The Land of Bondage: A Romance

by John Bloundelle-Burton

So he went forth a slave and, as he went, the pity that had welled up into my heart for him became stifled and I felt it no more. For, think! As he screamed in his desperation for mercy he asked for it only for himself, he would at that moment, in spite of the horrors which he saw, have cheerfully sent me in his place. Nay, in his place or not, he had meant that I should go. Why, I asked myself, should I pity him?

The Dove had quickly caught the north wind that was blowing now; she had slipped away so easily from us when once her anchor was up and her sails set, that, as she went heeling over down the river, we saw but little of her but her stern and her poop lantern swinging aft. And so we turned our boat's nose back to the city and prepared to return.

Oliver was himself silent; I think because in his noble heart there was the same conflict going on that there was in mine--the regret for having been concerned in such a deed fighting with the pleasant conviction that he had foiled a most wicked plot against me and thus defeated two utter villains, my uncle and Considine, while, on a third one, the punishment had fallen. And now that years have passed it pleasures me to think that it was so with him, and that that brave heart of his could, even at this moment of triumph, feel sorrow for what he had thought it best to do. A brave heart, I have called it; a noble heart--and so it was. A heart ever entendered to me from the first when, God He knows, there was none else to show me kindness; a heart that so long as it beat was ever loyal, good, and true.

"Will you put back to the bridge?" I asked him, seeing that he still kept the boat's course headed up river. "Surely it would be best to make straight for the packet and go on board at once. Suppose O'Rourke has recovered by now and informed my uncle. What may he not do to us?"

"Nothing," replied Oliver, as he still set a fast stroke, "nothing. To begin with--which is the most important thing--he cannot catch the Dove, no, not even if he could persuade the captain of one of His Majesty's sloops now lying in the river to put out in chase of her,--such vessels as she is can show their heels to anything they have a few hours' start of. And as for what he can do to us--why, what can he attempt? We have been employed on his service, I hold in my pocket a letter from him justifying me in kidnapping the youth who claims to be Lord St. Amande. Well! that is what thy cousin claims to be in succession, and, even if he did not do so, how can thy uncle make any stir, or announce himself, as he needs must do if he blows on me; he, a participator in what I have done? While for O'Rourke--the noble Captain O'Rourke, Hanoverian spy, Jacobite plotter, white or black cockade wearer as the time serves and the wind shifts, crimp and bully,--think you he will come within a hundred leagues of Mr. Robert St. Amande after having failed so damnably? Nay! more likely are we to meet him in the streets of London when we get there than in those of Dublin! So bend thy back to it, Gerald, and pull hard for Essex Bridge. The tide runs out apace."

As we passed up through the shipping lying in the river and on to our destination, Quin did utter one more remark to the effect that, if he had in very fact slain O'Rourke, or injured him so badly that he could not rise from the spot where he fell, it was possible we might still find him there, but that he did not think such a thing was very likely to come about.

"The fellow has as many lives as a cat," he said,--"he was nigh hanged at Carlisle for a Jacobite in the last rising, and almost shot at St. Germain for a Hanoverian, yet he escaped these and countless other dangers somehow--and he has also as many holes as a rat in this city into which he can creep and lie hid, to say nought of his den farther up the river, of which you know well, since you escaped from it. 'Tis not like we shall find him when we land."

To land it was now time since we had reached the bridge, though by this the river had run so low that we were forced to get out and drag the boat up through the slime and ooze of the bank to get her high and dry. And as we were doing so, I, who was lifting her with my face turned towards the shore, saw a sight that had quite as terrible an effect on me as the sight of O'Rourke standing over us a couple of hours before had had. For, wrapped in long horsemen's cloaks and with their hats pulled down well over their eyes, I observed upon the river's brink my uncle and his friend and creature, Wolfe Considine, both of whom were regarding us fixedly. But, when I whispered this news to Oliver as I bent over the bows of the boat, he whispered back to me, "No matter; fear nothing. Courage. Courage!"

"Well, fellow," said my uncle to Quin, as we approached them, I walking behind my companion and with my own hat drawn down as low as possible so as to evade observation if I could do so. "Well, fellow, so thou hast determined to change thy song and serve Lord St. Amande, instead of vomiting forth abuse on him and doing thy best to thwart him. Is't not so?" and he let his cloak fall so that his features were visible, and his fierce, piercing eyes shone forth.

"To serve Lord St. Amande is my wish," Quin replied gruffly, returning his glance boldly.