‘Napper Tandy, who is a general of division, and one of the leaders of this force’; and he went on: ‘The utmost we can do will be to hold these towns to the westward till they join us. We may stretch away thus far,’ and he moved his finger towards the direction of Leitrim, but no farther. ‘You will have to communicate with them; to explain what we have done, where we are, and how we are. Conceal nothing—let them hear fairly that this patriot force is worth nothing, and that even to garrison the towns we take they are useless. Tell them, too, the sad mistake we made by attempting to organise what never can be disciplined, and let them not arm a population, as we have done, to commit rapine and plunder.’
Two letters were already written—one addressed to Rey, the other to Napper Tandy. These I was ordered to destroy if I should happen to become a prisoner; and with the map of Ireland, pen-marked in various directions, by which I might trace my route, and a few lines to Colonel Charost, whom I was to see on passing at Killala, I was dismissed.’ When I approached the bedside to take leave of the general he was sound asleep. The excitement of talking having passed away, he was pale as death, and his lips totally colourless. Poor fellow, he was exhausted-looking and weary, and I could not help thinking, as I looked on him, that he was no bad emblem of the cause he had embarked in!
I was to take my troop-horse as far as Killala, after which I was to proceed either on foot, or by such modes of conveyance as I could find, keeping as nigh the coast as possible, and acquainting myself, so far as I might do, with the temper and disposition of the people as I went. It was a great aid to my sinking courage to know that there really was an Army of the North, and to feel myself accredited to hold intercourse with the generals commanding it.
Such was my exultation at this happy discovery, that I was dying to burst in amongst my comrades with the tidings, and proclaim, at the same time, my own high mission. Merochamp had strictly enjoined my speedy departure without the slightest intimation to any, whither I was going, or with what object.
A very small cloak-bag held all my effects, and with this slung at my saddle I rode out of the town just as the church clock was striking twelve. It was a calm, starlight night, and once a short distance from the town, as noiseless and still as possible; a gossoon, one of the numerous scouts we employed in conveying letters or bringing intelligence, trotted along on foot beside me to show the way, for there was a rumour that some of the Royalist cavalry still loitered about the passes to capture our despatch bearers, or make prisoners of any stragglers from the army.
These gossoons, picked up by chance, and selected for no other qualification than because they were keen-eyed and swift of foot, were the most faithful and most worthy creatures we met with. In no instance were they ever known to desert to the enemy, and, stranger still, they were never seen to mix in the debauchery and excesses so common to all the volunteers of the rebel camp. Their intelligence was considerable, and to such a pitch had emulation stimulated them in the service, that there was no danger they would not incur in their peculiar duties.
My companion on the present occasion was a little fellow of about thirteen years of age, and small and slight even for that; we knew him as ‘Peter,’ but whether he had any other name, or what, I was ignorant. He was wounded by a sabre-cut across the hand, which nearly severed the fingers from it, at the bridge of Castlebar, but, with a strip of linen bound round it, now he trotted along as happy and careless as if nothing ailed him.
I questioned him as we went, and learned that his father had been a herd in the service of a certain Sir Roger Palmer, and his mother a dairymaid in the same house, but as the patriots had sacked and burned the ‘Castle,’ of course they were now upon the world. He was a good deal shocked at my asking what part his father took on the occasion of the attack, but for a very different reason than that which I suspected.
‘For the cause, of course!’ replied he, almost indignantly; ‘why wouldn’t he stand up for ould Ireland!’
‘And your mother—what did she do?’