange, till my father returned. You must come again when times are quieter.”
“That’ll not be this year or next,” said the young officer; “but whenever it is, I could hardly find you looking prettier than you are now, Miss Gorman.”
“Wait till you see,” said she, with a saucy laugh, waving her hand as we pushed off.
I had it in my heart to upset the boat as the fellow stood and kissed his hand.
“Sit down, sir, if you please, and trim the boat,” I said. “By your leave, sir, till I haul the sail.”
And before he was aware of it I hauled away, and left him kissing his hand to a sheet of white canvas that interposed between him and my little mistress.
That solaced me vastly.
Once out on the lough I found my passenger, who was little more than a lad of twenty, friendly enough, and inclined to while away the voyage with 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 murdered or robbed—what was it?”
“His honour’s brother, Terence Gorman, owned it. And he was shot on the hill fifteen years ago; and nobody will go near the place since.”
“Oh, I remember now,” said he. “And there was something about a lady and child that died too. I heard about it from a cracked body that was servant 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 hot place for any one just now. When they kill kings, and cut off heads like 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 sent their guns before them.”
“The less you talk about what you don’t understand the better,” said the officer, looking glum; “but I’d give any one a hundred pounds to tell me where they put the arms when they land them.”
Here I thought it wise to be silent. I could have earned a hundred pounds easily that afternoon.
When we reached Rathmullan, a sergeant was down on the pier awaiting Captain Lestrange.
“There’s wild work going, captain,” I heard him say; “the boys are getting to a head, and every mother’s son of them with a gun in his hand. The troop’s been ordered over to Letterkenny, and they’re away already to watch the fun. Begging your pardon, captain, you must take your dinner in the saddle this day.”
The captain took this news, especially the end of it, bravely, and tossed 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 few minutes was clattering at full speed down the road that leads to Letterkenny.
Now, thought I, was my chance, with a favouring breeze, to slip down the lough and carry out my purpose of speaking the Cigale.
I would spend my shilling, or part of it, in drinking his Majesty’s health, by which time it would be dusk enough to enable me to pass Knockowen unobserved.
In the inn, however, I found a great disturbance going on; so much so that I was crowded behind the door, and forced to stay there, first because I must, and presently because I would. What the trouble was I could not at first ascertain; but it soon came out that at Sheep Haven a gang of smugglers had been trapped, and their skipper swung at his own yard-arm. That was bad enough; but what was worse, he was a Rathmullan man, and the warrant for his capture had been given a week ago by a magistrate 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 a mouse.
“The very man,” said another. “He’s a dirty thraitor. He can let the boys 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,” continued the speaker, who had drunk somewhat, “this—”
“Howld yer tongue,” said the first speaker in a whisper. “Do you know no better than blather at the top of your voice like that?”
“I’m thinking,” continued the other, retreating towards the door, and beckoning the others around him, “that it’d do Maurice a world of good to 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,” said another.
“He’s to be back to-morrow. I heard that from Martin, who’s been left to take care of the place.”
“Sure, Martin’s a right boy for us. He’d never spoil sport for the likes of Gorman.”
“Not he. I warrant you Martin will be waiting on us, for I’ll step across and tell him myself. There’s no one else to mind but the women and a fool of a boy.”
“Begorrah, thin, we’ll stand by you, Larry. If Pat Corkill swings to plaze 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 me behind 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 till the 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 luck I had moored my boat under the side of an old hull that lay there, where she could hardly be noticed by any who did not look for her. I was thankful, aided by the friendly night, to reach it safely, and was soon speeding up the lough as fast as my sail would carry me, with my big budget of news for Knockowen.