‘I confess, then,’ said I, smiling at the cool brevity of the speech, ‘the choice is somewhat embarrassing! May I ask what you advise me to do, general?’
‘I should say go, Tiernay.’
‘Go, by all means, lad,’ broke in the aide-de-camp, who throughout assumed a tone of dictation and familiarity most remarkable. ‘If a stand is to be made in this miserable country it will be with Rey’s force; here the game will not last much longer. There lies the only man capable of conducting such an expedition, and his health cannot stand up against its trials!’
‘Not so, Merochamp; I ‘ll be on horseback to-morrow or the day after at furthest; and if I never were to take the field again, there are others, yourself amongst the number, well able to supply my place: but as to Tiernay—what says he?’
‘Make it duty, sir, and I shall go, or remain here with an easy conscience,’ said I.
‘Then duty be it, boy,’ said he; ‘and Merochamp will tell you everything, for all this discussion has wearied me much, and I cannot endure more talking.’
‘Sit down here,’ said the aide-de-camp, pointing to a seat at his side, ‘and five minutes will suffice.’
He opened a large map of Ireland before us on the table, and running his finger along the coast-line of the western side, stopped abruptly at the bay of Lough Swilly.
‘There,’ said he, ‘that is the spot. There, too, should have been our own landing! The whole population of the north will be with them—not such allies as these fellows, but men accustomed to the use of arms, able and willing to take the field. They say that five thousand men could hold the passes of those mountains against thirty.’
‘Who says this?’ said I, for I own it that I had grown marvellously sceptical as to testimony.