‘There is only one, so there is no mistakin’ it; keep to the sheep-path, and never leave it except at the torrents; you must pass them how ye can. And when ye come to four big rocks in the plain, leave them to your left, and keep the side of the mountain for two miles, till ye see the smoke of the village underneath you. Murrah is a small place, and ye’ll have to look out sharp, or maybe ye’ll miss it.’
‘That’s enough,’ said I, putting some silver in his hand as I pressed it. ‘We ‘ll probably meet no more; good-bye, and many thanks for your pleasant company.’
‘No, we’re not like to meet again,’ said he thoughtfully, ‘and that’s the reason I’d like to give you a bit of advice. Hear me, now,’ said he, drawing closer and talking in a whisper; ‘you can’t go far in this country without being known; ‘tisn’t your looks alone, but your voice, and your tongue, will show what ye are. Get away out of it as fast as you can! there’s thraitors in every cause, and there’s chaps in Ireland would rather make money as informers than earn it by honest industry. Get over to the Scotch islands; get to Islay or Barra; get anywhere out of this for the time.’
‘Thanks for the counsel,’ said I, somewhat coldly, ‘I’ll have time to think over it as I go along;’ and with these words I set forth on my journey.
CHAPTER XXVII. THE CRANAGH
I will not weary my reader with a narrative of my mountain walk, nor the dangers and difficulties which beset me on that day of storm and hurricane. Few as were the miles to travel, what with accidents, mistakes of the path, and the halts to take shelter, I only reached Murrah as the day was declining.
The little village, which consisted of some twenty cabins, occupied a narrow gorge between two mountains, and presented an aspect of greater misery than I had ever witnessed before, not affording even the humblest specimen of a house of entertainment. From some peasants that were lounging in the street I learned that ‘Father Doogan’ had passed through two days before in company with a naval officer, whom they believed to be French. At least ‘he came from one of the ships in the lough, and could speak no English.’ Since that the priest had not returned, and many thought that he had gone away for ever. This story varied in a few unimportant particulars. I also learned that a squadron of several sail had, for three or four days, been lying at the entrance of Lough Swilly, with, it was said, large reinforcements for the ‘army of independence.’ There was then no time to be lost; here was the very force which I had been sent to communicate with; there were the troops that should at that moment be disembarking. The success of my mission might all depend now on a little extra exertion, and so I at once engaged a guide to conduct me to the coast; and having fortified myself with a glass of mountain whisky I felt ready for the road.
My guide could only speak a very little English, so that our way was passed in almost unbroken silence; and as, for security, he followed the least frequented paths, we scarcely met a living creature as we went. It was with a strange sense of half pride, half despondency, that I bethought me of my own position there—a Frenchman alone, and separated from his countrymen—in a wild mountain region of Ireland, carrying about him documents that, if detected, might peril his life; involved in a cause that had for its object the independence of a nation, and that against the power of the mightiest kingdom in Europe. An hour earlier or later, an accident by the way, a swollen torrent, a chance impediment of any kind that should delay me—and what a change might that produce in the whole destiny of the world!
The despatches I carried conveyed instructions the most precise and accurate: the places for combined action of the two armies—information as to the actual state of parties, and the condition of the native forces, was contained in them. All that could instruct the newly-come generals, or encourage them to decisive measures, were there; and yet, on what narrow contingencies did their safe arrival depend! It was thus, in exaggerating to myself the part I played—in elevating my humble position into all the importance of a high trust—that I sustained my drooping spirits, and acquired energy to carry me through fatigue and exhaustion. During that night, and the greater part of the following day, we walked on, almost without halt, scarcely eating, and, except by an occasional glass of whisky, totally unrefreshed; and, I am free to own, that my poor guide—a barelegged youth of about seventeen, without any of those high-sustaining illusions which stirred within my heart—suffered far less either from hunger or weariness than I did. So much for motives. A shilling or two were sufficient to equalise the balance against all the weight of my heroism and patriotic ardour together.